If I open one more book review section and see the word “dystopian” in a headline, I might be forced to light said paper on fire.

I am, I admit, trend impaired. Take those TOMS shoes for example. (That’s supposed to be in all caps, right? I don’t even know.) Sixty bucks and on the feet of all the hipper-than-me people I know. And guess what? They look like house slippers. There. I said it. They do. It looks like you left the house and forgot to put on real shoes, which is the sort of thing my grandfather would do.

I realize this opinion make me terribly uncool. But have you looked up the definition of “dystopia” recently? I did. Just to be clear. This is what the dictionary said:

dys·to·pi·a

[dis-toh-pee-uh]

noun

a society characterized by human misery, as squalor, oppression, disease, and overcrowding.

For the love of popsicles, why is that a trend? Give me house slippers.

As an antidote to all the squalor and disease crowding my previously adored book review sections, I am reading a history of the romantic poets. Uncool? That would be one possible descriptor. I’m going with “rebellious” instead.

Take that human misery.