Oh God, I'm a Dirty Hipster...

I get these ideas...these crazy, crazy ideas. "Projects" I call them, "schemes" I call them...No. They are crazy. I know this. People around me know this...but I keep doing them anyway. ...Which probably means I'm crazy.

Some of these projects have included: a livable shed with drywall & electricity, a Portal Gun (here's the original), designing & building a cabin, and making cutlery out of sea shells. The first two in that list were completed...the last two...not so much.

Le projet complet.

The Portal Gun in production

I really don't know where these ideas come from, but I'm going to blame the hipster juices in the ether. Their vintage-y, scruffy, indie rock loving, ironic sweater-wearing ways just kind of seep into your mindset, until one day the wind whistling through the holes where your earlobes used to be seems totally normal, and you pull your handknit cardigan tighter around your Saved By the Bell tshirt and ride away on your fixie bike.

But why do I suddenly fear I may be one of them? One of those dirty, dirty hipsters? Recently I was stuck with the need for a knitting machine. Yea, I have no explanation, really, none. I mean, who the hell ever needs a knitting machine? I did. Apparently.

At the time, I didn't even think about it, I just browsed Craigslist until the right item for the right price popped up. It wasn't until last night, as I was knitting an alpaca wool buttoned cowl while listening to indie music on CBC Radio 3's streaming broadcast that I realized...Oh god...I'm a hipster.

At first I felt ill, then ashamed. But then I remembered that I couldn't be a hipster, because I was knitting and listening to indie rock since before it was cool.


oh...


Fuck.





But at least I'm not this guy, amiright?