Ennui

Thierry Ennui...I wonder how many people will get that?

The intellectuals will recognize the word ennui but won't recognize the reference to Arsenal's genius striker, Thierry Henri. The muppets will recognize the name but won't have a clue what (or how to pronounce) the word that describes the listlessness and profound boredom in which we exist.

The fate of the modern man (and woman) is that we've become so specific and diverse in our taste, that we're practically alone. I've told this story before but it's worth telling again.

I was once in a bookstore, in Park Slope. I purchased this porn mag (black booty, I think it was) and the complete anthology of Calvin and Hobbes. I put the magazine under the anthology and handed it to the store-keeper, a very cute girl who squealed when she saw C&H.

"I LOOOOVVEEE Bill Watterson! Calvin and Hobbes is so funny....it makes me so happy when I see it"

I smiled and exchanged pleasantries while we bonded over C&H. Then she saw the magazine and a look of dismay came over her face. She sighed and in a moment of surreal....ness, she looked at me and said:

"I'll never understand how anyone who can appreciate Bill Watterson can buy something like this".

I could have been indignant. I could have treated her like the fucking, $5.55 an hour sales trash that she was. I could have given her a dirty look or I could have ignored her. I could have shown her how hurt I was (as I was). I could have even taken the time to patiently explain to her that we were all multi-dimensional beings, that there are dark sides to everyone's personality. That Lewis Carrol was a pedophiliac and Sherlock Holmes was addicted to cocaine. I could have cited countless other similar examples from the annals of history that have been airbrushed out by the prudes and the hypocrites.

Instead, I quietly took my stuff and exited the store. Ennui.