ZooK
I'll keep my seat on the edge.
Today was better. Something about rain pissing all over you and getting electrocuted for the tenth, eleventh, and twelfth times of the summer made me feel just sorta great. Plus no work tomorrow, and a long barbecue at my Friend Tony's***1*** complete with unending hours of his dad making fun of me for being a "nancy-boy"***2*** and at least ten cases of the finest lager in the house***3***. And then Thursday it has been decided that I will for sure be in Normal until Saturday.
This post is dedicated to a BLARG I despise, because I just talked about a bunch of stuff that none of you will ever know/see/hear/taste/touch. Hint: its not you or you or
you. I said it. I said it not because I think I'm any better, but because there is something so wrong about letting a computer run yer life. Some people use computers because they're getting paid and have other things going on, some because they're getting paid to have something else to do, some because they don't know any other way. And some people use computers to try to further their own belief that they are the center of the awkward universe, that everything that is uncool and alternative must be held in their sweaty palms. That everyone needs to know what a delicate star is just under the surface of their legendary frame. Here's the thing: A BLARG shouldn't be a casting special for the Real World. You shouldn't tell me every little thing about your day and your life just because the long hours at work won't ever pass. I can't possibly see how anyone would enjoy, could enjoy, reading someone else's daily check list EVERY DAY. But again I need to stress that I am not the arbitor of good BLARG taste, that you should "BLARG what you dig" to quote Luis Guzman. Just don't pretend that everyone should and is reading yours just to make us all feel like we have to.
The nexus of this universe occured in front of me when I went to see "Gimme Shelter" at the Normal Theater. I went by myself because I don't know anyone else who reallly likes the Stones. I'm sitting in my seat, and this group of Thrift Store kids sit down in front of me, making sure everyone notices how casually unaware they are of everything and everyone around them. They talk about annoying things like how much they hate the "Jocks" in their Art classes trying to think they've got anything to contribute, or about how drunk they got the night before***4***. And the scene that really made me sick, the combination of words that just eats at me every time I think about it? This girl is sitting there being loud and hoping everyone is noticing what a special flower she is***5***, and she says what I consider to be the most offensive and sad and cringingly pretentious thing I've ever heard:
"I want to be obsessed with Brian Dennehy. The actor."
Why?, her friend asks.
"Because nobody is obsessed with him." As Lewis Black says, think about that but not too hard because soon blood will be coming out yer ears.
The next five songs on yer radio in a perfect world would be: "changes" by sugar; "i can wait" by steve earle; "jupiter" by cave in; "our weekend starts on wednesday" by hey mercedes; and "inspiration information" by shuggie otis.
In the stereo: Baseball Tonight giving propers to the badassmotherfucker Kyle Farnsworth. Cubs win.
***1***His last name sort of rhymes with Penis, so I had the great idea one day in 8th grade to start calling him that, and now EVERYONE calls him that. And by everyone I mean everyone he knows, even his mom. He was a wrestler in high school and at one particluarly rowdy match (all were high energy at Waubonsie, but this one...) his mom was yelling for him and was afraid he couldn't hear her so she yelled out "PENIS!!!" and "GO PENIS!!!!" and all the other things mom's yell at their sons. He hates me and loves me at the same time.
***2***Used to be for real, now he respects me enough to sort of joke about it.
***3***Rhymes with Sures.
***4***The symptom of every one of these kids: thinking what they do is any different from what "jocks" or "Frat boys/girls" or "goth kids" or "gangster kids" do. Everyone I know thinks they party 10% harder than the nearest minority group. The problem: no one parties harder than the fucking alcoholics sitting at the end of the bar every night, and they don't have much to say about it because they know it doesn't fucking matter.
***5***By the way, most of these kids resemble many of the kids you will see at Punk Rock shows. A good example being the guy who goes to a Jets to Brazil/Jimmy Eat World show and doesn't clap for any of the bands becaus they're "sell-outs"...might I ask you, then my friend, exactly what yer doing here? Christine knows who and what I'm talking about, as, I'm sure, do all of you who bleed everynight playing shows on tour and see one of these little pissants with their arms crossed making sure everyone notes their extreme distaste for the music they paid money to see, and came early enough to stand in the front row to see.
I'll keep my seat on the edge.
Today was better. Something about rain pissing all over you and getting electrocuted for the tenth, eleventh, and twelfth times of the summer made me feel just sorta great. Plus no work tomorrow, and a long barbecue at my Friend Tony's***1*** complete with unending hours of his dad making fun of me for being a "nancy-boy"***2*** and at least ten cases of the finest lager in the house***3***. And then Thursday it has been decided that I will for sure be in Normal until Saturday.
This post is dedicated to a BLARG I despise, because I just talked about a bunch of stuff that none of you will ever know/see/hear/taste/touch. Hint: its not you or you or
you. I said it. I said it not because I think I'm any better, but because there is something so wrong about letting a computer run yer life. Some people use computers because they're getting paid and have other things going on, some because they're getting paid to have something else to do, some because they don't know any other way. And some people use computers to try to further their own belief that they are the center of the awkward universe, that everything that is uncool and alternative must be held in their sweaty palms. That everyone needs to know what a delicate star is just under the surface of their legendary frame. Here's the thing: A BLARG shouldn't be a casting special for the Real World. You shouldn't tell me every little thing about your day and your life just because the long hours at work won't ever pass. I can't possibly see how anyone would enjoy, could enjoy, reading someone else's daily check list EVERY DAY. But again I need to stress that I am not the arbitor of good BLARG taste, that you should "BLARG what you dig" to quote Luis Guzman. Just don't pretend that everyone should and is reading yours just to make us all feel like we have to.
The nexus of this universe occured in front of me when I went to see "Gimme Shelter" at the Normal Theater. I went by myself because I don't know anyone else who reallly likes the Stones. I'm sitting in my seat, and this group of Thrift Store kids sit down in front of me, making sure everyone notices how casually unaware they are of everything and everyone around them. They talk about annoying things like how much they hate the "Jocks" in their Art classes trying to think they've got anything to contribute, or about how drunk they got the night before***4***. And the scene that really made me sick, the combination of words that just eats at me every time I think about it? This girl is sitting there being loud and hoping everyone is noticing what a special flower she is***5***, and she says what I consider to be the most offensive and sad and cringingly pretentious thing I've ever heard:
"I want to be obsessed with Brian Dennehy. The actor."
Why?, her friend asks.
"Because nobody is obsessed with him." As Lewis Black says, think about that but not too hard because soon blood will be coming out yer ears.
The next five songs on yer radio in a perfect world would be: "changes" by sugar; "i can wait" by steve earle; "jupiter" by cave in; "our weekend starts on wednesday" by hey mercedes; and "inspiration information" by shuggie otis.
In the stereo: Baseball Tonight giving propers to the badassmotherfucker Kyle Farnsworth. Cubs win.
***1***His last name sort of rhymes with Penis, so I had the great idea one day in 8th grade to start calling him that, and now EVERYONE calls him that. And by everyone I mean everyone he knows, even his mom. He was a wrestler in high school and at one particluarly rowdy match (all were high energy at Waubonsie, but this one...) his mom was yelling for him and was afraid he couldn't hear her so she yelled out "PENIS!!!" and "GO PENIS!!!!" and all the other things mom's yell at their sons. He hates me and loves me at the same time.
***2***Used to be for real, now he respects me enough to sort of joke about it.
***3***Rhymes with Sures.
***4***The symptom of every one of these kids: thinking what they do is any different from what "jocks" or "Frat boys/girls" or "goth kids" or "gangster kids" do. Everyone I know thinks they party 10% harder than the nearest minority group. The problem: no one parties harder than the fucking alcoholics sitting at the end of the bar every night, and they don't have much to say about it because they know it doesn't fucking matter.
***5***By the way, most of these kids resemble many of the kids you will see at Punk Rock shows. A good example being the guy who goes to a Jets to Brazil/Jimmy Eat World show and doesn't clap for any of the bands becaus they're "sell-outs"...might I ask you, then my friend, exactly what yer doing here? Christine knows who and what I'm talking about, as, I'm sure, do all of you who bleed everynight playing shows on tour and see one of these little pissants with their arms crossed making sure everyone notes their extreme distaste for the music they paid money to see, and came early enough to stand in the front row to see.
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