While everyone else was writing about this yesterday, I was too busy working [read: getting a tattoo of Barbaro on my shoulder while listening to Bad Brains].

What does one think when one sits down to write a piece of garbage like this?

“Hmm. You know, I was at a [fill in latest indie band] show the other day, and I saw two black people! They were dressed like me and seemed to be really into the band. And then I talked to [redacted] and [redacted] and they told me that it wasn’t an anomaly—black people actually do have diverse taste in music and have been known to show up at various types of concerts! Who knew? And I figured, after shitting on Philly by giving it props, not because it had its own merit, but because it was taking sloppy seconds from New York, why not shit on an entire group of people in a similar fashion and put them in a nice box marked blipster!

Perhaps I should tell my readers, [read: cloistered New York Times subscribers who don’t know anyone outside of their race or socioeconomic level, and to whom a stupid article like this would actually qualify as news] that there are black people who exist outside of the stereotypical nature in which many view them! I mean, it’s a fucking mind blower. They have brown skin, but they like The Roots AND Rilo Kiley. These daredevils are even forming their own bands. Bloc Party. TV on the Radio. And wait until my readers find out that there’s a history of black people who not only enjoy rock and roll, but actually play it!"

Bad form, Pressler. It shouldn’t be news that the black experience of music is not homogeneous and that our interests can be as ecclectic as we want them to be. This article gave me a douche chill so major that my chunky black-framed glasses fell off. I barfed on my Converse and then wiped my hands on my Amputechture t-shirt. Then I called my friend to see if he scored our TV on the Radio tickets.

Image credit: Flickr user Fatkid32