Joyless hipsters.

It struck me the other day that hipsters are joyless and have no love. Despite their always reading intellectual books, too, they read them not for love of learning, but to know something to hold over the heads of people who don't know it, or to seem intellectual, both of which are about power and appearance and not love of learning.

I went to see WALL-E for $3 at a Mexican discount movie theater up in Hipsterland on Sunday, too -- the hipsters are invading the Mexican neighborhood here -- and I found great joy in how the old Mexican dude who took tickets also made me check my backpacks, which they tend to do at Mexican places to cut down on gun violence. I found it kind of charming, the guy was so nice about it. Later I went to a taqueria down the road where I got a cactus gordita, and enjoyed looking at all the faces of the Mexicans in there, who are always so much more at peace with themselves than the kind of nervous, very discontented hipsters you always see at the bars with minimalist black and red decors and bitchy, lazy waitresses who are too fat for their punkish striped tubetops.