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vicemag:

Here is what awaits you out in the world: the stands-too-close monsters behind you in line who cough into your hair and talk with that accent that sedative-overusers have. Other people’s projects of art and commerce, which can be a drag when you realize you’ve oriented your go-out life to other people’s efforts to be cool, rich, relevant. Near-daily disappointments by existing and potential friends and lovers (did you know that “lover” as a thing to say is happening? Let’s try it!). Small, watery drinks and some asshole’s version of an appealing crab-plus-avocado-plus-prickly-greens thing to eat for dinner. Plus weather, parking, spending money, constant and pulsing possibilities of embarrassing yourself. Look, this isn’t grand scheme important stuff, just a few convenient Friday night excuses.

Here is what awaits you at your house: soft jammies, music you like, everything you already paid for, a hermetically-sealed experience of self-hood and pleaz and being disgusting in whatever unrestrained way you want.

There is a light-filled, healthy region in-between social atrophy and the New York Dolls, and it is staying home sometimes. Let’s say, like those hair colorists who charge “$175-500” (??? just fucking tell me how much it costs), one to three times a week.

Please do this on a Saturday night. You know why, yes?

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