this morning while I was busy waxing nostalgic, I did a google search on drakes and ended up at the scathing “cultural commentary” site of one anonymous “unemployed gay conservative pseudo-bohemian named Ryan, or maybe Jeff, who drives around in a late-model Acura with tinted windows.”
pretty sharp stuff. makes me take a step back and go, whoa. what am I, middle-aged, suspiciously identifying more with those returning football-fanatical alumni than the cynical drakette of yore? god. for. bid.
what is it about the glowy tint of nostalgia that so sets its barb in my mandible? crikey, but I am once again reminded of my voluminous sapishness. which is, I suppose, why I seldom indulge in reading Cultural Commentary of any stripe. because I come away feeling just ever so callow and unhip. and, I mean, yeah, sure it’s the truth, but, come on, I’m trying to maintain a little momentum here, guys.
just keep swimming, just keep swimming. there ya go. that’s about my speed. no sharp edges, nothing to take an eye out on.