So just to expand on my 140 characters of Twittered disgust earlier today:
I was sitting with Alice eating yummy tacos at BrooklynFlea. We were in the shade near a roped-off area where the food dealers hook up to power. Despite the ropes, cement steps and pointy cast iron fence, numerous hipster Brooklyn parents (ie: demi-tards) were letting their preschoolers play unsupervised jump rope over the draped electrical cords.
One little girl jumped onto a cord--pulling it from the outlet--and blacked out a food booth. A power-yuppy--in the middle of some kind of mutually felating day-trader phone interview--looks over at the girl (not his daughter) and the rats' nest of industrial electrical cords plugged into an exterior socket and says "Sweety can you plug that back in?". Un-fucking believable.
To top that off, I hit the 7th Avenue flea market on the way home and stopped at a dealer's table with a selection of shabby vintage books layed-out in the broiling sun. I picked up what was labeled as a "1st Edition Ayn Rand Anthem $20" with no jacket and completely faded spine, looked at the CR page and and noted that the printing date of the book was a good 20-years after the copyright date. Now I'm no Randroid but that does not equal "1st Edition" to me. I went to put it back and the dealer snatched it from me and said "I'll take that!" and mumbled that next time I shouldn't open a "sealed" book. Apparently a mislabeled worthless book stuffed in a moldering sandwich bag equals archivally sealed these day. I said "Keep it then, it isn't a first anyway", but what I meant to say was "Stick it you ignorant, leathery crone."
Of course if I did say that, I would have immediately entered the Twilight Zone and become the desperate curmudgeon--selling smutty paperbacks for cheap tequila--that is the future me.
You gotta be careful.