Uncool is the new cool (maybe it always was)

OK so I had this moment where I was walking home from the grocery shop on Sunday with pak choy sticking out of my handbag, the sun setting, chilly mountain air starting to clench its icy little teeth at me, but my snug as a bug beige wool cardigan buttoned up to the neck, my hair in two little matching plaits, looking about as clean cut and fresh scrubbed as Pollyanna on the way to Sunday School, and I thought - hmmm, whatever happened to cool?

Which was a funny thought because in general I am highly contrary when it comes to the school of cool. Sure, I have succumbed to doing stupid things in the name of fad (many many stupid things which I wont bore you with listing, hopefully you have your own ridiculous lists to muse on and smile at), but despite that, nothing makes me turn my nose up at something faster than being told that I 'should' read/see/listen to/wear/eat it because it's cool. Just as an example, it took me years (years!) to read Neuromancer and listen to Nick Cave for instance because it gave the absolute shits that everyone seemed to think these were 'vital' accessories at a certain time and place of my youth (of course I enjoyed both when I finallly got there). It used to shit me that there was a certain currency in 'what one did with one's Saturday night', where you would find yourself propelled into going out, not just because you felt like it, not to whatever varied and surprising social activity you might feel like, but to a well-worn spot beside a bar, a dj, a dance floor - to be seen, to have stories to tell. It seemed so formulaic, so done for appearances, so lame. I found it refreshing when I got to a certain place in my twenties where I felt like I had shrugged off that expectation, and I could legitimately do whatever I want on a Saturday night - be that getting drunk out late with friends and telling ridiculous stories, be that in a bubble bath with a good book, be that home listening to music and painting, be that dressed up in my highest heels at an exhibition opening, in my slippers chatting on the phone to my mum with a glass of red, whatever. Not having to be, nor even worrying about, being somewhere "cool", being part of some glorious glittering moment, or feeling like something exciting is rushing past without me. In fact, I sometimes just think "I am where the fun is" - which sounds lame, but works for me as a gentle reminder on the odd occasion when I need it that whatever I am doing or wherever I am there is the potential to really enjoy and be part of that moment, for it to be significant. And it totallly doesn't mattter whether anyone else thinks it's great or not.

My friend Snap Dragon is a great reminder of some of this stuff for me. She is a gorgeous, funny, cultured, well travelled and highly creative woman who is always seems completely satisfied and grounded with her life but as a general rule doesn't go to parties because she doesn't like them (she's shy and she hates smalll talk with strangers in that context, but generally can chat to anyone)and has probably been in a pub like 5 times in her life. Her idea of a great party is afternoon tea, with cake. Some vestige of the tragic teenager in me thinks "but how?? How can she be funny and cool and not go out drinking??" which is, I think you'll agree, ridiculous.
I have another friend, Pony Girl, who is living away from the city close to her family to be a supportive and engaged daughter, sister and aunty. She enjoys the great outdoors, has just bought her own place, has started playing baseball and continues to care for and ride her horse. She's not into fashion or being edgy or better than anyone. Cool? I think so: confidence, warmth, generosity of spirit which are all very cool.
So this morning at work trying to answer the 'what did you do for the rest of your weekend?' question and explaining that I babysat for friends, caught up on housework, went out for coffee...I felt like the exterior didn't communicate the interior of that experience. The pleasure of the little stuff. Nice, gentle, quiet, sunshine through the window as I did dishes. Music as I sang around the house. The sleepy exhaustion of laying on a couch watching tellie while a baby slept soundly in the next room and his parents got to go to a birthday party. Making soup. Writing stuff. Daydreaming. Sleeping in. Having impromptu dinner at a friend's place and having intimacies shared in story. None of that comes through in the 'oh you know, a quiet one, house stuff...'.