Weakness #1
Thursday, March 22, 2007
Monday, February 05, 2007
United 93 Passengers.
Now, the following is not a joke. I know it probably won't come across as being very polite, but whatever. I've done worse and spoken ten times worse. I also feel that I should preemptively state that I'm not religious and thus don't believe any of this. I was just curious.
So, you know how all those planes crashed that day? You know, the two in New York, the one in Washington and the one in Pennsylvania. My friend watched the film "United 93" about the passengers on that particular flight that took the plane back and crashed it in Pennsylvania (in case you didn't already know all this). Well, I can only imagine (and I'm taking the point of view of a religious right Christian here) that when they all gathered at the Gates of Heaven (which they would, because all martyred Americans go to heaven, no matter what) everyone from the other three flights just stared down everyone from Flight 93? 'Cause, you know, they made everyone else look bad. They re-took the plane! Everyone else was laid back and chillin' when their planes were taken by the terrorists/muslism/heathens/buttholes. Okay, maybe not that, but they sure as shit didn't take the plane back all "Air Force One" like. And you know there was no one as bad ass as Gary Oldman doing that shit. It was probably some scared as shit, skinny as hell (because they don't have food. Get it?!?) dudes who were starting to seriously questions how there friends had ever talked them into this Allah thing.
I'm aware that this is a trivial thought, but I didn't see ANYONE from the major networks ask about this in the aftermath; which I think is just sloppy.
So, you know how all those planes crashed that day? You know, the two in New York, the one in Washington and the one in Pennsylvania. My friend watched the film "United 93" about the passengers on that particular flight that took the plane back and crashed it in Pennsylvania (in case you didn't already know all this). Well, I can only imagine (and I'm taking the point of view of a religious right Christian here) that when they all gathered at the Gates of Heaven (which they would, because all martyred Americans go to heaven, no matter what) everyone from the other three flights just stared down everyone from Flight 93? 'Cause, you know, they made everyone else look bad. They re-took the plane! Everyone else was laid back and chillin' when their planes were taken by the terrorists/muslism/heathens/buttholes. Okay, maybe not that, but they sure as shit didn't take the plane back all "Air Force One" like. And you know there was no one as bad ass as Gary Oldman doing that shit. It was probably some scared as shit, skinny as hell (because they don't have food. Get it?!?) dudes who were starting to seriously questions how there friends had ever talked them into this Allah thing.
I'm aware that this is a trivial thought, but I didn't see ANYONE from the major networks ask about this in the aftermath; which I think is just sloppy.
Sunday, February 04, 2007
Essential Thrillers: A Brief List.
I like lists. I imagine you like lists, too. What a great way to spend a day off! You got cleaning to do? Make a list of chores! You want to lead a life of sexual debauchery/greatness? Make a list, son! There's more perversities out there than you can shake a boner at (put "ball-fucking" right at the top"). With this in mind, I have made a list of about 20 essential thrillers. Please bear in mind that this list is NOT final and was constructed hastily after my girlfriend placed her faith in me to show her good movies (of which I know a lot and she knows little). This is only the first list, there is also a "Fantasy" list and a "Treasures of Current Asian Cinema" list that will eventually pop-up. I'm hoping to get some help adding both current and older films to this list, so please, give me what ya got!
1. North By Northwest
2. Leon
3. Alien
4. The Manchurian Candidate
5. The Big Sleep
6. The Jackal
7. Notorious
8. High Noon
9. 3 Days of the Condor
10. The French Connection
11. Heavenly Creatures
12. Shadow of a Doubt
13. Patriot Games
14. Rope
15. The Silence of the Lambs
16. Close Encounters of the Third Kind
Once again, if you have a suggestion, bring it. I'm open to anything.
1. North By Northwest
2. Leon
3. Alien
4. The Manchurian Candidate
5. The Big Sleep
6. The Jackal
7. Notorious
8. High Noon
9. 3 Days of the Condor
10. The French Connection
11. Heavenly Creatures
12. Shadow of a Doubt
13. Patriot Games
14. Rope
15. The Silence of the Lambs
16. Close Encounters of the Third Kind
Once again, if you have a suggestion, bring it. I'm open to anything.
Saturday, February 03, 2007
Current Television Woo-hoo's and Woes.
Recently I've been busy running around between working lunch and double shifts and trying to record an album ("trying" is the key to unlocking just how well it's going). That hasn't left much time for those meanial things like spending time with my live-in girlfriend, my crew of friends I'm hereby dubbing the "Boom Town Shakers" or anything or anyone else that I really know and enjoy. In place of all those wonderful things I enjoy, I've pumped in as much television as possible. This isn't out of desire, but out of a need to absorb something other than work, music or sleep and television is the easiest way to fill this gap. It is with this fact in hand that I present to you...MY TELEVISION "WOO-HOO'S AND WOES"...!!!
Those shows that have aided me in my mission for temporary fulfillment are as follows:
LAW AND ORDER: SVU Oh yeah. After working for thirteen hours in a small kitchen with two other dudes where homoeroticism rules and comments such as "Your package looks really good" are flung around with a straight face, it's nice to turn on the television and see a world full of sexual violence and moral depravity the likes of which I'll never reach. It's kind of like a "well, at least I'm not THAT bad" kind of thing. Not only does it let me know what ground I stand on, but it also serves as a nice palate cleanser. I know that sounds kind of backwards, but I listen to and watch a lot of of fluffy shit in my day. So it's nice to have something to wash the goodness out of my mouth. Plus, you know, Mariska Hartigay lives in a little world called I like to call "smokin'".
ICONOCLASTS Mikhail Baryshnikov and Alice Waters, Laird Hamilton and Eddie Vedder, Isabella Rossellini and Dean Kamen, Dave Chappelle and Maya Angelou. I just discovered this show during its second season on Sundance Channel and I haven't been this excited about a show in a while. Two people who are long time friends or just acquaintances, but who are each well respected in their particular fields discussing their lives and the way they look at what they do. I know that's not a very fascinating sentence, but the show is good. You especially have to watch the Dave Chappelle/Maya Angelou episode. That woman is amazing and just about everything she says rings true. This is the kind of show I reserve for when I actually feel like bettering myself (around 7% of the time).
STUDIO 60 ON THE SUNSET STRIP Aaron Sorkin is a television genius. His newest show isn't as strong as the previous two: Sports Night and West Wing, but it's still better written and acted than just about anything else that's out right now. It definitely comes off as more preachy than the previous two, which is odd since the venue of the West Wing seems like it would be a much better platform, but so it goes. It lacks the raw appetite to prove itself as Sports Night did and it lacks the polish of the West Wing, but Studio 60 is good, despite the growing pretentions of its creator.
VERONICA MARS Everyone in the world has already stated the obvious. Veronica Mars is my geek-filled heart's replacement to Buffy the Vampire Slayer. It has probably managed to stay on the air due, in part, to this idea (an idea that even Joss Whedon has written about). This isn't just it though. Kristen Bell is an amazing actress and she sells every line she's given. For my bottom dollar, she's probably one of the few actors on television for whom you can probably slack on your writing a little bit and use her acting as a crutch.
Those are the big ones. The rest are less frequent, though still really good: South Park, Extras, Entourage, Scrubs (until the last five minutes when the shitty kinda-but-not-really indie rock song comes on and the drama's laid on so thick you could swear you wrote it when you were seventeen), Daily Show, Colbert Report, Survivor Man, etc. An Honorable Mention shout out goes to The Sarah Silverman Show since the first episode was pretty funny, but who knows.
This category is a bit tougher. How can you judge a show that you don't like when you watch it anyway? Let's find out!
SCRUBS I know, it's on the previous list, but seriously, the last five minutes are that bad. Not to mention that there's only so long Zach Braff can be the lovable fuck up before the lovable part washes away and all you have is a truly annoying character. It doesn't help that the writers seem to be giggling to themselves as they write the same 7 or 8 scripts over and over.
GILMORE GIRLS This is my girlfriends fault. I thought the first two seasons were great, but after that it plummeted. Chalk it up to being too clever for itself. You cant't be that witty for that long without losing some of the splender. I tried watching this season as well. The new head writer doesn't have nearly the pedigree that Amy Palladino had. Now, in its seventh season the show is spinning wheels is doesn't even have anymore. I know that doesn't make sense, but I think you might know what I mean.
CARNIVALE Yeah, I like David Lynch too.
Everything else that compromise the "woes" section is everything else on television. Honorable Mention in this category goes to Mind of Mencia. My co-workers quote this back to me all day. I can't escape this shit even when I don't watch it.
Those shows that have aided me in my mission for temporary fulfillment are as follows:
LAW AND ORDER: SVU Oh yeah. After working for thirteen hours in a small kitchen with two other dudes where homoeroticism rules and comments such as "Your package looks really good" are flung around with a straight face, it's nice to turn on the television and see a world full of sexual violence and moral depravity the likes of which I'll never reach. It's kind of like a "well, at least I'm not THAT bad" kind of thing. Not only does it let me know what ground I stand on, but it also serves as a nice palate cleanser. I know that sounds kind of backwards, but I listen to and watch a lot of of fluffy shit in my day. So it's nice to have something to wash the goodness out of my mouth. Plus, you know, Mariska Hartigay lives in a little world called I like to call "smokin'".
ICONOCLASTS Mikhail Baryshnikov and Alice Waters, Laird Hamilton and Eddie Vedder, Isabella Rossellini and Dean Kamen, Dave Chappelle and Maya Angelou. I just discovered this show during its second season on Sundance Channel and I haven't been this excited about a show in a while. Two people who are long time friends or just acquaintances, but who are each well respected in their particular fields discussing their lives and the way they look at what they do. I know that's not a very fascinating sentence, but the show is good. You especially have to watch the Dave Chappelle/Maya Angelou episode. That woman is amazing and just about everything she says rings true. This is the kind of show I reserve for when I actually feel like bettering myself (around 7% of the time).
STUDIO 60 ON THE SUNSET STRIP Aaron Sorkin is a television genius. His newest show isn't as strong as the previous two: Sports Night and West Wing, but it's still better written and acted than just about anything else that's out right now. It definitely comes off as more preachy than the previous two, which is odd since the venue of the West Wing seems like it would be a much better platform, but so it goes. It lacks the raw appetite to prove itself as Sports Night did and it lacks the polish of the West Wing, but Studio 60 is good, despite the growing pretentions of its creator.
VERONICA MARS Everyone in the world has already stated the obvious. Veronica Mars is my geek-filled heart's replacement to Buffy the Vampire Slayer. It has probably managed to stay on the air due, in part, to this idea (an idea that even Joss Whedon has written about). This isn't just it though. Kristen Bell is an amazing actress and she sells every line she's given. For my bottom dollar, she's probably one of the few actors on television for whom you can probably slack on your writing a little bit and use her acting as a crutch.
Those are the big ones. The rest are less frequent, though still really good: South Park, Extras, Entourage, Scrubs (until the last five minutes when the shitty kinda-but-not-really indie rock song comes on and the drama's laid on so thick you could swear you wrote it when you were seventeen), Daily Show, Colbert Report, Survivor Man, etc. An Honorable Mention shout out goes to The Sarah Silverman Show since the first episode was pretty funny, but who knows.
This category is a bit tougher. How can you judge a show that you don't like when you watch it anyway? Let's find out!
SCRUBS I know, it's on the previous list, but seriously, the last five minutes are that bad. Not to mention that there's only so long Zach Braff can be the lovable fuck up before the lovable part washes away and all you have is a truly annoying character. It doesn't help that the writers seem to be giggling to themselves as they write the same 7 or 8 scripts over and over.
GILMORE GIRLS This is my girlfriends fault. I thought the first two seasons were great, but after that it plummeted. Chalk it up to being too clever for itself. You cant't be that witty for that long without losing some of the splender. I tried watching this season as well. The new head writer doesn't have nearly the pedigree that Amy Palladino had. Now, in its seventh season the show is spinning wheels is doesn't even have anymore. I know that doesn't make sense, but I think you might know what I mean.
CARNIVALE Yeah, I like David Lynch too.
Everything else that compromise the "woes" section is everything else on television. Honorable Mention in this category goes to Mind of Mencia. My co-workers quote this back to me all day. I can't escape this shit even when I don't watch it.
Tuesday, October 24, 2006
D.C. UNITED!!!
I am nothing short of amazed. I have a girlfriend who likes soccer and comics. Eat a dick, every girl I ever dated up until this point. Yeah, I'm immature or whatever. I guess that's what the rolling eyes have always meant. But that doesn't mean a fucking thing. Just because someone enjoys a sport that a bunch of meatheads say is for "fags" (good one, totally original) and enjoys a form of literature that isn't compounded with the pretensions of over-written authors trying harder to prove themselves, rather than make osmething worth fucking while. Seriously, don't fucking knock it. Comics and graphic novels are fucking amazing. You appreciate cinema, right. Yeah? You thought Starsky and Hutch was pretty funny, right? Yeah, same fucking thing, shithead. Words+pictures=some pretty good stuff sometimes. Give it a shot and stop beign a bunch of elitist assholes with nothing better to do than make yourselves feel better by making other people feel bad for liking funner shit than you. Butthole.
(This had nothing to do with soccer or D.C. United. My bad.)
(This had nothing to do with soccer or D.C. United. My bad.)
Sunday, October 22, 2006
The Best Comics Right Now.
I like comics a whole lot. I originally got into them when I was in the eighth grade. My friend's Kevin and Nick started reading a comic called "Spawn", which turned out to be the best thing a 13 year old with delusions of violent grandeur could ask for. A comic where the main character is a man sentenced to a life in hell given a chance to redeem himself or fall forever mixed with a dash of ultimate bad-ass antagonist who likes ripping the hearts from his victims (I'll always love you, Violator). After reading that comic I become rabid for anything with the "Image" logo; Wildcats, Gen 13, Savage the Dragon, or whatever. Not long after I got into comics though, I discovered girls. I soon realized that girls and comics are oil and water and if you want one then you have to give up the other.
Now, 26 years old with a girlfriend who knows more about comics that I do, I am free to love any damn superhero/antihero/social delinquent/mysoginistic aardvard. It's good times. But now, my knowledge has widened and my interests changed (thanks, college!). Several years ago I got my first copy of Cerebus and also read the graphic novel, Watchmen. Twedo very different books focusing on very different themes, but both changed me. Cerebus focuses on a power-hungry Aardvark who spends most of his days as a mercenary/bishop/politician/thief/pope. As you may have guessed, it's somewhat elaborate, but its focus on feminism, politics in government and in religion fascinated me. Granted, the intent of the author was to criticize and show feminism as fraudulent, but I'm not too smart and thought the exact opposite. Watchmen, well, it's complicated and would take at least five hundred words. I don't have time for that. Needless to say, I didn't "get it" at first, but it worked its way into my mind slowly and got me into a whole other world of comics.
From then on it was a slippery slope into more slippy things that I like: Sin City, Bone, Ultimate X-Men, Astonishing X-Men. The list kept growing. Now, I feel I'm pretty much at the top of my game and can say whether or not a comic is worth the time with some validity. I pride myself on knowing good writing, or more precisely, writing that lacks the stench of pretension and is filled with wit, humor and themes that are much greater than the characters or books themselves. The books that make this list?
Ex Machina, Y: The Last Man and Runaways are all on that list. I put the together here and not individually because they're all written by the same man; Brian K. Vaughan. This guy is amazingly talented and has the ability to bring complex themes together with humor unlike anyone else in the industry. Ex Machina goes after post 9/11 politics ina way that is simply jawdropping. Y: The Last Man is about a man, the only man, to survive I-don't-know-what (I'm only two books in) and his life and times being hunted by a world filled with only women. Runaways, my favorite of the bunch, focuses on a group of teenagers that find they're all the sons and daughters of super-villains. Soon they find they all have powers or are aliens or have Velociraptors that they can communicate to through telekinesis. You know, all the usual stuff that teenagers find out once puberty arrives. The book is amazingly seductive with its smart ass teenage rebellion and its unflinching mistrust of all adults and what is considered "right", but its main draw for me is its realism. People die. Kids die. Main characters die.
On top of all that, there's also Planetary. Warren Ellis is the writer, I'm not familiar with much else that he's done in the past, so I can't go much into that. He has an amazing knowledge of literary figures and pop culture icons, which he uses to give each issue a mythos all its own that is very reminescent of the serialized comics of the forties and fifties. You're likely to find ghost cops roaming the streets of Hong Kong, Area 51 victims and Godzilla in just about any issue. The larger picture comes out by issue twelve though and the story begins to look closely at man's penchant for violence among other things. Honestly, I haven't made it past issue twelve, so I'm not sure what happens after that. I'm sure it's TOTALLY mind-blowing though.
Right on. I think I'm gonna go now. That Ryan Reynolds movie, "Just Friends" is on and I think I might be in love with the girl in it. You know, the one in all the Scary Movie movies.
Now, 26 years old with a girlfriend who knows more about comics that I do, I am free to love any damn superhero/antihero/social delinquent/mysoginistic aardvard. It's good times. But now, my knowledge has widened and my interests changed (thanks, college!). Several years ago I got my first copy of Cerebus and also read the graphic novel, Watchmen. Twedo very different books focusing on very different themes, but both changed me. Cerebus focuses on a power-hungry Aardvark who spends most of his days as a mercenary/bishop/politician/thief/pope. As you may have guessed, it's somewhat elaborate, but its focus on feminism, politics in government and in religion fascinated me. Granted, the intent of the author was to criticize and show feminism as fraudulent, but I'm not too smart and thought the exact opposite. Watchmen, well, it's complicated and would take at least five hundred words. I don't have time for that. Needless to say, I didn't "get it" at first, but it worked its way into my mind slowly and got me into a whole other world of comics.
From then on it was a slippery slope into more slippy things that I like: Sin City, Bone, Ultimate X-Men, Astonishing X-Men. The list kept growing. Now, I feel I'm pretty much at the top of my game and can say whether or not a comic is worth the time with some validity. I pride myself on knowing good writing, or more precisely, writing that lacks the stench of pretension and is filled with wit, humor and themes that are much greater than the characters or books themselves. The books that make this list?
Ex Machina, Y: The Last Man and Runaways are all on that list. I put the together here and not individually because they're all written by the same man; Brian K. Vaughan. This guy is amazingly talented and has the ability to bring complex themes together with humor unlike anyone else in the industry. Ex Machina goes after post 9/11 politics ina way that is simply jawdropping. Y: The Last Man is about a man, the only man, to survive I-don't-know-what (I'm only two books in) and his life and times being hunted by a world filled with only women. Runaways, my favorite of the bunch, focuses on a group of teenagers that find they're all the sons and daughters of super-villains. Soon they find they all have powers or are aliens or have Velociraptors that they can communicate to through telekinesis. You know, all the usual stuff that teenagers find out once puberty arrives. The book is amazingly seductive with its smart ass teenage rebellion and its unflinching mistrust of all adults and what is considered "right", but its main draw for me is its realism. People die. Kids die. Main characters die.
On top of all that, there's also Planetary. Warren Ellis is the writer, I'm not familiar with much else that he's done in the past, so I can't go much into that. He has an amazing knowledge of literary figures and pop culture icons, which he uses to give each issue a mythos all its own that is very reminescent of the serialized comics of the forties and fifties. You're likely to find ghost cops roaming the streets of Hong Kong, Area 51 victims and Godzilla in just about any issue. The larger picture comes out by issue twelve though and the story begins to look closely at man's penchant for violence among other things. Honestly, I haven't made it past issue twelve, so I'm not sure what happens after that. I'm sure it's TOTALLY mind-blowing though.
Right on. I think I'm gonna go now. That Ryan Reynolds movie, "Just Friends" is on and I think I might be in love with the girl in it. You know, the one in all the Scary Movie movies.
Monday, October 16, 2006
weekend review by Jeff
Weekend end review
Youtube-here are the highlights: Dog Police, Phone Tag, Rocket From the Crypt on Craig Kilborn, Ladysmith Black etc. in OuterSpace, Sesame Street from the 70’s clips.
Killers “Sam’s town”- I don’t listen to Bruce Springsteen so I can’t make the same comparison like every rock critic has been making. I hear more Cars and U2 than anything else. The songs are stuck in my head but you got to wade through some shit to get to “the good stuff.” You can see me running through the streets of Richmond in a drunken stupor soon mixing up lyrics with this record and Alkaline Trio pretty soon.
Cursive “Happy Hollow”-Another small town themed record. This one is a little more saturnine dealing with the concepts of getting older and losing ambition/dreams. It spoke to my macabre inclinations a little more than the Killers’ Sam’s Town. It’s really good once you get used to the brass section.
Young Widows “Settle Down City”-I like Jesus Lizard, too. SDC is not as good to run to as Breather Resist’s “Charmer” but the Young Widows debut does make me air drum and whisper shouted lyrics out loud. Then my boss walks by and notices.
M Ward “Post War”- music to chill too. “To Go Home” is really catchy.
Dig!-As much as I love seeing a bunch of douchebags dicking each other around before serving their cocks on a platter to a bunch of suits, the rental was worth watching Brian Jonestown Massacre dude kick a man in the head. And that scene where the band self destructed on stage was pretty killer. But can anyone not admit that this movie kind of drags and it sort of depressing?
Thank You for Smoking- I really related to this movie because I a)am a lobbyist b) have a son c) feel it’s important to teach my son about valuable life lessons d) am generally despised by most people e)smoke f)copulate with young hot reporters from Washington D.C. g)get myself involved in scandalous actions. h) like watching movies more than reading books.
Rola’s watch selling hustler costume- Best pre-Halloween costume. Hands down.
Chuck Klosterman “Killing Yourself to Live”-I like cultural references as much as the next guy but this read like an advertisement for a lifestyle that most mid-20’s people lead right now. Despite this gripe, this was an excellent book and I suggest it to most people who enjoy the non fiction sector of literature.
Too Many Stars-comedy benefit for Autism hosted by Jon Stewart. I was impressed. I don’t think Chris Melloni was topped.
Commercials during Too Many Stars-What’s up with advertising? Give me a job!
Hot Peppers-Kickstart your night.
Nat’s Tofu (home brewed)-I’d eat it again.
Toscanini in Cambridge-the yogurt was a little too tart. The coffee was on point.
FUBU-they’re a working man’s band. For Us By Us. They liked Against Me! And Flogging Molly. A lot. Maybe too much. They also screamed “Firestorm Motherfucker!” at the end of a song. Did I mention that they’re an acoustic band?
Middle East in Cambridge-The veggie burger while I was eating it was good despite the price. The after burps reminded me of falafel. All evening, I tried to wrap my mind around the reason my breath reminded me of cumin.
5th Annual Welcher block party in Boston-jam band reggaefying The Band’s “I Shall Be Released.” You be the judge of that concept. Six beers an hour later and I was jumping on the Moonwalk blow up thing.
The Baltimore Ravens- I was not pleased with their performance. Hopefully they’ll take the Saints two weeks from now.
Youtube-here are the highlights: Dog Police, Phone Tag, Rocket From the Crypt on Craig Kilborn, Ladysmith Black etc. in OuterSpace, Sesame Street from the 70’s clips.
Killers “Sam’s town”- I don’t listen to Bruce Springsteen so I can’t make the same comparison like every rock critic has been making. I hear more Cars and U2 than anything else. The songs are stuck in my head but you got to wade through some shit to get to “the good stuff.” You can see me running through the streets of Richmond in a drunken stupor soon mixing up lyrics with this record and Alkaline Trio pretty soon.
Cursive “Happy Hollow”-Another small town themed record. This one is a little more saturnine dealing with the concepts of getting older and losing ambition/dreams. It spoke to my macabre inclinations a little more than the Killers’ Sam’s Town. It’s really good once you get used to the brass section.
Young Widows “Settle Down City”-I like Jesus Lizard, too. SDC is not as good to run to as Breather Resist’s “Charmer” but the Young Widows debut does make me air drum and whisper shouted lyrics out loud. Then my boss walks by and notices.
M Ward “Post War”- music to chill too. “To Go Home” is really catchy.
Dig!-As much as I love seeing a bunch of douchebags dicking each other around before serving their cocks on a platter to a bunch of suits, the rental was worth watching Brian Jonestown Massacre dude kick a man in the head. And that scene where the band self destructed on stage was pretty killer. But can anyone not admit that this movie kind of drags and it sort of depressing?
Thank You for Smoking- I really related to this movie because I a)am a lobbyist b) have a son c) feel it’s important to teach my son about valuable life lessons d) am generally despised by most people e)smoke f)copulate with young hot reporters from Washington D.C. g)get myself involved in scandalous actions. h) like watching movies more than reading books.
Rola’s watch selling hustler costume- Best pre-Halloween costume. Hands down.
Chuck Klosterman “Killing Yourself to Live”-I like cultural references as much as the next guy but this read like an advertisement for a lifestyle that most mid-20’s people lead right now. Despite this gripe, this was an excellent book and I suggest it to most people who enjoy the non fiction sector of literature.
Too Many Stars-comedy benefit for Autism hosted by Jon Stewart. I was impressed. I don’t think Chris Melloni was topped.
Commercials during Too Many Stars-What’s up with advertising? Give me a job!
Hot Peppers-Kickstart your night.
Nat’s Tofu (home brewed)-I’d eat it again.
Toscanini in Cambridge-the yogurt was a little too tart. The coffee was on point.
FUBU-they’re a working man’s band. For Us By Us. They liked Against Me! And Flogging Molly. A lot. Maybe too much. They also screamed “Firestorm Motherfucker!” at the end of a song. Did I mention that they’re an acoustic band?
Middle East in Cambridge-The veggie burger while I was eating it was good despite the price. The after burps reminded me of falafel. All evening, I tried to wrap my mind around the reason my breath reminded me of cumin.
5th Annual Welcher block party in Boston-jam band reggaefying The Band’s “I Shall Be Released.” You be the judge of that concept. Six beers an hour later and I was jumping on the Moonwalk blow up thing.
The Baltimore Ravens- I was not pleased with their performance. Hopefully they’ll take the Saints two weeks from now.
Sunday, October 15, 2006
The First Words Back in Richmond.
Sometimes I genuinely miss the city of Richmond when I leave it for awhile. This weekend I went out of town to play a show in the sleepy college town of Blacksburg. The show is a whole other story unto itself, but when we got back into Richmond. It was one of those moments that I realized what kind of a surreal and singular place I live in.
We had just finished emptying out the van and we were saying our goodbye's and what-not when a man walked passed us in the middle of the street.
"Anyone want some mushrooms?", he said.
"No" was the unanimous answer and we awkwardly looked to one another for some kind of comfort.
"Which one of you is the drummer?"
Mike: "Uh, me."
Man with sketchy hallucinogenic drugs: "You good, man. I gotta holla at you, man. I gotta holla. Yo, you know who you guys sound like?"
Me: "Who?"
"Rush, man. You know them?" What would happen for the next thirtys seconds is an obviously crazed man giving his best Geddy Lee, blingly ignoring the fact that he was in the middle of a busy one-way street. We went back to what we were doing and no one said a word. Thirty minutes later it finally hit me. I sometimes regret that experiences like this kind of get put in the same box as all the other forgettable things that happen in a day. Being offered mushrooms from a stranger and then being compared to Ontario's best is rare. Anytime you can catch those times and put them where they belong (i.e. blog that bitch!) is great. Take advantage.
We had just finished emptying out the van and we were saying our goodbye's and what-not when a man walked passed us in the middle of the street.
"Anyone want some mushrooms?", he said.
"No" was the unanimous answer and we awkwardly looked to one another for some kind of comfort.
"Which one of you is the drummer?"
Mike: "Uh, me."
Man with sketchy hallucinogenic drugs: "You good, man. I gotta holla at you, man. I gotta holla. Yo, you know who you guys sound like?"
Me: "Who?"
"Rush, man. You know them?" What would happen for the next thirtys seconds is an obviously crazed man giving his best Geddy Lee, blingly ignoring the fact that he was in the middle of a busy one-way street. We went back to what we were doing and no one said a word. Thirty minutes later it finally hit me. I sometimes regret that experiences like this kind of get put in the same box as all the other forgettable things that happen in a day. Being offered mushrooms from a stranger and then being compared to Ontario's best is rare. Anytime you can catch those times and put them where they belong (i.e. blog that bitch!) is great. Take advantage.
Wednesday, August 30, 2006
American Soccer is Competitive Now?
I'm aware that many people find the topic of American soccer to be dull at best, but that's not going to stop my pouring over it for hours on a computer, or for days inside the comfort of my own head. It's the one sport that shows both respect for its fans and the players exhibit (for the most part) more respect for each other than in any other sport. This tradition compounded with the fact that when FIFA says "World Champion", the teams competing are actually from places outside of the U.S.--an idea that many of America's favorite sports has yet to catch onto.
What's nice about soccer is that when club teams compete, they often compete outside of their own leagues, allowing teams to travel and play teams and styles of play that they might not find elsewhere. This has happened for years without much of anything to scream about, or even discuss in passing when teams from Europe come stateside. They come, they conquer, they steal our women and burn our villages. This is how it has always been, but the MLS is starting to show some backbone. Or possibly they're just so bad they've confounded recent traveling teams from abroad. In late July, the Premiership's reigning kings, Chelsea came to play the best the MLS had to offer for the All Star game. Chelsea, world renowned as having one of the greatest lineups in world soccer right now, must have seen the game has a walk. Nah, not so much. MLS shut down Didier Drogba, Shevchenko, Joe Cole, and John Terry--some of the best names in soccer, for the entire 90 minutes. MLS 1 and Chelsea 0.
Good times. Seeing this country's best take down some of the best in the world was amazing. They out-paced and out-played them for the entire match. It gets no better. It's like being a fan of the Redskins and watching them win a Super Bowl or watching...I don't know; whatever baseball that's really bad winning the World Series. Anyway, I know this isn't much, but it's late and I'm going to go to bed now.
What's nice about soccer is that when club teams compete, they often compete outside of their own leagues, allowing teams to travel and play teams and styles of play that they might not find elsewhere. This has happened for years without much of anything to scream about, or even discuss in passing when teams from Europe come stateside. They come, they conquer, they steal our women and burn our villages. This is how it has always been, but the MLS is starting to show some backbone. Or possibly they're just so bad they've confounded recent traveling teams from abroad. In late July, the Premiership's reigning kings, Chelsea came to play the best the MLS had to offer for the All Star game. Chelsea, world renowned as having one of the greatest lineups in world soccer right now, must have seen the game has a walk. Nah, not so much. MLS shut down Didier Drogba, Shevchenko, Joe Cole, and John Terry--some of the best names in soccer, for the entire 90 minutes. MLS 1 and Chelsea 0.
Good times. Seeing this country's best take down some of the best in the world was amazing. They out-paced and out-played them for the entire match. It gets no better. It's like being a fan of the Redskins and watching them win a Super Bowl or watching...I don't know; whatever baseball that's really bad winning the World Series. Anyway, I know this isn't much, but it's late and I'm going to go to bed now.
Sunday, August 27, 2006
Wednesday, August 23, 2006
Marc Bolan and the Best "Yeah" Ever.
I have two great musical icons. Lou Barlow is one. He was the first one, actually. I heard "Natural One" in a Buzz Clip commercial on MTV when I was in the 9th grade. Iwas at my friend's house after sneaking out (a weekend ritual at that age) and around 3 a.m. I heard maybe two seconds of that song and I was sold. I went and got the soundtrack very soon after that and probably listened to that song...I don't know, everyday for 3 years. The thing is, yeah, that soundtrack made me love Folk Implosion, but the song "Spoiled", that is right after "Natural One" blew my fucking mind. So, soon after THAT I went and bought what I still hold as one of the greatest albums of all time, "III". That record was everything I had ever wanted out of music even though I hadn't know I had wanted it. Does that make sense? Well, ever since then I've been into indie rock almost excluively as my musical genre of choice.
Ray Davies is the other musical man of my dreams. "Deadend Street" is the song that did it. It's a B-Side and all I had heard up until that point had been the early hits like "You Really Got Me". Those songs are good and some of them are great. Let that be said, BUT motherfucking "Arthur", "Village Green Preservation Society" and "Something Else by The Kinks"? Those are three of the best pop albums ever made. I can't remember which record "Deadend Street" is a B-Side of, but I'm sad it didn't make it onto the record. That song is mind-blowing. I remember hearing it for the first time and listening to it all the time after that. Although I had known the Kinks, that song is what made me realize the genius of Ray Davies. Ever since then, I steal ideas from the Kinks and consistently site them as the potential title holder of the greatest pop song ever written; "Waterloo Sunset".
As of last night I've added one more to that list. If you read the title of this, you know where I'm going with this. I may be jumping the gun here, it was only last night that this revelation hit me: Marc Bolan is a fucking genius of boogie and has the best "yeah" in rock and roll history (Roger Daltry is a dully noted second place). Now, I define "Boogie" here as plainly having a great time while playing bad ass, yet fun as hell riffs that show through on the recording. Rephrase; the riffs don't have to show though, the good times should show through...and they do...in this band. I guess that's why T-Rex is so appealing to me; they're as much fun to listen to as my favorite pop bands while rocking hard enough to make me do lots of air guitar leg kicks. Thank you Marc Bolan. Thank you.
And thus I now have 3.
Ray Davies is the other musical man of my dreams. "Deadend Street" is the song that did it. It's a B-Side and all I had heard up until that point had been the early hits like "You Really Got Me". Those songs are good and some of them are great. Let that be said, BUT motherfucking "Arthur", "Village Green Preservation Society" and "Something Else by The Kinks"? Those are three of the best pop albums ever made. I can't remember which record "Deadend Street" is a B-Side of, but I'm sad it didn't make it onto the record. That song is mind-blowing. I remember hearing it for the first time and listening to it all the time after that. Although I had known the Kinks, that song is what made me realize the genius of Ray Davies. Ever since then, I steal ideas from the Kinks and consistently site them as the potential title holder of the greatest pop song ever written; "Waterloo Sunset".
As of last night I've added one more to that list. If you read the title of this, you know where I'm going with this. I may be jumping the gun here, it was only last night that this revelation hit me: Marc Bolan is a fucking genius of boogie and has the best "yeah" in rock and roll history (Roger Daltry is a dully noted second place). Now, I define "Boogie" here as plainly having a great time while playing bad ass, yet fun as hell riffs that show through on the recording. Rephrase; the riffs don't have to show though, the good times should show through...and they do...in this band. I guess that's why T-Rex is so appealing to me; they're as much fun to listen to as my favorite pop bands while rocking hard enough to make me do lots of air guitar leg kicks. Thank you Marc Bolan. Thank you.
And thus I now have 3.
Tuesday, August 22, 2006
I'm back!
so in case you didn't see me, i was in Virginia for the summer which was hot and awesome but now I'm back in New Hampshire working again as a wilderness education instructor. This means I have a lot more free time than I did before.
I brought my computer with me this time so I'm going to write more. It's going to be aweird pretty season. I'm going to start training for a marathon and find a grad school to apply to/take the GREs. pretty busy and i won't accomplish it all but it'll be fun to try.
i did a new zine. it was called "I'll be home for halloween" because I'm returning to va late october. if you didn't read a hard copy because you weren't one of the 20 people to receive a copy, you can read it in my myspace blog at www.myspace.com/flyonthewindsofpern.
i suggest you cut and paste it into a word document and print it out. it's about 25 pages and I'm really excited about it and hope people read it.
a split zine with chris terry of gullible fame is in the works.
peace
jeff
I brought my computer with me this time so I'm going to write more. It's going to be aweird pretty season. I'm going to start training for a marathon and find a grad school to apply to/take the GREs. pretty busy and i won't accomplish it all but it'll be fun to try.
i did a new zine. it was called "I'll be home for halloween" because I'm returning to va late october. if you didn't read a hard copy because you weren't one of the 20 people to receive a copy, you can read it in my myspace blog at www.myspace.com/flyonthewindsofpern.
i suggest you cut and paste it into a word document and print it out. it's about 25 pages and I'm really excited about it and hope people read it.
a split zine with chris terry of gullible fame is in the works.
peace
jeff
Thursday, August 03, 2006
The Runaways.
This is the best comic book I've read in a long fucking time, dude. I don't know if you're into comics or whatever, but man, this shit is intense. It's all about these six kids who found out their fucking parents ARE FUCKING SUPER VILLAINS. Yeah, if that isn't enough they all have powers too. One dude is all "master of logic and stratagems", one girl is an alien, one girl pulls a fucking staff out of her chest whenever she bleeds, one dude has mad scientist parents and uses their kick ass inventions for good, which is awesome. One girl though, man, SHE CONTROLS A FUCKING VELOCIRAPTOR...WITH HER FUCKING MIND!!! Holy shit, it's crazy. Oh, and there's this little girl that's in their group, she's like 11 or something, and she's a mutant.
There's this one part where you just see her standing their, all 11 and shit, and some dude cracks her over the head with a shovel. The girl just stares at him, her eyes and glowing, and she punches across a fucking city block. Dude, that girl is intense. Oh man, there are so many good parts, but I don't wanna ruin it for you.
Man, all I'm gonna say is that one of them is a fucking traitor. They left a letter for their parents (oh yeah, their own parents are trying to kill them. What the fuck!?!) saying they would never betray them. Don't worry though, you find out who it is. It's not like fucking Alias or some bullshit where nothing ever happens and nothing ever gets resolved. I hate that fucking show.
Anyway, these kids are all on the run, basically because no one believes that their parents are really evil; not to mention the fact that their parents pretty much have disciples or whatever in every major part of the city structure. That shit sucks. Can you imagine being a kid, finding out your parents are evil incarnate and then having to figure out how to fucking mentally control a goddamn dinosaur. Shit's crazy.
There's this one part where you just see her standing their, all 11 and shit, and some dude cracks her over the head with a shovel. The girl just stares at him, her eyes and glowing, and she punches across a fucking city block. Dude, that girl is intense. Oh man, there are so many good parts, but I don't wanna ruin it for you.
Man, all I'm gonna say is that one of them is a fucking traitor. They left a letter for their parents (oh yeah, their own parents are trying to kill them. What the fuck!?!) saying they would never betray them. Don't worry though, you find out who it is. It's not like fucking Alias or some bullshit where nothing ever happens and nothing ever gets resolved. I hate that fucking show.
Anyway, these kids are all on the run, basically because no one believes that their parents are really evil; not to mention the fact that their parents pretty much have disciples or whatever in every major part of the city structure. That shit sucks. Can you imagine being a kid, finding out your parents are evil incarnate and then having to figure out how to fucking mentally control a goddamn dinosaur. Shit's crazy.
Indie Rock.
I've already mentioned the fact that I'm musically stuck in the mid-nineties...so I guess this is redundant. Whatever. I've come to terms recently with the fact that I'll never appreciate any new music unless it sounds like something I listened to on the way to my tenth grade drama class, first thing in the morning. This would include, but not be limited to, Sebadoh or Pavement. Yeah, that's about it. Oh! Mazzy Star. That too.
Anyway, I don't think I've really advanced musically speaking. I still count Sebadoh, Pavement and Superchunk as three of my favoprite bands of all time and any new music I listen to is pretty much in the same vein if not a direct descendent of these bands. Broken Social Scene, Band of Horses and other bands emerging from the Great Indie Rock Lull of 1997-2003 or so, I allow these bands to pass my stringent requirements based on their obvioous ties to the previous generation and in the former's case, because they're Canadian and you often here the word "collective" used instead of "band" in regard to them. That's a nice change. "Oooohhh, it's a collective? Wow." I don't know. I guess that sounds about right for the anonymous person I just created.
I'm realizing now that there isn't a real point to any of this. Yeah, I like indie rock a lot. I like the Sebadoh song "Gimme Indie Rock" a WHOLE lot. I like the Pavement DVD and the Superchunk DVD even though the video's are shit. By the way, if you watch that DVD, check out the one's directed by Peyton Reed. He later did "Bring It On". Oh, and Sabrina Lloyd, who was later on the bomb ass show "Sports Night", is in the video for "Untied", which is the worst video I've ever seen.
Anyway, I don't think I've really advanced musically speaking. I still count Sebadoh, Pavement and Superchunk as three of my favoprite bands of all time and any new music I listen to is pretty much in the same vein if not a direct descendent of these bands. Broken Social Scene, Band of Horses and other bands emerging from the Great Indie Rock Lull of 1997-2003 or so, I allow these bands to pass my stringent requirements based on their obvioous ties to the previous generation and in the former's case, because they're Canadian and you often here the word "collective" used instead of "band" in regard to them. That's a nice change. "Oooohhh, it's a collective? Wow." I don't know. I guess that sounds about right for the anonymous person I just created.
I'm realizing now that there isn't a real point to any of this. Yeah, I like indie rock a lot. I like the Sebadoh song "Gimme Indie Rock" a WHOLE lot. I like the Pavement DVD and the Superchunk DVD even though the video's are shit. By the way, if you watch that DVD, check out the one's directed by Peyton Reed. He later did "Bring It On". Oh, and Sabrina Lloyd, who was later on the bomb ass show "Sports Night", is in the video for "Untied", which is the worst video I've ever seen.
Monday, July 24, 2006
The 5 Best Myths (In Order of Bad Assitude)
5. The story of Cadmus. Cadmus was sent to find his sister, Europa, after she had taken by the god, Jupiter. In his quest to find his sister he consulted the oracle of Apollo in the hope that the oracle could privide her location. Instead, the oracle told Cadmus to follow a cow wo whatever ends and where it stops he will build a city and call it Thebes. Fine, whatever. Kind of sci-fi, but nothing great. As he left the oracle though, Cadmus saw a young calf. He hastened after it to a vast plain where it finally stopped and turned its head towards the sky.
No big, but here's where it gets all trippy and violent. Cadmus kissed the ground where he would build his great city and sent his men off to find water, which they did. Only they didn't expect the fountain that they dipped their buckets in to be protected by a giant fucking snake. UH-OH!!! Needless to say, the snake towered over the men and slew all of them. Cadmus, who had been sitting in the middle of his plain or whatever, soon went looking for them. He came upon their remains and the snake that had killed them all. He threw his spear at the beast and pierced it's guts (whoa!) and then used his sword to pierce THROUGH ITS FUCKING HEAD! Cadmus then pissed on his defeated foe while it still yet breathed, screaming "Adios, dick."
As he did this he heard a voice on the wind tell him to pick the teeth from the snake and bury them where his city should be. He did this and by the time the last tooth had been buried men in full armor and holding swords rose from the ground. Cadmus, alarmed, readied himself for battle, but instead the Earth Dudes all killed each other until there were only 5 left. These 5 declared peace and helped Cadmus build Thebes.
I don't know why this guy had to go through all this, but he killed a giant snake and then witnessed people grow from the ground and declare war on each other. He then made the few survivors help build him a city without batting an eye lash. Bad ass.
4. Actaeon. Coincidentallly, Actaeon was the son of Cadmus, the first King of Thebes. Anyway, he surpasses him in righteousness. Actaeon had spent a day hunting with his best friends and his favorite dogs. They had killed a lot, which makes them pretty cool already in a Last of the Mohicans kind of way. They decided that they had killed enough and Actaeon jumped down from his horse and searched for water. He soon found a cave and entered it. In the cave he found the virgin goddess Diana being bathed by nymphs. She yelled at him as he left, saying that he should tell his friends...if he's able. As he ran he grew the horns of a stag and soon noticed he was running on hooves instead of feet. He turned a corner and his dogs saw him and took chase. He ran as fast as he could, but was soon caught by the dogs and killed by his friends who couldn't understand that the sounds he made were cries for help. Before he died, the last thing he heard his friend say was "I wish the Prince could be here for this."
3. Minos and Scylla. Magara was under siege by Minos, the King of Crete. For six months the Magarans were able to keep the Cretians from entering their city. Scylla, the daughter of Nisus, King of Magara, had been spending the six months in Magara's highest tower looking down on the battlefield and had fallen in love with the sight of Minos. One night she went to her father's room and took the key to the city. She then cloaked herself and opened the gates and went to Minos. She gave him the city in the hopes that he might love her. In the fewest words possible, Minos, told her that she was despicable and he would have nothing to do with her. He then made a truce with the Magarans out of disgrace and left. As his fleet set sail though, Scylla grabbed the ropes to one of the boats and attempted to climb aboard so that she could still look at Minos. Not very cool, except for the really, really creepy Fatal Attraction bit. Here's the thing though, when Scylla's father Nisus awoke to find his daughter had betrayed him, his fury was so great that the God's turned him into a BIRD OF PREY!!! He then flew from his room and found his daughter trying to climb the ropes aboard the Cretian vessel and swooped down upon her, using his claws and beak to pull at her flesh. She fell, but apparently some total wuss of a deity took pity and changed her also into a bird. Apparently though, whener you see a bird dive towards the water with its claws open and beak wide, the bird is attacking her for her ancient crime.
2. Niobe. This lady rules. She was the Queen of Thebes and one day attended a festival honoring Latona. Instead of being cool about it though, Latona said she had more reason to be worshipped because she was just as beautiful as Latona, but also had seven beautiful daughters and seven heroic sons, while Latona only had one son and one daughter. I'm pretty sure if you could have sen the crowd that day, you would have seen a thousand people all backing away from her slowly, looking for the nearest exit. Anyway, Latona, totally not okay with this shenanigan, called on her daughter Diana and her son Apollo. They acted out her vengeance by going to Thebes and murdering all of Niobe's sons. Amphion, her husband, murdered himself once he heard his sons had been killed. Niobe cried along with her seven daughters as they found the brothers. Latona, however, cool as ever, insisted that she still was better than Latona. As the last words left her lips, her eldest daughter fell dead upon the brother she mourned. 5 others fell with arrows through their hearts until only the youngest was left. Latona grabbed her and pleaeded for mercy, but as she said it, her daughter fell dead from her arms.
1. Medea. This woman helped Jason get the Fleece. Isn't that cool? Yeah, it is. You know what's cool, but not cool, but bad ass? When that same woman leaves with Jason. This causes her father to board a ship and lead a fleet after her and Jason to try and catch them. But like the sharpest tac, Medea had brought with her her young brother. When her father's ships approached them, she used sorcery to break her brother apart and threw his body parts into the water to delay her father.
That's not even close to all of it though. She also used her sorcery to give false hope to Jason's uncle. His uncle had kept Jason from his rightful throne. Anyway, Jason's nieces begged Medea to use her sorcery to save their ailing and aged father. She agreed, but led them along falsely. She told them that they had to drain the blood of their father...and they did, by stabbing him repeatedly. They then dipped him in her cauldron and before they realized they had been deceived and they killed their own father, Medea had hastened away on her serpent-drawn chariot. Repeat that last sentence again. Now you know why this is the most bad ass story ever.
No big, but here's where it gets all trippy and violent. Cadmus kissed the ground where he would build his great city and sent his men off to find water, which they did. Only they didn't expect the fountain that they dipped their buckets in to be protected by a giant fucking snake. UH-OH!!! Needless to say, the snake towered over the men and slew all of them. Cadmus, who had been sitting in the middle of his plain or whatever, soon went looking for them. He came upon their remains and the snake that had killed them all. He threw his spear at the beast and pierced it's guts (whoa!) and then used his sword to pierce THROUGH ITS FUCKING HEAD! Cadmus then pissed on his defeated foe while it still yet breathed, screaming "Adios, dick."
As he did this he heard a voice on the wind tell him to pick the teeth from the snake and bury them where his city should be. He did this and by the time the last tooth had been buried men in full armor and holding swords rose from the ground. Cadmus, alarmed, readied himself for battle, but instead the Earth Dudes all killed each other until there were only 5 left. These 5 declared peace and helped Cadmus build Thebes.
I don't know why this guy had to go through all this, but he killed a giant snake and then witnessed people grow from the ground and declare war on each other. He then made the few survivors help build him a city without batting an eye lash. Bad ass.
4. Actaeon. Coincidentallly, Actaeon was the son of Cadmus, the first King of Thebes. Anyway, he surpasses him in righteousness. Actaeon had spent a day hunting with his best friends and his favorite dogs. They had killed a lot, which makes them pretty cool already in a Last of the Mohicans kind of way. They decided that they had killed enough and Actaeon jumped down from his horse and searched for water. He soon found a cave and entered it. In the cave he found the virgin goddess Diana being bathed by nymphs. She yelled at him as he left, saying that he should tell his friends...if he's able. As he ran he grew the horns of a stag and soon noticed he was running on hooves instead of feet. He turned a corner and his dogs saw him and took chase. He ran as fast as he could, but was soon caught by the dogs and killed by his friends who couldn't understand that the sounds he made were cries for help. Before he died, the last thing he heard his friend say was "I wish the Prince could be here for this."
3. Minos and Scylla. Magara was under siege by Minos, the King of Crete. For six months the Magarans were able to keep the Cretians from entering their city. Scylla, the daughter of Nisus, King of Magara, had been spending the six months in Magara's highest tower looking down on the battlefield and had fallen in love with the sight of Minos. One night she went to her father's room and took the key to the city. She then cloaked herself and opened the gates and went to Minos. She gave him the city in the hopes that he might love her. In the fewest words possible, Minos, told her that she was despicable and he would have nothing to do with her. He then made a truce with the Magarans out of disgrace and left. As his fleet set sail though, Scylla grabbed the ropes to one of the boats and attempted to climb aboard so that she could still look at Minos. Not very cool, except for the really, really creepy Fatal Attraction bit. Here's the thing though, when Scylla's father Nisus awoke to find his daughter had betrayed him, his fury was so great that the God's turned him into a BIRD OF PREY!!! He then flew from his room and found his daughter trying to climb the ropes aboard the Cretian vessel and swooped down upon her, using his claws and beak to pull at her flesh. She fell, but apparently some total wuss of a deity took pity and changed her also into a bird. Apparently though, whener you see a bird dive towards the water with its claws open and beak wide, the bird is attacking her for her ancient crime.
2. Niobe. This lady rules. She was the Queen of Thebes and one day attended a festival honoring Latona. Instead of being cool about it though, Latona said she had more reason to be worshipped because she was just as beautiful as Latona, but also had seven beautiful daughters and seven heroic sons, while Latona only had one son and one daughter. I'm pretty sure if you could have sen the crowd that day, you would have seen a thousand people all backing away from her slowly, looking for the nearest exit. Anyway, Latona, totally not okay with this shenanigan, called on her daughter Diana and her son Apollo. They acted out her vengeance by going to Thebes and murdering all of Niobe's sons. Amphion, her husband, murdered himself once he heard his sons had been killed. Niobe cried along with her seven daughters as they found the brothers. Latona, however, cool as ever, insisted that she still was better than Latona. As the last words left her lips, her eldest daughter fell dead upon the brother she mourned. 5 others fell with arrows through their hearts until only the youngest was left. Latona grabbed her and pleaeded for mercy, but as she said it, her daughter fell dead from her arms.
1. Medea. This woman helped Jason get the Fleece. Isn't that cool? Yeah, it is. You know what's cool, but not cool, but bad ass? When that same woman leaves with Jason. This causes her father to board a ship and lead a fleet after her and Jason to try and catch them. But like the sharpest tac, Medea had brought with her her young brother. When her father's ships approached them, she used sorcery to break her brother apart and threw his body parts into the water to delay her father.
That's not even close to all of it though. She also used her sorcery to give false hope to Jason's uncle. His uncle had kept Jason from his rightful throne. Anyway, Jason's nieces begged Medea to use her sorcery to save their ailing and aged father. She agreed, but led them along falsely. She told them that they had to drain the blood of their father...and they did, by stabbing him repeatedly. They then dipped him in her cauldron and before they realized they had been deceived and they killed their own father, Medea had hastened away on her serpent-drawn chariot. Repeat that last sentence again. Now you know why this is the most bad ass story ever.
Thursday, July 13, 2006
One of Them.
Everyone has a day where everything seems...different. We all have our small grudges, loves, responsibilities we choose to avoid, and so on. For myself, it's almost exclusively the latter; although some of the former two are also present most of the time. Happily though my grudges and loves usually have an off switch, or, if nothing else, a numbing switch. But lately, and especially today, they've been piling on. It started a few days ago by simply over-hearing a conversation. It didn't involve me in any way, but it involved someone I care about and that can often times be worse. When it's you it's controllable. You can allow it to get to you or you can let it go as easily as trash in a dumpster. When it's someone you care about though, there's the urge to protect. That's when it's bad because for all your trying there's very little that you can do. It's out of your hands as much as you may want to help or even take on their problems for them.
This is the day I'm having. My own issues have combined with the lives of people around me, building up into a kind of crescendo. I guess it's the switch malfunctioning; which tends to happen every once in a while. Despite all this, the reaction that occurs when this happens is what is interesting to me right now. For myself, whenever this happens it is a singular experience. Nothing else effects me the same way. I usually run away. That's just how it work. For better or worse. When the problems around me; both for myself and for people I love, become too much I run away. It's not something I'm proud of and I'm actually finding it hard to write, but it's true. Ask my friends or my friends that aren't anymore.
I'm not sure when it started exactly, but I imagine it happened either when I was 13 or 16 years old.
When I was 13, my best friend was Mark Metzler. He was a straight arrow and thus not very cool at William Byrd Middle School, but I still liked him. Granted I wanted to be cool and I held this against him to a point, I guess, but he was nice and I thought his mom was great. I thought so much of her that I even called her "mom". No joke. He and I played tennis like we were possessed and played video games all the time; just like we were supposed to at that age. That year though, Mark had gone to a doctor and they found a brain tumor. I hadn't been aware of any testing that he had been going through and neither had my parents based on their reaction when I told them. I remember being called into the guidance office to be told what my friend was going through and I remember not thing much of it. They seemed concerned, but for some reason--I guess ignorance--it didn't affect me. I remember going home and looking in our Encyclopedia Britannica for "brain tumor" and calling my dad when I couldn't find that term, specifically. He came home as soon as I told him (probing more for a definition than sympathy) and we went out to eat and I guess that's when I began to understand it a little bit. Soon after, Mark had surgery to remove the tumor. I visited a couple of times and then I never went back. I didn't talk to him, I never called his mother "mom" again. The next time I was around him was at his funeral two years later. I felt so guilty when I saw his mom and even more guilty when she talked to me without any blame in her voice.
It wouldn't be fair to say anything about Mark without including the fact that he was steadfast in his belief in God. Personally, theology has never been a big part of my life, but it was everything to Mark. He went though multiple surgeries and years of chemo-therapy before his body became so frail that it died and I'd be willing to bet all the money in the world that he never stopped believing that he was going to go to heaven when he died. I don't know about heaven, but I know that I've never met anyone with as much faith in ANYTHING as he had in God. That takes more power of character then I think I'll ever have. And for the record, I do regret not being brave enough to keep going back to see him.
My story of being 16 is much more simple, I guess. It's the same story that everyone has at that age. You meet a girl, fall for girl and then everything goes bad, blah, blah, blah. Relatively speaking, this is nothing compared to abandoning a close friend, but being selfish as a teenager is about as simple as breathing and I was no different. My problems were great in my own mind and you couldn't tell me different. I fell HARD for that girl. She was blonde with really red lips and pale skin and I couldn't have been happier that she liked me. We had been friends for about a year up until that point, but I liked her and I'm sure as was obvious as hell about it (the word "sly" has never been in my vocabulary). One night we kissed and we ended up doing that for about a year, off and on. Her parents didn't like me and my parents didn't like her which at any other age would give pause, but we were dumbass kids.
To be honest, I do believe that I did love her and she's always been able to make me a little bit jumpy whenever she's around. That being said, the bitch broke my heart. Just conjure up the image of the Death Star blowing up Alderaan and you'll have a vague notion of what it felt like at the time. I know it's not pretty and it doesn't look good on paper, but after that shit, I just kind of shut-off for awhile. I stopped being nice or trying to accomodate others; even my friends (God only knows why they stuck around). I became the very definition of a jerk for three years. I easily abandoned others and would let them know why without pause.
That's where I think it happened. Granted, I've become much more approachable since then, but I've kept dragging that same emotional vacancy around with me for the last ten years. When things get bad, I go away. The reason I mention all this is because I'm starting to feel that itch again. It's been three years since I last ran away from my problems and friends and started over, but I'm aware it won't be the last. What's worse is that I've kind of resigned myself to it. Now, I just hope that I never do it to certain people, while knowing that I'll definitely do it to others.
Not to be too short, but this is where my day has left me. Not with all of this hindsight; that came with the writing, but with that vacancy beginning to show itself. It's just part of my personality now. Another trait along with having an unwavering love for film and music, a deep loathing of belly buttons and being tickled, self-loathing (thanks mom!), and all the others. I hope this particular idiosyncracy stays under wraps, but my optomism isn't so strong when I think about all the friends I don't want to leave.
This is the day I'm having. My own issues have combined with the lives of people around me, building up into a kind of crescendo. I guess it's the switch malfunctioning; which tends to happen every once in a while. Despite all this, the reaction that occurs when this happens is what is interesting to me right now. For myself, whenever this happens it is a singular experience. Nothing else effects me the same way. I usually run away. That's just how it work. For better or worse. When the problems around me; both for myself and for people I love, become too much I run away. It's not something I'm proud of and I'm actually finding it hard to write, but it's true. Ask my friends or my friends that aren't anymore.
I'm not sure when it started exactly, but I imagine it happened either when I was 13 or 16 years old.
When I was 13, my best friend was Mark Metzler. He was a straight arrow and thus not very cool at William Byrd Middle School, but I still liked him. Granted I wanted to be cool and I held this against him to a point, I guess, but he was nice and I thought his mom was great. I thought so much of her that I even called her "mom". No joke. He and I played tennis like we were possessed and played video games all the time; just like we were supposed to at that age. That year though, Mark had gone to a doctor and they found a brain tumor. I hadn't been aware of any testing that he had been going through and neither had my parents based on their reaction when I told them. I remember being called into the guidance office to be told what my friend was going through and I remember not thing much of it. They seemed concerned, but for some reason--I guess ignorance--it didn't affect me. I remember going home and looking in our Encyclopedia Britannica for "brain tumor" and calling my dad when I couldn't find that term, specifically. He came home as soon as I told him (probing more for a definition than sympathy) and we went out to eat and I guess that's when I began to understand it a little bit. Soon after, Mark had surgery to remove the tumor. I visited a couple of times and then I never went back. I didn't talk to him, I never called his mother "mom" again. The next time I was around him was at his funeral two years later. I felt so guilty when I saw his mom and even more guilty when she talked to me without any blame in her voice.
It wouldn't be fair to say anything about Mark without including the fact that he was steadfast in his belief in God. Personally, theology has never been a big part of my life, but it was everything to Mark. He went though multiple surgeries and years of chemo-therapy before his body became so frail that it died and I'd be willing to bet all the money in the world that he never stopped believing that he was going to go to heaven when he died. I don't know about heaven, but I know that I've never met anyone with as much faith in ANYTHING as he had in God. That takes more power of character then I think I'll ever have. And for the record, I do regret not being brave enough to keep going back to see him.
My story of being 16 is much more simple, I guess. It's the same story that everyone has at that age. You meet a girl, fall for girl and then everything goes bad, blah, blah, blah. Relatively speaking, this is nothing compared to abandoning a close friend, but being selfish as a teenager is about as simple as breathing and I was no different. My problems were great in my own mind and you couldn't tell me different. I fell HARD for that girl. She was blonde with really red lips and pale skin and I couldn't have been happier that she liked me. We had been friends for about a year up until that point, but I liked her and I'm sure as was obvious as hell about it (the word "sly" has never been in my vocabulary). One night we kissed and we ended up doing that for about a year, off and on. Her parents didn't like me and my parents didn't like her which at any other age would give pause, but we were dumbass kids.
To be honest, I do believe that I did love her and she's always been able to make me a little bit jumpy whenever she's around. That being said, the bitch broke my heart. Just conjure up the image of the Death Star blowing up Alderaan and you'll have a vague notion of what it felt like at the time. I know it's not pretty and it doesn't look good on paper, but after that shit, I just kind of shut-off for awhile. I stopped being nice or trying to accomodate others; even my friends (God only knows why they stuck around). I became the very definition of a jerk for three years. I easily abandoned others and would let them know why without pause.
That's where I think it happened. Granted, I've become much more approachable since then, but I've kept dragging that same emotional vacancy around with me for the last ten years. When things get bad, I go away. The reason I mention all this is because I'm starting to feel that itch again. It's been three years since I last ran away from my problems and friends and started over, but I'm aware it won't be the last. What's worse is that I've kind of resigned myself to it. Now, I just hope that I never do it to certain people, while knowing that I'll definitely do it to others.
Not to be too short, but this is where my day has left me. Not with all of this hindsight; that came with the writing, but with that vacancy beginning to show itself. It's just part of my personality now. Another trait along with having an unwavering love for film and music, a deep loathing of belly buttons and being tickled, self-loathing (thanks mom!), and all the others. I hope this particular idiosyncracy stays under wraps, but my optomism isn't so strong when I think about all the friends I don't want to leave.
Wednesday, July 05, 2006
Sonic Matador.
Currently, I'm working on a mixtape. I know this isn't so cool to do anymore. People seem to have moved onto creating CD's for one another and now I've even heard of people making iPod Playlists and mp3 discs for their bitches. This is wrong. The mixtape is slowly becoming a lost art form. No one seems too happy to receive them anymore since they don't, you know, play on a fucking iPod. Once again, this goes back to the mid-nineties mentality I seem enable to shake (*see: Leave Ethics to the Kids, ya'll!). The mixtape was THE way a boy could tell a girl that he liked her without ever having to actually say the words. It was the perfect subterfuge towards what would hopefully end up being a romantic relationship...if any of us ever manned up instead of hiding behind rare 7"s and the constant stories of what bands you had seen ("oh man, you should have have been in Raleigh for that Sebadoh show, man. Fucking Elliott Smith opened! Fucking ELLIOTT SMITH! Oh man, it was great. He totally rocked that show into another level, dude."). This never impressed women, unless they were as shallow as we were, which they were decidedly not. The mixtape could do things though. It was an entire conversation (one we would probably fuck up) about music without us having to deal with anxiety, nausea or the possibility that the girl might like us back. It was amazing and p.s.--I'm really fucking good at it.
Seriously, talk to my friends. I got that shit down. You wanna hear Justin Timberlake b/w New Pornographers? Done. You want GZA and Nine Inch Nails? Bitch, I got you covered like one of those really nice condoms that are never too snug and never fucking tear. Some pop punk and jazz; weed metal and paul mccartney? Fuck yeah, I can put the records on with one hand while jerking off to some filthy ass porn with the other hand and you'll think that shit was golden. No concentration needed, motherfucker.
I know it and that's why I can say it. I'm not saying that I have an awesome palate when it comes to music though. Let's get that straight. There's a lot of good music out there and I bet I only know 0.08% of it. I got indie rock locked down though and I'm starting to get pretty good with hip hop and dance music (girls who like dance music usually have fucking amazing asses and put out easily, thus my interest).
What it comes down to is that I might not make the most wide-ranging tape, but I make the best within my means. That's where the moniker "Sonic Matador" comes from, ya'll. I think of artists like John Lennon, Jon Brion, Kanye West, John Vanderslice, Arcade Fire are the kind of people who define what a Sonic Matador truly is; a person, or group of people, who jump into music head first. They invite all instruments and techniques and always come in swinging. When they get payed form a label, you know the first thing they're doing is blowing a shit ton of that money on new instruments, just trying to make everything expand more and more.
Fuck yeah. I'm definitely not one of those in that sense. But perhaps in my own small way, with a dead language I kind of am like that. Anyway, I'm in the middle of making a bomb ass edition for my girl, so I gotta run. Peace out to the big dogs up top! Sew it up! Mend it!
Seriously, talk to my friends. I got that shit down. You wanna hear Justin Timberlake b/w New Pornographers? Done. You want GZA and Nine Inch Nails? Bitch, I got you covered like one of those really nice condoms that are never too snug and never fucking tear. Some pop punk and jazz; weed metal and paul mccartney? Fuck yeah, I can put the records on with one hand while jerking off to some filthy ass porn with the other hand and you'll think that shit was golden. No concentration needed, motherfucker.
I know it and that's why I can say it. I'm not saying that I have an awesome palate when it comes to music though. Let's get that straight. There's a lot of good music out there and I bet I only know 0.08% of it. I got indie rock locked down though and I'm starting to get pretty good with hip hop and dance music (girls who like dance music usually have fucking amazing asses and put out easily, thus my interest).
What it comes down to is that I might not make the most wide-ranging tape, but I make the best within my means. That's where the moniker "Sonic Matador" comes from, ya'll. I think of artists like John Lennon, Jon Brion, Kanye West, John Vanderslice, Arcade Fire are the kind of people who define what a Sonic Matador truly is; a person, or group of people, who jump into music head first. They invite all instruments and techniques and always come in swinging. When they get payed form a label, you know the first thing they're doing is blowing a shit ton of that money on new instruments, just trying to make everything expand more and more.
Fuck yeah. I'm definitely not one of those in that sense. But perhaps in my own small way, with a dead language I kind of am like that. Anyway, I'm in the middle of making a bomb ass edition for my girl, so I gotta run. Peace out to the big dogs up top! Sew it up! Mend it!
Monday, July 03, 2006
I Am America Incarnate.
Throughout the history of America there have been images or words that have defined their time. Patrick Henry riding his horse, furiously yelling "The British are coming!" is one of them. A black man is shackles is another. A Norman Rockwell cover of the Saturday Evening Post or an Ansel Adams photograph. A child burning after being hit with napalm. Nixon resigning from office. Seriously, the list goes on and on. There are hundreds that can be conjured up and I'm sure that there are many more to come.
That's what this is about. I am now among them. I am America Incarnate. No joke. I guess I must first say that all of these events must be put into context; much like my own. How is a black man in shackles as important if you don't know the history of slavery? Nixon without Watergate; not as iconic. Context is everything. Context is the most important thing.
These days we live in the fattest country in the world. When we want something we want it big. When we want a car? SUV. When we want a television? 42" Plasma Screen. When we want a hamburger? 1 lb., please. Explosions in a movie? HUGE! When we want to drink? Yeah, the whole 12 pack. This is context of which I'm speaking. This is the world of which I am now king.
I'll keep this short and sweet. I was watching television with my girlfriend not too long ago. We were drinking together and we had been smoking pot as well. This is nothing out of the ordinary both for myself or for anyone else as far as I know. We flipped the channel to "Armageddon", a modern day wet dream for anyone who ever wanted to see Ben Affleck and Bruce Willis teamed up with high octane action, explosions and an Aerosmith soundtrack. We were watching this for maybe a half hour when we smoked another bowl, I opened another beer, and then...a curious thing happened. I was getting a blowjob. Right there on my couch in the middle of my living room. The television was blasting. I had a beer in my hand. I was stoned as fuck. And for a second, just a second, I stepped outside of myself and saw the entire scene from the other side of the room. In that second I thought, "My God, I can almost see the American flag waving behind me." I was the modern American man. I was there and all the men and women from the past could see me. Patrick Henry, Nixon, JFK, the black man, the napalm kid, Bojangles, that Naval Officer and his girlfriend who he's kissing in New York, you know, in that picture. They and so many more like them saw me and I saw them. All in that second...we were one.
This is my tale. It isn't long, I know. But it symbolizes so much.
You're welcome.
That's what this is about. I am now among them. I am America Incarnate. No joke. I guess I must first say that all of these events must be put into context; much like my own. How is a black man in shackles as important if you don't know the history of slavery? Nixon without Watergate; not as iconic. Context is everything. Context is the most important thing.
These days we live in the fattest country in the world. When we want something we want it big. When we want a car? SUV. When we want a television? 42" Plasma Screen. When we want a hamburger? 1 lb., please. Explosions in a movie? HUGE! When we want to drink? Yeah, the whole 12 pack. This is context of which I'm speaking. This is the world of which I am now king.
I'll keep this short and sweet. I was watching television with my girlfriend not too long ago. We were drinking together and we had been smoking pot as well. This is nothing out of the ordinary both for myself or for anyone else as far as I know. We flipped the channel to "Armageddon", a modern day wet dream for anyone who ever wanted to see Ben Affleck and Bruce Willis teamed up with high octane action, explosions and an Aerosmith soundtrack. We were watching this for maybe a half hour when we smoked another bowl, I opened another beer, and then...a curious thing happened. I was getting a blowjob. Right there on my couch in the middle of my living room. The television was blasting. I had a beer in my hand. I was stoned as fuck. And for a second, just a second, I stepped outside of myself and saw the entire scene from the other side of the room. In that second I thought, "My God, I can almost see the American flag waving behind me." I was the modern American man. I was there and all the men and women from the past could see me. Patrick Henry, Nixon, JFK, the black man, the napalm kid, Bojangles, that Naval Officer and his girlfriend who he's kissing in New York, you know, in that picture. They and so many more like them saw me and I saw them. All in that second...we were one.
This is my tale. It isn't long, I know. But it symbolizes so much.
You're welcome.
Leave Ethics For the Kids.
I am at a bit of a disposition since I was a kid who grew up in the mid-nineties. Being a punk rock or an indie rock kid, as I was (am), has a lot of stigma's that come along with it. Many of them are a lot harder to shake than you'd think. I guess the bug gun is the punk ethic that has come with every generation that has lived by the punk rock musical code: you travel, play, eat sparsly, ask for very little money for both records and other merch, obide by the strict ethical standards. These are the die hard rules. I guess for most bands drinking and drugs would come into play as well. That can be left up to the individual. I don't think punk rock has an official position on that subject.
The problem with this punk ethic is the "not making money" part. This was already hard in the nineties, but now it's carried over to now. I understand the desire for many people to want to keep records cheap so kids can buy them; that's great, but it comes at a sacrifice. Maybe now, because of my age, I find myself unwilling to make those sacrifices so easily. For instance, I'm not well versed in travel, but gas is obnoxiously expensive. I feel like everyone who gets gas at the local station should be sitting there waiting for Bugs Bunny to shoot up beisde them with an "Idiot" sign pointed at them. Of course, I could do it instead, but the average American is way too tense and I'm not sure I want to test that kind of potential rage.
My point is that being punk rock is hard. It never wavers. Its morals are always the same. Times be damned! Age and health be damned! There comes a time, at least for myself and several others that I've spoken to about this, when you want to keep having the same global outlook. We all want that optomism, but we also want to be able to survive and make more than a living wage. If that means jacking up the price of a shirt or a CD that the money from goes straight to food for me and my friends, yeah, I'm doing that. I need to eat and I want to be able to get to the next town. These things have become so dead to punk rock ears though, that people don't understand that sometimes it's not an exaggeration. You NEED to eat. You NEED sustinence. I'm sorry if I'm not punk rock because the 7" isn't 3 dollars anymore, but fuck man, gas isn't even 3 dollars anymore. Give me a break and give the moral high ground a break while you're at it.
Of course, I'm sure the view is nice up there with all the really PC kids. Fuck those kids. Chill out.
*Wow, that took an amazing turn there at the end. Sorry. That's for another time.
The problem with this punk ethic is the "not making money" part. This was already hard in the nineties, but now it's carried over to now. I understand the desire for many people to want to keep records cheap so kids can buy them; that's great, but it comes at a sacrifice. Maybe now, because of my age, I find myself unwilling to make those sacrifices so easily. For instance, I'm not well versed in travel, but gas is obnoxiously expensive. I feel like everyone who gets gas at the local station should be sitting there waiting for Bugs Bunny to shoot up beisde them with an "Idiot" sign pointed at them. Of course, I could do it instead, but the average American is way too tense and I'm not sure I want to test that kind of potential rage.
My point is that being punk rock is hard. It never wavers. Its morals are always the same. Times be damned! Age and health be damned! There comes a time, at least for myself and several others that I've spoken to about this, when you want to keep having the same global outlook. We all want that optomism, but we also want to be able to survive and make more than a living wage. If that means jacking up the price of a shirt or a CD that the money from goes straight to food for me and my friends, yeah, I'm doing that. I need to eat and I want to be able to get to the next town. These things have become so dead to punk rock ears though, that people don't understand that sometimes it's not an exaggeration. You NEED to eat. You NEED sustinence. I'm sorry if I'm not punk rock because the 7" isn't 3 dollars anymore, but fuck man, gas isn't even 3 dollars anymore. Give me a break and give the moral high ground a break while you're at it.
Of course, I'm sure the view is nice up there with all the really PC kids. Fuck those kids. Chill out.
*Wow, that took an amazing turn there at the end. Sorry. That's for another time.
Thursday, June 29, 2006
Why 2 Weeks and the American Peter Pan Intro.
This is broken into two parts. That can be made plain if you notice "and" in the title. The first part is how long it's been since I last wrote on here. To go into why it has been that long would take some time. Just kidding. My junk ain't that interesting. I've been watching soccer. That, and I'm not that clever. I mainly try to use this blog as a testament to my own cleverness, so when I'm dry I don't write. That's that.
Not entirely though. Cleverness is a hard thing to pin down. It can come in great sweeps, as it does for Dan; a resident of this page who has yet to do anything on it. It can come in small, mainly sexual, racial or crude remarks as it does for myself. It can also come in the form of obscure knowledge and acknowledgements, such as it is with Cole...who also hasn't written anything on here. Mine, I would argue, is the least interesting. It gets old if you're stuck in a van with me for severeal days. The other two forms force the brain to work overtime. They act as an invitation and a challenge all at once. You are, of course, invited to laugh at whatever is being said, but cleverness tends to work in volley's. Thus, you are expected to lob something back to the other person, much as one would in a tennis match, but without all the grunting, sweating, physical prowess, or physique. In that regard it's much easier.
You can't just make your mind work in a certain way though. You have to adapt. This is something that is more difficult than it is for some others. I can usually adapt somewhat easily; shaping my jokes around the intended fuck I want to laugh at the gems I'm laying at their feet. Sometimes it's harder though and that's when it gets tricky. Usually, if you're only somewhat able to adapt, this means you become the really weird guy. You say things that possibly go too far or are too creepy. Depending on the crowd you're with, this may still work out. They may mistake it for some kind of warped genius. If they do, run with it. No one else is gonna laugh at that stupid shit. Most people will just think you're creepy.
Now the New American Peter Pan is something my friend Dan came up with about a week ago that has kind of put me up against the ropes; chaffing and all. I should start by saying that I've always loved children's literature. The imagination, for me, is the most important thing a person has to offer, with integrity coming a close second. The imagination, and the way it's used in children's literature is so free and able to move about as it wants. It may be one of the few genres in literature where you can come up with anything you want; anything at all, and it's not frowned upon.
I guess I also like it because it's usually a reflection of sorts. See, most of these books are in some way tied into innocence--its preservation and its loss. This is usually attached to some kind of growth or decision that must be made; as it is in most other literature. I guess I find this interesting because it's something I'm constantly trying to make sense of myself. I guess you could say I'm also trying to make sense of it FOR myself. Growth and innocence are such contradictory terms. One is impossible to maintain when you have the other. That's the reason for The New American Peter Pan.
My friend Dan suggested that if you look at early twenty somethings that have gone straight from school into employment (mainly in the business world) you see that they look and act older than us; mid-to-late twenty somethings that have avoided that world, both with regret and joy. I cannot speak to the decisions these people make, enterting into the 9-to-5 world or whatever. That's their decision. My decision has been to make all my real decisions disappear. I don't face them. I don't want them. The thought of putting on a suit repulses me. Being in an office smells of exactly what I want to avoid; the growth of responsibility for the loss of imagination. When you look like everyone else, stuck in a small, grey space, how is it that you can maintain the things that make you singular? Maybe there's an answer that makes sense, but I haven't seen it and I refuse to risk any loss in order to find out. I guess that's where Peter Pan comes into it all. Dan has called me the Peter Pan of our group and refers to himself and several others as "Lost Boys." Honestly, I somewhat resent being called Peter Pan in the context for which he uses it, even though I'm plainly admitting now that it's true. No matter.
But, putting all the subtext and wishing and regretting aside, we have decided to make a book of essays. Essays that will embody our lives as "Lost Boys". This is what has put me up against a wall. How does one figure out the modern day Peter Pan? In the book, Peter Pan is a boy who not only is without responsibility, but who also doesn't have the faintest clue what responsibility means. This poses a problem. I can't imagine anyone in this world that hasn't been through a bootcamp of responsibility. We are all taught the rules of living and what is expected of us. We all have certain paths set before us, all of them leading towards responsibility of one kind of another. Yes, you can ignore these options, but if you do, you had better be extraordinarily talented or you're going to be living paycheck to paycheck for the rest of your life.
So, is Peter Pan in 2006 a boy, still without a drop of knowledge about the world that surrounds him? Is he purposefully ignorant or them; moving parallel to them, but never crossing into it? Or is Peter Pan, now, a boy who is aware of the world around him; both acknowledging its usefulness while also ignoring its rewards as a price to high to pay? I'd like to think it's the latter, but I'm not sure if Peter Pan, as a concept or a character, could survive that way. Before I can write any stories I have to know about Peter Pan now. I have to define him and give him context. This is proving to be hard.
All inquiries or comments on this would be most helpful.
Not entirely though. Cleverness is a hard thing to pin down. It can come in great sweeps, as it does for Dan; a resident of this page who has yet to do anything on it. It can come in small, mainly sexual, racial or crude remarks as it does for myself. It can also come in the form of obscure knowledge and acknowledgements, such as it is with Cole...who also hasn't written anything on here. Mine, I would argue, is the least interesting. It gets old if you're stuck in a van with me for severeal days. The other two forms force the brain to work overtime. They act as an invitation and a challenge all at once. You are, of course, invited to laugh at whatever is being said, but cleverness tends to work in volley's. Thus, you are expected to lob something back to the other person, much as one would in a tennis match, but without all the grunting, sweating, physical prowess, or physique. In that regard it's much easier.
You can't just make your mind work in a certain way though. You have to adapt. This is something that is more difficult than it is for some others. I can usually adapt somewhat easily; shaping my jokes around the intended fuck I want to laugh at the gems I'm laying at their feet. Sometimes it's harder though and that's when it gets tricky. Usually, if you're only somewhat able to adapt, this means you become the really weird guy. You say things that possibly go too far or are too creepy. Depending on the crowd you're with, this may still work out. They may mistake it for some kind of warped genius. If they do, run with it. No one else is gonna laugh at that stupid shit. Most people will just think you're creepy.
Now the New American Peter Pan is something my friend Dan came up with about a week ago that has kind of put me up against the ropes; chaffing and all. I should start by saying that I've always loved children's literature. The imagination, for me, is the most important thing a person has to offer, with integrity coming a close second. The imagination, and the way it's used in children's literature is so free and able to move about as it wants. It may be one of the few genres in literature where you can come up with anything you want; anything at all, and it's not frowned upon.
I guess I also like it because it's usually a reflection of sorts. See, most of these books are in some way tied into innocence--its preservation and its loss. This is usually attached to some kind of growth or decision that must be made; as it is in most other literature. I guess I find this interesting because it's something I'm constantly trying to make sense of myself. I guess you could say I'm also trying to make sense of it FOR myself. Growth and innocence are such contradictory terms. One is impossible to maintain when you have the other. That's the reason for The New American Peter Pan.
My friend Dan suggested that if you look at early twenty somethings that have gone straight from school into employment (mainly in the business world) you see that they look and act older than us; mid-to-late twenty somethings that have avoided that world, both with regret and joy. I cannot speak to the decisions these people make, enterting into the 9-to-5 world or whatever. That's their decision. My decision has been to make all my real decisions disappear. I don't face them. I don't want them. The thought of putting on a suit repulses me. Being in an office smells of exactly what I want to avoid; the growth of responsibility for the loss of imagination. When you look like everyone else, stuck in a small, grey space, how is it that you can maintain the things that make you singular? Maybe there's an answer that makes sense, but I haven't seen it and I refuse to risk any loss in order to find out. I guess that's where Peter Pan comes into it all. Dan has called me the Peter Pan of our group and refers to himself and several others as "Lost Boys." Honestly, I somewhat resent being called Peter Pan in the context for which he uses it, even though I'm plainly admitting now that it's true. No matter.
But, putting all the subtext and wishing and regretting aside, we have decided to make a book of essays. Essays that will embody our lives as "Lost Boys". This is what has put me up against a wall. How does one figure out the modern day Peter Pan? In the book, Peter Pan is a boy who not only is without responsibility, but who also doesn't have the faintest clue what responsibility means. This poses a problem. I can't imagine anyone in this world that hasn't been through a bootcamp of responsibility. We are all taught the rules of living and what is expected of us. We all have certain paths set before us, all of them leading towards responsibility of one kind of another. Yes, you can ignore these options, but if you do, you had better be extraordinarily talented or you're going to be living paycheck to paycheck for the rest of your life.
So, is Peter Pan in 2006 a boy, still without a drop of knowledge about the world that surrounds him? Is he purposefully ignorant or them; moving parallel to them, but never crossing into it? Or is Peter Pan, now, a boy who is aware of the world around him; both acknowledging its usefulness while also ignoring its rewards as a price to high to pay? I'd like to think it's the latter, but I'm not sure if Peter Pan, as a concept or a character, could survive that way. Before I can write any stories I have to know about Peter Pan now. I have to define him and give him context. This is proving to be hard.
All inquiries or comments on this would be most helpful.
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