Ode to Target

I left my old hat in my hometown of North Platte. I'll be sure to get it back when I go back there, but hopefully that won't be for many months. My hats really are signatures of mine. There's been a cold snap here, and I've been getting by with a woolen cap, but this isn't 1994, I needed an official Josh hat.

But there was a dilemma. Should I look for a hat at one of the charity shops in Malone? Maybe I would find a cool hat for cheap, or maybe there would be nothing but cowboy hats still carrying the sweaty stench of their previous owners. At any rate, I have a social conscience (If no other kind of conscience) and I didn't want to come across as some pseudo-hipster buying crap from the thrift shops in a phony show of solidarity with the working class that actually insults them. This isn't 2002, either. The same logic excluded me from going to the "hip" "boutiques" downtown. That and I'm not gay.

So today I went to Target. I needed something to drink tonight anyway, and why make two errands? In my old age, I've come to appreciate Target's trendy, hip, vibrant image that still respects the American family. It's the store of the ruling class,
understand. We appreciate the finer things in life, like Justin Timberlake, cute little kitty pictures on the internet and stacks of unread Newsweek's on the coffee table. wW're not the fucking proles you find at Wal-Mart. We're not Toby Keith people, we're Faith Hill people.

Take their wine section, for example; the Lincoln Target doesn't even sell beer, so I'm drinking wine tonight. The type of wines they have there, names like three lizards and yellow tale, are catered towards the sort of middle-class families that, while striving to be respectable, still like to show how they're "with it". Something that will give the old college chums a little giggle when they come over to watch the game. These are my people, this is our society. We're on the go. We keep track of the stock market, still flip it to VH1 every now and then.

I'd like to say that I bought the three lizards, but alas, I still have a bit of the country in me and have not yet adapted to hip Lincoln ways. so no, just a jug of Sutter's Mill for me.

I ended up purchasing the wine, a Digornio's pizza, and a nice brown fedora with a phony fluer-de-lies on the side, something like you would see Usher wear. I'm glad I made the trip. It's one-stop shopping, I'm a man on the go, the business class, neon collar baby.