The familiar taste of Corn Flakes

Last night I met up with Bill and Marcus at Caseys. I had plans to hang out with a girl, but she canceled at the last minute because she said she had to help her mom prepare everything for thanksgiving….so of course you had to know that I would run into her at the bar. Ah well it’s cool, that’s just life in the big city. I used to have all these high standards, detailed qualifiers and prerequisites for hanging out with females: Can she hold a conversation? Will she text the whole time while we’re watching a movie, Does she have pretty feet? but these days just a willingness to show up for a platonic pre-planned outing would probably suffice. Anyhow, it was packed, but we got bored quickly, and Marcus is a ‘grass is greener’ kind of guy so we ended up going to Bar Smith downtown. It was kind of a ghetto night though…all sorts of dumb riff raffy hip hop types. As has become the usual at these dance nights I didn’t recognize a single song, and I’m not sure I even know what the style of music is called. Call it Dubstep if you want. It all sounds the same to me. Just seems like everyone wants to invent their own genre of music so they find some subtle way to differentiate it from other similar(mainly with the terminology as opposed to the actual music.) This way they can have a wikipedia entry dedicated to the style of music they’ve “invented.” It reminds of one of those astronomy deals where you pay to have a star named after you….Chillwave, Electroclash, Dubstep, Trip Hop etc. The idea is mainly to give your genre a cool and catchy title. This falls in the “Stuff White People Like” category. It makes you seem cooler if you like a new style that other people don’t know about, yet. If you actually coin one of these hipster terms, you will enjoy hipster demigod status for time…until it either becomes mainstream at which point you will be hated as part of an inevitable backlash or until it just fizzles out and then you will just be forgotten…memorable only when older hipster dudes wax nostalgic how whatever era they were hanging out in their prime in was great and how everything just sucks now(think Bear from the 1979 surf movie “Big Wednesday”) as they’re trying to hit on some nubile young girls who were born with Ipods, cellphones and other electronic paraphernalia wired to their body.

Moving on…I briefly made out with a Mexican chick on the dance floor…which I think marks the first time I have ever made out with a hispanic girl of any kind. Not that I have never been attracted to one, but for whatever reason I’ve just never found one that I had any sort of chemistry with(including this one I was just drunk, and she may have been even drunker.) Anyhow she was trying to get some douchy gangster dude to dance with her, and he didn’t want to. He was like too lame or something. So I was like “Whatever I’ll dance with her,” and he didn’t seem to care so she grabbed my hand and off we went. We tore up the dance floor, like Saturday Night Fever(wednesday night edition) and I used all my sleaziest moves(yeah that one where I grind up on the girl with my ass and then pick her up with my arms behind my back. Anyway, she’s all “Damn you’ve got some moves. You’re pretty good. For a white boy I’m impressed!” I’m sure it didn’t look so well choreographed to those gazing at us from afar, just a couple of drunken uncoordinated skeezes hopping around and feeling each other up, occasionally to the beat of the music. Her friends were not liking me at all in fact. One of them said something to her like “I ‘m going to tell Corn Flakes what you’re doing” which I imagined was some sort of nickname given for the girl’s boyfriend figure. Abruptly the girl pulled me aside and led me downstairs where we were about to have a heavy makeout session when out of nowhere one of her friends,a Margaret Cho looking asian girl swooped in and whisked her away presumably trying to prevent me from “taking full advantage” of the opportunities presented by this nice young lady.

Somehow I made it home without getting a DUI. If only my lucky streak of avoiding DUIs would bleed over to my romantic life I could be in business. Oh I know what you’re thinking…you’re hoping I crash and bleed all over the interstate for talking in such cavalier un-pc language about drinking and driving. However, let me assure you that I don’t ever get THAT drunk to where I could potentially hurt someone else. With the creeping of our draconian laws though, the legal limit has become so low that just swishing around some mouthwash and having a glass of wine or two earns you a ticket to tent city and mandatory attachment of a breathalyzer to your vehicle. No thanks!

Shady Tree and his Acorns

Thursday night JS played a show with Super Stereo at School of Rock on Mill…you know that place that used to be Club 411 back in the day. It’s still wack after all these years, but what would you expect it’s mill ave. Why anyone would name a bar after a kids comedy movie in a non-ironic way is beyond me. What next? A nightclub called “Shrek 2?”

Afterwards it was off to C.M. on an off chance I ran into a girl I knew who was in town for a few days and so we hung out. Some random dude just came up and sat with us, he was trying to sell us weed, but we ended up just smoking a jay with him right there at the table. It’s always weird when you see someone when you thought the odds you’d ever actually hang out with them or run into them again would be super low(moved to another city, practically married, barely any mutual connections.) It just shows that you should never write off potential friends.

Luck is a unique odds phenomenon, which unpredictably appears and predictably runs out.

Blank to the Future

“Wish in one hand and shit in the other and see which one fills up first” was a saying that my late grandfather frequently used, mainly to deflate the unrealistic, cartoon-like, magical balloons that would float out of the dreamy heads of his young children. Such a phrase comes to mind (or goes hand in hand if you prefer) when thinking about John Derbyshire’s terrific new(now a year old) book, “We Are Doomed, Reclaiming Conservative Pessimism.”

Like many other young contraricons, I first became acquainted with the writings of John Derbyshire sometime around 2002-2003 via Andrew Sullivan’s blog. Andrew Sullivan achieved fame as an HIV positive, gay, conservative (who is still to this day HIV positive and gay, but no longer seems reliably conservative.) Sullivan used to have a “John Derbyshire Award” on his site for “egregious and outlandish comments on gays, women and minorities.” This award ironically had the effect of propelling Derb further into the limelight… and I’ve often wondered just how many others discovered John Derbyshire through Sullivan’s cheapjack attacks on him and subsequently went on to admire Derb and ditch Sully. It’s really a testament to Derbyshire’s writing that he can emerge through the negatively tinted prism he’s almost always presented through and make you think “Gee, I actually think I like this guy more than I care for the people who are talking trash about him.”

I had the unique experience of reading “We Are Doomed” while recovering from scrotum surgery last year. I was high on vicodin and my wound was draining at the time, yet I found the book somewhat comforting. I’m not going to give a complete rehash of every chapter, but Derb’s basic premise is that the prospects for any kind of meaningful conservatism are bleak, and things will only get much worse in our lifetimes. The idea being that only through a stoic acceptance of this and other inescapable truths can conservatives begin to muster the intellectual honesty required to face the issues of our time(but we’re still likely to lose anyway.) Probably the standout chapter of the book is “Culture: Pooped Out” which chronicles the deterioration of pop culture in Western Civilization. As a prime example, he revisits the film “Saturday Night Fever” which he hails as “one of the dozen or so best movies of all time.”
His original review of the film can be found here.

Can we really have gone downhill from disco? Downhill? From disco? I would add something here about pop music, except that I haven’t voluntarily listened to any for a couple decades. The main story seems to be one of fragmentation. The last time I really paid much attention, there was rock, R&B, soft rock, folk, jazz, and lounge singers. Nowadays, well…What are “Techno,” “Electro,” “Chillout,” and “House”? What’s the difference between “Emo” and “Screamo”? I remember Reggae, but what’s “Ragga”? How do “Nu Metal,” “Black Metal,” “Alternative Metal,” and “Death Metal” differ? Does anybody know? Would having a degree in metallurgy help? Is this like having forty-five different kinds of breakfast cereal that all taste the same?

I can certainly identify with this. I haven’t watched much television since about the early 2000’s, and even then I restricted myself to reruns of shows like “M*A*S*H*”(which seemed to air at least 10 times a day.) My TV is not even rigged to be able to watch basic channels(rabbit ear antennas don’t even work anymore…it’s all digital now.) Occasionally I get roped into watching television for a few minutes at a friends house waiting for them to get ready…or at the insistence of someone that I’m dating(I sat through an entire season of Project Runway on Bravo with my ex-girlfriend.) To me, most modern tv shows resemble the television programs depicted in dystopian future films like “The Running Man.” Remember “Climbing for Dollars?” It doesn’t seem too far removed from programs like “Fear Factor” or UFC and MMA fighting. In any case, Derb’s “Downhill from Disco?” ponderings are similar to my own recent assertion that there’s nothing on tv today that even rises to the level of campy late 70’s shows like “Buck Rogers in the 25th Century”(one of my favorites.) “The Rockford Files” and “Charlie’s Angels” are far superior than anything that’s on tv today…and these are the cheesy 70’s we’re talking about, which speaks nothing of even much greater shows of the 60’s like the highly imaginative “Twilight Zone” and “The Fugitive.” Indeed, one of my favorite Twilight Zone episodes, “The 7th is Made up of Phantoms” would cause an uproar if it aired in today’s world of pc revisionism.

As a response to this, critics I’m sure would predictably point to modern shows like “The Wire” or “Arrested Development” as examples of so called high quality contemporary television. Indeed, the “The American Conservative” mentioned “The Wire” in it’s mildly critical review of Derb’s book. I don’t think “The Wire” is such a great show personally. In fact I would go as far as to say that I hate it. It’s typically phony sense of social high mindedness along with the repackaging of long ago discredited ideas, and the fact that it features ebonics and other aspects of modern ghetto and political culture that I go through great pains to avoid in my daily life…all make it unwatchably depressing for me. In particular it brings back annoying memories of what it’s like to ride the city bus, or of when I had to take driver’s ed at an urban public high school. Steve Sailer wrote an excellent review of “The Wire” last year, titled “It’s SO Authentic!”. Indeed, the touted authentic situational subject matter itself is what makes these shows so horrible. Plots related to sexual harassment, school shootings, outsourcing all serve as a reminder of everything one doesn’t like about contemporary culture and society. So how can you enjoy shows that prominently feature those “realities” of today’s world that you would prefer to see rolled back, or at the very least might be content to ignore?… as they are presented as part of permanent everyday life and entertainment, no less.

Downhill from disco? Downhill from “Buck Rogers?” I thought all cultural change and technological advancement was supposed to be progress! The 12th frame of R Crumb’s “Short History of America” (where he poses the question ‘What Next!?”) comes to mind.

The only complaint I have over “We Are Doomed” is that at around 300 some odd pages…it almost seems too short. A book with such a foreboding title, could have easily contained twice that many pages and stretched into the size one of Ayn Rand’s epic volumes. I certainly would have kept reading.

fall and all

Ahhh. My internet connection has been down for a couple days, so frustrating.
Last Saturday Jonathan and I went to the mall for Scottsdale Fashion Week. I made him watch the Katy Spade fashion show….which I guess was supposed to be about handbags, but I really just noticed the dresses and shoes girls were wearing(uhh I have kind of a foot fetish.) Anyway, played basketball a bunch of times this week, and Jonathan finally beat me in a couple games. I was injured in the foot, hobbling around the court and also minus the use of my left arm…but give him credit. He made the clutch shots when he had to and didn’t leave me open for three pointers like he usually does. So my record against him is about 35 wins 2 losses. We get frozen yogurt on mill after every game, and I’m pretty sure the girl that works there think we’re gay. When I pay, she’s always like “so is this going to be together?” and I’m like “no, it’s not together.” Only last night, I did have to pay for his because he forgot his debit card…so now she probably doesn’t know what to think.

I recorded a new song. My album should be coming out sometime in the beginning of 2011 on Uncharted Records

I mostly just sit around and watch Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland(1972) when I’m at home. I feel like listening to all the wonderful voices talk and sing in the movie will potentially rub off on me and offset the influences of all the awful conversation voices I hear on a daily basis. Whenever I hear like Canadian or Minnesota accents I cringe because I feel like they will “catch”. Southern accents I don’t mind so much especially if they are the more aristocratic or refined ones(think of Raquel Welch’s accent in “Bedazzled” or the movie “Shag” starring Phoebe Cates and Bridget Fonda.)

Anyway, what else is there to say? I’m off to get something to eat from the FC.

pay me now or pay me escalator

I met a girl on the escalator at Fashion Square today in Nordstrom’s. It was completely by chance. She was walking in front of me toward the escalator, but then she paused and walked in another direction because she got confused about which one was up or down. By the time she figured out that she had been going the right way before, I had passed her up. So when I stepped on, she got on right after me. Out of nowhere she said “Hey your shoes look really well loved” which I guess means they look dirty or used or something. Anyway I was like “Thanks I just got them three days ago.” “Really? Oh I’m sorry.” And you could tell she was thinking that she said the wrong thing. The whole time she was talking to me, she was trying to button the bottom button of her cardigan. So I shot back “having a bit of trouble with that bottom button aren’t you.” “Yeah” she said somewhat nervously. As we got off the escalator I said “See ya,” and we went our separate ways… and I thought about how she said “I’m sorry” like three times on our brief one floor escalator ride…and how we managed to squeeze that much conversation into such a small distance. Maybe time stopped. “And just like that, I’m in love again” I recalled the words of Mark Harmon at the beginning of the movie Summer School. The only thing I was sorry about is that it wasn’t a longer escalator ride and so I didn’t get an opportunity to ask for her name and number. Hell, even with just her first name I could have found her on Facebook or something…unless she has one of those new weirdly spelled versions of common names that seem to be so popular…(like Myshele instead of Michelle etc.) This could have potentially been a new girl to go on a few awkward dates and have it end horribly.

I’ve done the math in my head, and I’m certain that will never see her again.

Tin Drum

Whenever I hear a girl say “I want a man, not a boy,” I can immediately disqualify myself and know she’s not the one for me. I’m out. This doesn’t pertain to any specific situation…but occasionally in my discussions with a girl over her romantic life I make a mental note of our own potential compatibility. Who doesn’t do that? Anyway, I’m not into breaking stuff, yelling a lot, doing yardwork, and telling a girl stuff like “look, this is what you’re cooking, and this is what I’m eating.” I get road rage, but that’s as far as I’m going.
So yeah, when I hear a girl say “I want a man, not a boy.” It’s not that they’re offering but still, no thank you….or as Al Bundy would say “no ma’am!”

night halloween

So glad halloween is over. I hate halloween, everyone in their dumb costumes.

But what about the opportunities you say?

What opportunities? The opportunity to have hyper extroverted people all “in character” and annoying the crap out of me even more than usual. Anyway, I can go buck wild whenever I want, preferably after a few drinks and on the dance floor with some random hoes. I don’t need to schedule a holiday for it. Also, it blows how on halloween you think you see all these new hot girls out, but then they turn out to be the same broads you already know. You just don’t recognize them at first cause they are in their slutty costumes, which tend to consist mainly of lingerie and animal ears.

I don’t believe I’ve dressed up for halloween since about 1990, unless you count 2007 when I was hanging out with my ex Shannon and I borrowed a costume from my old roommate so we could all go to Casey Moore’s, but instead she and I were too drunk and ended up passing out. I almost burned the place down by leaving the stove on, and she somehow fell in the bathroom and got a stage 2 concussion. I was worried about her and felt terrible the next couple days that I hadn’t looked out for her.

Anyway, on Halloween 2010 Jonathan Sakas and Justin and I went to Cheap Thrills at Brick. We didn’t get rolling until about 1:00 AM so when we got there things seemed to be already fading out. JS was dressed as a skeleton a la William Zabka from Karate Kid, and Justin seemed to be wearing a puffy vest with no shirt on…which I think is just his normal attire. We tried to go to a strip club afterwards, but they were all closed.