The Klosterman Dilemma

The Klosterman Dilemma

Warning: The following piece includes graphic depictions of self-delusion and narcissism. If for any reason, you feel yourself becoming queasy or light-headed, please cover your eyes immediately, and contact your nearest library or bookstore for instructions on how to cleanse your literary soul. Okay, I am finally reading Sex, Drugs, and Cocoa Puffs by Chuck Klosterman. Are ya happy, now? After years of avoiding Chuck Klosterman, I succumbed; my change of heart came about partly because I saw an interview with the man himself, and discovered he wasn't nearly as obnoxious as the über-hip, too-cool-for-school Gen-Xer's his work seems to attract like flies at a vegan picnic; and partly because his book, Sex, Drugs, and Cocoa Puffs, just happened to be the last book standing in the empty bookshelves of my local used book store, leaving me no other choice, after I'd spent an hour scouring the aisles, desperately searching for something, anything, other than Klosterman.

Okay, and now I come clean; I've read a bit of Klosterman's book, and I'm big enough to admit that the hipster-doofuses are right; he is a very funny and entertaining writer.

But, this fact does not completely resolve my Klosterman dilemma; because, outside the insufferable prigs that adore him, there exists a more selfish reason why I avoided Klosterman all these years; and I feel compelled to confess this egoistic truth: I avoided Chuck Klosterman because in my most self-aggrandizing moments (which are few and far between), I feared his brand of pop culture infused social critiques would inadvertently influence my own work; believing his work to be so sinewy and clever, as to seep into the subconscious mind of any weak-willed and vulnerable writer who dare open themselves up to Klosteman's power. But, alas, the prospect of having my writing irreversibly altered is really the least of my concerns; I mean, who would really notice anyway. In actuality, the worst thing to occur as a result of my reading Klosterman is the fact that I have now lost my right to claim plausible deniability. My right to plausibly deny having ever read Klosterman, has kept the dark side of my mind (the left side; the literal side) in check over the years; while enduring the constant refrain:

"Have you read Chuck Klosterman?"

"You should; your writing is a lot like his."

To which I commonly replied, "Yeah, I hear that a lot; but, no, I've never read his stuff." followed by, "I'm more of a Pauline Kael/Lester Bangs kinda guy."

(Cue the crickets)

The K-Fan then says, "Oh yeah, Lester Bangs; that guy was cool; rock critic; 1970's; punk..." and, wait for it..."Pauline who?" Some may read these words and ask why I would invoke the political/legalese term, Plausible Deniability; and the simple answer is: I now fear that when I get the "Have you read Klosterman" question; my paranoid, narcissistic mind will instantly assume the inquisitor is asking because he or she believes me to be an unoriginal hack, a Klosterman wanna be. And even though this horrific assumption could only flower within the mind of someone who has never read my work, or Klosterman's; it won't stop me from harboring delusions of grandeur; or more precisely, delusions of degradation.