Introduction/Apologia The ideas expressed herein are entirely those of the author (except for the ones she will disavow later when she comes to her senses).You may be piqued, upset, scandalized, offended, or even enraged by some of what you read here. When this happens, please remember that the author is trying, first and foremost, to be funny. Which is quite difficult to do without offending someone at some point. Also remember that sheis sorry, she doesnit know what the hell she was thinking. At several points in the book, I may repeat or contradict myself. Youill get over it eventually. Itis not a mathematical proof.

Any resemblance to actual people, either living or dead should, in retrospect, have been obscured more efficiently by the author. Names have been changed to protect the innocent, the guilty, the hard of hearing, the perpetually drunk, the personally irresponsible, the morally corrupt, and the mentally unbalanced. And to keep me from getting a beatdown. Sex, Drugs, and Postmodern Chicks I wish I was more clever.Everybody has that list, that internal list of wishes, those top five (or ten, or fifteen, whatever, Iim not counting) things you wish you were more of. Smarter, taller, a better cook, a faster reader, more patient, able to speak Spanish instead of just putting the vowels o and e on the end of English words and hoping people understand you,1 a better singer, not such a chronic nose picker. Cleverness is number one on my wish list. I wish I was more clever.

Clever is not smart. Lots of smart people are not clever. Smart people can work out a math problem or expose and dissect the flaws within the Hegelian dialectic (I donit really know what that means, but it sounds insanely thinky) or tell you who the president of Iceland is. All good things, yes, but not dazzling per se. Clever people, on the other hand, can figure out the safest way to get out of a car when itis teetering on the brink of a cliff, and how to fix a camera with a paper clip, and how to pitch a tent in the wilderness using just a pocketknife, downed branches, and beetle dung. They make music and write poetry and wear culottes with clogs and somehow still look stunning. Clever people are cool without trying. Damn them.

When I had to name this book, I wanted a clever title, something that was funny and ironic and not too earnest. That is where the word postmodern comes in. In his book Sex, Drugs, and Cocoa Puffs, Chuck Klosterman offers two definitions of the word postmodern: a) iany art that is conscious of the fact that it is, in fact, art;i and b) iany art that is conscious of the fact that it is, in fact, product.i These are both very cool, clever things, all thinky and arty and, well . postmodern. I had originally intended the word postmodern to mean someone who is not of the baby boom generation, or the me generation, or the x generationonot caught up in a political movement or a cultural sea change or a generational nadirojust trying to live their life, find personal and political fulfillment in whatever way is meaningful to them. All of this while having a really, really good time. Because honestly, why did all those other generations go through all that marching and demonstrating and Kombucha tea drinking if not so that we can get what we want and have a kick-ass time doing it? So, what about the Cocoa Puffs definitions? Does this book really qualify as postmodern? Do I? Honestly, I have no idea.

Apparently I didnit know what postmodern actually meant until I read Klostermanis book (and I am woman enough to admit that). I thought it meant after modern. (I can be a rather literal thinkerothus my desire to be more clever.) The Microsoft Word dictionary defined it as irelating to art, architecture, literature, or thinking developed after and usually in reaction to modernism, returning to more classical or trad.