This guy hits the nail square on the veritable head with this piece.
The voice of which he speaks is the background music of all pretentious
locales these days (9th Street, Wellspring and the Regulator Bookstore
in Durham, Weaver Street Market in Chapel Hill, almost any Starbucks,
and nearly every grad lounge anywhere in America). Creepy, it is.
Passive-aggressive. Quick with a smart-alecky remark but with no
backbone. Quick to, as my Dad used to say, let his mouth write checks
that his rear-end can’t cash, and then yell foul and look for
protection (usually from a woman) when someone demands he back up his
words, sort of like, oh, Hawkeye Pierce.