"Through the storm of storm the Aurora lights
In her swirling skies a wrathlike ice
Born to ride the cold, winds of the North
Cometh to freeze the grounds "
It's not just music, either. I don't know quite when it happened, but at some point a certain vague strain of "indie" dropped its last vestiges of seeming weird and became a commonplace-- sort of like in Britain, where "indie" has long been synonymous with the normal guitar bands people find fashionable. When those I'm-a-Mac, I'm-a-PC commercials came out, I even saw some ad critic describe Justin Long's Mac guy as an "indie type." Why? He's just a young middle-class-looking white guy with a haircut. (I'd be more aghast, except it's actually not hard to imagine him telling you about the New Pornographers.) And soon enough any film, book, or cultural product that came anywhere near a certain sensibility-- anything anyone would describe as "quirky" or cleverish or tender-- fell in the indie bucket, too: Garden State with its hilarious Shins scene, Wes Anderson movies, Dave Eggers (??), Juno, Zooey Deschanel's general existence, private colleges, button shirts, the Internet, IKEA, Miracle Whip, literacy, you tell me. The sensibility used to seem rarer, and then, I suppose, half the people attracted to it grew up and got creative jobs and now it floats everywhere. So huge swathes of twentysomethings, like anyone with a college education or a Mac or a strummy guitar record: indie, apparently? Which is allegedly quite the thing these days.
