… and I’m trying to figure out why.
My copy of Howl and othe poems was bought at City Lights Bookstore in San Francisco, yet I am not cool.
When someone asks me to play music from the 80s, I play “Transmission” and not “Girls Just Want to Have Fun,” yet I am not cool.
I can handle my booze and other sundries, yet I am not cool.
I have a fashion sense of my own, yet I am not cool.
I regularly attend indie music gigs, yet I am not cool.
I own a first edition of The Great Shark Hunt and a print of Hunter S. Thompson signed by Thompson and shot by William S. Burroughs, yet I am not cool.
I actually graduated from university and can speak in Latin, yet I am not cool.
I have worked for mobsters and international fugitives and been considered a dangerous man, yet I am uncool.
I know who Theodor Adorno is and actually understand what Marshall McLuhan was all about, yet I am not cool.
I can sing and play guitar and (with a gun to my head) drums, yet I am not cool.
I am a music journalist, yet I am not cool.
I have made a movie, produced a play, and recorded an album, yet I am not cool.
Maybe it’s time I stopped hanging out with 20-yr-old girls…