Hipsters tossing coasters

Well, needless to say, when the Trojans and Spartans finally meet after all these centuries, only one team can walk away victorious. Sadly, this time it was Brian's MSU Spartans. On the bright side, that means they advanced to the next round, which means we'll watch another of their games at Blondie's, which means I get another meltdown. The Blondie's meltdown is pretty much my favorite sandwich in the world. It is totally a big part of why I continue to be a lapsed vegetarian in New York, too.

Speaking of half-assed vegetarians, there's another bar in which we have enjoyed ourselves a couple of times, this one in Williamsburg. I can never remember the name of it. Maracuja is the name of it. I just had to ask Brian. Anyway, so the last time we were at Maracuja was a couple of weeks ago for a friend's birthday. As the night wore on, it came time for Brian and me to stroll over to the jukebox. While we were selecting our songs -- don't gloss over that clause, it's important, here, I'll repeat it -- while we were selecting our songs, I felt something hit my leg but I ignored it in the way you might ignore anything short of a major touch when you are in a crowded bar. Then I felt a distinctly similar something hit my leg distinctly similarly. I'm not sure if it was after the third time, or after I turned and saw two people at the bar specifically not looking at me, or after I said, "What was that?" or after Brian felt something hit him too, but at some point in that chain of events, we realized there were coasters on the floor around us, which had fallen there shortly after hitting our legs, having been tossed at said legs, frisbee style.

Next, we did what any normal person selecting songs on a jukebox would do when s/he suspects some childish drunk person s/he doesn't know has tossed a coaster at her/him: we ignored them, because we weren't sure what was going on. Then, another coaster hit us. And the jig was up.

Really? You're throwing cheap, cardboard-paper like round bar coasters at me? Number one, why? Number two, who the hell do you think you are? Who does that? It's the kind of thing that would make me want to get in someone's face and tell them how stupid I think they are, if only it were worth my time to do so.

At some point, the Ms Thang half of the Ms Thang-Douchebag hipster couple came over to us and said something to the effect of "no Britney" songs. Britney had been playing earlier, and she didn't want to hear any more.

Now, I was really intrigued. First of all, I was wondering precisely which part of me looks like a Britney Spears fan. I imagine that Britney fans come in all shapes and sizes, as she has sold many, many albums, but I am terribly curious as to which aspect of me seemed to coalesce in the addled hipster brain to make it say, "Ahh! That girl there! She is going to play Britney!" (Especially seeing as I don't think I could even tell you the name of any Britney song since the "Oops..." or "Hit Me..." days.)

Secondly, even if one hated what was playing in a bar, and even if for some unknown reason one felt entitled to tell someone else what to put/not put on the jukebox, how does it become OK to THROW THINGS at that someone else to deliver this message?

And finally, HELLO DUMB-ASS!!! If I am now selecting songs, that means that MY SONGS AREN'T PLAYING YET. You stupid, self-centered, idiotic, reactionary, pitiful fool, you have no idea what I am playing. Don't lay your Britney issues on me!

Usually in our little Brooklyn lifestyle it's Brian who bags on the hipsters and I tend to defend them, but not this time.