I'm on some next level yuppie shit. What do you know about it? What do you know about pushing your kid around in a vintage wooden wagon that barely rolls? What do you know about electric toothbrushes? What do you know about being a vegetarian for a while and then, after a few years, going hard on the bacon? What do you know about nodding earnestly to all your still vegetarian friends?
What do you know about being sensitive about being a sell-out? I fucking love being a sell out. If I loved selling out any more, I'd have to get a new passport to a country populated only by sell out motherfuckers who require that their material needs be met in the most bland, un-ostentatious ways possible. I don't even know what it's like to have a hard-line political stance, and I don't want to fucking know either. All the tattoos I got during my dissolute post-college years: fucking lasered those bitches. I got a new tattoo around each patch of scar tissue saying "My Parents Were Fucking Right!"
Also, I fucking enjoyed getting rid of all my guitars. Now I even trash shit in my house that isn't an instrument but which I might at some point be tempted to make music on: Tube of white out? That shit sounds interesting when you flick it: TRASH! Venetian blinds? Pretty much a xylophone: TRASH!
You bet I love firing up the espresso machine I bought on Amazon after carefully reading a bunch of reviews and comparing specs. Those reviews were fucking right. That mircofoam is fucking worth it. And at approximately 7:30AM, when I shrug into my pea coat and messenger bag and leave my really comfortable apartment and average-hot spouse and step out into my formerly-Michael-Jackson-"Bad" neighborhood, and pick up a fucking muffin or bagel (depending on my mood), and snap up a copy of the new motherfucking issue of the New Yorker, which I don't even read all the way through but just like having: can any of you motherfuckers stop me?
And what do you know about having an iPod playlist called "Getting Psyched For Weekly Marketing Meeting"? What do you know about the Indigo Girls? What do you know about Coldplay? What do you know about calibrating your cultural tastes to the critical responses of major magazines? What do you know about using the phrase "quasi-experimental"? Yeah, that's what I thought. You obviously don't know shit about any of this.
This is all just to say: you can’t find a motherfucker more yuppie than me. Every day, I go to a new restaurant in the $$ - $$$ range that the Times recommends, even if I’m not hungry. In fact, name someone who shows up quicker to the new $$-$$$ restaurant on his block and introduces himself to the owners. Name someone who raves about it better than me for a few months. Name someone who is more impatient to talk shit about that same restaurant after a few months. Name someone who prohibits his kids from playing outside of their vintage wagons better than me. Name someone more tolerant of differences than me. Name someone who smiles harder at interracial babies than me. Go ahead and name someone. Give up? Yeah, that's what I thought, because no motherfucker out there is more yuppie than me.
And knock, knock: I fucking love Whole Foods. I spend fucking hours there. I age in that bitch. Everything that's ever gone past my mouth is organic. All the cows I eat fucking love grass, and all my chickens don't even know what the fuck a cage looks like. And you know the only thing I love more than Whole Foods? Expressing my shame about loving Whole Foods! I fucking love that shame.
And, yeah, you’re still evited to my next dinner party. And, yeah, there's gonna be crunchy little slices of baguette, because I fucking love slathering pesto on that shit. Yeah, I'm gonna drink a sensible amount of Pinot Noir and then secretly grit my teeth when my spouse rubs my back in annoying little circles. I fucking love being annoyed by that shit.
I’m just asking that, when that shit happens, you have no doubts about who the yuppiest motherfucker in the room will be.
It’ll be me, motherfucker. Me.