When I was a kid I’d sit there and listen to grownups prattle on endlessly about things that couldn’t seem more dull to me. This included a wide, wide swath of topics and a broad definition of the term ‘grownups,’ as anyone who was old enough to drive was pretty much considered a grownup and any topic that didn’t almost immediately touch on GI Joe, Transformers, comics, Dungeons and Dragons or skateboarding was considered dull; dull at a “white house briefing on national crop reports” pamphlet level. So, if my sixteen year old babysitter was talking to her friend about some boy being a jerk, it had the same resonance as my mom’s friend talking about Reganomics. Shit was insufferably boring and I remember wondering exactly what the fuck was wrong with grownups that they were so content to talk about boring shit, and even more to the point, not even DO anything while they talked about it.
I mean FUCK, man. These were adults! They could be shooting paintballs and driving dunebuggies and hanging out in pornography stores if they wanted to, but no, they’re sitting around my mom’s dining room table eating risotto and discussing what kind of metal best works for conducting heat while preparing cheese based fondues. It doesn’t make any fucking sense. The main line of argument against me doing the stuff I wanted to do was always that I wasn’t old enough, and whenever I got to be old enough to make my own decisions and/or money, I’d be allowed to do whatever I wanted. So, uh, YOU’RE ALREADY GROWNUPS! WHY ARE YOU HERE TALKING ABOUT SUB PRIME MORTGAGES? GET OUT THERE AND DO SOMETHING FUN!!!!
Alas, they never did, and as such I have no role model for how to be a fun adult. Well, there’s the Dukes of Hazzard, Richard Simmons and Wilt Chamberlain. I remember them seeming to be pretty fun back when I was a kid, but well, there was something about each of these guys that was just a little off. I didn’t feel comfortable really emulating the Dukes. They were a little too uh…”family friendly” and I got the distinct feeling that Bo and Luke shared a bed and the whole thing with Daisy was pretty weird. She was their cousin, right? Well, that’s legal at least. Anyway, not the point. Never mind.
So, I grew up and all the while wondered when it was going to become interesting to talk about real estate or various kinds of wood or taxes or the state of unemployment or boys and well, guess what? It never did. AND, to top it off, all the shit that kids like to talk about: dinosaur guts and magical space potions and alien women with six tits, that shit got boring to talk about too. Now, I’m like a Hatian barge person, adrift with no land to call my own. I don’t want to talk to anyone about anything. And it’s not that I’m anti social. Far from it. It’s just that there’s nothing interesting happening. Well, that’s not true at all, but there’s LIVING interesting things (which we’re all doing. This is one of the most fascinating times in the history of humanity for sure) there’s READING about interesting things, and then there’s having interesting conversations, which is really hard to do and rare. Usually they turn into monologues or games of one-upsmanship and either way, SNORE. You want to know how an interesting conversation starts? Here:
“Hey, I got some whiskey, wanna go into the back yard? I got a shotgun and an old car back there.”
or
“We’re having a blowjob contest and we need a judge. Are you busy this afternoon?”
Shit like that. Shit that leads into LIVING. Not just sitting around dissecting things. Of course, there’s an important need to hash shit out with other beings. Yeah yeah. That’s what you do while you eat, or while you’re waiting around to get tired enough to sleep or whatever. You go “Dude, how about that Mckenzie Phillips shit, huh?” And well, unless you’re talking to the kind of person that says something like “Yeah, I see where she’s coming from. Papa John was a hot chunk of man” well, the conversation’s basically over before it begins. You say “yeah, that shit’s fucked up” and then you both recount what you can about the situation, based on whatever creepy interviews you heard and somehow walk away feeling like you’ve had an interaction, but really, nothing has happened. No real information has been transferred. Nothing has changed. Nothing.
Anyway, I’m not trying to get all transcendental or abstruse or anything, just saying. Being a grownup is dull, even though we are allowed to buy guns and go to titty bars and have as many puppies as we want and eat frosting for lunch every day. That shit pales in comparison to the thoughts of what it would be like. Right? Yeah. Uh…what else? Oh, this:
I was thinking after yesterday’s post (“Good Morning Chicken”) about that Gaslight Anthem band and I was wondering something. Namely, do those guys really just love dancing that much? I mean, after the show is that what they do? They go out to the dancehalls and two step and shit? Seems mad gay to me, man. I can’t imagine that’s what they do. I mean, are there really such things as dancehalls anymore? Anyone?
Does anyone out there hang out with coco these days? His buddies are like “hey coco, we’re gonna get some beers, wanna come? And he’s like, “nah, I heard about a warehouse across town where there’s gonna be some honky tonk and rock and roll and some pretty good dancers. I’m gonna go down there and give em a little bit of the old “jump back jack.” Does that happen? Or is it just a bit? Is it like a way to recall the 1980’s version of the 1950’s in their songs? Because, since yesterday I was thinking about this, and it seems to me, if these guys are legit (and I’m not saying they’re not) that it’s all combs and jeans and dancing and crappy old dvds on the bus and trailers full of dirtbikes and shit, and well…I dunno, sure beats straightening your hair for an hour and then having bible study. It’s just funny. What’s happened here? I thought rock and roll was about seeing boobs and throwing things. Well, in the words of Andre 2000 (back before his upgrade) “aw, hell naw, but yet it’s that too!”
Okay, I’m really scatterbrained right now. I’m gonna go work on a new song.
Bye.
Wednesday, September 30, 2009
Tuesday, September 29, 2009
Good Morning Chicken (or: talking about a very narrow demographic of punk rock-vol.2)
Good morning and I hope you all had a happy jewish independence day! Mine was great. I spent it reorganizing my storage space. Not quite the blowjob contest I was hoping for, but still pretty excellent.
I read an interview with my friend Chicken recently. He plays in Dead to Me. They’re a great band. The song Arrhythmic Palpitations is truly one of my faves. The big anthem in that song is so devastatingly awesome. Now, intentionality means nothing one hundred percent of the time when you’re talking about creative endeavors, so what Chicken meant when he wrote the line “don’t let all the reasons why you’re here become the same reasons why you don’t stay” is irrelevant, but I read it as about the most heartbreakingly beautiful entreaty to someone to curb their enthusiasm for their addictions, whatever those may be. It’s awesome. This is not the purpose of this entry, to talk about people I know and enjoy the company of and the various songs they’ve written. Just saying, just throwing it out there before I get to the point. Just pointing out that I love and respect Chicken from DTM quite a bit.
Because see, I read this interview yesterday, and man, Chicken sounded like a real dildo.
In this interview, conducted by Punknews.org, Chicken asserts that bands that rip off/look up to/sound like Bruce Springsteen are “ruining’ bruce springsteen for him. He asserts that it’s a ton of bands doing it, and that he doesn’t have any problem with anyone, he’s just into talking shit, so he’s gonna say what he feels. Hmmmm….
Okay, let’s get all this out of the way right up front: I LOVE talking shit. Love it. Hell, I’m doing it right now. AND I don’t give two fucks about Bruce Springsteen or the bands that sound like him. I’m not springing to the defense of my favorite troubador/band here. AND, just to be PERFECTLY clear, I’d probably rather listen to Dead To Me than Bruce Springsteen about 99% of the time, BUT really dude? Someone’s ruining Bruce for you? Really? Like, the same way that all those bands on Fat ruined NOFX? Like the same way Rancid ruined the Clash? Like the same way Dead To Me ruined the second generation fat sound? What a crock of horseshit. There’s nothing about, say, the Gaslight Anthem (who IS the band you’re referring to, and all the shucking and jiving in the world isn’t going to make anyone think otherwise) that should have any fucking impact on your opinion and/or appreciation for Thunder Road. AND, I know you know that AND I know that they don’t. What happened here is a classic case of a shit talker biting off a chunk too big to swallow and then suddenly making up bullshit backpedaling excuses for why he said what he said, trying to defuse and diffuse the situation by pretending he was talking about a wide swath of people rather than just one specific band and generally trying to sweep it under the rug while still maintaining an “I just love to talk shit” kinda attitude. Well, no. No, no, no, no. You don’t get to do that. Hate on motherfuckers all you want, but don’t soften the blow when you get called on your shit. Apologize like a man or stand your ground. “They’re ruining Bruce for me.” fuck off. That’s piss poor, man. I expect better of you.
There’s no shame in acknowledging your influences. In fact, more bands should. There’s this unspoken rule that you can’t mention out loud any band that you’re influenced by if they’re anywhere near being your contemporaries. Bands never want to say that they are influenced by the bands that they sound just like. When a new ‘melodic hardcore’ band comes out, they’ll never say “oh, it was the first major label Rise Against record that really helped define our sound.” They’ll instead point to some bullshit in order to make it seem like they’re doing something more creative than what they’re actually doing. “oh, we listen to lots of Sammy Davis and lots of Judas Priest and so we combined those sort of melodic elements with the sort of aggressive drum machine blast of late era ministry but we used a real drummer.” No you didn’t. You heard “Give it All” when you were in the mall shopping for a new belt. And that’s fine. Hell, that’s AWESOME. More people SHOULD admit their influences. There’s no shame in it, and despite what some would have you believe, there’s no way that aping a sound has any effect on that original sound’s relevance. Period. I mean, fuck. I figured out how I wanted my voice to sound by listening to the bassist of the Goo Goo Dolls sing and trying to imitate it. Did I ruin “Hold Me Up” for anyone by doing it? I was straight up imitating him. No. I didn’t. Know why? Because my output has nothing to do with the output of someone else.
SO, in conclusion, Chicken, stop picking on bands that aren’t as cool as you and for gods sake, talk shit with a little more dignity. See, we, Chicken and I, are cut from the same cloth and I think of him as a good friend even though we never get to talk/see each other these days. He’s a shit talker, so am I. We play similar styles of music, we play bass, we’re one of 2 singers in our bands that are on Fat Wreck Chords. Let’s face the facts, we’re soulmates. So, that means this lazy shit talking of his is in danger of sullying MY shit talking, and I can’t have that. Besides, is Gaslight Anthem really the fucking fight to pick? They’re cool, man. There’s fucking idiots out there screaming about jesus over 6/7 mosh breakdowns for fucks sake. Let’s shit on those fuckers, man. Oh, yeah, I know…Coco from Gaslight loves his Jesus too. Whatever, not the same thing, man. You know who I’m talking about. Those guys with the liprings and the hairspray. Chicken, you, me versus those guys. How bout that? Huh? Huh?
Okay, this should cause me enough trouble today. Oh, and take notes. This is how you get up in someone’s face via blog.
Uh!
I read an interview with my friend Chicken recently. He plays in Dead to Me. They’re a great band. The song Arrhythmic Palpitations is truly one of my faves. The big anthem in that song is so devastatingly awesome. Now, intentionality means nothing one hundred percent of the time when you’re talking about creative endeavors, so what Chicken meant when he wrote the line “don’t let all the reasons why you’re here become the same reasons why you don’t stay” is irrelevant, but I read it as about the most heartbreakingly beautiful entreaty to someone to curb their enthusiasm for their addictions, whatever those may be. It’s awesome. This is not the purpose of this entry, to talk about people I know and enjoy the company of and the various songs they’ve written. Just saying, just throwing it out there before I get to the point. Just pointing out that I love and respect Chicken from DTM quite a bit.
Because see, I read this interview yesterday, and man, Chicken sounded like a real dildo.
In this interview, conducted by Punknews.org, Chicken asserts that bands that rip off/look up to/sound like Bruce Springsteen are “ruining’ bruce springsteen for him. He asserts that it’s a ton of bands doing it, and that he doesn’t have any problem with anyone, he’s just into talking shit, so he’s gonna say what he feels. Hmmmm….
Okay, let’s get all this out of the way right up front: I LOVE talking shit. Love it. Hell, I’m doing it right now. AND I don’t give two fucks about Bruce Springsteen or the bands that sound like him. I’m not springing to the defense of my favorite troubador/band here. AND, just to be PERFECTLY clear, I’d probably rather listen to Dead To Me than Bruce Springsteen about 99% of the time, BUT really dude? Someone’s ruining Bruce for you? Really? Like, the same way that all those bands on Fat ruined NOFX? Like the same way Rancid ruined the Clash? Like the same way Dead To Me ruined the second generation fat sound? What a crock of horseshit. There’s nothing about, say, the Gaslight Anthem (who IS the band you’re referring to, and all the shucking and jiving in the world isn’t going to make anyone think otherwise) that should have any fucking impact on your opinion and/or appreciation for Thunder Road. AND, I know you know that AND I know that they don’t. What happened here is a classic case of a shit talker biting off a chunk too big to swallow and then suddenly making up bullshit backpedaling excuses for why he said what he said, trying to defuse and diffuse the situation by pretending he was talking about a wide swath of people rather than just one specific band and generally trying to sweep it under the rug while still maintaining an “I just love to talk shit” kinda attitude. Well, no. No, no, no, no. You don’t get to do that. Hate on motherfuckers all you want, but don’t soften the blow when you get called on your shit. Apologize like a man or stand your ground. “They’re ruining Bruce for me.” fuck off. That’s piss poor, man. I expect better of you.
There’s no shame in acknowledging your influences. In fact, more bands should. There’s this unspoken rule that you can’t mention out loud any band that you’re influenced by if they’re anywhere near being your contemporaries. Bands never want to say that they are influenced by the bands that they sound just like. When a new ‘melodic hardcore’ band comes out, they’ll never say “oh, it was the first major label Rise Against record that really helped define our sound.” They’ll instead point to some bullshit in order to make it seem like they’re doing something more creative than what they’re actually doing. “oh, we listen to lots of Sammy Davis and lots of Judas Priest and so we combined those sort of melodic elements with the sort of aggressive drum machine blast of late era ministry but we used a real drummer.” No you didn’t. You heard “Give it All” when you were in the mall shopping for a new belt. And that’s fine. Hell, that’s AWESOME. More people SHOULD admit their influences. There’s no shame in it, and despite what some would have you believe, there’s no way that aping a sound has any effect on that original sound’s relevance. Period. I mean, fuck. I figured out how I wanted my voice to sound by listening to the bassist of the Goo Goo Dolls sing and trying to imitate it. Did I ruin “Hold Me Up” for anyone by doing it? I was straight up imitating him. No. I didn’t. Know why? Because my output has nothing to do with the output of someone else.
SO, in conclusion, Chicken, stop picking on bands that aren’t as cool as you and for gods sake, talk shit with a little more dignity. See, we, Chicken and I, are cut from the same cloth and I think of him as a good friend even though we never get to talk/see each other these days. He’s a shit talker, so am I. We play similar styles of music, we play bass, we’re one of 2 singers in our bands that are on Fat Wreck Chords. Let’s face the facts, we’re soulmates. So, that means this lazy shit talking of his is in danger of sullying MY shit talking, and I can’t have that. Besides, is Gaslight Anthem really the fucking fight to pick? They’re cool, man. There’s fucking idiots out there screaming about jesus over 6/7 mosh breakdowns for fucks sake. Let’s shit on those fuckers, man. Oh, yeah, I know…Coco from Gaslight loves his Jesus too. Whatever, not the same thing, man. You know who I’m talking about. Those guys with the liprings and the hairspray. Chicken, you, me versus those guys. How bout that? Huh? Huh?
Okay, this should cause me enough trouble today. Oh, and take notes. This is how you get up in someone’s face via blog.
Uh!
Monday, September 28, 2009
oooh, zing!
hmmmm....my wife has the day off, so I'm gonna pay attention to her today. Good luck out there, assholes. Be nice to each other.
Friday, September 25, 2009
a story from the author's past
When I was eighteen, I was on tour with my ska band and we were in Florida right as a hurricane was touching down. If memory serves, we were in Pensacola and we were playing at some dumpy bar that no one was planning on showing up at anyway, but on this particular night, there being a hurricane and all, it was more desolate than usual. The upside of all this was that they were serving us beer. We had recently gotten a booking agent, and though I now recognize his operation as the half assed run-out-of-a-garage program that it was, at the time the fact that we showed up somewhere and they had a contract that stated that they’d give us free beer seemed like the pinnacle of rock star grandeur. Anyway, they had beer for us so some of us started drinking.
Well, the show was unmemorable, but what was memorable was this old man at the bar. He was gross, pockmarked, stinky with his hair slicked back. He was loud and he was the only person I’ve ever seen in my life who had actually bought an entire bottle of whiskey from behind the bar. He literally had the whole bottle in front of him. I was sitting a few stools down and we started shooting the shit. He offered me a shot and I came over and sat by him.
Now, at this time in my life, I was unbelievably interested in strangers, drunks, old guys and random conversations. I ended up talking to lots and lots of bums and degenerates and this ended up informing a lot of my opinions about homelessness and the general harsh realities of uh…you know, livin’ in a society, man. Anyway, point being, if this story happened today, I’d have never gone and sat next to this guy, as now I have no interest in talking to strangers, but I digress…
His name was Charlie and, as I mentioned before, he was disgusting. When he talked, he sprayed gross, yellow spit all over my face, which wasn’t hard for him to do because when he talked he put his nose less than half an inch from my nose. He was pretty magnetic and intense and he had this crazy eye contact that kind of pulled me in even as his rotten breath and spatial proximity combined to repel me. He talked, loudly, extremely loudly, about how he wanted to fuck the bartender, how he wanted to eat the ass of the girl who was walking by, how he bet I had a nice smooth ass and dick sucking this and ass-pounding that and so on and I was loving it. I thought he was hilarious. I was also eighteen and far from home and drinking whiskey from a bottle and generally living the dream, so I think some of his creepier statements went kind of unchecked, just, you know, in the spirit of keeping the moment going.
Well, the moment went on and on and on and suddenly Pete was standing there saying “Brendan, come on! We’re all in the van and we’ve been waiting for you for half an hour!” The ska band was, not for the last time, bummed out at me.
I said bye to Charlie and went out into our van. The van’s name was Bernice and she was a tin, windowless cargo van with couches bolted into the back. As we drove off, I settled into my seat between Danny and Pete and picked up my book, which was “Memoirs of a Dirty Old Man” by Charles Bukowski. Pete looked at the cover of the book and pointed to the photo of the author and said “dude! That’s the guy you were JUST talking to at the bar!” Dan and I looked at the cover and sure as shit, same dude.
No shit.
I think back about this every once in a while and it kind of blows my mind. I wish I remembered the details a little better. Like, what was the whiskey? That’s not the kind of thing an 18 year old notices, but it’s the kind of thing that EVERY Bukowski fan has asked me when I’ve told this story.
People often ask me what Bukowski was doing in Florida, to which I can only reply “I have no fucking idea. I mean, I was in Florida too. I’m not from there either” Yeah. There’s a lot of unanswerable questions surrounding this story and it’s all pretty unconfirmable and mysterious. I’m not trying to set it out there as anything other than a personal anecdote told exactly how I remember it. And fuck, man. If that guy WASN’T Bukowski, fuck, he really, really really really really really really really kind of stole his whole style, from the ass breath to the creepiness to the look, and fuck, if it wasn’t him, I gotta imagine that’s about as close as a person can get to that kind of thing, both as an impersonator and as a young kid having a brush with grandiose perversity.
But I think it was him. We looked at that picture less than 2 minutes after we left Charlie sitting at that bar and it was fucking identical. I don’t know. Pretty wild, right?
That is all.
Well, the show was unmemorable, but what was memorable was this old man at the bar. He was gross, pockmarked, stinky with his hair slicked back. He was loud and he was the only person I’ve ever seen in my life who had actually bought an entire bottle of whiskey from behind the bar. He literally had the whole bottle in front of him. I was sitting a few stools down and we started shooting the shit. He offered me a shot and I came over and sat by him.
Now, at this time in my life, I was unbelievably interested in strangers, drunks, old guys and random conversations. I ended up talking to lots and lots of bums and degenerates and this ended up informing a lot of my opinions about homelessness and the general harsh realities of uh…you know, livin’ in a society, man. Anyway, point being, if this story happened today, I’d have never gone and sat next to this guy, as now I have no interest in talking to strangers, but I digress…
His name was Charlie and, as I mentioned before, he was disgusting. When he talked, he sprayed gross, yellow spit all over my face, which wasn’t hard for him to do because when he talked he put his nose less than half an inch from my nose. He was pretty magnetic and intense and he had this crazy eye contact that kind of pulled me in even as his rotten breath and spatial proximity combined to repel me. He talked, loudly, extremely loudly, about how he wanted to fuck the bartender, how he wanted to eat the ass of the girl who was walking by, how he bet I had a nice smooth ass and dick sucking this and ass-pounding that and so on and I was loving it. I thought he was hilarious. I was also eighteen and far from home and drinking whiskey from a bottle and generally living the dream, so I think some of his creepier statements went kind of unchecked, just, you know, in the spirit of keeping the moment going.
Well, the moment went on and on and on and suddenly Pete was standing there saying “Brendan, come on! We’re all in the van and we’ve been waiting for you for half an hour!” The ska band was, not for the last time, bummed out at me.
I said bye to Charlie and went out into our van. The van’s name was Bernice and she was a tin, windowless cargo van with couches bolted into the back. As we drove off, I settled into my seat between Danny and Pete and picked up my book, which was “Memoirs of a Dirty Old Man” by Charles Bukowski. Pete looked at the cover of the book and pointed to the photo of the author and said “dude! That’s the guy you were JUST talking to at the bar!” Dan and I looked at the cover and sure as shit, same dude.
No shit.
I think back about this every once in a while and it kind of blows my mind. I wish I remembered the details a little better. Like, what was the whiskey? That’s not the kind of thing an 18 year old notices, but it’s the kind of thing that EVERY Bukowski fan has asked me when I’ve told this story.
People often ask me what Bukowski was doing in Florida, to which I can only reply “I have no fucking idea. I mean, I was in Florida too. I’m not from there either” Yeah. There’s a lot of unanswerable questions surrounding this story and it’s all pretty unconfirmable and mysterious. I’m not trying to set it out there as anything other than a personal anecdote told exactly how I remember it. And fuck, man. If that guy WASN’T Bukowski, fuck, he really, really really really really really really really kind of stole his whole style, from the ass breath to the creepiness to the look, and fuck, if it wasn’t him, I gotta imagine that’s about as close as a person can get to that kind of thing, both as an impersonator and as a young kid having a brush with grandiose perversity.
But I think it was him. We looked at that picture less than 2 minutes after we left Charlie sitting at that bar and it was fucking identical. I don’t know. Pretty wild, right?
That is all.
Thursday, September 24, 2009
put the fucking lotion in the basket!
It’s not even nine in the morning and my kid has bitten someone in the daycare already. It’s a bummer, because it’s something that he’s obviously learned to associate with the environment there, since he doesn’t do it at home or in other situations with other kids, but today, apparently, he bit some kid as soon as I walked out the door, while I was still in the parking lot. Now, most of me is pissed off, but a small part of me admires his moxie. He’s obviously treading on the perimeter of what he can get away with. That’s risk taking behavior, which can manifest in stupidity like drunk driving, sure, but which is also the hallmark of greatness. Without risk taking, there’s nothing but stasis. Flying that kite with the key attached to it in a storm: Risk taking behavior, and for that risk, we named the hundred dollar bill after Benjamin Benjamin, our greatest president. Breaking the sound barrier, flying to the moon, inventing penicillin, creating Playboy, doing the first McTwist, ending slavery, uh… I guess you’ve gotta throw STARTING slavery in there too, which is a bad thing, but well, it laid the foundation for the greatest…look, never mind that one. Forget that all together. Let’s list more classic POSITIVE risk taking behavior: Crossing the deleware, Killing Kennedy…no. Fuck that one too, um…calling your shot (a la Babe Ruth), storming the Bastille, taking a gun to an Obama Rally…No, that’s just sociopathic idiocy, which is different. Anyway, you get the point. Risk taking behavior has been getting a bad rap lately, thank you health care professionals, abstinence counselors and anti teen smoking campaigns, but the truth is, it’s one of the most important characteristics for a capable person to possess. It’s what sets the spectacular people apart from the dullard turds that pollute the hallways and breakrooms of this world. Show me someone who did something truly great without taking any risks. Go ahead. Stumped? Well, that’s because nothing notable is without risk. Sure, sure sure sure sure sure, there’s calculated risk (investing in a little known coffee chain from Washington state in 1991) and there’s stupid risk (taking LSD and going out on your dirtbike) but there’s calculated risk that turns out pretty badly (Martha Stewart) and stupid risks that turn out amazingly well (Johnny Knoxville).
My point here is that what happened this morning in the daycare was more than just a kid biting a kid. He was waiting for me to leave so he could crack open his proverbial beer behind the garage. That is CLASSIC risk taking behavior, and although I must and will do everything I can to discourage such behavior, I’m cautiously optimistic that at least he’s got it in him to potentially cross the Delaware someday. Even if that means he might not always wear rubbers. Which he really should. Not that he needs to think about that anytime soon…Jesus. Stop thinking about my baby wearing rubbers please. That’s disturbing.
So, what’s the big lesson here folks? Can you guess? What is risk taking behavior a manifestation of? What is the character trait that leads people to believe that they can pull off a risky move? Give up? Come on! How long have you been reading this shit, man? It’s fucking CONFIDENCE. No more, no less. Look at all the examples above. They highlight the necessity of confidence in doing anything worthwhile, and that includes EVERYTHING from discovering electricity to toppling the French Monarchy to boning the girl in your physics class. Can’t stress this enough, people.
Okay, my good buddy and writing partner just told me last night that his cousin is now in correspondence with a serial killer on death row. He thinks that there’s a really good chance that they’re gonna get married someday. Now, that’s hardly shocking, is it? This happens all the time. Serial killers have chicks lining up to marry them. Why? Because what’s more confident than a serial killer? Not much. You’re essentially not only confident that you can out muscle whoever it is that you’re killing, but you’re confident that your reasons for doing it are more important than their lives, you’re confident that you won’t get caught or that if you do, you’ll be able to handle it and, AND you’re confident enough to get out there and date after being convicted of doing something pretty fucking heinous. That’s nutsack city, folks. Not saying it’s good. It’s bad. Okay? Yes. Killing people is a bad manifestation of confidence gone berserk. BUT, notice that it STILL draws in women. That’s how powerful this shit is, kids.
Okay, what have we learned today? Confidence engenders risk taking behavior which can be good but can also be bad, particularly when it gets to the point of serial killing. Also, my kid is a biter, and although I may have just inadvertently correlated that with taking the lives of several people and using their skin to reupholster the couch, what I really think is that he’s gonna be the next Ben Franklin. He’s already got that hairstyle after all. And Ben Franklin was a pimp. For real. His favorite thing to do was to invite his buddies over and then be in the middle of boning some chick right in the living room when they showed up. True. Not that I want my kid doing that either…Sheesh. This is a slippery topic, man. I’m going to work.
xoxox
My point here is that what happened this morning in the daycare was more than just a kid biting a kid. He was waiting for me to leave so he could crack open his proverbial beer behind the garage. That is CLASSIC risk taking behavior, and although I must and will do everything I can to discourage such behavior, I’m cautiously optimistic that at least he’s got it in him to potentially cross the Delaware someday. Even if that means he might not always wear rubbers. Which he really should. Not that he needs to think about that anytime soon…Jesus. Stop thinking about my baby wearing rubbers please. That’s disturbing.
So, what’s the big lesson here folks? Can you guess? What is risk taking behavior a manifestation of? What is the character trait that leads people to believe that they can pull off a risky move? Give up? Come on! How long have you been reading this shit, man? It’s fucking CONFIDENCE. No more, no less. Look at all the examples above. They highlight the necessity of confidence in doing anything worthwhile, and that includes EVERYTHING from discovering electricity to toppling the French Monarchy to boning the girl in your physics class. Can’t stress this enough, people.
Okay, my good buddy and writing partner just told me last night that his cousin is now in correspondence with a serial killer on death row. He thinks that there’s a really good chance that they’re gonna get married someday. Now, that’s hardly shocking, is it? This happens all the time. Serial killers have chicks lining up to marry them. Why? Because what’s more confident than a serial killer? Not much. You’re essentially not only confident that you can out muscle whoever it is that you’re killing, but you’re confident that your reasons for doing it are more important than their lives, you’re confident that you won’t get caught or that if you do, you’ll be able to handle it and, AND you’re confident enough to get out there and date after being convicted of doing something pretty fucking heinous. That’s nutsack city, folks. Not saying it’s good. It’s bad. Okay? Yes. Killing people is a bad manifestation of confidence gone berserk. BUT, notice that it STILL draws in women. That’s how powerful this shit is, kids.
Okay, what have we learned today? Confidence engenders risk taking behavior which can be good but can also be bad, particularly when it gets to the point of serial killing. Also, my kid is a biter, and although I may have just inadvertently correlated that with taking the lives of several people and using their skin to reupholster the couch, what I really think is that he’s gonna be the next Ben Franklin. He’s already got that hairstyle after all. And Ben Franklin was a pimp. For real. His favorite thing to do was to invite his buddies over and then be in the middle of boning some chick right in the living room when they showed up. True. Not that I want my kid doing that either…Sheesh. This is a slippery topic, man. I’m going to work.
xoxox
Wednesday, September 23, 2009
hey, you're a crazy bitch, but you fuck so good i'm on top of it!
Okay assmasks and assmaskettes, welcome to Wednesday at the BSC. Not a lot going on here except for one truly exciting development. That’s right folks. The fresh pear cider I bought at the farmers market last week has fermented and turned into booze! Get this: They TOLD me that was going to happen, and apologized and said that since it was so close to becoming booze, they’d sell me two jugs for the price of one!!!! Talk about crazy! That’s like selling Action Comics number 27 for a nickel because it’s an old storyline, or giving me a discount on a Wright brothers stamp because the image was accidentally printed upside down. I mean, am I right, nerds? Well, anyway, it’s delicious. That’s for sure, and I don’t know how strong it is, but something tells me that today is going to be a pear-y good day. HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!
Oh, mercy. Seriously, folks, I don’t have shit going on today. I want to take my kid somewhere fun and do something he likes, but his main interests are bottlecaps, opening drawers, his dog (izzy) and taking dumps right there in his pants. That doesn’t give me lots of ideas as far as getting him out into the world. We go to playgrounds all the time, and it seems like we’re always hanging out in bars, so those are out. Huh. I’m a little stumped. I guess we could just go to the park or something, but I would really like to blow his mind today. If there was a water slide around we could go there. He likes the zoo, maybe we could head back there. OR if all else fails, we’ll just go to the strip club and he can hang out in the nursery while I watch all the other baby’s moms work.
That reminds me of a tale of five star parenting that I heard recently. My friend was the bartender at a pretty nice skin shack in Denver. One day he was working and the cops roll in looking for the owner of a car in the parking lot. This dude who’d been sitting at the stage for about an hour was all “yo! That’s my car officer” at which point the cops dragged him out because…are you ready? There was a baby in the car. Dude had spent an hour getting table dances while he left a baby in his car. Truly a class act, right? Well, gets better. It seems that once the cops did a little investigating, they discovered that the baby was not his, but was in fact his girlfriend’s. This is the same girlfriend who had given him money and told him to take the baby down to McDonalds and get some lunch, the very same money that he had been getting the table dances with. How bout that, folks? Unbelievable, right? Not as unbelievable as the time Sean Nader and I got kicked out of the mutant strip club of horrors by the midget in the tuxedo, but still pretty good.
Look, my baby is awake and I think I speak for everyone involved when I say this is sort of a waste of time right now, so I’m gonna dip out. Have a good one, my gentle dogs of war. Let’s rap tomorrow.
Edit: Oh jesus! I already told this story once! This is a rerun! I had no idea. Look. Tomorrow's gonna absolutely slay. I guess I owe you fucks that much, eh? Christ...
Oh, mercy. Seriously, folks, I don’t have shit going on today. I want to take my kid somewhere fun and do something he likes, but his main interests are bottlecaps, opening drawers, his dog (izzy) and taking dumps right there in his pants. That doesn’t give me lots of ideas as far as getting him out into the world. We go to playgrounds all the time, and it seems like we’re always hanging out in bars, so those are out. Huh. I’m a little stumped. I guess we could just go to the park or something, but I would really like to blow his mind today. If there was a water slide around we could go there. He likes the zoo, maybe we could head back there. OR if all else fails, we’ll just go to the strip club and he can hang out in the nursery while I watch all the other baby’s moms work.
That reminds me of a tale of five star parenting that I heard recently. My friend was the bartender at a pretty nice skin shack in Denver. One day he was working and the cops roll in looking for the owner of a car in the parking lot. This dude who’d been sitting at the stage for about an hour was all “yo! That’s my car officer” at which point the cops dragged him out because…are you ready? There was a baby in the car. Dude had spent an hour getting table dances while he left a baby in his car. Truly a class act, right? Well, gets better. It seems that once the cops did a little investigating, they discovered that the baby was not his, but was in fact his girlfriend’s. This is the same girlfriend who had given him money and told him to take the baby down to McDonalds and get some lunch, the very same money that he had been getting the table dances with. How bout that, folks? Unbelievable, right? Not as unbelievable as the time Sean Nader and I got kicked out of the mutant strip club of horrors by the midget in the tuxedo, but still pretty good.
Look, my baby is awake and I think I speak for everyone involved when I say this is sort of a waste of time right now, so I’m gonna dip out. Have a good one, my gentle dogs of war. Let’s rap tomorrow.
Edit: Oh jesus! I already told this story once! This is a rerun! I had no idea. Look. Tomorrow's gonna absolutely slay. I guess I owe you fucks that much, eh? Christ...
Tuesday, September 22, 2009
Bitch I'm a kill you!
Hey hey! It’s the BSC’s triumphant return to advice! Without too much of a parade, let’s get to it.
Q:
Well my dilemma started about 2 months ago when I started hanging out with this girl that I met from a mutual friend. From the moment we started hanging out, it was instant chemistry. In my 26 years on this planet, I have never met a girl that "got" me the way she does. She gets my sick sense of humor, disregards my insecurities, and strokes my fragile ego in all the right ways. Sounds perfect, right? Wrong. Two years prior, she was dating my best friend/drummer. They Dated for about a month and a half before she dumped him. Shortly after, she had hung out with my ex-guitarist/close friend a few times. Now this guy was pretty much ostracizing himself from me/the band at this point so we were not very communicative, thus details were finite.
After things started getting serious with this girl, I confronted my drummer/bff and told him what was going on. After a few day's he gave me the "green light" and I continued to build a close relationship with this girl. Now two months have passed and things are getting (emotionally) serious. She is claiming to love me, and I am beginning to resiprocate those feelings. Unfortunately for me, the stronger my feelings for this girl grow, the more her past "dealings" with my friends irritate me. On a drunken whim, I confronted her recently about her time spent with my now ex-guitarist/friend. To my dismay, she did infact "bang" him (as I suspected, but chose not to acknowledge). Hearing this has left me feeling very apprehensive towards this girl. Am I a fool for persuing a girl that was with 2 of my best friends? She has always claimed (even before the recent developments) that she always had a crush on me, am the best looking and that I even bang her better than anyone in her past. I don't feel insecure about myself, but the thought of this girl that I am falling for banging this kid is really driving me mad.
I am basically looking to you as an unbiased opinion. Is it foolish to let a girl's past get in the way of a very potentially bright future? Am I overthinking something that is in reality very miniscule? She is falling pretty hard for me and I dont want to string her along if her past is gonna just eat away at me untill I am forced to move on.
A:
In one of my favorite bits of all time, Dave Chappelle asks the women in his crowd if they feel bad for Monica Lewinsky. They boo, at which point Dave tells them that they’re all mean and then goes on to say “Every woman has sucked a dick she regrets. All y’all ladies have at least one dick that you wanna forget about and I bet he wasn’t the president either. I bet he worked at Kinney Shoes or something.” I love that shit. It’s funny and it’s true. AND it’s not just true for women. Everyone has fucked someone that they regret, be it because they’re ugly, stupid, related to you, not your husband, whatever. It happens. There’s three things that are hardwired into you: eating, sleeping, fucking. You’ve snuck in inappropriate naps before because you were exhausted, right? You’ve eaten a gas station burrito because you were hungry and that’s all you could get, right? There’s really no difference when it comes down to fucking the intern, or your buddy’s sister or whatever. Not the greatest move, but hey! Shit happens, man. You’ve got a dick you regret too, don’t forget it. AND, on the off chance you don’t…say you’ve only had committed relationships and you’ve just banged your two girlfriends…wait around a minute. You’ll fuck up soon enough, and the last thing you’ll want once you do is some fucking turd guilting you about something you already feel is irrelevant and regrettable. None of this is advice. Just sayin.
Okay, so here’s the deal: your old lady banged some guy you know and it burns you up inside. Well, here’s the big lesson here: Never ask about that shit. Who cares? It’s the most counterproductive and torturous path of speculation to go down. Look, my wife, she’s fucked people before we met, as much as I hate to think about it. AND, though I’d NEVER ask her about it, I’m sure she’s fucked some people I know. Yes, it sucks ass to think about, which is why I don’t. Look, man. Past experiences, good and bad are the ones that have made the person you’re digging on right now who they are, and to dwell on something you can’t change is not only a waste of energy, frankly, it’s shitty to her. Not her fault. She fucked him. Oh yeah she did.. He jizzed right on her face and she sucked off his one creepy friend while your guitar player buddy was fucking her up the ass and she loved it. She absolutely fucking LOVED IT!!!! How bout that? Eh? Infuriating? Well, NOT YOUR BUSINESS!!! Her past is not beholden to you. What she did before you guys were dating is her deal. You want to be held accountable to her for everything you’ve ever done? No. Because firstly, you’ve done some stupid shit that you’d rather forget, and secondly, and more importantly, you’ve done stuff you’re fine with that you don’t want to have to feel compelled to explain. Why shouldn’t she be allowed to have fucked that guy and still enjoy the memory of it? Because it makes you feel insecure? Sack up, you pussy. This is among the most manipulative and small moves that a person in a relationship can pull, and if you can’t let it go, you don’t deserve a chick that “gets you.” Believe me, when this shit all goes down, it’s gonna be YOUR jealousy that’s gonna bite YOU in the ass, and no matter how hard she’s “falling for you,” it’s gonna be YOU sitting there, super bummed, once your jealousy ruins your relationship and she ends up banging someone else while you pretend to be pure and unspoiled, whacking off bitterly all the while. Yeah. That’ll happen too. Black dudes. Three at a time. That’s how these things always end, man.
Uh, what else? It was my buddy’s birthday last night and we drank red wine with dinner, which produces hangovers in blog authors, which means I’m going to the gym.
Hang in there baby!
Q:
Well my dilemma started about 2 months ago when I started hanging out with this girl that I met from a mutual friend. From the moment we started hanging out, it was instant chemistry. In my 26 years on this planet, I have never met a girl that "got" me the way she does. She gets my sick sense of humor, disregards my insecurities, and strokes my fragile ego in all the right ways. Sounds perfect, right? Wrong. Two years prior, she was dating my best friend/drummer. They Dated for about a month and a half before she dumped him. Shortly after, she had hung out with my ex-guitarist/close friend a few times. Now this guy was pretty much ostracizing himself from me/the band at this point so we were not very communicative, thus details were finite.
After things started getting serious with this girl, I confronted my drummer/bff and told him what was going on. After a few day's he gave me the "green light" and I continued to build a close relationship with this girl. Now two months have passed and things are getting (emotionally) serious. She is claiming to love me, and I am beginning to resiprocate those feelings. Unfortunately for me, the stronger my feelings for this girl grow, the more her past "dealings" with my friends irritate me. On a drunken whim, I confronted her recently about her time spent with my now ex-guitarist/friend. To my dismay, she did infact "bang" him (as I suspected, but chose not to acknowledge). Hearing this has left me feeling very apprehensive towards this girl. Am I a fool for persuing a girl that was with 2 of my best friends? She has always claimed (even before the recent developments) that she always had a crush on me, am the best looking and that I even bang her better than anyone in her past. I don't feel insecure about myself, but the thought of this girl that I am falling for banging this kid is really driving me mad.
I am basically looking to you as an unbiased opinion. Is it foolish to let a girl's past get in the way of a very potentially bright future? Am I overthinking something that is in reality very miniscule? She is falling pretty hard for me and I dont want to string her along if her past is gonna just eat away at me untill I am forced to move on.
A:
In one of my favorite bits of all time, Dave Chappelle asks the women in his crowd if they feel bad for Monica Lewinsky. They boo, at which point Dave tells them that they’re all mean and then goes on to say “Every woman has sucked a dick she regrets. All y’all ladies have at least one dick that you wanna forget about and I bet he wasn’t the president either. I bet he worked at Kinney Shoes or something.” I love that shit. It’s funny and it’s true. AND it’s not just true for women. Everyone has fucked someone that they regret, be it because they’re ugly, stupid, related to you, not your husband, whatever. It happens. There’s three things that are hardwired into you: eating, sleeping, fucking. You’ve snuck in inappropriate naps before because you were exhausted, right? You’ve eaten a gas station burrito because you were hungry and that’s all you could get, right? There’s really no difference when it comes down to fucking the intern, or your buddy’s sister or whatever. Not the greatest move, but hey! Shit happens, man. You’ve got a dick you regret too, don’t forget it. AND, on the off chance you don’t…say you’ve only had committed relationships and you’ve just banged your two girlfriends…wait around a minute. You’ll fuck up soon enough, and the last thing you’ll want once you do is some fucking turd guilting you about something you already feel is irrelevant and regrettable. None of this is advice. Just sayin.
Okay, so here’s the deal: your old lady banged some guy you know and it burns you up inside. Well, here’s the big lesson here: Never ask about that shit. Who cares? It’s the most counterproductive and torturous path of speculation to go down. Look, my wife, she’s fucked people before we met, as much as I hate to think about it. AND, though I’d NEVER ask her about it, I’m sure she’s fucked some people I know. Yes, it sucks ass to think about, which is why I don’t. Look, man. Past experiences, good and bad are the ones that have made the person you’re digging on right now who they are, and to dwell on something you can’t change is not only a waste of energy, frankly, it’s shitty to her. Not her fault. She fucked him. Oh yeah she did.. He jizzed right on her face and she sucked off his one creepy friend while your guitar player buddy was fucking her up the ass and she loved it. She absolutely fucking LOVED IT!!!! How bout that? Eh? Infuriating? Well, NOT YOUR BUSINESS!!! Her past is not beholden to you. What she did before you guys were dating is her deal. You want to be held accountable to her for everything you’ve ever done? No. Because firstly, you’ve done some stupid shit that you’d rather forget, and secondly, and more importantly, you’ve done stuff you’re fine with that you don’t want to have to feel compelled to explain. Why shouldn’t she be allowed to have fucked that guy and still enjoy the memory of it? Because it makes you feel insecure? Sack up, you pussy. This is among the most manipulative and small moves that a person in a relationship can pull, and if you can’t let it go, you don’t deserve a chick that “gets you.” Believe me, when this shit all goes down, it’s gonna be YOUR jealousy that’s gonna bite YOU in the ass, and no matter how hard she’s “falling for you,” it’s gonna be YOU sitting there, super bummed, once your jealousy ruins your relationship and she ends up banging someone else while you pretend to be pure and unspoiled, whacking off bitterly all the while. Yeah. That’ll happen too. Black dudes. Three at a time. That’s how these things always end, man.
Uh, what else? It was my buddy’s birthday last night and we drank red wine with dinner, which produces hangovers in blog authors, which means I’m going to the gym.
Hang in there baby!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
