“I have the soul of a poet, not a Gila monster.”
The late, great Bill Hicks was referring to douchebaggy LA types when he said this: You know, the kind of guy who calls you in New York on Christmas and brags how he spent the day poolside in 80 degree weather. As an angsty Northwest artist nutcake, I’ve always identified with this mantra. After all, I came of age in the 1980′s, when surfer and vapid beach culture was shoved down our throats as some sort of national idea. These were the Miami Vice years. I remember a disturbing high school trend in which a certain subset of preppy asshats took to wearing aquasocks as acceptable suburban footwear. Aquasocks.