At the TT, one of the heats was predominantly attended by a group of local hipsters, replete with male tramp stamps and visible piercings. Since the heats were already well over an hour late by that point, the hipster entourages had been hanging around drinking fresh craft brews for about 90 minutes. Spilled beer, WOOWOOing hop-buzzed girlfriends, and adult professional hipster wannabe friends and families of the hipsters. It resmembled the infield of a munich six-day race circa 1927, minus the cigarette smoke.
Note the urban-fashion requirement of the boxers fully exposed outside of the jeans on this stereotype:
Yes, he's wearing jeans and boxers. No chamois. Now, I'm not enough of a snob to think that everytime a casual cyclist gets on a bike they should be wearing cycling shorts. I don't begrudge the student/hipster/commuter for choosing to eschew practical cycling attire. Hey, it's your balls that are going to chafe, not mine (unless you're into that sort of thing). But this wasn't exactly a casual cruise to the local wifi cafe. This was 20+ minutes riding at maximum effort, sweating bullets within 5 minutes. What I read was that he didn't have a change of clothes. I don't know how he got home, but it was FUCKING cold out, and this douche left with soaking wet boxers inside damp jeans. Yeah. That's comfy.
Anyways, as I was surfing around the web today, I came across some cheezy hipster mentoring website called Hipster Runoff, which in-turn directed me to something I find infintely more interesting, entertaining, and downright American: Womens Asses.
American Apparel, yet another clothing designer attempting to define Cool to the white suburban middle class adolescent mall shopper based on the premise that their clothes are what the white urban middle class adolescent boutique shoppers find cool, has launched a Best Ass contest.
This is something, above almost all else, that I feel eminently qualified for. Not to participate, mind you (though I've been as recently as a few weeks ago been complimented by a couple of women I don't know), but as a critic. You see, I love womens asses. I'm much more of an Ass Man, than a Breast Man, and since the moment of my first internet connection I've been perusing asses worlwide. Where I used to have be discrete in public, I can now mutter innane adolescent interjections at the computer screen.
Well, as you can imagine, an open internet contest for Best Ass is bound to draw alot of contestants. As of this blog entry, they have over 650 entries. A quick tour:
We have the Bodacious Booty:
The Track Star:
The Hampster Dance:
and, the Trying Too Hard:
There are a number of male asses posted since this contest is for a best female _and_ male ass, so you ladies can peruse the offerings as well. I'm not going there.
All of these were copied from their website. Mind you, I like everyone of these asses. As a connoisseur, it is incumbent upon me to critic each ass for it's merits, and it's detriments. Objective critique, not subjective projections. Does the sommelier offer his personal preferences? No, he discusses his customers preferences and makes a suggestion based on objective observance of each wines merits. A true connoisseur may have a personal favorite, yet he appreciates a finely crafted wine and is not afraid to venture to taste something new.
Ass should be appreciated for shape, definition, tone, and presentation. The venue for American Apparels contest is woefully inadequate. The resolution is too low, and too much is left up to the submitter in terms of technical and artistic production.
That said, from the persepective of a Red Blooded American Male looking at a female ass model, my vote goes to The Debutante. But, there are cars you keep waxed in the garage, and cars you drive. For a great ride, give me the Bodacious Booty any day.