Thanks to everyone

Who extended such kind birthday wishes. I'll let you inside the cold, hard, sarcastic e-armor that I have and say that you all have really made my day. Yes, that's what birthdays are kind of about, but still, you could have just as easily passed right on by. Jeez, I sound like some crazy hippie with my little "spread the love" message but it's true: you've made an old man feel really happy today.

So I can all but guarantee that I won't be posting tomorrow night, as I'll be out drinking until the wee hours, but I'll be right back here on Saturday night/Sunday morning, with more musings to fill your days with amusement. Thanks again to everyone for everything, and I'll see you all soon.

PS - I'm sharing the one birthday gift that I can easily spread all over the 'net. Thanks Jen.

Quarterlife

Before I get started, I want to say that for what may be the first time ever, that bumbling fool we call "Mr. President" has actually impressed me. Today, the Red Sox visited the White House as World Series Champs for the second time in Bush the second's reign of terror. Last time Manny Ramirez missed with some excuse like "my grandma is sick." So what does Gee Dub say upon noting Manny's absence this time?? "What happened, did his grandma die again?" I'm impressed. Ballsy and actually funny. But I guess he was on a roll, so he starts talking about Daisuke Matsuzaka saying "His press corps is bigger than mine, and we both have trouble answering questions in English." Suddenly that little countryboy smirk ain't so offensive. But Dubya wasn't done - he actually hit the trifecta. He approaches the lord of the dance, Jonathan Papelbon, and says "Thanks for wearing pants." Who is this man?? What did he do with that moron I've been publicly berating for the past seven-plus years? If only foreign diplomats could all hit dingers, maybe we wouldn't be in the predicament that we're in right now.


Okay. So now that I'm past that uncharacteristic softheartedness, let me turn to what my post is really all about. You've seen commercials, you've seen the viral videos (which are ACTUALLY the episodes, apparently), you've caught part of the hype. That's right folks, NBC has unrolled a new show that should be called "My So-Called Hipster-something." Unfortunately, that title tanked in the beta testing, so we wound up with "Quarterlife." I'd seen all the myspace notices and stuff about new episodes, so I figured when it hit network TV, I might as well see what all this corporate-generated buzz was all about. I watched the pilot episode online today (how trendy am I that I watch streaming video of a TV broadcast that was released as an online video, THEN blogging about it. I'm so PoMo it hurts) and I don't even know where to start.

I've rolled some eyes in my day. I can smirk and scoff with the rest of them. But never before have I been so enraptured with the complete necessity to constantly do all three for a prolonged period of 45 minutes like I have in watching this "show". I'll try to keep this brief, because otherwise I'll be here until sunrise picking apart every last little aspect of this horrible mockery they try to call a "program."
I am going to try this laundry-list style....

1) The "Friends 2.0 living situation": three guys, three girls. One established relationship. Guy #2 is in love with his friend's girlfriend. Girl #2 is in love with guy #2, who happens to be her roommate, and he is oblivious because he is too busy being in love with Girl #1. Guy #3 is sarcastic and clever, and asexual. Girl #3 is a slut. Most(all?) of them live in the same house.... though it's never clear who ACTUALLY lives there other than guy and girl #2.

2) The blonde is the one who happens to be a slut. But it gets worse -- she wants to be an actress except for one problem.... she can't FUCKING act!!!!! Oh noooo, stop the presses. PLUS, she has already slept with her acting teacher, so he doesn't have to play nice, since he already got the milk from the cow that can't mooooo worth a shit. BETTER STILL...... She's an ALCOHOLIC BARTENDRESS!!!!!!!! Isn't this like EVERYONE you know too???

3) There's the cute girl with the Lisa Loeb/Ingrid Michaelson glasses who the two guys are after. She ignores the fact that her boyfriend, mister clean cut, is an insensitive clod AND ignores the fact that artsy hipster film boy is madly in love with her. How does she react when she "finds out"? She taunts him at every turn, flaunting everything she has with his best friend (and arch-enemy at the same time) in order to remind him that he WON'T have it with her.

4) The guy who is least "edgy" or "indie looking" just so happens to be the cocky, good looking rich boy who is exploiting the talents of his geeky hipster buddies.
He's also got the ever-so original twist of being a womanizer too! What a concept!

5) Everyone has cool, fun, hip jobs. Two guys were in film school and now want to make commercials. Their third friend is random computer genius who apparently lives in the basement because it lends him the most freedom to explore the scarce corners of internet porn. Girl #2 is at the bottom of the totem pole at a FASHION MAGAZINE despite the fact that she's intentionally unfashionable. Girl #3 is a bartendress (as I mentioned). Girl #1 apparently has no career other than being fawned over by the film school boys.

6) There are fliers on corkboards up as art, and one of my BIGGEST gripes in the world: there is a guitar in the background just for the sake of being cool and artsy. I'm sorry, fashion magazine, but I don't think anyone in your office will randomly run up to the classical guitar and belt out a song if they're feeling creatively stifled on their coffee break.

7) Despite the fact that the girl is supposed to be a struggling writer, 99% of her blogging (which gets her and everyone around her in trouble) is done in video format. I thought the video was supposed to be left to the film-school boys.

8) They all get together to drink Mexican beer. Is the show sponsored by Pacifico???? In one episode, the only beers that make appearances are Corona, Negra Modelo, and Modelo.

9) In the first episode: the writers have already set up a love pentagon, had the girl who is ostensibly a trainwreck "find herself", and done one of those awful "I have to tell you something" "Ooh, I have to tell YOU something" scenes where the one person says they're in love with the person they've been in love with all along like it's news, to leave the other person speechless with their heart dripping out their nose.

10) They're trying to be cool while pushing the envelope with waaay too in-depth sex talk flying casually around. There's one scene where the drunk slut asks the struggling writer "when was the last time you had an orgasm?"
(a) These girls are roommates, so it could possibly be obvious.
(b) Normal people don't really talk like that. Even if friends are discussing their significant others or their desires for booty, they don't ask specifics like that. I'm never going to go up to my best friend (side note, these girls are NOT best friends in the show) and be like "Hey bro, when did you last bust a nut?", "How long since you last walked the dog?", or even "How ya been? Buried the bone recently? Really? That's fantastic!"

I'm going to keep it at ten for tonight, because otherwise I'll get so worked up that I won't sleep. But long story short, shame on you, media entity. Shame on you for thinking you can do the "stereotypically different" thing to me and folks of my age/cultural persuasion. Also, random side note - where the hell is the diversity? Shouldn't there be like the lesbian Asian, or the cool trendy black guy at the bar? Where are the cool kids with their cool piercings and tattoos? If you're going to make a show of all the interesting exploits of the creative and artsy, at least give them SOME originality.

POST-INITIAL-WRITING-NOTICE
In looking for an image to put into this posting, I discovered the following article:

LOS ANGELES (Hollywood Reporter) - The debut of NBC's new series "quarterlife" marked the network's worst time-period performance in at least 17 years and has thrown the show's fate into imminent jeopardy.

Premiering Tuesday night at 10 p.m., "quarterlife" pulled in just 3.1 million viewers. It came in a distant last place in the hour despite having a relatively strong lead-in from "The Biggest Loser" (8.1 million).

Though no official cancellation has been announced, sources say the series is expected to be yanked after a single airing -- a rare event that previously occurred when Fox axed "Anchorwoman" last summer.

Do you know what that means?? Five million people turned off as soon as that show premiered. Five MILLION people reached for the remote, and went elsewhere. You mean it's a BAD idea when the next like seven episodes are already up on youtube before you "air" them? It's not good to air your pilot on Myspace AND MTV first?? Really??? Funny how that works. Now I get to go to bed with an incredibly smug sense of satisfaction of having ridiculed a show whose death warrant may have already been signed. And how does it feel? It feels fantastic.

A smattering of thoughts

In case some of you didn't know, my birthday is now officially less than 24 hours away. What's more is that I'm about to turn 27. Is there any real significance to this age? Yeah, it's the age at which Cobain "canonized" himself, but I'm looking for something a little more universal. Is there anything else that I'm missing in which the age of 27 is significant? Anyhow, for some reason, turning this age is kind of fucking my shit up. Nothing major. I'm not getting all maudlin or lachrymose (props if you didn't have to look up either of those, but they're some of my favorite words), but for some reason, twenty-seven seems suddenly "old." Perhaps I should say "Old." Either way, I think in my odd little mind, it has something to do with the fact that 27 is the last number divisible by three before you hit thirty. Now I can't say that I'm not happy with the state of my life at the moment, but there are some things that I'd definitely alter.

So, as I stand on the cusp of becoming legitimately "old," what has changed? Let's see; I think I'll map some of the significant changes since I was 25. It's a fairly limited span, but a considerable gap nonetheless. Okay, so first - EVERYONE is either married or getting married. I don't know if the bus has passed me by, or if I'm sitting at a decommissioned bus stop or something, but I swear, I blinked and the next thing I knew I was getting measured for tuxes left and right. I'm about to wind up on a first-name basis with some of my local clothiers. I can only imagine I'll be making this same statement when I'm thirty, except for "marriage" we're going to be swapping in "having babies." Now I'm not saying fates aren't going to change. I'm not going to say that I won't be married. Hell, I won't even say that I won't be a father-to-be, but at least the latter is HIGHLY doubtful.

Which brings me to point number two: my dating record has gone waaaaay down. When I turned 25, I'd brought in a pretty respectable average. I'd had solid relationships, I'd gotten a few of those flukey "everyone goes through that once or twice" relationships, and was ready to find someone good and make good things happen. Some two years later, that someone has not appeared on the radar. And the few times I thought they might be off on the horizon, it turns out I was not on theirs. As I always say, I'm not bitter, and I still assert that I'm not especially bitter, but one can only remain "the bachelor friend" for so long.

This can easily be connected to "part the third": the weight thing. Yes, I could stand to lose about 1/3 of my body mass. Hell, I would like to, even. However there are one or two issues. I have little time in my day-to-day life. I have school work, thesis prep work, work work, non-work editing work, various forms of musical expression, and, of course, drinking. Yes, I realize that the last item in that list pretty much directly contradicts and designs I have at shedding that nasty poundage one calls "the spare tire", but to be honest, I'd rather be a few pounds overweight and happily at the bar in my free time than trim and svelte in a gym every free moment I get.

There are, of course, many improvements over time as well. The band continues to roll, I am blessed with a wonderful group of friends who provide me with countless hours of entertainment and fodder for my musings, and I still have some manner of income creeping in. I'm moving along the track for my Master's right as scheduled, and I just so happen to love every day of it, not to mention all the great people I get to interact with on a day-to-day basis as a result of being in the program. I keep sort of flip-flopping my stance on whether or not I will ever take a stab at trying to write something worth publishing, but in the meantime, I have you, dear reader, to keep me going. That and coffee, of course.

Finally, as I look forward to chalking up another year in my life, I can look forward to one simple fact: that by the time I'm losing sleep over turning twenty-eight, there will be someone else in office at 1600 Pennsylvania Ave.

A little admission

I'll admit it. I don't entirely hate being sick. Yes, I hate the overall effects of being sick. I deeply despise vomiting. Coughing is a moderate inconvenience, and blowing your nose... well... blows. So don't think, especially after this week, that I'm going to post a blog about how "oooh, I totally don't care about being sick" after the week I've had. No, rather I'm going to step outside of my usual pessimistic glass-half-empty viewpoint and examine two key benefits one gets when they're otherwise miserable.

1) You feel better. It's really rare to find anything else that can pretty much guarantee that you'll feel better tomorrow. No one does their taxes for a week or two and says "Wow, I feel great." You can feel relieved, you can be pleased with your return, but you don't feel physically improved as a result. Even with a good workout or sporting venture - the wellness stems from endorphins. Chances are, you wake up the next morning a little stiff and a little sore. But with illness, no matter how great or small, you can honestly say that you feel physically better (and often emotionally better as well) the following day or week.

2) You can sleep like the dead and not be disturbed. I don't know about you, dear readers, but I often get some sort of grief from those around me any time I sleep past noon. God forbid I take a nap. Going to bed at 10:30, while against my general belief pattern, does have its merits from time to time. But now picture this: lump all three of those together. Yes, the day has passed away and had no bearing on you whatsoever, and vice versa. But come on; there is something AMAZING about remaining in a zombie-like state for the better part of a day. Turn on a movie, wake up looking at the menu and not realize how it got there. Lose track of the hour. Turn your fuckin' phone off. It's AMAZING. I'm blessed that my sleeping chamber is well-shaded, so I can escape natural light probably twenty three hours of the day, so that helps too.

I'm cutting it short for tonight. I spent too much time typing up yet another assignment for class tomorrow, so now I'm going to call it a night and return to that blissful sleep state that I was discussing just a few lines back.

Indie-fication of the World.

Yes, I'm well aware that tonight was the Oscars. Surprisingly, the Oscars is really the only awards show I could give a damn about anymore. I guess it's hard to care about the Emmys when you don't really watch TV, and the Grammys have been a joke for YEARS now.

So, apparently the feel-good hit of the Oscar season was Juno. I loved the movie. Really did. But see, here's my thing: people like me are supposed to love a movie like Juno. It's quirky, it has an amazing soundtrack, it's rife with clever waggish and jocular dialogue, and the ending leaves a sense of resolution with the possibility for different scenarios to work themselves out.

"But Bill," you ask, "if the movie is so great, why are you writing about it like something is wrong?"

Good question, gentle reader. Here is my issue: movies like Juno were once the things of cool independent artsy theatres. They were the movies you had to be "in the know" to really find out about. They were the movies that finally started building a buzz years after DVD releases were snatched up by geeks like me. This plague is not limited to Juno, look at the winner for best song - it was from an independent film made on two camcorders. I saw the movie. I felt that the music was amazing but the movie itself lacked in many ways.

So here's my thought: pop culture and mainstream media as we know it has started a process of "indie-fying" our world. Suddenly, you can see a movie like Juno at the huge multiplex. Hell, that movie out-grossed all the other contenders. I can walk into Blockbuster tomorrow if I desire and rent a movie like "Once" and it won't be in an independent section, it won't be in a foreign film section, it will be in the new releases. I think I've gained a little teeny insight into why hipsters are always so bitter about everything these days: their cred is becoming impossible to hold on to. The rise of YouTube and iTunes and RapidShare and all this stuff makes things that were once obscure suddenly easily obtainable. It used to be if I wanted to find an album by a band like Belle and Sebastian, I'd have to go somewhere like Amoeba; the store that had EVERYTHING, and your average joe didn't necessarily know about it.

So where can the hipsters go now? What was one of the biggest hipster flicks of the last few years? That's right "Snakes on a Plane". Those hip, cool kids decided to turn the tables, and throw their support behind an AWESOMELY terrible movie that had all the trappings of a blockbuster, but the campy, cheezy, blog-backed cred of an indie flick. At least they can rest assured that Samuel L. won't be getting any Oscar nods for his not-so subtle declaration "Enough is enough! I have had it with these motherfucking snakes on this motherfucking plane!" If that isn't "PoMo", I don't know what is.

I feel bad for the modern hipster. They have to find bands, movies, and books that NO ONE has ever heard of. What's the problem of this "broadening of the public taste"? A vast majority of what those unwashed little nerds out in the Mission consider "cool" nowadays is absolutely atrocious. I know there are many things that I'm missing out on because I've lost a step in the "hip" world, but some of the music people have played for me that's indie for the sake of being indie just so happens to blow goat balls.

So, sorry hipsters. I feel your pain, and it is my pain too. One day, pop culture will turn back to arena rock and sprawling blockbusters, but until then, ask yourself "Is this music REALLY worth listening to, is this movie REALLY worth watching if you're watching it just because other aren't?" Or could it be that there's another, far more obvious, reason that people aren't enjoying it like you do?

Dereliction of duty

I'm sorry I've been incommunicado for the last few days, my beloved readers, but let me explain.

Tuesday night (the night of my last posting) I'd felt a little tightness in my throat. It seemed nothing major, so I had no issues staying up until my usual 4 a.m. bedtime.

Wednesday I began to feel a little funnier. For some odd reason, despite a good night's sleep, I felt somewhat run down in the afternoon. Then I spent the better part of the later afternoon, evening, and nighttime preparing a presentation which I had to deliver on Thursday. By the time I'd wrapped everything up, I was pretty well beat, and completely OVER sitting in front of my computer typing things that made sense not only to myself but to others as well.

Thursday morning I woke up and felt pretty much like crap. I soldiered through the day, took a nap as soon as I got home from class, somehow made it through band practice (and only drank ONE beer at said practice, so you all know how I must have been feeling) and soon after I found myself in bed again. My head hit the pillow on Thursday night around 10:30, which is pretty much unheard of for me. What is even more unheard of is that I got out of bed at 2:30 this afternoon. That's right - I was in bed for roughly sixteen hours. This doesn't happen to me ever. Fortunately, my day-to-day this semester actually gives me a chance to sleep in and take care of myself when a demon virus decides to take on the usually staunch powerhouse otherwise known as my immune system. I believe I got it from my pops, who is still nursing the tail effects of the cold he got in Sweden. Like I say, they build everything better in Sweden, even viruses apparently. And believe me, this was a Volvo of a cold, folks.

So, I hope you can forgive me for not keeping you up to date with the inner workings of my mind, but considering the state I've been in since my last post, you'd probably just have musings about Raymond Carver's alcoholism, 80s pop culture references in Family Guy, and something about monkeys in underpants that went running through my head in the fever-addled hours of last night.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got to get some beauty rest before the prom.

Oh, the humanity!

It's late so I'll be brief.
I was watching back episodes of Chuck on nbc.com - it's a wonderful show and you owe it to yourself to check it out. There's one issue with watching these episodes online, though: the "commercial breaks" are ALWAYS the same commercial. So, tonight I watched two episodes, which means I had to watch this commercial roughly ten times...

Now, I don't know if anyone has seen these, but if you get the chance, go to NBC.com* and look at the commercial - it will air before any episode even loads. It's for Dove Cream Oil something-or-other. The first time I saw it, I thought to my self "hm, something is amiss with this commercial." I put it out of my mind and chalked it up to the fact that I was watching said commercial on my laptop.

Then it hit me: I think there is some sort of evil brainwashing scheme going on here. In this commercial, words are mindlessly repeated, and the entire script is so redundant, it's like the line of dialogue folds in upon itself.

So, what do I, as a net-savvy geek, decide to do? Go on YouTube! Find it and analyze the hell out of it!

But *gasp* once I get to YouTube, I find something even more troubling... it turns out that this is some sort of amateur contest winner of a commercial. Yes, perhaps that explains the nauseating repetition of contrived dialogue, but it means something far, far worse:

The powers that be at Dove corporate actually believed that this ad was BETTER than all of the other ads they had received.

Can this be? I think I could make a better commercial with a better chance of being selected using some cartoon/animatronic talking phallus. I mean, come on, are we trying to broaden into the male market, or what? How, HOW I ask you. How in the world does a commercial like that WIN a nationwide contest? Even worse, how do the advertising agents remain hands-off and not get a professional copywriter to at least clean up this woman's rambling message about "me time"? Hell, buy even a hack copywriter a cup of coffee and they would probably do it. They could even write it out on TP as they're sitting on the john.

So, I guess my lesson today is that sometimes advertising and mass media gets it write, and there are some areas of television that should definitely stay out of the hands of "reality show" influence.






Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go get some Dove Cream Oil Body Wash.


*Please don't construe this posting in any way as a commercial for nbc.com. It was just the first time I'd ever been exposed to that horrid commercial that will now haunt my dreams.

Musical image

I find it interesting when two completely unrelated parts of my life converge like this. As most of you know, I tend towards music that would generally fall into the "indie rock" variety, though my roots lie heavily in the punk world, and most of my musical expression comes in the form of surf music. So, despite my general listening trends, the other two parts of my world have collided in an interesting way: I logged onto my surf-guitar-nerd web forum this evening to discover a mildly heated discussion regarding bands' appearance on stage. It just so happens that I read this discussion the very evening that the guys and I watched "Rock 'n Roll High School". For those of you who aren't in the know, "Rock 'n Roll High School" is a movie which prominently showcased The Ramones.

Taking these two events into consideration, I have come to the following conclusion:

Despite the fact that they weren't particularly talented musicians, or even remotely good looking guys, The Ramones were quite possibly one of the most perfect bands ever to grace the world.

Yes, it's a bold claim, but here's why I think this...

1) They had an image, and the SOLD it. Everyone knew that the guys with the bowl cuts, sleeveless tees, leather jackets, jeans, and Chucks were Ramones people. Yeah, they each had their own styles, but they still had the uniform.

2) They were phenomenal performers. Best of all, they worked at it. The guy who directed Rock 'n Roll High School said the following of The Ramones: "They worked hard all the time. Even in the dressing room right before a show, they'd still be working, not drinking." It was all that hard work that allowed them to get onstage and blow the roof off every place they played. Johnny had one rule: everything you did onstage in The Ramones, you did it towards the audience. That makes for one hell of a stage presence.

3) Everyone had a role. Even Tommy, the original drummer, stepped down for the good of the band, yet wound up producing almost all their albums. They had a friggin' artistic director before they'd even recorded. It was like a big collective of people who all banded together with the sole purpose of making those guys HUGE.

4) Their songs were ridiculously catchy. Like it or not, "Blitzkrieg Bop" is one of the most played songs all over the place. Even losers who claim not to have a slightest idea that there's even a band called The Ramones have chanted "Hey Ho Let's Go" at a sport's game or some similar event. If they weren't a punk band, The Ramones would run the risk of being one of the catchiest pop bands of all time.

5) Their selection of covers was genius. From "California Sun" to "Do You Wanna Dance", they picked cover songs that best suited their style, and that they could put their own spin on. I take a teeeeeeny exception to "Surfin' Bird", but it's still pretty bad ass.

6) They all sacrificed their individuality for the band. Joey was a mildly disformed weirdo. Johnny was a staunch republican. Dee Dee was a junkie who may or may not whored himself out, and left the band to pursue an ill-fated rap career. Despite all their interesting individual stories, even the first name didn't matter as much as the stage name "Ramone". For instance, no one knows who the hell Douglas Colvin is, but I'll bet that more than half of the people who deny knowledge of that name DO know who Dee Dee Ramone is.

There are a number of other reasons I could list, but I don't want to ramble. So I'll leave you all with this little-known factoid:
If it were up to Roger Corman, producer of Rock 'n Roll High School, the movie would have been called "Disco High". Thank heavens Allan Arkush stepped in and made him realize that it takes rock music to blow up a school, not disco. Oh, and, yes -- those ARE special edition "Ramones" Chuck Taylors pictured above.

A whole can of worms...

The city has turned grey again, and it's now a few minutes before three in the afternoon. I've got nothing going on all day, and have spent the better part of the weekend sitting on the couch, just enjoying the act of sitting on the couch. I'm a cozy caterpillar in a zen-like cocoon. I'm the master of my immediate universe. This, however, means one thing: I have little else to do other than sit around and think about... well, the following:

Sports announcers need to leave coaches the hell alone: Nothing bothers me like sportscasters on the sideline, in the penalty box, well, really they just bother me in general. But what gets my goat is when they have those stupid "mid-game" check ins with coaches. For instance, the football coach on his way in to the locker room at halftime gets stopped by some sportscaster who always asks the same question: "So coach, what are your impressions going into the half?" And they all have the same responses. If winning "Well, we're moving the ball well, keeping the defense on their heels, and we've done a good job getting points on the board. I hope to keep the momentum going into the second half, and hope our defense can continue to hold them so we can keep the offense on the field." However, if the coach is losing, he goes with script B: "Well, you know, we let them jump out to a lead, but we just need to hold tight and keep fighting. If our defense can get some key stops on third down, we're right back in this game. We've got some good momentum going into the half, and we hope to keep it going into the second half."

So here's my thing - if I were a coach, I'd tell it like it is: "Well, right now, we may be winning, but I want to put this team in the ground. I want to run up the score and leave the other guys limping home to mama." And if I were losing, I'd be curt: "Will you please leave me the hell alone? Last time I checked the scoreboard, we were down by (insert number here) points. I have to get my team back in this game, not talk to you." Even worse is when they do the live-mic things. I don't need to hear what a coach tells someone in a huddle. Broadcasters, have enough to say that you don't need to distract coaches who are doing their jobs.

Moving on...

Has anyone seen NBC's Sunday night lineup for tonight?: That's right folks, apparently it's 1988 all over again. Three hours of prime-time TV, and what do we have??? The American Gladiators Finale and Knight Rider. I'm not saying it's a bad thing. I'm not even saying that I won't watch it. I just think it's funny that network TV realizes that it has officially run out of anything interesting or exciting to show ever again. Who knows, I might even go for a spin on my big wheel afterwards, and round out the evening playing some Contra on my Nintendo.

OTHER THINGS THAT I BELIEVE ARE GREAT

- People with whom I can have ceaseless shallow, yet incredibly fulfilling, conversation: I find this to be one of the greatest joys in life. It doesn't matter if it's a discussion of random grammar rules, what kind of jelly works best in a PB&J, or hangover cures that do and don't work. I have always found, the more random the question - the more you find out about who a person REALLY is.

- 80's Ska bands: You know what I'm talking about -- The Specials, The English Beat, Selecter, Madness -- all those good ol' Two-Tone bands. Unfortunately, even Hepcat has been lying low these days. The world needs more rocksteady bands.

- Belgian-style beers: As much as I constantly hype the wonders of Pabst Blue Ribbon (and I am not softening my position on this) I find that if I am going to drop some coin on a beer, I tend to enjoy some fine delicious Belgian ales. Plus, they all come in their own specific glasses. Deeeee-lightful.

- Zombie movies: come on, what's more satisfying than watching an army of the undead chase after mortified humans? Plus, seeing someone getting their face eaten off is just kind of fun from time to time.

- Spring Training: yes, folks. I'm a die-hard baseball fan. I also love re-living the past. Spring training is like that first day of baseball practice in high school. I'd spend the entire off-season (aka August through December) waiting for the day to come, and come early January, we'd lift weights for weeks and then, finally when the rain let up just enough, we got to lace up the spikes and hit the field. Spring training is the annual occurrence when you get to see baseball players enjoying playing baseball just for the fun of it -- no one is slumping, no one is worried about the playoffs, everyone just goes out to run drills and play some split-squad games. It's also about a month of sheer anticipation of how great this year's baseball season will prove to be.

THINGS I DON'T THINK ARE GREAT

- Nascar: It's hard to believe that a majority of our country's citizens consider this a "sport". It's a bunch of cars driving in circles forever. How can people consider it "exciting" to watch cars go in circles, turning one way, for hours on end? How can commentators make a case for this? "Oooh, he's driving really fast... so's the other guy.... uh ohhhh, they're hitting the straightaway... things might get hairy when they turn again.... Maybe in another half an hour we'll see someone crash. Don't you folks like seeing crashes?" I refuse to believe that filling a car's gas tank is considered part of competition.

- Girly princesses and the jocks who love them: There was a time when I was younger that I used to go to "cool" bars and look at hot girls. I eventually came to a realization: these women are horrible. Yes, they're fantastic to look at, but more often than not they are awful to carry on conversations with. As always, there are exceptions, but I've just met a few too many ladies who I find gorgeous yet revolting. I guess they should just find the next wave of corporate America and be well taken care of.

- The new beard trend: Sorry hipsters, sorry 80% of people in the Pacific Northwest, sorry Sam Beam of Iron & Wine -- looking like a backwoodsman is not the new black. I know a couple of people who make the beard look work, but there are just so many other facial hair options that look a hell of a lot better. Yes, I hate shaving as much as the next guy, maybe more. Unfortunately, it's just not such a great idea to leave a scraggly rat's nest on your face.

So there you have it. I hope I've somewhat made up for a slightly lackluster couple of day's worth of postings. Have a good rest-of-the weekend, everyone.

Not the way to start the day...

I am semi-nocturnal. I generally don't wake up before eleven or so, and this connects directly to the fact that I seldom call it a night much before three or so. As I eluded to in previous posts, I think it must have something to do with the feeling of peace and quiet I enjoy in those deep, dark hours of the wee morning. So, as always tends to be the case, last night I turned in late (or early, depending on how you interpret things).

Flash forward to this morning, around nine thirty. I'll set the scene. I'm fast asleep when I hear the doorbell off in the distance. Knowing that various packages should be showing up at my door any day now, I jumped out of bed, pulled on some clothes, and showed up squinty-eyed and wild haired to the door. What do I discover? That's right folks: Jehovah's Witnesses. Now, mind you, I am just as pro-Bible as the next person. I also understand that spreading the good word of all that you believe in is important. What I do not, however, is pulling a lazy sod like myself out of bed so you can tell me that, when the time comes, evil people will just disappear. It's nice that you believe that, but is it really worth me sacrificing my sleeping hours on a SATURDAY MORNING just so you can testify to me?

This experience led me to realize something: Jehovah's witnesses are the telemarketers of the religious world. People heed their ringing because they feel it could be anyone. They are excessively polite. They say that they hope they're not disturbing you, yet give you no "out" until they are done. Plus, they only come calling when they know they have the best chance of interrupting you -- Saturday mornings for the witnesses, dinnertime for the telemarketers. So here I am, it's eleven thirty in the a.m. and I've been awake for coming up on two hours. For a Saturday, this is NOT cool. Not cool.

Plus, as a final parting idea - I'm watching The Shining, and Shelley Duvall is one of the creepiest ladies I've ever seen on the big screen. There are even some points in the movie where I'm rooting for Nicholson. I'm telling ya, that kooky broad just ain't right. If you want to see just how nuts she is -- watch the special features. It's pretty amazing.
Also, on another Shining-related tip: if you ever want to look creepy, shave off your eyebrows. The bartender in the movie who talks Nicholson into going off the deep end has it, and it's not until now that I've been able to put my finger on why that is. Same thing goes for Robert Blake (who is creepy enough with eyebrows) in Lost Highway. Maybe that's what I'll do for Halloween -- wear my regular street clothes and just shave off my eyebrows....

Oh Jared Leto....

... how far you've fallen.

You were good (or so I recall back in the mid-nineties) in "My So-Called Life". Granted, lots of things were good in my memory, and this is one of those instances where I almost don't dare go back and check, because I could be MAJORLY let down. Hell, I'll even give Leto a little slack for his role in "Requiem for a Dream". I might even go as far as to say he was good in it.

But getting back to my original point, what the hell happened to you? Heavy eye makeup? A moderately tolerable band? Shacking up with every single red-flag dating possibility? I've heard of things jumping the shark, but this guy jumped the entire ocean. As the picture above shows, he's clearly let himself go a bit. Jeez, the simple fact that the picture was but a google image search away speaks volumes to the state of "his so-called career" at this point.

Now, I accept that I will never be a teen heart-throb. I am fine with that. If I were, I might actually have to exercise from time to time. But when you try to retain celebrity status by crawling into sack (allegedly, remind you) with the following:

- Paris Hilton, one of the few people whose movie career might be worse than Leto's
- Lindsay Lohan, enough said.
- Ashley Olsen, who was famous in TV back when Leto was. Difference is, she was three at the time

All these skanks, and there are still rumours that he might be gay.

As you can tell, I don't have much to talk about today. I just flipped through an online article about "bad celebrity boyfriends" and I couldn't help but notice his name pop up on one in five women who have bad/loose choice in men.

Sorry folks, I promise a little more fun an interest in tomorrow's post.

Walking

I spent some three and a half hours digging up some lawn today. This gave me a great amount of time to not only think, but to observe the sporadic flow of people up and down my street. I had a realization, which I will share with you shortly. Once this oddity donned on me, I felt the urge to continue my visual investigation for the rest of the day, and I've come to a fairly certain hypothesis:

No one ever "just walks" anymore.

Yes, people walk. They walk to and from places, in and around places, sometimes even over or under places. However, no one seems to walk just for the sake of walking. People who once did this have taken up the revolting act of "power walking" where they swing their arms from side to side and increase their speed ever so slightly that the mere act of walking can fall into the "exercise" category. Don't even get me started on joggers or runners. What I'm talking about is walking because you simply enjoy the act of walking. I enjoy taking late night strolls. Alas, for the most part either my schedule or the weather (and, of course, sometimes both) have prevented me from doing so recently. Alas, I admit, even my aimless wanderings aren't without taint: that's right, I'm talking again about hand-held devices.

If I die sad and alone, it won't be because no one ever set me up on a date, or that I didn't go out enough, it will be due to the fact that in our modern society, no one can randomly strike up conversations anywhere anymore. In coffee shops, on campus, in stores, and everywhere else, someone has SOMETHING jammed into their ear.
Case in point:
I hear a light and perhaps slightly seductive female voice behind me in line at Trader Joe's. I turn. I see a woman speaking to some familiar voice via her phone. Phones themselves were bad enough, now I have to deal with this whole BlueTooth bullshit. Schizophrenics who can't shut up don't need therapy or meds, they just need a little thingy to clip on their ear with a blinking blue light and they could be an investment banker for all we'd know. No one would ever know, because apparently if you own one of these little gizmos, you can NEVER remove it from your ear, whether you are on the phone or not. At least give a brotha a hardwire, so I have some slight visual clue that you MIGHT be talking to someone other than me when you say "So, wanna grab a drink tonight?" around me in public.

Then there's the iPod. It is one of the advancements in technology that I most celebrate, yet it is also the new opiate of the masses. I fall victim to it too: as soon as I park at school, I put my headphones in. I remove one ear bud, out of courtesy, when ordering my coffee at the cafe on campus. Once my transaction is complete, the headphones go back in until I safely arrive at my classroom. Even then, I usually wait for someone to talk to me before removal. Same holds true for visits to the coffee shop. Granted, if I see someone I might eventually grow enough balls to talk to, I will probably keep the iPod in the pocket, but one just never knows.

So, getting back to walking. If no one (in SF at least) ever just walks, I can never tip my cap and say "hi" to the person passing me in the opposite direction. I might never get the chance to say "G'day mistress, d'ya fancy this weather we're having?" (yeah, I know - back to weather talk again) True, that might not be a bad thing, but I'll never know for sure because they're too busy calling their friends the minute they get to somewhere open enough to have perfect cell phone reception, or they climb into their musical cocoon as soon as the opportunity presents itself. Hell, even awkward elevator conversation is a one-in-ten shot nowadays.

So, when you venture out onto the pavement as this week wears on (and as that so-called "love day" rears its ugly head), think about how you present yourselves. It shouldn't matter if you're single, dating, married, or... other -- you will probably never run into that wonderful random person who makes your day if you're too busy checking your voicemail. Yes, I know many of you are thinking "But Bill, when we go out with you, all the crazy people approach you." This is true, but they approach me even if I have my heaphones on, so I think it might have to do with me being a magnet for the socially unbalanced.

Stuff

I tend to be generally fastidious. I like the idea of a place for everything and everything in its place. Even for someone like myself, who is an unabashed bibliophile, despite the fact that my books are all in boxes in the garage, they are still separated by genre and labeled on the outside of the box for easy access. I don't like to look around and see clutter everywhere. However, I have one little problem: I have more crap than I could possibly imagine. Even worse, that "more crap than I could possibly imagine" doesn't really include books or musical gear.

"So, Bill," you ask "what brings this sudden realization on?" It's simple really. As my time of suckling at the teat of post-graduate education begins to wind down, and another year will be added onto my cumulative age, I am feeling an increased pull to vacate my basement hovel in favor of greener, or at least more spacious, pastures. Alas, the way things appear with my current state of finances, my best bet is to buy a good sleeping bag, cot, and hotplate, and move into a rent-a-space unit. Then I can at least rent the space next door to put the mountains of stuff I see around me. For those of you who have spent time with me, dwelling in my basement, you might say "But Bill, your little monastic chamber is ever so tiny. How can you stand there and claim that you have all sorts of stuff?"

Thanks for asking, friend. Here's the issue: I am very clever in my use of space, and I'm able to cram things into all edges of my confined quarters. You might not see them, but they're there. For instance, all you visitors to my humble abode, did you realize that I have a reel-to-reel tape player/recorder AND seven canisters of reel-to-reel tape conspicuously out of view? No? Yeah, I do. Disregarding the garage, I have, by my count, nine guitars, four amplifiers, a keyboard, a ukulele, and probably over a thousand CDs IN my dwelling. Tack on another dozen guitars, a few more amps, and a BUNCH of other assorted musical gear (including Taylor's drum set) from the garage, and you have enough to open up a start-up music consignment shop.

At this point you're probably thinking "Now Bill," you say "you probably will NEVER be able to afford the mansion you'd need to comfortably store all of this stuff." Thanks for pointing that out. In all honesty, I eagerly await the time of my relocation, because I will be able to discover once and for all just HOW MUCH stuff I have floating around this house. I know that a great deal of my stuff is smaller, and I will arguably have one of the most wonderful collections of shelves of random kitsch items in wherever I end up. My Curious George Bath Set, Dr. Zaius action figure (still in original packaging), my Lite Brite, the large assortment of Pez dispensers, and the wooden duck I'm sneaking out with me will all show how "hip" I am, especially once I let my creative mind wander in setting them all up. But this leaves me yet another issue: if I have cool shit all over shelves in my new place, where can I put my art? Where can I hang the hand-drawn Fender Jaguar picture with the guitar-pick matting? How about my amazing photo of Stonehenge? What about my four-foot by three-foot poster of Jack Nicholson busting through the door in The Shining? That can't go BEHIND kitschy items. They might eventually mate and produce an offspring that might resemble "Child's Play Eight: Seed of the seed of Chucky's uncle, Johnny".

God help me. One day I fear I will awaken, covered in a fine layer of dust (as EVERYTHING in here is) up on a shelf myself; and do you know what I will say????

"Wow, I didn't realize I still had space up here."

Tradition

As it was in the beginning is now, and shall be forever...

I'll see you all tomorrow.
~B~

Quiet

In case, dear readers, you haven't noticed - I tend to start writing these entries somewhere around three in the morning; sometimes earlier, sometimes much later. Usually I am listening to music. This is not just true for when I blog, it's true for when I do just about everything except shower, go to class, and.... eat meals with people who don't believe in background music. But tonight, despite the hour being about the same, I'm doing something a little different: I'm sitting back and enjoying the silence. A vast majority of my days are spent with some sort of background noise; whether it be watching a DVD as I fall asleep, listening to music in the car, or just general chatter around me whenever I venture out of my basement hovel and into the outside world.

In many ways, this is what I like about this time of day: with the exception of a random car barreling down my alley or footsteps upstairs, all I hear is the ticking of my clocks. So tonight, I try something new: complete silence. I've moved the clocks out into the garage, as soon as I finish writing this, I'm going to shut down my computer and I'm just going to spend a little extra time enjoying the fact that I can shut down and not have to hear anything for a while. Alas, in SF we don't have crickets or anything like that, but then again, crickets can be overrated if you're really trying to sleep. Granted, the slight ringing in my ears is still around, but it's a more minor afterthought. So, for you out there reading this, if you get the chance, spend a few minutes every week just finding somewhere you can shut off the lights at night and see what you hear. Yes, it's hard not to drift off to sleep, but those few minutes might help save your mental well-being.

Clearing up

Well, Southern California native girl, you got your wish at last -- the rain seems to have subsided for the time being. At the risk of talking about the weather in a public setting, I'll say this much: it's not so much the weather itself that I pay attention to as much as it is nature. There are maybe four instances that I can think of in which weather has a profound effect on me.

1) Heavy rain: I love it. Everyone hunkers down, and in my mind, rain on a windowsill is one of the most soothing sounds I can think of. Granted, people can't drive for shit when this happens, and it's all ANYONE wants to talk about, but if you can hole up for the night, you're in good shape.

2) Lightning: I may be one of the few people who hopes to go outside during lightning storms. I just can't get enough -- crazy thunder setting off car alarms, the sky lighting up at night, and the pattern of lightning criss-crossing across the sky. It makes you realize just how insignificant we really all are.

3) The first day after a rain storm: There's little that can compare to the quality of the air on that first dry day. Plants have all been taking in water for who knows how long, pollutants have all been knocked out of the air, and it feels like you can really breathe for a change.

4) Warm nights: I'm a big guy, so I generally dislike hot weather. I stay warm enough without the aid of the sun. However, I absolutely come alive when it is pleasant out well after the sun has gone down. I love walking in the wee hours of the morning, but that becomes quite the hassle if it's like thirty degrees and windy. Also, there is little in life finer than sitting out late at night with some booze and a cigar with friends. Hell, just tonight I walked out and looked up and the stars were all ablaze. All I could do was stand still for a moment and stare up at the sky - it was like seeing an old friend who'd disappeared some time ago. So, if you get the chance, espeically if you're in the Bay Area and the weather holds like it was today, before you go to sleep, walk out to where you can see a clear view of the sky. You'll thank me.

Genius

First and foremost, dear readers, let me apologize for not posting yesterday, but alas my internet crashed around one in the morning, so I had not yet begun to blog, and I couldn't even get a hard-wired connection, let alone my darling wireless. But I'm back, so you can all rest assured going into the weekend.

It's not a term I throw around loosely. Actually, I don't think I use it hardly at all. But tonight, I'm feeling a little maudlin, so I figure I'll let slip a little. I've seen a few things in my life that I can say really move me -- like seeing the Mona Lisa or the Sistine Chapel in person, or listening to some of those rare great performances by musicians through the ages. Now I'm sure you're all asking yourselves "Okay, so he's talked about renaissance art and great musical performances... who is he going to call a genius?" Well, I'm not. At least not right now.

This whole line of thought was brought to my mind this afternoon when I was talking with a friend, and he said something that struck a chord with me: he said he feared living a life of mediocrity, or just being average. I myself vacillate in and out of this mindset from time to time. I fear that I will finish my schooling, outgrow my musical performance, and settle into a comfortable job and lifestyle. While this is not, by any means, a bad thing, I know there is a part of me that feels like in some way, I need to leave a bit greater legacy. Granted, I may well some day get married and have a child, and that is as much as almost anyone could ask for. However, in the meantime, the "me" who hasn't had a decent date in much longer than I'd like to admit feels like the clock is ticking if I am going to land upon this great contribution. There are some things that just have to happen at a certain point in one's life. For instance, take Pearl Jam. They rose to prominence in the "grunge explosion" of the early nineties. If you see them perform today, they still rock; however, they have grown and matured. They put out different music, and I can assure you, if I just heard them playing at some local club tomorrow, I might not think they are all that great. This is also why Cobain's death was such a significant aspect of the entire ethos of Nirvana: in his death, Kurt Cobain never had to mature or adapt his music. (This is, of course, ignoring the fact that Nirvana was already starting to decline in popularity and listenership in its waning years)

So don't go worrying about me - I'm not down in the dumps or blue or anything like that. I guess more than anything else, I'd like to experience more moments of that feeling - of experiencing genius in action or witnessing it up close. I'm going to embed footage of the Pixies doing "Wave of Mutilation" unplugged to show you what I mean. Just listen, close your eyes, and when it's done, if you haven't gotten chills from it, you are really missing something.

My literary canon

For anyone who happens to be in my Cultural Criticism class, I apoligize. The last thing you probably want to hear right now is the word "canon," but all of this talk has got me thinking. If I were to construct a list of books that are essential Bill reading, what would I include or exclude? So here we go, the condensed reading list that is essential to "Bill B. 101" in no particular order:

On the Road - Jack Kerouac: Quite simply, one of the greatest books written. Go ahead women, roll your eyes. I'm sure most ladies will take exception to some of the more Y-chromosome fueled picks on this list.

Sex, Drugs, and Cocoa Puffs - Chuck Klosterman: It's hard to pick just one book by this master of pop culture criticism, but I find this one has the most re-readability.

Love Monkey - Kyle Smith: One of the best books written by "guys". This book is hauntingly familiar. Women, read it if you want a peek into the twisted and warped mind of your somewhat average single male.

Hot Water Music - Charles Bukowski: He was just sober enough to be really coherent, and he wasn't yet in that "old man looking back and wanting to be young again" mode that shows up in his later work.

Nine Stories - J.D. Salinger: You can keep Catcher in the Rye I'll take this amazing collection any day. It was tough to pick this over Franny & Zooey, but I decided to pick one and only one book from each author.

Lamb - Christopher Moore: Moore is one of those authors who I put more into the "fun read" category, but this book tells the story of Jesus during those missing years from his teens to late twenties. As re-told by his childhood pal, Biff, whom Jesus sins through vicariously. Also check out Bloodsucking Feinds by Moore, it's another sad casualty of my "one book per author" rule.

Love is a Mix Tape - Rob Sheffield: It's sad, heartfelt, a great story of hipster romance, and it's chock full of references to music that was coming out JUST as I was becoming aware of good music.

The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle - Haruki Murakami: Murakami is flat-out amazing. He keeps readers turning pages like few others can. Pick up any book by him, really, it's hard to go wrong.

The Shining - Stephen King: Screw you, snob of snobs who mock me for liking Stephen King. Read this book and try not to be amazed. Told you so. Bite me.

Will You Please Be Quiet, Please? - Raymond Carver: Another writer who should have EVERYTHING listed, but if I had to choose one, I have to go with the collection of stories that put him on the map.

A Moveable Feast - Ernest Hemingway: Yeah, I know what all of you are saying. "But Bill, how can you NOT put in The Sun Also Rises? Here's how: I didn't loooooove it when I first read it. Plus, this whole book is full of Hemingway discussing the craft of writing, drinking, and pointing out just how much crazy-ass Zelda fucked up life for poor ol' F. Scott Fitzgerald.

McTeague - Frank Norris: Anyone moving to San Francisco should have to read this book to see what the city has always been about.

Black Dahlia - James Ellroy: I was infatuated with noir fiction for a while in college, and this book is the one that REALLY stuck out to me. All of Ellroy's work is good, but this one haunted me for a long time. Fuck Hollywood for RUINING this book by making a pathetic attempt of a film interpretation.

Slaughterhouse Five - Kurt Vonnegut: Do I even need to explain this one? I didn't think so.

One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest - Ken Kesey: Kesey's dirty hippiness aside, this book is amazing. Why didn't Kesey write anything after this? It'd be like Beethoven writing the fifth symphony as his first ever piece: it just ain't gonna get any better.

The Hipster Handbook - Robert Lanham: It's about as far from "proper literature" as one can get. But it's HILARIOUS and addictively re-readable.

Me Talk Pretty One Day - David Sedaris: I can't read this book in public, I laugh so hard. Read his chapter about "The Rooster" and try not to pee in your pants.

Among the Thugs - Bill Buford: An American journalist examines the dynamics of British soccer hooliganism, and eventually incorporates himself into their scene... but boy does he ever get his comeuppance.

Howl - Allen Ginsberg: It's impossible not to include this. It is, in my opinion, the single most important poem of the last fifty-ish (51 and change, to be precise) years.


AND NOW ON TO A FEW CHOICE COMIC BOOKS....

Batman: The Long Halloween - Jeph Loeb and Tim Sale: This is one of the greatest graphic novels ever written. Just so happens it's also Batman, which doesn't hurt in my book.

100 Bullets - Brian Azzarello and Eduardo Risso: There are currently 11 collected trade paperback in this series. Read them all. Twice.

Too Much Coffee Man's Parade of Tirade - Shannon Wheeler: I think I've read this at least seven or eight times. It's absurd. It's hilarious. It's what independent comics should be, and it comes with a foreword by Henry Rollins.



Wow.... so there we go. I'm sure there are WAY too many omissions to even think about right now. I've been at this for almost two hours and it's time to attempt sleep. Am I a bastard for not having any female authors? Perhaps. Do I enjoy reading works from women? Hell yes. I just can't think of anything that is waaaay up there off the top of my head. Maybe this is why my former wife didn't stick around. (if you don't know what I'm talking about, ask me elsewhere)

Writers

In my studies, I've been finding out more and more what it takes to be a professional writer. As much as I would love to get paid to sit around and think of the next thing to write about any given day, I am beginning to suspect that I have no desire to do so, after all. I've always had a romantic notion of being a writer based on the life stories of folks like Kerouac and Hemingway; of being part of some all-too-cool community of artists, of sharing my work with people whom I respect and helping them with theirs. Of course, each of these men took their own lives, so maybe I shouldn't aspire to be like them.

Also worth considering are modern writers. There is a major reason that a number of these famous music critics (Guys like Klosterman and Rob Sheffield) are writing books nowadays: quite simply, it's hard to eke out a living, even if you are a "famous" magazine critic. I think this could be the one main reason that I will never be a famous artsy-type: I freak out when there isn't at least the promise of a steady income. I could pull a Raymond Carver, and write all night after working a blue-collar job all day, but that drove him to drink, and he wound up in an early grave just like the other writers I'd mentioned earlier.

There’s also the issue of editors. I’ve read a LOT of background information on Carver’s editor, Gordon Lisch. Dude basically went through Carver’s work and cut out up to 70% of some stories, he’d cut endings, change all sorts of stuff, and, from what I read, butcher a bunch of Carver’s writing to the point where people have issues calling it “Carver’s work.” If I were connected with someone like that, I’d be more likely to kick them in the nads than give them creative control over something I produced. If I’m driving myself nuts trying to come up with the perfect words to describe whatever it is I’m writing about, I’m not going to let some jackass who can’t write himself (come on, who else becomes an editor?) come in and chop up my work like a cheap steak. Granted, I’ll probably end up working as an editor in some capacity, but still…

So here's the crux of my problem: without becoming the famous writer I one day aspire to be, how will Charlie Rose ever interview me? The clock's ticking, dude isn't going to be alive forever. How can I be the coolest kid on that program for a while if I can't even get anything published? Then there's the other problem: I roll my eyes every time someone I meet in the lit program talks about "their novel" and how many people have been apparently working on the next groundbreaking work of American prose. Sorry folks, if it takes you nine years to write your first book, that second one could take the rest of your life. Just remember, trying is the first step towards failure, and if at first you don't succeed, then fucking quit.

Ennui

I don't know what's going on, but I feel somewhat trapped in my day-to-day. I have been going out, having fun, spending time with my friends, and sleeping like the dead. On the surface, you'd never know that I had the slightest of cares, but for some reason, I feel some vast need to initiate change into my life.

Then again, maybe I'm just caffeine deprived.

So enough of my blathering on about myself. I've recently discovered a generally hilarious web-based comic. Diesel Sweeties It sounds like some lame candy bar or little kids show about trucks, but it's really quite hilarious. Plus, dude publishes a comic a day, which is pretty impressive.

Okay, I'll be honest -- I have NOTHING to write about today. I refuse to discuss the Super Bowl. But here's the problem: I spent the whole day sitting around, drinking beer, and watching the game. So I'm going to give this challenge to you, dear readers: toss out an idea of something you'd like to see me ramble on about. It can be something as broad as "hipsters" or as narrow as "The Konami Code: Does UP UP DOWN DOWN LEFT RIGHT LEFT RIGHT B A START signify all that's right with video gaming?"

The floor is yours. And if you want to recommend a good bike while you're here, I'm in the market.

Sorry for the rather lame post, I'm sure I'll have some clever and witty beef with something or someone tomorrow.

How?

You'll have to excuse me, but I just have to vent a bit tonight. How is it that so many horrid people are married or happily dating? I'm not talking about any of my close or personal friends, so don't get offended -- if I thought you were horrid, chances are I wouldn't befriend you in the first place. I'm talking about those people you meet or see or overhear in public places who you can't stand, but have someone who stares longingly at them while they repluse everyone else in the general vicinity.

So I'm sitting at dinner tonight, and in close confines, you can't help but overhear nearby conversations. So this blowhard fucking yuppie republican is sitting next to me. He's spouting off shit that makes my jaw drop. Not political, mind you, just what he would deem "daily conversation". All I could do was sit there and shake my head, because all other brain cells were devoted to not leveling this guy with my chair for a little peace and quiet. As I look a bit closer, who is sitting across from this waste of oxygen? His fucking wife. Even worse, she seems kind of used to situations like this.

Now, as I was driving home I got to thinking: how in the hell is this clown married, while I've been insanely single for years? I'd like to think I'm not a horrid person. I practice good hygiene. I comb my hair most of the time. I don't wear pajamas in public. I have well-refined tastes in music, books, and life in general, and I try to give people room for their own tastes. I'd like to think I'm moderately attractive. Hell, I play in multiple bands. Am I doing something horribly wrong? Or do awful people find awful mates who will tolerate their evils for mutual fear of being alone? How is it creepy guy who weighs like 350 lbs with the little pony tail and elastic-waist pants walks down the street with his GIRLFRIEND while I walk down the street with my ever-dwindling sense of self worth?

At least I have my booze to keep me warm at night. Who needs a girlfriend when you have a tiny little bed and seven fingers of scotch?

Literary tastes

Those of you who know me, and some of you who don't, might know that I'm getting a Master's degree in Literature. I read a LOT. Even before I went back to school, I was reading about two books a week when I was substituting. I have what I like to consider fairly well-developed tastes in books.

So, having said that, I need to relate a little story from this evening: So I'm (gasp!) sitting in the coffee shop, reading a book, and by sheer happenstance, I end up sitting next to a pair little hipsters in their early twenties. Now usually, I find most hipsters charming and entertaining. These two, not so much. As I was ordering my coffee, an older gent was leaving. He's a regular. I don't know him, but I recognize him. Now I will try my best to transcribe the conversation between "Ironic Glasses Hipster" (IGH from here on) and his buddy "Silly Hat Hipster" (SHH from here on).

IGH: Did you see that guy?
SHH: Uh, yeah.
IGH: (with roll of the eyes) I hope I'm that happy at his age.
SHH: Yeah, really. That's what we have to look forward to in life.
IGH: Dude, whatever you do, don't let me become him.
SHH: What? You don't want to go out in your sweats, and sit in a coffee shop drinking a glass of wine while reading the new John Grisham novel?
IGH: I'd sooner die. I don't even know why John Grisham writes. I
really can't figure out why anyone would want to read his stuff.
SHH: Yeah... I'll bet Oprah recommended it.

*SCENE*

Okay... now, I appreciate that these little pretentious assbags understand the sweatpants rule. However, I take great exception to the Grisham comment. Granted, I have never read a John Grisham book. I may someday. I don't know. But dude is popular for a reason, and has been popular for a long time for that same reason. I'm sure if I were John Grisham I'd stop selling millions of copies of all of my books and turning them into blockbuster movies if two shit-for-brains know it alls in a coffee shop critiqued me.

Similarly, I recently saw a video of Henry Rollins doing spoken word. I will say it plain and clear right here: Rollins is one of my heroes. He is hilarious, well-read, and he rocks like few others can. However, I actually took exception to something he said in this clip. He was indirectly critiquing adults who read Harry Potter books. Now, I would see his point if that's ALL anyone ever read. But I for one read them unabashedly. I am really quite proud of the fact that I waited in line for book seven to come out so that I could finish reading it before noon the following day.

So, these two little incidents got me thinking: I am really not one to critique anyone's literary tastes. And do you, dear readers, know why this is? Quite simply put: these people are FUCKING READING. I would looooove to see more people like the great man the other night who flashed me a thumbs-up for reading Raymond Carver at the coffee shop, but quite frankly, when I see someone sitting there reading anything: Stephen King, Grisham, Dan Brown, or any Oprah's Book Club selection, I grin, because they could just as easily be sitting on their couch watching TMZ or some equally ridiculous shit like that. Rather than finding out who was in the motorcade that took a certain media darling to the nuthouse, these people are out entertaining themselves with something that requires at least the tiniest shred of imagination.

Wow, this went on much longer than I had anticipated, but when I talk reading, I get a bit heated. Also, notice that my friend Jon has started blogging, and I have a link to his blog in the right hand column under the archive. Just click on the words "Trapped in a Dumbwaiter". If you like reading my posts, you'll like his too. Show some love.