On Vices

A few thoughts stemming from last night's Deerhoof concert:

I think it warrants research as to whether indie rock attracts male individuals of below-average height. I'm sure I could rather quickly find out what they average male height is, but I don't want to do the work. I am fairly confident that I fall in the lower half of the percentiles, and I'm also fairly confident that I was probably in the upper half last night. What gives?

Second, and more pressingly, can we once and for all declare that smoking and alcohol are so passé? Look, I understand that we all have vices (or perhaps devices, meant only to mediate the unsettling effects of cognitive dissonance, angst, and the perils of living in a three-dimensional world(quick, name that lyric reference!)). But the faux-rebellion predicated on one's ability to smoke tobacco and drink 24 oz. cans of Pabst Blue Ribbon is, at this point in the modern era, awfully trite. Perhaps this explains my affection for the straight edge/hardcore scene -- there, the mediators of existential crises are simply loud guitars and louder yelling (yes, yes, and the philosophical commitment to modest living, the plight of the common man, and, recently, an avoidance of animal products and/or sweatshop labor). All I'm saying is, just how punk are you if you need to be awash in substances to feel free enough to shake your fist?

For the record, I'm wearing a pair of Nikes (not sweatshop free in the slightest) and plan on eating some delicious leftover grilled chicken later on this evening. Just so we're straight...