Anoooooooo, Duuuuuuuuuuuude!

Okay, so today I have to go back to work. After all this high glitz and Hollywood glamour, I have to go back to asking people what kind of dressing they want on their salads. After meticulously listening to mixes and comparing potential album covers and fixing last minute credit omissions, I’m back to pouring 14oz faux pints of stella for assholes. After bemusedly watching a buddy of mine casually do key bumps at three in the afternoon while surfing the internet, I’m back to…wait, what? Jesus Christ, the doldrums of summer are upon us, right? And here in Chicago, nature has responded by just making it autumn early. Nice. We had…uh, two weeks of summer, I think. Real cool, Jesus. No wonder everyone hates you. So capricious with the sunshine.
Okay, tonight is a barbeque for a buddy of mine from Japan who’s now living in the US. He’s a great photographer, but beyond that, he’s the GREATEST dude on the planet. He’s obsessed with American slang, and that’s pretty much the only English he speaks, which makes for some pretty hilarious sentences, like “Ooooh! Master blaster! That’s super electric lips and assholes, muy bueno! I’m audi!” Which means, “hey, that was a good hot dog. Thanks. See you later.” He carries books and books of slang that he’s picked up while touring with bands and if you’re lucky enough to say something that he’s never heard before, you’ll be treated to his excitement as he whips out his book and asks you to explain the usage for the piece of slang you just introduced him to. He’s amazing. I’ll repeat this, because it’s so true. He’s amazing. If you’re EVER lucky enough to find yourself in the presence of Hiro Tanaka, stay close, because he’s a walking party, man. Fer real. Tonight we barbeque him. It’s gonna be great. He looks pretty wiry, but I think he’s gonna turn out pretty tender when it’s all said and done.

I was thinking about punk rock this morning, and I started thinking about one of my favorite types of “punk rockers,” namely, the peacocks. These are the ones with the two Mohawks, the chains and bondage pants and the sid spikes and the three belts and bleach and manic panic on their tour busses or in their bathroom at their moms house or whatever. You know the ones, right? They call themselves ‘street punk’ or ‘crusty’ but neither of those terms really seem very accurate to me, because there’s nothing street or crusty about peacocks. They’re meticulously constructed and everything is clean and they spend more time getting ready than a sixteen year old debutante from Georgia does before a cotillion, and I don’t know, man…it’s just so fucking goofy, you know? Now, I’m not talking about actual crusty kids (who are just as make-fun-of-able, but for different reasons) or actual ‘street punks’ (whatever the fuck that means) I’m talking about the dudes with the neck tattoos, fancy, fresh dyed crazy hair, jean vests, 400 dollar pre shredded ensemble, the fashion punks. These fucking dudes are hilarious. This is a look that in some universe is supposed to make you look tough? You look like a fucking circus clown mixed with a pageant contestant. These guys tend to listen to music about smashing states and anarchy and stuff like that, but man, without sweatshops, there’d be only one zipper on your pants…not to mention, any true state of anarchy would result in actual tough guys beating the crap out of you and stealing all your jewelry. Sure, you’re all painted up, but you’re tough the way ed Norton is in Fight club. We understand where it’s coming from because we see the story around it, but we also know it’s just a story, and I don’t think anyone REALLY buys it. There has never been a truly badass dude who has had to spend an hour and a half doing their hair before they go out and stomp motherfuckers. Sure, there are probably dudes out there who get all dolled up like this who could kick my ass, yeah. For sure there are. BUT, and this is a big point, they’re dorks. I mean, there are probably some retarded guys who could beat my ass. There are some girls who could beat my ass. The ability to beat my ass is not the issue. It’s not hard. Acting like a fucking makeup kit, sink counter full of hair products and goofy jewelry and clothes make you tough, that’s the issue. Right? I mean, am I crazy here? Not since the bad guy in Commando have people so woefully miscalculated the appearance of toughness, and that’s all I’m trying to say.
There are trannies in Chicago who are fucking tough. They’re mean as shit and they’re big and they will stomp you into fucking applesauce. THEY spend a lot of time getting ready and doing their hair, and they look fucking terrifying. THAT’S the look you peacocks should maybe go for if you just need the beauty regimen part. (also, trannies, I am NOT making fun of y’all. You girls are beautiful. Don’t kill me.)
Okay, that’s all for now. These sandwiches aren’t gonna serve themselves.
xoxoxo