In Defense of Chuck

I’m having second thoughts about wanting to pursue a career in journalism. There’s too much hate. Too much cynicism. It seems that no matter what, when you get to a certain point where you’re high enough or working for an elite enough publication, some sour-faced person from management comes and leaves a memo on your desk that reads something like this:

Dear [insert name],

Congratulations on achieving editorial status at [insert name of publication]. This memo is just to inform you that from now on you are no longer allowed to like anything, with utmost stress placed on not liking things that everyone else seems to like. This applies to books, music, movies, restaurants, clothing, the type of beer you drink, etc. You see, if you want our readers to think you are intelligent and edgy and elitist, it is critical that you not like anything they like, thereby proving that you are better than them.
I am sorry if this causes any complications, though if you’ve made it this far I’m sure you’ll have no trouble completing your transformation into a heartless cynic and turning over the rest of your already decaying soul to Satan.

Sincerely,
[insert name of management]

I bring this up because yesterday I found out that Chuck Klosterman is coming out with a new book September 16th (he'll be at Elliott Bay Book Co. on Sept. 22 at 7:30pm to discuss it) and after reading some reviews online it would seem that not everyone is nearly as elated as I am, which is disconcerting for me because I have always kind of assumed that every rational-minded person in the world liked Chuck Klosterman. I assumed that people enjoyed his anecdotes, his obscure references, and his lines like “we argued whether or not a bear could be ridden, assuming said bear was muzzled.”

I assumed people liked to laugh.

But I was wrong.

We live in an age of cynicism, and that cynicism is no more apparent than in popular youth culture, where scenesters compete to have the funkiest glasses and apathetic hipsters compete to have the shortest cut-off jean shorts and the skinniest fixed-gear handle bars. We live in an age where it has become uncool to like things, and way more cool to hate. Liking something puts you at risk of being shot down and ridiculed, whereas hating is almost always a safe bet.
After all, no one wants to get hurt. We put up walls and defense mechanisms to prevent people from making us feel bad. We think twice about going out on a limb. However, it seems that these days no one at all wants to go out on the proverbial limb. Everyone is too jaded from past rejection, past let-down, past failure, past criticism, that stepping out on the limb has just become too risky.
Chuck Klosterman is a person that still steps out on that limb. He steps out on it all the time, and he steps confidently. Sure he hates a few things, but he loves even more, and when he does love, he proclaims his love from a mountaintop, like the copper-dirt lined one he runs up in Killing Yourself to Live in North Carolina on his way to the Skynard crash site.
He loves music, he loves women (at least specific women), and he loves the ’87 Boston Celtics. He loves Kiss and Billy Joel and The Real World. He loves Diane and Lenore and hair bands called Tesla.
And he loves to love these things, because it feels a whole lot better than hating them just to try to be cool.
I think reviewer zombies that hate on Chucks work are completely missing the point. They read his writing and look for something deep and dark and moving. They read it looking for the kind of hate they feel in their cold black hearts, and when they don’t find it, it drives them crazy. So they cope in the only way they know how: they hate. And they hate some more.
But none of that matters, because Chuck Klosterman still loves. And he has inspired me to love. And not to think twice.