As the rain drips and dribbles down the window raised above my ahead and the women of the office tweet in an out of the student work room, I am forced to look inside myself and see that I am nothing but judgmental. I think make-up and a shower does this to me. But under no circumstances does my outward appearance validate and legitimize my worth as a human being more than any other woman who pokes in my office. And yet, a woman in a sweatsuit - the JLo kind - catches my eye and my snarl. A woman bragging about her daughter, whom she has every right to brag about, watches my ears perk and my eyes narrow. And my boss, my favorite woman in this office, smiling and happy as always, offering anyone and everyone fixin's for s'mores, earns a subtle cut of my eyes. And "subtle" is being generous.I suppose now comes the time that I go into hipster mode and discuss how being judgmental is or is not hipster - I think it is very hipster - but now is not the time to think over my hipster-tude, which I have realized, I do not have. Now is the time to think over in what locus did I get the idea that I could judge. I have done it all day today - men driving a Gator, girls walking to class, professors doing their job - and I assume all day every day, but who am I to judge?
Yes, I know that because I scale mountains and write award-winning operas, and because I repair electrical appliances free of charge and designed an internationally recognized line of corduroy evening wear, and because I am an abstract artist and a concrete analyst, I should be of the right to judge whomever I choose. For we all know, I am better than all. Look at all I can do. But what can you look at to see who I am? What can I look at in others to see who they are besides what they do? You cannot. Therefore, I cannot judge.
