Diatribes

St. Valentine's Day Massacre

Wed, 13 Feb 2008 02:59:14 GMT

My favourite time of the year. Valentine's Day.

I don't think it's really possible to express in words just how 'over' this holiday I truly am, already.

If you don't want to read this entire diatribe, I'll get to the short of it - Valentine's day is fucking stupid, and you're just as fucking stupid for buying into it.

:Onward:

The first mass-produced Valentine greeting situation in America was contrived in the 1840s, by Esther Howland?

Okay, with that said, this is my theory. Valentine's Day is murderous, heinous, just like the rest of the 1800s (riddled with misery, social injustice, and hypocrisy). I don't know anyone who hasn't complained about Valentine's Day at some point in the past, regardless of how 'in love' they were at the time. I was talking to a friend and I mentioned that I hate Valentine's day and refuse to celebrate it. He immediately turned to Alex and said, "I don't ever want to hear you complain about anything." See?

So why do you celebrate it? According to stats, 85% of Valentines every year are purchased by women. This is counter-intuitive to the notion that women get all the presents...or is it? So why do men feel such pressure to produce adequate Valentine results? Simple: Women only have to buy a card. Then they can expect something a million times better from their guy.

I equate Valentine's Day with a really, really awesome sale...women are effectively paying a scant $4.99 for a 25 dollar box of chocolates, a 50 dollar dinner, 40 dollar roses, etc. You do the math: there's no longer be a question as to why women buy the cards.

Moreover, I think people really miss the mark when they hate on Valentine's Day. I don't hate it because it's a symbol of togetherness and love. No, not at all. Hell, I've been in a relationship (thus gaining a default 'valentine') every single year since Sophomore year of high school, with the exception of last year. So no, it has nothing to do with lonely bitterness or angst. Actually, it's just the opposite. I hate Valentine's Day because love is spontaneous, love is exciting...love should make you want to take on the world - not take out the customer in front of you at line in The Hallmark Store who can't decide between the 1/2 lb of truffles or nonpareils. Love doesn't hibernate for 364 days of the year, suddenly bursting through the surface on its prescribed anniversary. People are just as rotten after Valentine's Day as they are on the days after Christmas or Thanksgiving.

Single folks who are haters have it completely wrong. No, you see, Valentine's day isn't for people in relationships at all! On the contrary - Valentine's Day is for people who are single. It's the only holiday in the year that doesn't affect single people - that entire demographic gets to stay home while their roomates go on expensive dates, toiling over complicated relationship issues ("Does this skirt make my ass look fat?"). Singles get to laugh at shitty romance movies about relationships that don't exist, while the rest of the world is sociologically required to shell out money they don't have on things like candy and flowers (which will be gone before the credit card statement ever comes in) in a feeble attempt to acheive said Shangri-La.

Don't even get me started on flowers. What better a symbol of your undying love than 50 bucks for flowers that die in a week (maybe two, if you get that little packet of plant food).

Get with the program, folks. They want your money, and you give it to them hand-over-fist. Valentine's Day isn't about love, it's about rape.

Didactic!

Mon, 11 Feb 2008 01:39:42 GMT

As America's best-loved semipro freelance conversationalist, I am often queried about my brazen humorosity. "How is it possible," I am asked, "that you area able to extemporaneously lecture so effortlessly on such a myriad of complex topics? What is the key to your incisive, witty repertoire?"

It's a valid question.

Certainly, there is a formula to being relentlessly dynamic. There's a shockingly simple equation too being uber-interesting, and it works with every subject imaginable.

The formula is as follows: When discussing any given issue, always do three things. First, make an intellectual concession (this makes the listener feel comfortable). Next, make a completely incomprehensible - but remarkedly specific - "cultural accusation" (this makes you insightful). Finally, end the dialogue by interjecting slang lexicon that does not necessarily exist (this makes you contemporary). Here are a few examples...

When talking about sports: "I mean, come on -- you just know that Rodney Rogers is sitting in the locker room before every game reading Nietzsche, and he's totally thinking to himself, 'If Ron Artest tries to step to me one more time, I'm gonna slap jack his brisket, Philly style.'"

When talking about music: "Oh, let's face it -- we all know that if Rivers Cuomo makes one more album about the Cubism didactic, he might as well just give up completely and turn Weezer into a hobo-core three-piece."

When talking about film: "Everybody in this room has seen Peter Bogdanovich at his worst, and everybody in this room already suspects that he probably sits in his gazebo and beats off to Pet Sounds five nights a week, so I think it's safe to assume this whole era of the 'Scarecrow Thriller' is as dead as the diplodicus."

When talking about politics: "That crazy Condoleeza Rice -- who does she thing she's fooling with all that neo-Ventura, post-Dickensian welfare state pseudo-shit? If that's supposed to be the future, she may as well stick the Q like the salt queen that she is."

Do you understand? Do you see the forest through the trees? Do you not see what I am no longer saying to you? if so -- congratulations! Prepare to have sex constantly.

~Chuck Klosterman, "Sex, Drugs, and Cocoa Puffs: a low-culture manifesto."

iRead

Sun, 02 Dec 2007 07:51:38 GMT

Facebook status: annoyed.

I'm so over facebook. I had 25 iRead "reccommendations" today on the 'book, and half of them were fucking Harry Potter, something I don't even like. And books I already read, such as The Scarlet Letter: aka - don't bother, just hang yourself.

Maybe I just read a lot. Or maybe I just have an opinion on everything. Most likely it's both. But I think they could try a little harder than Romeo and Juliet or Catcher in the Rye. They're popular for a reason - because everyone has already read them! What are you looking for? 100% readership? Is Shakespeare giving you kickbacks from the grave? What do you want, world domination? What about new books? If you're in college, odds are you've already read most of that other stuff as required in high school or college classes. There are so many amazing books out there from somewhat current authors, exploring current topics.

Just one more thing that pushes me to delete the facebook account altogether.

Atleast my iGoogle is still fucking cute...

Live Your Own Time.

Sun, 25 Nov 2007 03:56:38 GMT

So, I love Woody Guthrie, Jack Kerouac, Johnny Cash, Allen Ginsberg, Bob Dylan, Billy Bragg, etc. If you hate hipsters, you hate the future. I really believe that. Although Ray Bradbury actually was highly critical of hipster self-importance in one of his short stories, which was pretty rad.

Even so, my opinion is that it's better to feel self-important than unimportant, or unprovocative of any change. One of my old journalism teachers said, "You gotta have an ego to write. Your ego will get bruised. It takes courage to put it all out there."

It almost seemed imperative that I go see, "I'm Not There," the new movie based on the life of Bob Dylan.

Holy crap-and-a-half, it was good. Not just 'good' in a general way, but good in more of a symbolic way. And Kate Blanchett as Bob Dylan was pretty bitchin'. I love her, and it was cool to see her as a guy. Not just any guy, either, but one who's world-reknown. It must have been very challenging to be not just a man, but a legend as well. She pulled it off really well.

An interesting thing that was said in the movie that I think a lot of writers and musicians have trouble with was the statement, "Live your own time." There's a little kid who goes around from boxcar to boxcar in the 60's telling everyone his name is Woody Guthrie. He stays with this family, and the mother of the family says that he's a talented kid, but he needs to stop singing about the Dustbowl and start living in the 60s. He needs to start singing songs of his own time, and of his own contemporary social issues.

I think a lot of my friends and I who play music or write or do any type of art, find it hard not to revert back into the mode of those who've inspired us. It's so poignant to just say, "Live your own time." I shouldn't write about unionizing anymore than Guthrie would've in 2007, and I shouldn't write about Vietnam anymore than Bob Dylan right now. I won't paint Marilyn Monroe or write a story about the great depression. I should be concerned about what's going on now. The difficulty in living our own time, is finding out that nobody, or barely anybody, even cares. These are confusing times, and maybe that's what They want. It's hard to write about confusion when nobody can get their facts straight. Distract us with shiney objects and we'll never get around to crucifying you. Even more difficult is finding something that rhymes with 'corporate hegemony.'

I guess we could all write about shameless indulgence and the environment and failed adherence to international laws. But if it's not something that affects people directly, nobody cares. Nobody will care about human rights violations, or diamond trades, if it's not something that detracts from our qualities of living on a daily basis. The farmer or 10 year old who loses an arm in a field in Laos from an active US landmine is affected, but he won't write a song. The men and women in this fortunate country who are poverty stricken are affected, and won't have time to write songs. If they do, we won't ever hear it unless it's been processed and bleeped and safe for our consumption. Don't say "That's me!" because if you're reading this on facebook, you're more blessed than a lot of people. If we'd pull our heads out of glossies and start looking at the Wall Street Journal, maybe we'd be more pissed off than we are. I am no exception to this rule, by any means, with my guilty pleasures of America's Next Top Model and McDonald's fries. (Being an amateur photog justifies the ANTM obsession. Nothing justifies the fries...)

We love beautiful things to a point where we are repulsed by the ugly truths. Hollywood rolemodels are few and far between. While we cannot control what they do, we can control who our idols become. That is the power we have - to bestow fame and adoration only unto those who deserve it. We are failing.

My favorite band on the planet is Crass. Completely raw, untamed, educated. They lived their time - and nobody gave a shit because it wasn't 'pretty.' It's only gotten worse since then.

I don't profess death to electronic music. I'm wishing death upon empty music and empy heads.

Running in Heels...with Scissors

Thu, 22 Nov 2007 04:17:50 GMT

My Prayer:

Please, if there is a god, give me a sign. Either light my TV on fire, or just let it encompass my life to the point of my absolute vapidity...

xoxo,
~Jamie

Seeing that neither of those things will probably occur, what's the next step in my grieving process for the American Dream?

Write an angry blog, of course.

So I watched a bit o' the telly today and realized just how much absolute shit we pay people to pump into our brains on a nightly basis.

Numb me and just hook it directly into my neural-net-proccessor. I think I'm almost debilitated enough to believe I can "afford that, I can look like this, and I will one day live there..."

Frankly, the worst feeling I had tonight was when I saw a news report, by respected journalists, peddling tips for getting the best deals [SHOP EARLY!] on my loathed, whorish nemesis - black Friday. There's a writer's strike, right?

After which, followed a clip of, "The secret to longer lashes!" An unlikely cure for this common affliction of short, unbecoming eye-hair. What the fuck?

No seriously...WHAT THE FUCK!?

International crises...major candidate debates for the coming elections...and I'm watching canned commercials from glorified FarkTV.

Is it not bad enough that I eat food from a Wendy's bag, wear my Levi's jeans, and blog on a site owned by Rupert Murdoch? Now I have to be told the best ways to spend more money I don't have, for more shit that I don't need?

The arguement of "Holidays are about family," is dead and gone. Right now, fuck family. Fuck Old Navy's MP3 player giveaway at 5am, fuck Boscov's door-busters at 4am, and fuck Al Gore for inventing the Internet that assaults my computer with bad pop-up ads and banner links even as I write this irate blog. The Gap doesn't give a shit about my family. Neither do the Keebler Elves, or Betty Crocker, or Banana Republic, or those sappy Folger's "my son's a soldier and he's home for the holidays - buy me!" wake-up call commercials. And fuck me, for thinking at even one instance in my life that they ever cared about anything more than the contents of my wallet.

Wal-Mart took it to a whole new level this week with a radio ad that repulsed me so greatly that I've tuned it off with every subsequent listening...

Parents: "We'll have to cut more branches off our tree to make sure we can fit all the presents underneath for our bratty, heelys-wearing, why-the-fuck-do-you-need-a-cell-phone-when-you're-only-10-years-old? kids."

I might even start stumping for the Black Spot brand - if it weren't so goddamn trite already.

I'm only American when I consume like a mofo. Everyone knows that dastardly, unwritten code..."Your family only loves you if you buy them shit."

I'm left obsessing over a holiday for the birth of a man who supposedly healed the sick and walked on water. A Wii should suffice.

If there's a god, shouldn't I be giving him a Wii for Christmas? ...or a Playstation 50k? ...or an ugly sweater? Instead of giving them to someone else? I mean, I wouldn't want my whole family to get presents on my birthday, only for me to come up empty-handed at the end of the day...

I'm no Mod, I'm no punk, I'm no separatist or socialist or anything I'd ever been at the age of 13 - finally, I get that I can't win. It only took me 12 years to stop making homemade presents and shirkng the Mall. So I will stand in line for40 minutes with my bottle of $20 Bath and Body Works skunkwater, and hope for an easier time next holiday go-round.

I think I'm giving up. Is this the definition of 'adulthood?' Growing up shouldn't be equated with giving in.

I will enjoy my chinese labor, my $5 coffee, my NAFTA, and my absolute angst for the outlandish oil prices that have finally made their way to our United neck of the woods after all these years. I am an American, goddamn it. I would even bleed red white and blue, if these colours would only run...

Now where's my gunrack?

Dennis J. Kucinich

Fri, 16 Nov 2007 03:23:17 GMT

Watching the presidential debates is my favorite thing of all time to do. Every year, we sit around the TV debating things, tirelessly watching CNN debate films and arguing about various topics at my house. I don't watch the 'afterparty' circlejerk of reporters down spin alley. I just watch the debates and then turn off the TV. I get more facts and less confusion that way.

I don't even bother with republican primaries anymore, mainly because I'm too far left to identify with anything any of them have to say. Whatsoever. And it's not a matter of solely distrusting republicans (because i don't trust dems either), but it truly is a matter of disagreement. I find that when republicans run for office, they a.) scare me, b.) sound like liberals for about six months. Then the corporate republicans overpower the legiemate republicans, and we're stuck with a big fat mess.

My new guy is Dennis J. Kucinich. This guy cracks me up. I can watch a debate and this guy is like a firecracker - tonight, someone asked a question about the Patriot Act. He had this to say, "...of course I don't support the patriot act...I read it."

Not only that, he's voted on the major issues, and he's voted in the interest of the people and the commonsense population. I'm watching 3 hours of 'flip-floppers,' and he's the only one who's consistently voted and upheld his opinions the entire time. I like him a great deal, and I haven't felt this way about a candidate in a very, very long time. The last person I loved like this at election time was Bill Clinton.

I like his accountability sort of framework. If you're gonna vote a certain way, and the shit later hits the fan as a direct result, you can bet your ass this guy is gonna hold you accountable. And you can generally understand that he'll take responsibility for the decisions he makes as well. I like that, a real stand-up guy for a change. Not making everyone happy, just doing what he believes is ethically correct, and in the best interest of as many people as possible. It's refreshing. He almost seems frustrated with his fellow candidates in a way I can't see in the others. They play grab-ass with one another. "Oh, I agree with Mr. Obama..." "Oh,Mrs Clinton is right on this issue, but here's her mistake..." Yada Yada. No, pick a side, pick an opinion. Don't just run down your debate clock by putting your hand up the skirts of your competition. That's why I like Kucinich - it's like he's saying, "Of course I voted that way. The question is, why didn't you? And why are you now regretting it?" He said this tonight, "I see all of these guys changing their opinions tonight to tell everyone what they want to hear. Wouldn't it be nice to have a President who was right the first time?"

Yes, Mr. Kucinich, it would be nice.

These are the years of radical change, and I feel like a frustrated, angry population is more succepticble to the more far-left-leaning, or even third party candidates. I mean, an independent won't win or course, but this is just the type of angry election that could see a major spike in alternatives to the traditional Dems and Reps. I don't think that's a bad thing. Do you remember Ross Perot? I do. Well, I remember charts and big ears. More that than, though, I remember a genuine desire for people to see this guy run and win - something I haven't seen about any independent candidate, since. This could be the year that a legitemate 3rd party could make a real dent in our traditional elections.

I love it.

I also love Hilary Clinton's wit. I don't believe I'd ever vote for her because she's ever so shady. Maybe in another lifetime. BUT she said this tonight, off the cuff, and I laughed until I cried with sheer triumph as a woman:

           It's clear that they aren't attacking me because I'm a woman, they're attacking me
           because I'm...ahead. And as Harry Truman once said, "If you can't take the heat,
           get out of the kitchen." I'm quite comfortable in the kitchen.

...I'll Play My Little Part in Something Big.

Tue, 23 Oct 2007 03:53:03 GMT

I'll accept with poise, with grace,
When they draw my name from the lottery,
And they'll say, "All the salt in the world couldn't melt that ice."
I'm the one who gets away,
I'm a New Jersey success story,
And they'll say, "Lord, give me the chance to shake that hand!"

You are from Arizona, Jimmy Eat World.

You know not what it means to be from Jersey, regardless of your clever riffs and wit-laden lyrics.

...

You are EVERYWHERE.

Stop assaulting my ears.

Other things that need to stop assaulting my senses are the US Armed Forces. I go to the movies. I watch The 20. (That 20 minutes of shit-for-brains TV trailers for Bionic Woman and the adverts that would never get airtime due to their length and otherwise unbearableness.) No, I'm sorry, it's no longer called 'The 20.' It's called the "Regal First Look." Yes. So, The 20. I digress...

The Navy Seals show me a 30 second commercial, a series of photos, taken consecutively over a time lapse of oh, say, 30 minutes. It's supposed to represent the stealth nature of the Marines. I just see haystacks one minute, and a clear field the next. Covert. Just what I want to do with my time, dress up like a haystack and have people make recruitment commercials of me. Way to spend some tax bucks on ineffective marketing...

The Marines- oh, boy. They know how to play up the, "The terrorists win" card. I have never felt so French in my life, after watching this 60-second barrage of star-spangled, ass-kickin', freedom-frie-eatin' images that made me want to drive a tank through an Iraqi village to a soundtrack of Ted Nugent. It was a Chosmky wet dream, I swear to fucking christ.

Maybe I'm just a communist, or Swiss or something, but if you're that hard-up for new recruits, boys, odds are people don't believe in the cause.

Now if months ago we were fighting for Paris Hilton's early jail-release, I can guarantee 80% of people my age would don their kevlar and march to Washington DC - underwear-free, with doggie totes and giant sunglasses in tow.

I have decided that this whole country is gone to shit, and the only one who makes any sense anymore is...

Terry Francona?

We'll see.

"Express Checkout" My Ass

Thu, 02 Aug 2007 23:11:39 GMT

I wish ShopRite had a jewelry counter...

That way, I could avoid the express lane (and its obnoxious patrons teetering on the brink of 50 items or less) altogether like I do at wal-mart.

Just a thought.

Television, Television! [Pt. 2]

Mon, 30 Jul 2007 23:31:36 GMT

Today I watched legitemate, actual TV for the first time in months, again. I must say, I'm sure out of the loop now...

Apparently, Paris Hilton is stil the bees knees even after being jailed. Vapidity knows no bounds!

Britney Spears is a fucking white trash trainwreck stripper/flapper clowny makeup whore (with a bad wig).

Yes, I will pay more for GAP clothes, if it means that people in other countries will be exploited for much fairer prices on the whole.

Angelina Jolie is still drop-dead gorgeous.

George Clooney is still not married to me.

Oh, and fuck Ryan Seacrest, too.

I'm realizing that I haven't missed much. Well, I've missed a ton, actually...just nothing worth worrying about, I guess.

Hollywood: Such Stuff As Dreams Are Made On

Wed, 04 Jul 2007 11:41:04 GMT

I went and saw a movie on Tuesday, because let's face it, Tuesday is the shit...

I saw this preview - lo and behold, Philip Seymour Hoffman is starring in a movie called "The Savages" about siblings (Hoffman and Laura Linney) who wrestle with the idea of putting their dad (Philip Bosco) in a nursing home. It looks so witty/sardonic/poignant.

He plays a guy with a fucking theatre phd and practically no job, living in - get this - a shitty apartment!! And...AND...he has a beard.

I'm pretty sure I drooled a little bit...just a little.

I think this just beat "Across the Universe" out for the top spot on my Movies I Must See list.

Hollywood has obviously been reading my journal...

Chuck Norris Needs to Get His Ass to Jersey

Mon, 02 Jul 2007 22:44:52 GMT

Some guys make you feel great about yourself. Especially the way you catch them checking you out when they think you aren't noticing, but they don't know your periferal vision is hella-charged and you notice everything...I love that.

The gas station guy is not one of those people. In fact, he just kinda creeps me out.

Every morning, it gets worse. Sometimes I just go there for a fucking ego boost. Other times, I go there for a laugh...oh, and it's laughable. What happened to the other guy? He was atleast cute and friendly.

I don't know what it is about gas station attendants that get attracted to me. One in Hammonton used to tell me, "You are very beautiful! Why aren't you married!?" every time I'd see him. The one on my way home from Vineland is always like, "So, you from around here? Maybe we could hang out, you know, some time. You're in Malaga, right?" (He's actually a cute one, though...) The guy in Collings Lakes (before it changed to a BP), now he was cute, and he was always so nice to me.

Today took the cake, though.   This guy...man. Wow. He's a real trip. He always, no matter how far away I hold the money at the edges, does this weird hand thing on purpose. Sometimes I'll hold it such that it would be near impossible to do that, and he finds a way. I totally have witnesses to this, you guys...I shit you not. I could physically throw the money at him and he'd find away to come back and molest my hand. It's fucking weird. So I get there today and his shirt is regularly buttoned, by the time he gets to my car it's half undone. He did the hand thing, as expected. He gets like, really close to me when he talks. It's so fucking funny/creepy. There are so many other oddities and events that you'd have to witness when you come out with me, but take my word for it, it's bizzarre.

I swear, swear, this shit can only happen to me.

I need a boyfriend...a big scary one that knows kung fu, or atleast can fake it.

"Meet my boyfriend, Charles. Call him Chuck for short..."

Remember Two Things

Fri, 22 Jun 2007 01:57:31 GMT

While I thought my week just couldn't get any better, I was completely wrong. (Hey, it's been known to happen.)

For months I've been waiting for my Abbey Road. MONTHS. Some guy sold it, he was covering a debt, he'd get it to me whenever, etc...BAM! Today, UPS delivers my baby to me in that glorious Media Mail envelope! EEEeee!

Thus, with my newly arrived, beautiful, original 1969 EMI Abbey Road clutched in hand, I headed for that stellar piece of musical genius - the foundation upon all life itself was built - my record player. (Which, I'm finding, is getting slow. :sniffle:)

Then later I had hitch in my giddy-up again, so I went sniffin' for records. Not old ones tonight - that's a Saturday project. These were new - gasp! That's right, folks. These ones don't smell like weed and sex and Canoe and whatever other good funk was to be sponged from the morning after a mid-60's basement party. I think the lack of that distinct smell degrades the quality, personally. I swear, I open The Dark Side of the Moon on any given day and I get a fucking contact high.

Used records are like holding a piece of someone's personal life journey. They should be treasured and loved and respected as a piece of a personal history never to be duplicated - a person's own little milestones in life are usually marked by their albums, and that's important! Or atleast mine are, I think.

Point is...

I've decided two things:

1.) Panic at the Disco! is not something I would really listen to on the radio. It is, however, thoroughly more hardcore on vinyl. But...isn't everything, really? Even Starship's "We Built this City" single/extended club remix - and yes, I totally.fucking.own.it...

2.) Don't buy CDs. Buy records because you don't have to destroy all your fingernails and sanity to open that stupid plastic shrinkwrapped package. Every year, they get harder and harder to open. It's like 'they' don't even want me to hear the music I just bought. Am I the only human being thrown into a complete existential crisis when I can't open the new White Stripes CD? What the christ?

My New Anthem

Sun, 17 Jun 2007 17:29:42 GMT

This is a song I heard and it blew my mind. Every tennent of this thing is true. Sometimes, people come along and change up the scene...

Thou Shalt Always Kill - Dan le Sac vs Scroobius Pip

Thou shalt not steal if there is direct victim.
Thou shalt not worship pop idols or follow lost prophets.
Thou shalt not take the names of Johnny Cash, Joe Strummer, Johnny Hartman, Desmond Dekker, Jim Morrison, Jimi Hendrix or Syd Barrett in vain.
Thou shalt not think any male over the age of 30 that plays with a child that is not their own is a pedophile - Some people are just nice.
Thou shalt not read NME.
Thou shalt not stop likin' a band just 'cause they’ve 'come popular.
Thou shalt not question Stephen Fry.
Thou shalt not judge a book by its cover.
Thou shalt not judge Lethal Weapon by Danny Glover.
Thou shalt not buy Coca-Cola products, thou shalt not buy Nestle products.
Thou shalt not go into the woods with your boyfriend’s best friend, take drugs and cheat on him.
Thou shalt not fall in love so easily.
Thou shalt not use poetry, art or music to get into girls’ pants - use it to get into their heads.
Thou shalt not watch Hollyoaks.
Thou shalt not attend an open mic and leave as soon as you done your shitty little poem or song, you self-righteous prick.
Thou shalt not return to the same club or bar week in, week out, just ’cause you once saw a girl there that you fancied but you’re never gonna fucking talk to.

Thou shalt not put musicians and recording artists on ridiculous pedestals no matter how great they are or were.
The Beatles - Were just a band.
Led Zepplin - Just a band.
The Beach Boys - Just a band.
The Sex Pistols - Just a band.
The Clash - Just a band.
Crass - Just a band.
Minor Threat - Just a band.
The Cure - Were just a band.
The Smiths - Just a band.
Nirvana - Just a band.
The Pixies - Just a band.
Oasis - Just a band.
Radiohead - They're just a band.
Bloc Party - Just a band.
The Arctic Monkeys - Just a band.
The Next Big Thing - Just a band!

Thou shalt give equal worth to tragedies that occur in non-English speaking countries as to those that occur in English speaking countries.
Thou shalt remember that guns, bitches and bling were never part of the four elements and never will be.
Thou shalt not make repetitive generic music, thou shalt not make repetitive generic music, thou shalt not make repetitive generic music, thou shalt not make repetitive generic music.
Thou shalt not pimp my ride.
Thou shalt not scream if you wanna go faster.
Thou shalt not move to the sound of the wickedness.
Thou shalt not make some noise for Detroit.
When I say “Hey” thou shalt not say “Ho.”
When I say “Hip” thou shalt not say “Hop.”
When I say, he say, she say, we say, make some noise - kill me.

[Ah, forgot where I was, hang on]

Thou shalt not quote 'Me Happy.'
Thou shalt not 'shake it like a Polaroid picture.'
Thou shalt not wish 'your girlfriend was a freak like me.'
Thou shalt spell the word “Phoenix” P-H-E-O-N-I-X, not P-H-O-E-N-I-X, regardless of what the Oxford English Dictionary tells you.
Thou shalt not express your shock at the fact that Sharon got off with Brad at club last night by saying “Is it.”

Thou shalt think for yourselves.

And thou shalt always, thou shalt always... kill.

One of the most incredible songs I've ever heard. That, my friends, is fucking amazing.

Don't Believe the Hyte

Sat, 16 Jun 2007 11:38:15 GMT

http://profile.myspace.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=user.viewprofile&friendID=5234538

There's a photographer who blows me away. His name is Justin Hyte.

I saw his work and I'm still picking my jaw up off the floor to this day. I figured I'd share it with you because he has a myspace.

I want to be this guy, he has such a unique way with light and everything is very theatrical. It's fucking dramatic and fun. A lot of his work is very toungue-in-cheek and almost mocks the ridiculous nature of fashion industry icons, but in this amazing way that still pays hommage to the original visionaries who deserve praise.

Be sure to check out the eyes, though. That's what gets me - the people have their eyes closed, but they have makeup on their eyelids so it looks like they have the perfect eyes.

The guy is just cool and I hope I get that good one day.

Fifth Avenue Heartache

Mon, 11 Jun 2007 23:15:05 GMT

In times of crisis, I'm always the one that says, "Just fix it."

I don't care for your transgressions, or your stupidity. Self-loathing gets nobody anywhere, and fast.

I keep a cool head to a point where it troubles people. I'm like The Wolf, for fuck's sake. Always have been.

It's not indifference, it's the years of engineering companies. I've learned to do things yesterday, I've learned to pick my battles. Get it done. No sense worrying about things you can't change - and if you can change it, then change it, already!

So now I feel like an idiot...at a time when I should feel great. Why? Because I fixed it...and too soon.

The battle of the scale? Yes. Moreso, the battle of "What the fuck do I do when I lose 35 pounds and my clothes are too big...and it's little over a month before Costa Rica?"

Where am I gonna shop this late? Honestly. I felt my heart patter a little faster for the first time in months and I must say, I'm a bit nonplussed now. Please, it's already fall in the fashion world. And I'm NOT breaking into my checking account and funding an outrageous spending spree to accomodate my newly missing features. So what do I do?

The final blow was dealt today. Mom...of all people...says to me, "Your pants are enormous. Go get new ones...those look like your father's! Here, take my car..."

It's true, though, and now she's right. I can take off all my clothes without unbuttoning anything. They just fall off. It's ridiculous, and although I'm happy to feel a bit like meself again, I'm pissed off that it all decided to fall off right before vacation and now I have nothing left to wear.

Atleast jeans never go out of style...I will take them to my grave. I've sworn, publicly, that I will be buried in my 'pirate' jeans. Make sure they have me facing stage left at the wake so everyone can see the bitchin' painted pirate ship on the pocket. Better yet, cremate me and roll me up in those pants and throw me into an Icelandic volcano.

Ponchos are in, right?

Esse Quam Videri

Sun, 10 Jun 2007 23:30:12 GMT

How often we appear to be what we are not.

Please excuse the disjointed nature of this blog, because I'm typing without proofreading or looking. Right now, you see, I'm actually watching my neighbors fix boats and dump toxins into the water table, and I'm a bit captivated to say the least. It's not one of those events I can do anything about..like a trainwreck, I just kinda sit back and watch and think, "...and into the tap water it goes. Brita won't save my ass from whatever that was..."

What if what we appear to be is actually what we are. I mean, people have false pretenses all the time to the point where they start to believe them. Our whole government is phony.

The world we live in is a complete illusion, to say the least. If we didn't have casual lies the world would fall apart.

I've met people living in lies for the majority of their lives - people who are gay, people who are racists, or people who maybe just don't like the Gorilla Biscuits but still pretend to be interested. All different levels of facades exist.

What if I were to be completely honest for one year? Could I survive? Probably. I wouldn't have many friends left, but sure, I'd be fine. Why not try?

I'm starting a new job...what better way to get off on the right foot than to put it to the test. I've always been extremely frank...it probably won't make a bit of difference. I'd love to see this experiment done by some of the folks I know, though. Now that would be interesting...

So what if I think Thoreau just rode the coattails of Emerson?

So what if Hemingway bores me to the point of hair loss?

I told the editor of the Times that I didn't want to work for a company that would designate what I could and couldn't do with my free time.

The sound of Stevie Nicks caterwauling makes me want to go to instigate a fight with a drunken Liza Minelli in hopes that her blows to my head would subdue the sound of that hellcat's god-awful shrieking, and I'm not going to apologize for it anymore.

Some nights I've stayed up to watch entire seasons of America's Next Top Model.

I could watch Justin Timberlake dance for hours. He's not my type, but he can pop and lock like nobody's business.

I've never had a MAC card, and I plan to keep it that way. I don't even understand how it works, and I won't pretend to, either.

I've spent nights sleeping in piles of freshly-cleaned clothes that I'm far too lazy to fold.

I hid my 52 from him in a box in the closet because I finally wanted something original - a project of my own. I dumped him at around Week 25. He still doesn't know.

I don't know how to use a spreadsheet, and the thought of it after all these years sends shudders up my spine.

I am of the distinct mindset that I've never, ever been in love. If I were, I'd still be there.

I've tripped over my own beer bottles. I've awoken spooning my laptop after those desperate nights spent alone with Mathematica. I've eaten the requisite three meals of pizza and ramen a day. I've spent the 36 hours on the 10-question Thermodynamics take-home final. I've paid for gas with coins on more than one occassion.

So many innocuous secrets that we keep...there are thousands of things that we don't know about each other, and the joy of living is praying that

a.) someone cares enough to break down your walls.
b.) someone will trust you enough to let you break down theirs.

How many boats does this guy plan to fix tonight? Jesus-Christ-with-an-Evinrude, this is ridiculous and jarring and loud.

If I bought another car, I'd want one big enough to live in, just in case. Maybe a van with shag. The plan was always that'd we'd gut a schoolbus and pimp it. Like many dreams, we never did. It's probably more bad-ass in my mind anyway, I guess.

I heard a radio DJ the other day on one of the top 40 stations in the area. It might have been Q102 or something equally as shitty. The girl was talking about the 'Paris Hilton goes to jail' situation and said, "They're too hard on her...she dresses so fabulously."

a.) WTF?
b.) She doesn't even wear clothes.

Another reason I don't listen to the top 40 stations. Another reason to keep my sanity and my iPod.

MGK is probably my favorite station. I can't believe I ever wanted to do that - to be a radio dj. It's not how it was before...now Howard's gone to Satellite, and morons like the above referenced are left to roam the buffalo range of bandwidth completely unchecked. How...HOW does this happen? How do we get tangled in Ryan Seacrest and all of his coexisting vapid bramble and neglect the talent that exists just beyond the garden wall?

I smell peppers but i think it's just someone mowing their lawn. Deception is what this country - what this world - is built upon. Oh, the ironic joys we take when one is exposed as fraudulent.

This all started with a Tom Waits conversation the other night. It's weird how at the strangest times we come upon the flint that sparks our little mental explosions.

Outside it's the orangy precursor to rain. Time to revel in the solace and smell of the coming storm.

Cliche

Sun, 10 Jun 2007 21:03:49 GMT

I don't want to think about it, but that's all my mind wanders to on a regular, constant basis. Sometimes, it consumes me, although I'd never let it show. I'd never be that cliche girl that wants to pry into every corner of his mind.

"Do I look fat?"
"Do you love me?"
"What are you thinking?"

Those are the death-blows, yes?

What's he thinking? What's he thinking? What goes on in that noggin after years of togetherness have left us completely silent and isolated?

I can't keep from wondering. It's involuntary. Sometimes I think about it when I'm driving in the car, and he's not even present.

What's he thinking? If he asked me that, I wouldn't even have an answer. I'd fiddle with my necklace and prattle about, disingenuously searching for words until the commercial break ends or the waiter brings the check.

I'm thinking what you're reading - I'm wondering what he's thinking. I can't tell him that. He wouldn't understand.

These are the conversations I have with myself, and these are the reasons I'm afraid to settle - afraid to commit to the idea that one day he'll scale the wall, put his lips to my ear and whisper, "I dunno. What are you thinking?"

Married with Children: A Small Killing?

Sun, 10 Jun 2007 12:28:19 GMT

Well, I'm up early, considering...

I was thinking about a few things. Mainly, Married with Children, and A Small Killing.

Married with Children. In the end, Al did love Peggy even though he always said he hated her. The reason I know this, is that one episode he woke up in the morning and kissed her...like, a peck. You don't do that unless you love someone. You don't think to do that to someone you hate, or someone who doesn't get your goat anymore. Al loved Peggy, and now I have proof. (Thanks to my "IMDB," (Internet Movie Data-Brain) and the uncanny ability to recollect completely obscure/useless media trivia at the strangest times.)

A Small Killing is a book I recently re-read because I found it in my bookshelf. It's by Alan Moore and I like the illustration, which is transparent and almost watercolored, and it's done by Oscar Zarate. It's really good. It's a strange story about a guy who is coping with the death of his own idealism (ahem...sound like someone you know?) but it's very stream-of-consciousness writing. There's no real plot, but there is a story. It's like if Jack Kerouac were to write a graphic novel. It's well done though, and it always makes me giggle. See, Tim Hole believes that there's a little boy out to kill him. Most of the story is Tim Hole's inner monologue. He's standing on the doorstep of the house, scared to death and you think he's gonna get killed. The tension builds to this point in the book and you have no idea what's going on. He says a sentence that goes something like, "...he's probably a psycho killer!" and then in his thought bubble at the bottom of the frame it says, "Que'est-ce que c'est!" It is one of those rare, glorious moments that breaks the tension and makes me laugh out loud every damn time I read it. Everytime I hear the song, I think of that scene. It's so fucking genius because it's so human. It brings you close to Tim Hole, and gives you a vested interest in his fate.

It's a great little novella and I'd recommend it to anyone who likes those sorts of metaphoric stories.

Well, enough with the obscure. Just thought I'd share what I was thinking about right when I woke up this morning.

Now...cold pizza! Breakfast of champions! EEEeeee!

Bite Me

Sun, 10 Jun 2007 01:29:12 GMT

Vampires flip my lid.

I don't mean that in a supernatural way. I mean that literally, they completely fascinate me - not because of their fictitious standing or their feasibility. Their sociopathy blows my mind. I always felt if Jack the Ripper were a fictitious character, he would most certainly be a vampire. Hands down. I equate him and many others with the psychology/sociology of the vampire legend.

I'm amazed at how many versions of vampire stories exist. I watched a few minutes of a show on the History Channel tonight, and it jogged my thought process. There's just such a body if information developed. It shows how much energy has been put into the building of this particular piece of folklore.

They are predatory. They are the worst kind of predator - they see what they want, they lure it, they trap it. It's not random, it's calculated, cold and manipulative. They are so fucking smart...they aren't like zombies or werwolves. They are charismatic and perfect creatures of absolute charm. They are almost every guy I've ever dated. It makes them so completely frightful.

Sociologically speaking, the vampire model builds the perfect base for the modern serial killer. It's the only fictional predator we have that truly emulates a living human predator. People fascinated with crimes, sociopaths, and serial killers tend to be interested in vampires more than the average predatory character - yours truly, included.

It's simply my morbidity, and curiosity with twisted sociology that draws me to these types of things. I love to understand how people think - what makes them tick.  Vampires are one of the few creatures that truly mirror everything about ourselves that we fear. The abnormal (and the genius) in using charisma/sex for evil. The legends appeared as early as the 1700s in most slavic areas. Europe took it to a new level. These Victorian stories - gothic roundabout ways to read trashy romance novels in a time when such things were taboo - create the basis for our cultural obsession with the macabre vampire. They hit a nerve somewhere, with their plaguelike nature and yet the outward appearance of normalcy in most circumstances.

Complete, cunning, self-indulgent, stalking, charming, viscious predators. I'm not interested in the creatures themselves; moreso, the value we place upon them as a culture.

Being a Jellyfish Promotes Community Involvement!

Sat, 09 Jun 2007 18:04:29 GMT

College hasn't changed me. I feel like if anything, it's leaving college that will change me the most...

Consider that we've all been institutionalized from the day we're born. Starting with family and friends, and working our way up the foodchain in school. Nothing's changed since then - I still do homework, I still take tests. The only difference now is that they demand outrageous sums to accomplish the menial task of acquiring a bachelors degree. A bachelor's degree won't be worth the paper it's printed on in ten years, and I'll still be paying for it. What's the point of paying so much money for paper worth less than morals in a whorehouse?

Peace Corps. I always said I'd do it when I graduate. Six years will leave me virtually student-loan-free. I will only have to repay 10% or so, for every two years knocks off 30% of your debt. Plus, all great journalists either join the Peace Corps or become infamous...and think of the travel opportunities! Who needs Frank Zappa? He won't pay my student loans...but the US Government, my sworn enemy, is making an offer I just can't seem to refuse at this point...

I always said I'd get into white-collar crimes. Now that I realize the US Government is actually the country's largest crime syndicate, why not? If you can't beat 'em, take their free money! That's what I say...

Well, I get my digs into Rowan, too, in the form of overdue library books. Take that! A nuisance! I just have no desire to continue this education. Not in this form, atleast. There's so much to be learned and I'm pretty sure an adjunct with Starbucks hair and Florsheim shoes isn't gonna be the guy to teach it to me. I need to see the world before I'm completely desensitized...before they clamp their sterile academic claws onto my bleeding-heart idealism and leave me wobbling like the jell-o that so many of my contemporaries have already become. Scared of everything! Scared of reputations and repudiation, of the fundamentalists and of the pacifists, of the Mexicans and the Chinese, of the Mods and the Rockers, of the rattle and hum on the city streets, and of everything bursting the bubble of the purported American Dream.

God forbid we should leave the pod. I can already hear them coming towards my door - it's only a matter of time before it caves beneath their boots.

Top Ten

Sat, 09 Jun 2007 14:12:03 GMT

I'm compiling a list of my definitively life-changing things. (Good and bad.)

...so it begins. Top Ten.

0.) Watchmen - Alan Moore.
Just read it. You'll understand.

1.) Rhapsody in Blue - George Gershwin
This was the single most amazing piece of music a girl my age could have ever chosen to listen to when I was younger. As a piano player, you're saying, "Holy fucking shit..." As a spectator you're saying, "Holy fucking shit..." As an adult, I still say, "Holy fucking shit..." George Gerswin's estate should be paying for my inevitable Carpal Tunnel surgery. It's the type of timeless work that makes me happy to be alive, yet angry that I didn't think of it first.

2.) Philip K. Dick
A science-fiction diety and an almost-Humanist. Within the confines of his stories, he is a Humanist. He desperately deserves to be put into leagues with Bradbury, Heller, or Huxley. His untimely absence is felt when we seem to need him most. His stories changed the way I look at just about everything (including empathy).

3.) American Beauty - Grateful Dead
I wear a ribbon in my hair almost every day. Why? The first song on American Beauty is "Box of Rain." The ending lines are:

But it's just a box of rain,
or a ribbon for your hair.
Such a long, long time to be gone,
and a short time to be there...

All through indie, and hair bands, and hiphop, and my complete evolution through music, I have secretly been a walking memorial to this album. Some things will never change. I can dye my hair punk, but my folky blue roots will always emerge.

4.) Jack Kerouac
Who can make me laugh, and cry, and get angry, and relate, all in under ten words? Mr. Kerouac. His overall brevity, vocabulary, and unparalleled metaphor are his strongest qualities. He is the definition of "piss and vinegar." He's also made the run-on sentence sexy. If he hasn't verbally photographed humanity at all it's rawest and most vulnerable moments, I don't really know who has.

5.) The Marx Brothers
Groucho Marx is the only - ONLY - person that can guaranteed make me laugh out loud. He taught me everything I know about absolutely nothing.

6.) Crowded House
Long before I stuck it to the Man...before Billy Bragg, Dave Matthews, Dead Kennedys, the Clash, or the Beatles all sunk their talented, raggedy claws into me, Crowded House altered my perspectives by taking music as far as it could go. They are one of the best jam bands that never actually was a jam band. The Finn brothers have incomparable lyrical ability, with Neil Finn constructing some of the most incredible turns of phrase since Shakespeare/Simon and Garfunkel walked this Earth. They are the greatest little band you've never heard, and they will never be replicated. Their chemistry and lyrics blow me away, and they will always have a special place in my heart.

7.) A Journey to the Center of the Earth - Jules Verne
1864. A teenager and his scientist uncle travel down a volcano shaft into the center of the Earth, encountering prehistoric animals and crazy natural disasters. Sounds ridiculous? Yes. The reason this work is so definitive and important to me, though, is that while Jules Verne didn't really believe this is what the center of the Earth looked like, he committed to his wildest creations and made me believe that these things were possible. It wasn't science fiction - it was one man's desire to understand something that nobody could explain. That's the ultimate show of courage, and it has changed my life.

8.) High Fidelity
Watching John Cusack on the screen is like looking into a mirror. Seriously, like looking myself in the eye to a point where it's almost disturbing.

9.) I Dream of Jeannie
Made me want to work for NASA. So did Challenger. But this show solidified it.

10.) Burlington, Vermont
Music on the streets. Bookstores. Markets. The Onion River Co-op! Tea. Cheap parking. Kind, scruffy people who wear flipflops and smile more than anything I've seen in the world. Magic Hat. GREEN. I could go on...but experiencing it with friends changed my life.

Success!

Fri, 08 Jun 2007 20:38:18 GMT

Executive Decisions

Fri, 08 Jun 2007 15:05:55 GMT

I'm making a few executive decisions. Hey, I was a fan of "The Apprentice" - I know how this shit works...as long as I end every confessional with the sentence, "...but at the end of the day..." I should be alright.

1.) New Jersey is to be split into two states. It's always been North and South, East and West. Don't kid yourself - there's no central Jersey, just a place where you get all the radio stations at once. I like to call it our 'buffer.' Like a no man's land for the inevitable war.

2.) South Jersey will then proceed to secede from the Union. We will become our own independent country like Vermont or Amsterdam, with windmills and sex that you pay for.

Sidenote: Apparently the etymology of the word 'secede' is rooted in Latin and means 'to go without' or 'suicide.'

3.) Once we successfully secede, we will require passports for the out-of-state vacationers. In order to obtain said passport and accompanying travel visas, one will have to negotiate the proper New Jersey political channels - bribery and nepotism.

Good luck this year, Bennys and Shoobees. Have fun clogging our major arteries this season!

Let the games begin.

oh, I almost forgot:

...but at the end of the day, we can always just slash your tires and you're stuck vacationing up Shit's Creek for the weekend.

Full House

Fri, 08 Jun 2007 11:43:57 GMT

Have you ever wondered which Full House principle character you are most like?

I have.

I thought about this today while making my tomato and cheddar cheese sandwich for breakfast. There are the three main options: Danny Tanner, Uncle Jesse, Uncle Joey.

Uncle Jesse is too much a playa (yes, with an 'a'). And he's disingenuous, too. He thinks he's all rock 'n' roll hardcore but he's only like, TGIF/Bon Jovi/hairgel hardcore. Trash a hotel room or beat up on Rebecca! Have a 'very special episode' with Jesse in the drunk tank during Michelle's birthday party while everyone is wondering his whereabouts. Maybe even have someone show up saying he's her baby daddy like he's Mick Jagger. Now that's rock 'n' roll...

Danny Tanner was a tool, but atleast he was genuine and neurotic. I have quite a few Danny tendencies, actually. But he's also very peppy, something I am not. Overall, he was way too Martha-Stewart-fucked-up to ever emulate. I mean, DJ and Stephanie punched a hole in the wall that one episode and he noticed that everything was shifted over to the right five inches! Who does that!? Whatever. I might be more like Bob Saget, but I'm definitely not like Danny Tanner. Needless to say, it's mainly because he's a neat freak, and I...well, just no. :shakes head:

Finally, we come to Uncle Joey. In my opinion, I think I'm most like Joey...if only because there was a scene where he made peanut butter and jelly and didn't change knives. (Danny had a shit-fit, big surprise.) I've said out loud on many occassions, "Fucking right!" when he did it. He saved Danny's ass from bullies with witty insults. He also rocked his weird hairdo way into the mid-90's. Furthermore, the guy is messy, bizzarre, a practically jobless freeloader, and I always thought he was hittin' the sauce every episode. Maybe he needed a Very Special Episode more than Uncle Jesse ever did. Nevertheless, the guy is an absolute trainwreck...like me!

Everyone at one point or another parallels him or herself with the holy trinity of Full House. Don't lie, you've identified, too! If you haven't, you will now...

Fifty Reasons to Enjoy Living

Thu, 07 Jun 2007 19:39:35 GMT

1. The New Pollution - Beck
2. Bouncing Around the Room - Phish
3. Damn Good Times - TMBG
4. This Fire - Franz Ferdinand
5. Viva Las Vegas - Dead Kennedys
6. Whispers & Moans [live, '96] - Crowded House
7. Golden Skans - Klaxons
8. Folsom Prison Blues - Johnny Cash
9. What's Left of the Flag - Flogging Molly
10. Rudie Can't Fail - The Clash
11. Knock 'Em Out - Lily Allen
12. Bullet - Misfits
13. Australia - The Shins
14. One After 909 - The Beatles
15. Bottle of Smoke - The Pogues
16. Bang A Gong - T. Rex
17. Crash the Party - OK Go
18. Tripping Billies - Dave Matthews Band
19. Ripple - Grateful Dead
20. Can't Go Back to Jersey - G. Love & Special Sauce
21. Bloodclot - Rancid
22. Callbacks - We Are Scientists
23. Magic Carpet Ride - Steppenwolf
24. I Melt with You - Modern English
25. Twelve-Eight Angel - The Dream Academy
26. Electioneering - Radiohead
27. Love, Reign O'er Me - The Who
28. One Thing - Amerie
29. Who Needs the Peace Corps? - Frank Zappa & the Mothers of Invention
30. Run to the Hills - Iron Maiden
31. Everytime We Touch - Cascada
32. You Are What You Love - Jenny Lewis and the Watson Twins
33. Dreaming - Blondie
34. The Old School Off the Bright - MMBT
35. Suffragette City - David Bowie
36. Pencil-Thin Moustache - Jimmy Buffett
37. Sunday Morning - No Doubt
38. Shipping Up to Boston - Dropkick Murphys
39. City of Angels - The Distillers
40. Girlshapedlovedrug - Gomez
41. The Day I Turned to Glass - Honeycut
42. Speeding Bullet - Huffamoose
43. 3x5 - John Mayer
44. I Predict a Riot - Kaiser Chiefs
45. Every Little Thing She Does is Magic - The Police
46. Children of December - The Slip
47. Nights of the Living Dead - Tilly and the Wall
48. My Doorbell - The White Stripes
49. Mr. Tough - Yo La Tengo
50. Crazy Little Thing Called Love - Queen