It’s a busy day. I’ve got some meetings and then I’ve got Falcon practice because we’re playing a show with the mighty Naked Raygun at Metro next Wednesday. Bring your grandmas folks, because this amazing performance by the Falcon is sure to drench the panties bunched around even the most ancient and desiccated vaginas. That’s a moneyback guarantee folks (not valid). So come out to the Metro on the day before thanksgiving and throw your bras and dickslings, eh?
Anyway, last time I rapped at you I was talking about parent/teacher conferences and I was feeling pretty good about the whole thing. Of course, it’s short sighted to feel too good about anything that’s going on in schools when congress is declaring that pizza is a vegetable and making sure that our kids get plenty of delicious fries with every lunch. Not to mention, it seems like there’s been a real spate of child buttrapes in the news lately, which is disheartening, to put it mildly. I mean, don’t get me wrong, whenever I’m showering with a bunch of kids just going about the ins and outs of regular old naked, sudsed up horseplay, a penis can sometimes up and slip right inside someone, (who HASN’T had that awkward experience? Am I right?) but this isn’t about who raped whom or who’s pawning off horrific monstrosities as ‘towel snapping’ (though it bears mentioning that one of the big defenses for Sandusky’s actions is something along the lines of [and I’m paraphrasing his pedophile lawyer here] ‘He’s a big kid, a jock. That’s what jocks do, they take showers after practice and they roughhouse and stuff.” Okay, firstly, I was involved in various organized team sports from the time I was 4 until I was sixteen. In all that time, I NEVER once experienced a team shower. The notion seemed and still seems weird, and no one wanted [wants] to get naked around each other and well, I can’t be alone on this one. I’m pretty sure that the team shower is the stuff of movies. I remember that sophomore year we were ordered to shower after swimming class in gym but realistically only about 2 dudes did it and even then it was in their swimsuits [and they were the dweebs].
(But fine, I’ll accept that maybe it happens. I never played organized football. Maybe team showers are the holy communion of football practice. Maybe [and I’m doubting this seriously] everyone positively LIVES for the team showers afterwards. BUT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! The coach is NOT EXERCISING DURING PRACTICE, and therefore DOESN’T REALISTICALLY NEED A SHOWER AT THE END OF PRACTICE [I am, for the sake of giving the benefit of the doubt {barf} ignoring the completely inappropriate nature of being a grown man and jumping into a shower with someone else’s kids]. I don’t think that there’s any way to spin that one. If you’re showering with my son, sorry. I’d like to see you in jail if you’re not my wife or someone age appropriate that he’s dating or at the very least someone he very much wants to bang [you know, once he’s old enough for that kind of thing to become a non-creepy, reasonable idea.] There’s just no reasonable excuse that places a naked old man in a shower with naked kids, right? Right? Okay. Good. Glad we had this talk).
No, my concern is with the fact that they’re beginning to phase out cursive in schools!!!!! Can you believe it! An outmoded, nigh unreadable style of writing that only serves to confound and annoy and then be suddenly forgotten is being phased out of curriculum! What the fuck? But I learned cursive! So did my mom and dad! Holy fucking SHIT!!!! NO CURSIVE? What’s next? Rape showers and force feeding our kids plastic garbage? Oh. Okay, let’s keep some things in perspective, eh?
Cursive is useless. Well, I guess it’s not ENTIRELY useless. Women continue to write in some form of bastardized cursive their entire lives. I suppose it’s technically important to have an exercise that forces children to correctly manipulate their fine motor skills in unplanned ways, but cursive is hardly necessary these days, what with all the typing that people do. I mean, I hardly write shit down at all anymore (and when I do, its not in cursive) but fine. I’ll admit that my ‘cursive is useless’ statement is kind of harsh, but you know what? There are other ways to teach fine motor development. How about a regimented art class? How about music classes with instruments? How about fucking knitting? People make LIVINGS making music and art and scarves, but there’s not a fucking person on the earth who’s paying the bills by writing cursive.
It just infuriates me. Our nation is fat and slovenly, lazy and riddled with diabetes. We construct nothing in this country. Yet we shave off art and gym and shop classes like it’s no big deal at all and then something completely outmoded and antiquated gets put on the chopping block and people lose their fucking minds. I mean, I don’t fucking understand. We had plenty of time to learn cursive along with everything else and now that there’s no gym or art or music, it seems like there’s PLENTY of time for cursive, but whatever. I don’t think it’s worth getting pissy about.
In fact, I think the whole thing is fucking stupid, but you know what? This is what we’ve sown. The last forty years has been a systematic pillaging of the social and physical infrastructure that the ‘greatest generation’ (an infuriating but shockingly apt moniker, at least in terms of what I’ve seen) by my parents’ generation. And the worst part is that they didn’t even raise us well enough to give a fuck or fix it. Look around. We’re all visionary geniuses now, myself included. Everyone’s great and no one fails and OUR kids are EVEN WORSE. We’re fucked, people. They’re dumping mercury in lake Michigan and running out of money in Detroit. Prisons are now legal slave labor camps that have created a powerful slavery lobby (in the name of the drug war) and nobody has a job and the only fuckers getting rich are the same dicks that got us into this mess in the first place.
Fucking cursive. Fuck cursive. I’m moving to Uruguay.
Thursday, November 17, 2011
Monday, November 14, 2011
Don't tell me how to raise MY kids!
Last week I attended my very first parent/teacher conference as a parent. For some reason I feel like I used to go to the parent/teacher conferences when they were about me, but that could be wrong. No matter. The point here is that I went in there, listened to a very nice older woman talk about my kid, who she told me, as nicely as possible, is an utter spaz. He can’t sit still and he likes climbing and running and when he has to sit still, it’s pretty much an impossible task. He’s no longer allowed to sit next to his best friend because together they’re an unholy menace.
I don’t really care about that shit. I mean, sure, I’d like him to be well behaved and not be disruptive, but he’s a three year old boy and I’ve got what I believe are fairly realistic expectations of what is to be expected of him. As far as I’m concerned, all that shit will fall into place, and there is really only one thing I want him to take away from preschool: the ability to make and maintain friendships (this includes big, important intangibles like socialization and also simple pragmatic things like not just being a dick and punching someone in the face because you feel like it), and it seems like he’s doing that just fine, so whatever.
However, I also know that it’s a teacher’s job to assess and communicate any issues that could potentially be concerns and that the absolutely shittiest part of a teacher’s job is dealing with parents who are inclined to argue with the teacher’s assessment or dismiss it as shortsighted, prejudiced or in some cases an outright attack. Teachers have a shitty, hard job. I deal with two kids that I love more than anything on earth and after about two hours I am completely at the end of my rope. Teachers deal with dozens of little shits every day who they have no genetic imperative to love or nurture, and kids, when put into groups, go fucking bonkers. I can’t imgine how shitty it must be to endure day after day and then, when the teacher finally sees the malicious, shitty, dumb kid’s parents and expresses concern, the parents say things like “you just don’t like our son. He’s plenty smart” or whatever the fuck it is they say. The upshot of this is that although I’m not overtly concerned about my son’s designation as a spaz (and I’m completely stoked that he’s made a bunch of friends and seems to be popular) I listened and talked through it with his teacher and I’m gonna be sure to work on helping focus his energy at home to hopefully make the teacher’s life easier.
I talked to a few other parents in my kid’s class though, and I was amazed at how defensive and shitty they got when relaying to me the minor issues (because these kids are so small, it’s all minor issues) that the teacher said their kids have. One parent was mad that the teacher said that their kid wasn’t developing skipping skills (which is admittedly kind of stupid), apparently and another parent was livid that the teacher suggested that their child was an aggressive kid who was prone to getting up in people’s faces. These people were kind of mad, but what the fuck? Those are things that could, potentially be concerns. Gross motor skills and socialization. That’s the bread and butter of preschool assessment, man.
How the fuck can you get upset about that shit? What is the endgame? You can’t possibly imagine that the teacher would just create a hostile parent/teacher conference just out of the ether for no reason other than she dislikes your child. That’s just inviting a fight for no reason. It seems to me, that, were I a teacher, when the really shitty, hopeless kid’s parents came in, I’d say “eh, he seems fine” and be done with it. But that’s because I’m lazy and really not cut out to be a teacher.
And yes, I DO realize that especially as kids get older, there are shitty, vindictive, completely fucked up teachers out there and that they may in fact hold grudges and throw little petty hissyfits about my child even if he’s an absolute angel (ha!) and that will be something to navigate and deal with as the situation arises, AND I guess that I can think of some three year olds that really, truly rub me the wrong way, so I guess it’s not a TOTAL stretch to say that perhaps these parents are not just bent out of shape for no reason, but fuck me, man. This is a sweet little old lady preschool teacher we’re talking about here (and YES, I’m aware that sweet old lady preschool teachers can be terrible people when the parents aren’t around too) and it’s not like any of it matters.
Look around at all the people around you right now. Notice anything about them? They’re all completely demented and fucked up and gross and rude and unbelievable. At best they’re dorks and at worst they’re YOUR disgusting friends and family. Everyone in this place ends up fucking crazy and bizarre. There’s no way out. Somebody calling your child an absolute angel and blowing platitudes up your ass isn’t gonna save ‘em, and their inability to skip or keep their hands to themselves, (while they are things you should work on with your child), isn’t gonna be the fault that tips them into the depravity they’re eventually destined to inhabit. The only thing to do is just get out there and try to encourage your kids not to punch or kick or choke. And hope they make some good friends, because nothing will fuck up a kid so fast as bad friends or a bad girlfriend/boyfriend situation. That’s how you get into TROUBLE.
But my kid is 3. So I’m not too worried about that yet. Besides, the only way to combat bad friends/boyfriends/girlfriends is to be a good example yourself, so well, chances are, you’re either completely fucked or all set from day one.
xoxoxoxo
I don’t really care about that shit. I mean, sure, I’d like him to be well behaved and not be disruptive, but he’s a three year old boy and I’ve got what I believe are fairly realistic expectations of what is to be expected of him. As far as I’m concerned, all that shit will fall into place, and there is really only one thing I want him to take away from preschool: the ability to make and maintain friendships (this includes big, important intangibles like socialization and also simple pragmatic things like not just being a dick and punching someone in the face because you feel like it), and it seems like he’s doing that just fine, so whatever.
However, I also know that it’s a teacher’s job to assess and communicate any issues that could potentially be concerns and that the absolutely shittiest part of a teacher’s job is dealing with parents who are inclined to argue with the teacher’s assessment or dismiss it as shortsighted, prejudiced or in some cases an outright attack. Teachers have a shitty, hard job. I deal with two kids that I love more than anything on earth and after about two hours I am completely at the end of my rope. Teachers deal with dozens of little shits every day who they have no genetic imperative to love or nurture, and kids, when put into groups, go fucking bonkers. I can’t imgine how shitty it must be to endure day after day and then, when the teacher finally sees the malicious, shitty, dumb kid’s parents and expresses concern, the parents say things like “you just don’t like our son. He’s plenty smart” or whatever the fuck it is they say. The upshot of this is that although I’m not overtly concerned about my son’s designation as a spaz (and I’m completely stoked that he’s made a bunch of friends and seems to be popular) I listened and talked through it with his teacher and I’m gonna be sure to work on helping focus his energy at home to hopefully make the teacher’s life easier.
I talked to a few other parents in my kid’s class though, and I was amazed at how defensive and shitty they got when relaying to me the minor issues (because these kids are so small, it’s all minor issues) that the teacher said their kids have. One parent was mad that the teacher said that their kid wasn’t developing skipping skills (which is admittedly kind of stupid), apparently and another parent was livid that the teacher suggested that their child was an aggressive kid who was prone to getting up in people’s faces. These people were kind of mad, but what the fuck? Those are things that could, potentially be concerns. Gross motor skills and socialization. That’s the bread and butter of preschool assessment, man.
How the fuck can you get upset about that shit? What is the endgame? You can’t possibly imagine that the teacher would just create a hostile parent/teacher conference just out of the ether for no reason other than she dislikes your child. That’s just inviting a fight for no reason. It seems to me, that, were I a teacher, when the really shitty, hopeless kid’s parents came in, I’d say “eh, he seems fine” and be done with it. But that’s because I’m lazy and really not cut out to be a teacher.
And yes, I DO realize that especially as kids get older, there are shitty, vindictive, completely fucked up teachers out there and that they may in fact hold grudges and throw little petty hissyfits about my child even if he’s an absolute angel (ha!) and that will be something to navigate and deal with as the situation arises, AND I guess that I can think of some three year olds that really, truly rub me the wrong way, so I guess it’s not a TOTAL stretch to say that perhaps these parents are not just bent out of shape for no reason, but fuck me, man. This is a sweet little old lady preschool teacher we’re talking about here (and YES, I’m aware that sweet old lady preschool teachers can be terrible people when the parents aren’t around too) and it’s not like any of it matters.
Look around at all the people around you right now. Notice anything about them? They’re all completely demented and fucked up and gross and rude and unbelievable. At best they’re dorks and at worst they’re YOUR disgusting friends and family. Everyone in this place ends up fucking crazy and bizarre. There’s no way out. Somebody calling your child an absolute angel and blowing platitudes up your ass isn’t gonna save ‘em, and their inability to skip or keep their hands to themselves, (while they are things you should work on with your child), isn’t gonna be the fault that tips them into the depravity they’re eventually destined to inhabit. The only thing to do is just get out there and try to encourage your kids not to punch or kick or choke. And hope they make some good friends, because nothing will fuck up a kid so fast as bad friends or a bad girlfriend/boyfriend situation. That’s how you get into TROUBLE.
But my kid is 3. So I’m not too worried about that yet. Besides, the only way to combat bad friends/boyfriends/girlfriends is to be a good example yourself, so well, chances are, you’re either completely fucked or all set from day one.
xoxoxoxo
Wednesday, November 9, 2011
It was all yellow (and tubby from sitting on planes)
My son, who’s 3.5, my daughter, 1.5 and I all went to the Art Institute of Chicago today. When we walked in, my son was pretty impressed with the lobby of the new modern wing. I believe he referred to it as ‘really cool’ (though he could have said it was “fuckin tits” or “sweeter than the dick on a dog”…I can’t be sure) and even asked me how in the world they’d gotten a rather large statue into the lobby, a question that stumped the shit out of me, though I didn’t honestly give it a ton of thought. I was just happy he was engaged in what was going on. When you’re a kid, museums tend to be either full of dinosaurs and cool machines or totally shitty, and this museum is definitely not full of dinosaurs or cool machines.
I decided that we’d just go for the modern wing since it’s the most well lit, it offers a nice sense of movement between galleries and it was what I wanted to see the most. The collection in Chicago is really world class, but don’t ask my kids about it. The older one decided shit was scary right off the bat when the first canvas was larger than he could reasonably comprehend and all my daughter did was say hi to all the different black ladies in blue blazers that stood in every room and made sure people like me with parasitic, dirty loud children like mine didn’t have a momentary lapse of concentration resulting in dirty little hands all over various masterpieces.
All in all, my daughter said hello to every single security guard in the modern wing and my son said “I want to go home” in every single room. It was a gas. The above picture, it was agreed, was of Lady Gaga. Ah, kids. They can be so whimsically clueless sometimes.
Anyway, on the way home I was catching the replay of this morning’s Stern show where Howard interviewed Chris “I’ve got a humongously wide ass” Martin of Coldplay (I know this because I was a stagehand when Coldplay performed at Metro about four years ago and I was absolutely blown away by his chunky rump. Well, not chunky. It was wide and pancakey, kind of like I’d expect Kenny Powers’ ass to be in real life) and Howard asked a question that I didn’t really think was very interesting, but the response was fascinating.
The question was something to the effect of “when you guys were on the bus did you end up doing that thing where you were all getting blowjobs right in front of one another?” Here’s why I find this question to be dull: What the fuck is Chris Martin gonna say about that? He’s married to America’s sweetheart. He writes songs specifically about monogamy and he’s essentially the Lloyd Dobbler of rock and roll in that all white girls of a certain age kind of love him a little. He’s not Nikki Sixx or Kid Rock or any number of people whose cachet is advanced by not giving a fuck. Giving a fuck is precisely what gives Chris Martin cachet. He’s particular and brooding and obsessive and gets it just right with a simple melody and a haircut that looks like the product of shaving your head about six weeks ago and then just jumping out of bed, but which probably cost two hundred pounds at the finest salon (pronounced SA-lon) to get right. Chris Martin could have been getting blowjobs from Herman Cain, Pamela Anderson, Justin Bieber, that chick from Modern Family and Megan Fox all at the same time and he wouldn’t talk about it publically. He’s too much of a monogamy guy tabloid fixture. Too much is expected of him. The only answer to that question, if you’re Chris Martin, is to chuckle and say something like “oh Howard, you always go there. Come on. Of course not. We’re good lads, really.” Or some shit like that.
And Chris Martin did kind of sidestep the question, but with one of the most overwhelmingly mind boggling responses I’ve ever heard. He said, and I’m paraphrasing here, “well, we got really lucky in that we didn’t really have to travel on busses for very long.”
I don’t even totally know what that means. I’m assuming it means that Coldplay fly to all their shows but that’s FUCKING INSANE. When bands first start touring, almost without fail, they travel in a car or a few cars. At my first on-the-road show ever, we arrived in one of those jeeps that is just a cage with a soft top and has four seats (a Wrangler, I believe?) and a GMC Jimmy packed with amps. Some bands tour like this. Some bands forego bringing their gear at all and tour in a car. Crimpshrine, a hugely influential band for me and lots of my friends/musical peers, famously(?) toured in a Pinto.
At a certain point, if you want to really make a go of being in a band, you get a shitty van. This is the point most bands stay at for the entirety of their existence. If you’re a really lucky band, eventually you’ll graduate from the shitty van to the good (or really practical) fifteen passenger van. From there, you’ll get a trailer. If you’ve made it this far, this is where it usually ends for you. Even if you go up to the big leagues and get a bus, even if you’re on a bus for years, or decades, eventually you’ll cash out in the old fifteen passenger with the trailer (and if you ARE coming back from being a bus band, you’ll probably feel like a shitty failure but delude yourself and your sympathetic friends [‘aw shit bro, last time I saw you, you dudes were in a bus and the place was sold out! Rough times, huh?’] by telling yourself it’s so great to be able to drive again and see the open road again and get back to how it used to be and be able to take the van to go get food or drive to wherever you want at any old time and stay in town if the mood strikes you instead of dealing with that shitty bus call…but you’re not fooling anyone, least of all yourself).
A few bands end up doing bus tours. This is a very small percentage of all the bands in the world. I don’t know how many luxury coaches (what those busses are called) are currently operating in North America, but it’s not a lot, and those things take Sarah Palin and Guy Fieri around too. It’s not just bands and shithead DJ’s that roll around in busses. John Madden and your rich uncle are also living the luxury nightliner life. Busses are nice. They’re extremely luxurious. Will Smith tours in a bus. So does Ozzy. So does pretty much everyone.
Which is exactly why it’s so crazy that the dude from Coldplay said “we were really lucky because we didn’t have to be in a bus for very long.” That’s (again) INSANE! I mean, I recognize that they’re one of the biggest bands in the world and they blew up fast, but fuck, man. The Gaslight Anthem blew up fast and they still did years and years of touring in a shitty van. Who the fuck just jumps straight to airplanes? I mean, obviously Coldplay does, but wow. That’s just mind blowing.
In conclusion, next time you see your friends shitty band blowing up faster than yours or you hear their new record and get jealous and snarky and shitty because it’s better than anything you could ever hope to do, and soon they’ll be somebodies and you and your dipshit chums are gonna be stuck in your crappy lives, remember this: Coldplay didn’t even have to get used to the discomfort of a luxury nightliner coach. That’s how quickly their star rose. All the rest of us are back in vans, or will be. And me? Shit, last show the Lawrence Arms played we didn’t even bring cables because we don’t even have enough cars between us all to get our shit anywhere.
We’re on the bus, all right. The fucking city bus. How’s that for rock and roll?
Tuesday, November 8, 2011
Oh jesus...
This weekend, when asked if he rehearses his actors before he shoots a scene, director Brett Ratner said ‘rehearsals are for fags’ and now he’s in a whole lot of trouble for it. For those of you who don’t know, Brett Ratner is a pudgy, untalented little turd of a man who somehow stumbles into making some of the biggest (and shittiest) movies in Hollywood. Most recently he made the film Tower Heist, and though I haven’t seen it, it stars Ben Stiller as a black building manager and Eddie Murphy as someone who used to be good at something but hasn’t done it in a long time, so it’s probably pretty good.
Ratner, despite his lack of physical charm or discernable talent has managed to carve out a really great career for himself which includes banging my dear Lindsay Lohan and several Victoria Secret models (this weekend he also said he banged Olivia Munn and then admitted he was lying in what’s gotta be the weirdest, most age/career inappropriate way to make yourself look like an asshole I’ve seen since I was about fifteen). He’s also now in a ton of hot water for casually bandying about the word ‘fag’ or specifically ‘fags’.
Ratner’s since apologized, and the response from GLAAD was something along the lines of ‘Well, that apology is a good start but we need to see him take more steps towards really exemplifying that it’s never okay to use these hateful….” It went on and on like this and eventually, I stopped reading. It’s not that I totally disagree with GLAAD or that I think that the word fag should be casually used all the time or anything. It’s more that the whole construct of Brett Ratner apologizing to the world and GLAAD kind of accepting his apology but not really is such a fucked up, stupid social construct that it completely sickens me. Forget the word fag for a second. What the fuck is going on in our universe?
As per my understanding, there’s a guy or a gal or a group of guys and gals (or guy or gal identified) who essentially have the job of being watchdogs over the public sphere at large and who decide when something has crossed the line (motherfuckers are constantly crossing the line) and how much retribution needs to be doled out in the case of each incident. Now they’re laying out hoops for Brett Ratner, which he can either ignore and look like a dick, or jump through and look like a dick. Nothing, whatsoever can come of this but a bunch of indignant assholes on either side of the issue working each other up with a bunch of yelling. There’s no endgame, just dickthumping for the benefit of the converted. This is fucking insane.
Now, don’t misunderstand me. People who are gay and transgendered and sexually confused (or any combination therein) have a tough, shitty uphill struggle through the world of idiots and bigots that we live in. People who despise gay people tend to use words like faggot and fag to denigrate them. It’s generally not a polite thing to do to use these words in any context at all. This is all completely 100% true. It’s also true that Brett Ratner saying that rehearsal is for fags isn’t gonna make anyone start hating gays, and his apology isn’t going to change anyone’s vocabulary. But this isn’t really even the point.
The point is that if I was with a friend or acquaintance of mine and they used a word that I found to be offensive, I’d say something like “hey asshole, watch your fucking language” and if they said “hey, sorry” that would really be the end of it. I wouldn’t have to like this person’s attitude. I could fucking hate their guts directly in response to their stupid, cavalier use of offensive language, but at no point would I feel that it was my place to press for anything beyond an acknowledgement that they’d said something that bummed me out. Who the fuck is this brain trust at GLAAD that have decided that an apology for a casual shitty soundbyte isn’t enough? They weren’t elected. They don’t represent gays or transgendered people at large any more than I represent the whole of the Lawrence Arms and we’re only three guys! “It’s a good start but we’d like to see…” Fuck you. That’s just self righteous dramatic hissy fit offense taking that really, truly hurts more than it helps.
It bears mentioning that Brett Ratner doesn’t have any fans. He’s got ‘celebrity’ in the most literal sense, but he’s got no more fans than the guy who lit Transformers or the team that made the fat suit for Big Momma’s House. He’s just a cog. He’s not an artistic force of any kind and his attitude and personality sucks, so what’s going on here? If this is the case of a bunch of people jumping all over this asshole because no one likes him just because they can totally get away with making him look like the dick that he undeniably is, well, I dunno…that seems a little cross-purposed with the purported goal of GLAAD, but GLAAD is cooler than Brett Ratner any day, so whatever. If it’s really, truly an attempt to drum up outrage, I’ve got news for you GLAAD: Everyone worth a shit on this earth knows that assholes say shitty things from time to time. Everyone who’s NOT worth a shit isn’t paying attention to your outrage anyway. I understand that this planet has a long way to go before we get to a point where sexuality and sexual identity aren’t big issues, but this ain’t the way to roll. Would you like to see a sample press release that I’d like to see you copy the next time someone like Brett Ratner says something stupid in public? Okay, good. Here it is:
“Wow. That guy’s a real asshole. I thought he was smarter than that. It’s a shame he’s not, but when you look at his shitty canon of work, it seems sort of obvious in retrospect, doesn’t it? Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got some rehearsing to do.”
I don’t know, people. I get the indignation and I get that shit has been ignored for so long that it’s gotta be dealt with now at every turn and all that, but again, it’s a fucked up social construct that some group of people in some organization are demanding retribution for words on behalf of a large group of extremely disparate individuals. None of it matters. Public apologies are contrived PR stunts and so is everything that follows them. This is true 100% of the time, regardless of sincerity. It’s just a shame that the response of GLAAD seems to be like a shitty contrived PR stunt too.
Finally, if, in fact, rehearsal is for fags, then maybe Brett Ratner needs to get some more fags into his shitty movies, because frankly, this non-fag methodology isn’t working out too well for him.
Xoxoxo
Ratner, despite his lack of physical charm or discernable talent has managed to carve out a really great career for himself which includes banging my dear Lindsay Lohan and several Victoria Secret models (this weekend he also said he banged Olivia Munn and then admitted he was lying in what’s gotta be the weirdest, most age/career inappropriate way to make yourself look like an asshole I’ve seen since I was about fifteen). He’s also now in a ton of hot water for casually bandying about the word ‘fag’ or specifically ‘fags’.
Ratner’s since apologized, and the response from GLAAD was something along the lines of ‘Well, that apology is a good start but we need to see him take more steps towards really exemplifying that it’s never okay to use these hateful….” It went on and on like this and eventually, I stopped reading. It’s not that I totally disagree with GLAAD or that I think that the word fag should be casually used all the time or anything. It’s more that the whole construct of Brett Ratner apologizing to the world and GLAAD kind of accepting his apology but not really is such a fucked up, stupid social construct that it completely sickens me. Forget the word fag for a second. What the fuck is going on in our universe?
As per my understanding, there’s a guy or a gal or a group of guys and gals (or guy or gal identified) who essentially have the job of being watchdogs over the public sphere at large and who decide when something has crossed the line (motherfuckers are constantly crossing the line) and how much retribution needs to be doled out in the case of each incident. Now they’re laying out hoops for Brett Ratner, which he can either ignore and look like a dick, or jump through and look like a dick. Nothing, whatsoever can come of this but a bunch of indignant assholes on either side of the issue working each other up with a bunch of yelling. There’s no endgame, just dickthumping for the benefit of the converted. This is fucking insane.
Now, don’t misunderstand me. People who are gay and transgendered and sexually confused (or any combination therein) have a tough, shitty uphill struggle through the world of idiots and bigots that we live in. People who despise gay people tend to use words like faggot and fag to denigrate them. It’s generally not a polite thing to do to use these words in any context at all. This is all completely 100% true. It’s also true that Brett Ratner saying that rehearsal is for fags isn’t gonna make anyone start hating gays, and his apology isn’t going to change anyone’s vocabulary. But this isn’t really even the point.
The point is that if I was with a friend or acquaintance of mine and they used a word that I found to be offensive, I’d say something like “hey asshole, watch your fucking language” and if they said “hey, sorry” that would really be the end of it. I wouldn’t have to like this person’s attitude. I could fucking hate their guts directly in response to their stupid, cavalier use of offensive language, but at no point would I feel that it was my place to press for anything beyond an acknowledgement that they’d said something that bummed me out. Who the fuck is this brain trust at GLAAD that have decided that an apology for a casual shitty soundbyte isn’t enough? They weren’t elected. They don’t represent gays or transgendered people at large any more than I represent the whole of the Lawrence Arms and we’re only three guys! “It’s a good start but we’d like to see…” Fuck you. That’s just self righteous dramatic hissy fit offense taking that really, truly hurts more than it helps.
It bears mentioning that Brett Ratner doesn’t have any fans. He’s got ‘celebrity’ in the most literal sense, but he’s got no more fans than the guy who lit Transformers or the team that made the fat suit for Big Momma’s House. He’s just a cog. He’s not an artistic force of any kind and his attitude and personality sucks, so what’s going on here? If this is the case of a bunch of people jumping all over this asshole because no one likes him just because they can totally get away with making him look like the dick that he undeniably is, well, I dunno…that seems a little cross-purposed with the purported goal of GLAAD, but GLAAD is cooler than Brett Ratner any day, so whatever. If it’s really, truly an attempt to drum up outrage, I’ve got news for you GLAAD: Everyone worth a shit on this earth knows that assholes say shitty things from time to time. Everyone who’s NOT worth a shit isn’t paying attention to your outrage anyway. I understand that this planet has a long way to go before we get to a point where sexuality and sexual identity aren’t big issues, but this ain’t the way to roll. Would you like to see a sample press release that I’d like to see you copy the next time someone like Brett Ratner says something stupid in public? Okay, good. Here it is:
“Wow. That guy’s a real asshole. I thought he was smarter than that. It’s a shame he’s not, but when you look at his shitty canon of work, it seems sort of obvious in retrospect, doesn’t it? Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got some rehearsing to do.”
I don’t know, people. I get the indignation and I get that shit has been ignored for so long that it’s gotta be dealt with now at every turn and all that, but again, it’s a fucked up social construct that some group of people in some organization are demanding retribution for words on behalf of a large group of extremely disparate individuals. None of it matters. Public apologies are contrived PR stunts and so is everything that follows them. This is true 100% of the time, regardless of sincerity. It’s just a shame that the response of GLAAD seems to be like a shitty contrived PR stunt too.
Finally, if, in fact, rehearsal is for fags, then maybe Brett Ratner needs to get some more fags into his shitty movies, because frankly, this non-fag methodology isn’t working out too well for him.
Xoxoxo
Monday, November 7, 2011
Killing mofos.
If you could shoot someone, who would it be? Bear with me. The theory we’re working with here is that you are given a gun and a bullet and it’s understood that at that point you'll be allowed to shoot one single person and there will be no repercussions. Furthermore, the person will be brought to you, or you will be brought to the person (depending on your preference) and you can shoot them in any way you see fit. So, if you want the person to see you and be scared and know exactly who’s killing them and why (if you choose to disclose that information) you can do it that way. BUT if you’re kind of squeamish about the whole thing, you can do it from a distance or from a window or from behind (heyo!). What? Oh, don’t worry about missing the person if you shoot from a distance. This is a hypothetical situation and in this situation, you’ll be a guaranteed sure shot. You can kill one person on the earth. Who’s it gonna be?
Really? Nobody? Well, obviously your uncle never snuck into your room and blew you as a child. Come on! Killing is our most exalted and exciting from of crime. It’s capriciously taking someone else’s life, and then continuing to live as they die. You can pick Amadinejad if you want. You can pick that pervy football coach that just got arrested fro fucking the ten year old, at-risk youths in the Penn State showers (who’s autobiography is called [and I’m not shitting you, folks] “Touched” by Jerry Sandusky, which is laugh out loud funny if he HADN’T been actually fucking little boys, but as is…yipes) or you can pick the guy who’s currently fucking your ex girlfriend much better than you ever fucked her. Anyone! So who is it?
Look, I get it. Killing is gruesome and mean and even George W Bush has daughters and people who love him and Casey Anthony is still pretty hot and she hasn’t done porn yet. Fred Phelps is really a pretty ineffectual old man that ultimately is living in a fate worse than death as a closeted, cock starved self loathing queer. I’ve thought of all this. That’s why I’m prepared to suggest that maybe you should consider killing a hobo. Think about it. He’s old, he’s drunk as shit. He’s unhappy. No one’s gonna miss him. Kill the hobo. Go ahead. Just kill him. You CAN’T tell me that you’re just gonna pass up this once in a lifetime opportunity to kill someone and walk away scot free, are you? Seriously? That’s fucking stupid.
Nah. I couldn’t do it either. I’ve thought about this a little since the blog last Thursday where we discussed how murder is sometimes totally okay and celebrated…(dig the Osama/team 6 duality, doubly interesting because Osama was ALSO celebrated in certain circles for killing people). Based on a few arbitrary circumstances, the exact same act, snuffing someone’s life out of them, can be something that will get you hunted down, tortured and killed, or a seat in the head float at a parade that’s being conducted in your honor. Killing’s a weird thing. I can’t imagine what it’s gotta be like to see someone get killed…although, I DID see someone get killed once.
It was like ’93 and I was walking with some people from a minivan that we were drinking 40’s inside of back to the Fireside Bowl where my band, Slapstick was set to play a show with Paul Think and the Bad Kids. Across the street a crackhead type was approaching what appeared to be a gangbanger. They had an extremely short conversation which culminated in the gangbanger type guy knocking over the crackhead, jumping up and landing with both feet on his face over and over and over and over again. The gangbanger guy then ran off. A girl, I believe her name was Michelle, ran over to see if the guy was okay (he was not) and I ran back to the Fireside to call the cops.
The whole thing was a complete fucking donkey show after that. Michelle was (understandably) pissed off that no one went with her to see if the guy was okay (the neighborhood was apparently a little dangerous, as evidenced by the murder we’d witnessed just seconds before) and I was pissed that she went over there at all and didn’t run back and call the cops, as the dude was obviously very dead. Looking back, she was probably right, although I was sixteen and probably 115 pounds and scared shitless. I wasn’t thinking about anything other than “oh fuck. Oh fuck ohfuckohfuck!” It was a quick reaction that I remember thinking was the most responsible thing to do at the time. Whatever. Probably not my finest hour, but I wasn’t the only other person there anyway. I don’t know. This was fucking decades ago.
Anyway, I called the cops, which led to Paul Think getting pissed and going on a rant on stage about the inequity of the police state or something and me sarcastically yelling “fuck the system” and him getting furious with me and almost jumping off the stage and the whole evening was generally a huge series of cock slaps front to back. I don’t even remember if we played.
The moral? I don’t want to be around people when they depart the coil, bros. It’s stressful. And I DEFINITELY don’t want to be the person responsible for their demise. That’s heavy. No matter how evil they are. Well, I guess if someone had harmed my family I’d want them to die and/or suffer, but I don’t know that I’ve got the constitution to be the person that doles out retribution. Besides, those pasty, shirtless, hooded guys with the danzig bodies and the axes need jobs and I don’t want to be just running around executing people and fucking up their economy more than it already is, you know?
In conclusion, I’d kill that woman who is trying to sully the good name of Justin Bieber. What a monster.
Really? Nobody? Well, obviously your uncle never snuck into your room and blew you as a child. Come on! Killing is our most exalted and exciting from of crime. It’s capriciously taking someone else’s life, and then continuing to live as they die. You can pick Amadinejad if you want. You can pick that pervy football coach that just got arrested fro fucking the ten year old, at-risk youths in the Penn State showers (who’s autobiography is called [and I’m not shitting you, folks] “Touched” by Jerry Sandusky, which is laugh out loud funny if he HADN’T been actually fucking little boys, but as is…yipes) or you can pick the guy who’s currently fucking your ex girlfriend much better than you ever fucked her. Anyone! So who is it?
Look, I get it. Killing is gruesome and mean and even George W Bush has daughters and people who love him and Casey Anthony is still pretty hot and she hasn’t done porn yet. Fred Phelps is really a pretty ineffectual old man that ultimately is living in a fate worse than death as a closeted, cock starved self loathing queer. I’ve thought of all this. That’s why I’m prepared to suggest that maybe you should consider killing a hobo. Think about it. He’s old, he’s drunk as shit. He’s unhappy. No one’s gonna miss him. Kill the hobo. Go ahead. Just kill him. You CAN’T tell me that you’re just gonna pass up this once in a lifetime opportunity to kill someone and walk away scot free, are you? Seriously? That’s fucking stupid.
Nah. I couldn’t do it either. I’ve thought about this a little since the blog last Thursday where we discussed how murder is sometimes totally okay and celebrated…(dig the Osama/team 6 duality, doubly interesting because Osama was ALSO celebrated in certain circles for killing people). Based on a few arbitrary circumstances, the exact same act, snuffing someone’s life out of them, can be something that will get you hunted down, tortured and killed, or a seat in the head float at a parade that’s being conducted in your honor. Killing’s a weird thing. I can’t imagine what it’s gotta be like to see someone get killed…although, I DID see someone get killed once.
It was like ’93 and I was walking with some people from a minivan that we were drinking 40’s inside of back to the Fireside Bowl where my band, Slapstick was set to play a show with Paul Think and the Bad Kids. Across the street a crackhead type was approaching what appeared to be a gangbanger. They had an extremely short conversation which culminated in the gangbanger type guy knocking over the crackhead, jumping up and landing with both feet on his face over and over and over and over again. The gangbanger guy then ran off. A girl, I believe her name was Michelle, ran over to see if the guy was okay (he was not) and I ran back to the Fireside to call the cops.
The whole thing was a complete fucking donkey show after that. Michelle was (understandably) pissed off that no one went with her to see if the guy was okay (the neighborhood was apparently a little dangerous, as evidenced by the murder we’d witnessed just seconds before) and I was pissed that she went over there at all and didn’t run back and call the cops, as the dude was obviously very dead. Looking back, she was probably right, although I was sixteen and probably 115 pounds and scared shitless. I wasn’t thinking about anything other than “oh fuck. Oh fuck ohfuckohfuck!” It was a quick reaction that I remember thinking was the most responsible thing to do at the time. Whatever. Probably not my finest hour, but I wasn’t the only other person there anyway. I don’t know. This was fucking decades ago.
Anyway, I called the cops, which led to Paul Think getting pissed and going on a rant on stage about the inequity of the police state or something and me sarcastically yelling “fuck the system” and him getting furious with me and almost jumping off the stage and the whole evening was generally a huge series of cock slaps front to back. I don’t even remember if we played.
The moral? I don’t want to be around people when they depart the coil, bros. It’s stressful. And I DEFINITELY don’t want to be the person responsible for their demise. That’s heavy. No matter how evil they are. Well, I guess if someone had harmed my family I’d want them to die and/or suffer, but I don’t know that I’ve got the constitution to be the person that doles out retribution. Besides, those pasty, shirtless, hooded guys with the danzig bodies and the axes need jobs and I don’t want to be just running around executing people and fucking up their economy more than it already is, you know?
In conclusion, I’d kill that woman who is trying to sully the good name of Justin Bieber. What a monster.
Thursday, November 3, 2011
Wednesday, November 2, 2011
apologies!
I was all set to write something really great here today, but the remote for my car just died and I've gotta get it fixed right now, so that's not gonna happen. Instead, I'm just gonna tell you that the new menzingers record is gonna blow all your minds right out through your gaping assholes. Truth.
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