Friday, October 23, 2009

There's a place in the world for the angry young man...

It's nice having a blog no one ever visits. I can post virtually anything here and it's like throwing a stone in the ocean. The ocean doesn't give a shit. There's some self satisfying thrill in it though, as if the voice(s) in your head has an audience. I guess that's delusion. Or delirium. Or least that's what google seems to think.

It makes you wonder how the fuck people make money off blogs. Especially the ones who post NO worthwhile content, or just repost from outside sources. Whatever the case, no one's reading this drivel and that affords me all the more freedom to be honest in this big, loud, empty corridor of internet land.

If you scroll back through this blog (you being illusory reader, or probably just me) you'll find an angry little note called "Gerisacaphobia" or something where I detested the notion of aging into 23. The entry ended with "I'm just really unhappy", and this was posted Nov 2nd, 2008. Funnily enough after that...I played one more gig with my band (Nov. 15th) before being backstabbed and abandoned by them (socially at least) in Chicago. I rallied back with a new job, saved money, and fucked off to Los Angeles. Here we are just about a year later and I can safely say....I'm just really unhappy. Fancy that. 365 days later. Nothing accomplished. No richer, no poorer, no thinner, nothing. Still just spinning wheels on a computer while life keeps marching on around me. It's almost disgusting. Once again, I face another birthday - 24 - and I'm quicker to grab my little white flag rather than my rifle. It's not depression. People are depressed when they are sad for no apparent reason. I know why I'm like this. I know why I'm constantly disappointed, discontent, dis-everything. Because despite my best efforts, nothing has clicked. The blurry image of what I need to do with my life has not come any clearer into focus. It's as if every move I make (geographical, social, professional, personal) is like what I mentioned earlier - throwing a stone in the ocean.

I put in my hours. I got a job. I earn my living. I motivate myself everyday to get up, work, go to the gym, stay in shape, eat healthy, practice music, etc. For what? Absolutely no gratification comes from any of it. But in the spirit of routine and vanity, I keep on trucking. No one cares and you can't expect them too. Everyone else seems to be miserable too. Mark my words, one year from now (Nov. 2010) I can bet these feelings will persist. What a fucking waste.

I'm not lamenting growing up, or my job, or issues with the opposite sex, or any of that nonsense. I just feel like I've been standing up in the front row of life for 24 years waiting for the show to start and it just ain't fucking happening. I guess that's what happens to everyone though. Heh. See that? I cannot even rest in the spirit of my own misery without understanding that everyone else is in the exact same situation and not one bit of my and anger and insecurities is a unique sensation. Fuck. That kind of circular thinking really is annoying.

Well that's enough from me. Can I get an applause?


Another stone in the ocean.

Sunday, July 19, 2009

Depression: Don't Believe the Tripe

I know this will make me unpopular, but I'll say it anyway. Depression is bullshit. Sorry. I know it's nice to think you have some neurological defect that's preventing you from being that special amazing don't. It's all in your head. Bi-Polar disorder? Mere clinical jargon dreamed up by shitty Doctors. There's bad days, there's good days, and yes sometimes EVERYONE just wants to kill themselves. In fact, sometimes that's all the time. You know what? THAT'S COMPLETELY FUCKING NORMAL.

1st quote to add legitimacy to my argument:
"Remember that no biochemical, neurological, or genetic markers have been found for attention deficit disorder, oppositional defiant disorder, depression, schizophrenia, anxiety, compulsive alcohol and drug abuse, overeating, gambling, or any other so-called mental illness, disease, or disorder." - Bruce Levine, Ph.D. (psychologist), Commonsense Rebellion: Debunking Psychiatry, Confronting Society (Continuum, New York 2001), p. 277.

I try to talk to people who claim depression. I really want to understand this phenomenon since 1/3rd of the country seems to be doped up on happy pills. "How did you know you were depressed and not just having a bad day?" I'd ask. Their answer is usually the same. "It's different, you just know. No matter what happens you feel bad all the time." Oh. Could this be the crushing reality of life? The constant revelation that no matter what you do, you will always be lost in the same haze of discontent? If you read through my blogs you could almost make a case that I'm depressed. I wake up feeling like shit everyday. I feel like I know cosmically there is no relevance to my life. I have a hard time justifying any exerted effort because I know there really is no fucking point. I don't write this off as depression though. That's life. Why do you think the most successful people in the world aren't just chilling out somewhere? They're still unhappy. They've still got work to do. Some people internalize this as a reason to get up in the morning. Other people rather just pop a pill and forget about it. They say it's a chemical imbalance. Riiiight....

2nd quote to add legitimacy to my argument:
If your doctor tells you that these drugs will correct an imbalance in your brain chemicals, please realize that more than likely your doctor got this from drug company representatives as part of the drug companies’ marketing activities. There is no scientific evidence to support such a statement. Just because you are depressed does not mean that there is something wrong with your brain chemicals." - Zoloft side effects web site

As I mentioned before though, I'm sure it's magically reassuring to some people that the reason they can't function 'like everybody else' is an ambiguous problem in their brain makeup. It's like the more scientific way of blaming everything on your parents. No, you know what, the parents thing is probably a more scientifically sound argument. If someone says they are sad or experience wild mood swings for no explicable reason, then my first instinct is "Well, you had a bad day and it finally caught up with you." They tell me I don't understand, and we continue this ballet ad infinitum. Maybe someone can give me a shot or something, so I get the symptoms of depression to see what it's really all about. Oh wait, I can't, because chemically it DOESN'T FUCKING EXIST. Sad? Bi-polar? So is everyone else, we just cover it up in more constructive ways. Some people shoot up schools. Some people gather massive toy train collections. Whatever the course, there's energy you have to burn every given day. If you don't, your body is going to give you anxiety, insomnia, discontent, and then probably a few extra pounds for not leaving the house and doing anything. Still the debate with friends rages on...

3rd quote to add legitimacy to my argument:
"I am constantly amazed by how many patients who come to see me believe or want to believe that their difficulties are biologic and can be relieved by a pill. This is despite the fact that modern psychiatry has yet to convincingly prove the genetic/biologic cause of any single mental illness. However, this does not stop psychiatry from making essentially unproven claims that depression, bipolar illness, anxiety disorders, alcoholism and a host of other disorders are in fact primarily biologic and probably genetic in origin, and that it is only a matter of time until all this is proven. This kind of faith in science and progress is staggering, not to mention naive and perhaps delusional." - Dr. David Kaiser, M.D. Psychiatrist

You know, I almost kind of wish there was a neurological disease to explain why some people are miserable douche nozzles. I could slip them some pills and they could perk the fuck up. But there isn't. There flat out isn't. If you are sitting at home feeling like the weight of the world is on your shoulders and there's nothing you can do about it - you're only experiencing clarity. Beautiful, soul destroying clarity. Think about why you're sad. There's a reason. Even if you are so sure there isn't, there is. Stop lying to yourself. Maybe you realized you'll never be that good looking. You'll never make more than a couple thousand in your life. You'll never find that perfect someone. You'll never raise those perfect kids. You'll never own that perfect house. Maybe you're just coming to grips that in 20 years you'll still be hungover, eating cheerios, and watching divorce court. Worst of all, that gut feeling that everything is wrong and something needs to change in your life will never ever ever ever ever go away. People are cruel, the world is shit, and when you break it down - there really isn't a reason to be here at all.

See? Everyone thinks like that. Go ahead and spend all your money on drugs and pretend that it's not your fault. I'm gonna spend my money on cheaper things that make me happy. Like hobbies and friends. It's a novel concept. Get out of the house, find people who like the same things as you, and get on with your fucking life. If you still can't manage that, well, that's why they put power outlets within reasonable distance of bathtubs. Ciao.

Sunday, June 28, 2009

Monday, June 15, 2009

Like OMG, L.A. is sooo fake!

Have you heard this shit before? "Dude, man, I like...hate L.A. dude. It's so fake. It's like, super trendy. Dude, it's just fake." Really? Where do you draw your grand wisdom from dipshit? It's fake? You mean people will only associate with you based on how good looking you are or what you can do for their careers? Everyone dresses stylish to cover up their convoluted self-esteem issues? Everyone isn't automatically nice to you like they're your grandparents? Hmm. SOUNDS LIKE THE REST OF THE FUCKING COUNTRY. When someone says they hate a city, it is automatically implied that they think they are above that city. Though, when they provide reasoning like "it's fake" and not something intelligent like "I find the traffic there unfavorable", I want to very rapidly introduce my face to a plate glass window.

When I was bar tending in Chicago (there is a space between bar and tending because according to Firefox, bartending is not a word), I spoke openly of my plan to move to Los Angeles. The best reaction I ever got was a guy who used to live there. He said "Yeah man, L.A. is great. Just remember who you are." Uh huh. Remember who I am. Admittedly, he was shithammered when he slurred his words out, but that's no excuse for the utter stupidity of what he said. Remember who I am? As if Los Angeles is a black hole of soul sucking influence. If you live there, you will forget your very identity. I remember who I am. I'm a lazy, selfish, misogynistic asshole. Ha! I remembered! What that guy said applies more to a city like New Orleans. Very literally, there you will forget everything not associated with very cheap liquor. Los Angeles is like any other intimidating city, a whole lot of people barely making rent and car payments on their status symbol apartment and convertible.

I'm still waiting on the hordes of plastic women. I've seen no more here than any other place I've lived. How shameful of these rich, famous celebrities. Flashing their wealth around. How dare they. Why, if I ever made a lot of money I wouln't ever......wait, yes I would. I would coat my skeleton in gold. I'd live like a god damn Egyptian Prince on a Persian bender. I'd have more arm candy than a chocolate octopus. I'd get a diamond plaque that reads "Hollywood Trash" and nail it to my face. That's why people make money, so they can do meaningless shit like that. But no, everyone else in the country says "Oh L.A. is too fake for me" as if they are simple, humble, bible thumping goodie goods. Ah wait a second, aren't people is those rugged places more real? Grounded? Legitimate human beings? I've lived in those places. They're not. Just because you have to shovel snow and chop wood does not make you a better person. Hard manual labor does not build character. I've done all these things, and as many of you should know - I'm a horrible fucking human being. In fact, every shovel load of dirt I've moved in my life is directly proportional to how tall that solid gold naked woman statue will be in the middle of my gatehouse fountain. Her eyes will also have light up rubies.

But Los Angeles is still full of terrible fake people. They want to use you and abuse you. Yawn. I went to a Hollywood club/bar/party last week. They were having some pornstar function. Ron Jeremy was there. Though I'm told the chance of seeing Ron Jeremy at a Hollywood social event is just as good as walking into a forest and finding a tree. Either way, it was great fun. But I suppose if I had a good time, it must've been a fake good time. I guess I really wasn't enjoying myself, right? It's far more noble to have never moved, and stayed in a quiet little neighborhood bar, correct? That's more real. Ha. Sure. Whatever. The rest of the world can keep making excuses on why they hate other cities. Have at it. All I can tell you is that it is perpetually 75 degrees and sunny here, palm trees line every street, everyone drives a European sportscar, and the people act just like how they would in any other fucking part of the world. They don't give a shit about you. Beautiful.

In short, yeah I guess everyone here is a stuck up prick. We're all stuck up pricks. We're all pretending to be something we're clearly not. We're all assholes. We're all fake.

So you were right. You don't live here because you're not like that. You're better than us. Right. I'll try to remember that.

Wednesday, April 15, 2009

The Economy Bar and Grill

Ok, here we go...

We've heard the jargon all over television, radio, internet, and indian smoke signals. The U.S.A. is in the midst of some sort of crisis. Overspending and evil companies have spoiled the terrain, dropping the value of everything, leaving everyone fucked. Or something like that. I'm no expert by any stretch. I just thought that when your company closes up because no one is buying your product that means you suck. Apparently not. Apparently your broke government will continue to hand out free money. You get to squander that money, and then they get to ask for that money back at some bizarre rate of interest. Did I figure that right? Essentially: the government is broke, the people in charge of major companies are broke, the employees of those companies are broke, and the unemployed are broke. Seems like America got drunk, went to Vegas for a weekend, woke up with one kidney in Carson City, and doesn't remember what the fuck happened.

Which is the perfect metaphor! Because usually I can't understand what the fuck anyone is talking about unless its put into the context of something I'm familiar with. Like a bar.

Imagine you (mr. or ms. or mrs. facebook aficionado) are a hot, young, hip up and coming company. You sell adspace online or whatever. You're the bee's knees. Everybody loves you. It's friday night and you're heading out to your favorite joint. The good 'ol United States Economy Bar 'n Grill.

You've been coming here for a while, but now you're really getting comfortable. You and the manager are on first name basis. He doesn't really give a shit, but he slides you your first 2 or 3 drinks for free. You offer to pay...but nah, "Don't worry about it" he says. You feel cool. Time to play the scene. You start mixing with some of the other studs at the bar. Yeah, technically your all in competition for some of the young ladies' attention (think of them as your customers, for the sake of this ridiculous extended metaphor) it's all fun and games for now. Chat a little bit with the bank guys. One of them used to work at the bar, he's got the hook up. Perhaps you trade a joke or two with Auto Industry. He's always blind fucking hammered and embarrassing himself, but early on in the evening he's quite tolerable.

Then there's the good 'ol mortgage rate juke box. The night is young and shit is kicking pretty good early. Bad Company, ZZ Top, and Timbuk 3's "The Future's So Bright, I Gotta Wear Shades" is providing you the audio lubrication to a real rock 'n roll night. A few drinks go down. Now it's time to hit up your bread and butter. The ladies. The homegrown, naive, and never thrifty American consumer. Nervous? Not you. You've got a good rap. And it works. Night after night you're taking car loads of women back to your deluxe made-for-2-dozen waterbed bank account. Life is good. So every weekend you keep on heading back to the Economy Bar and Grill. Why change? If it works it works. Besides, you're getting lazy and all those other places are scary and different. Plus the manager knows your first name...

But then shit starts to go sour. See you didn't call a couple of those girls back. They're telling their friends. You're a dirty motherfucker. One of them may have even been Auto Industry's girlfriend. He's pissed but you can't tell, he can barely talk between guzzles of scotch, and if he does he's bitching to the manager. The Newspaper Industry is pissed to. He was flirting with that girl last week. You totally fucking stole her. "Haha" you think. Haha indeed, for now not a lot of the chicks want to talk to you. They know you're game. They heard about some other place down the road where there aren't as many assholes. Less and less chicks seem to be coming to the bar. Not too much fun now. Without the girls, no one's putting any money into the jukebox. We're back to Muzak...and you can swear you're hearing some weird instrumental version of "In The Ghetto". You throw your money in and try to get the place hopping with an ironic play of "Too Legit To Quit". No one cares. You want a round of shots for the couple of hags who've stuck around. The manager ignores you. He's too busy dealing with Auto Industry. You can't leave though. Newspaper industry is wasted outside and wants to fight. You start to lose your buzz. Fuck. Gotta wait it out. You switch to the cheapest stuff you can drink. Fuck.

In fact, everybody does. Everyone's chilling at the bar on the weekend now...nursing warm Miller Lite's until the girl's show back up. Then they'll switch to the hard stuff and really get rowdy. But..they never do. The chicks are gone, dude. Europe's down the street and its poppin'. "Too expensive" you think. China has got 5 for 1 deals. "Eh, too far...and I don't know anyone there" you pine. The manager knows your name here. He'll hook it up. You go back for another round. "No dice" the manager says. "Not tonight, business has been too slow." Fuck. Fucking fuck fuck.

You order another Miller Lite that you don't really want and take a seat at the bar. Auto Industry is barely slouched up next you, staring down at a tequila/gin/151 cocktail. "This placeu doah used to bea ad tehe shiteehah..." he whines. You both do shots. "Youre cool gotta a just need one more." Fuck it. You give him a dollar. More shots. Still no girls coming in. A couple more people leave. More shots. The bartender gives you a dirty look. "Sir, are you alright?" Man...he doesn't even know your name anymore. You black out.

A couple hours later you wake up in a bathtub in Carson City. One kidney.


Tuesday, February 10, 2009

Disaster at your local theater: "He's Just Not That Into You"

In the grand tradition of me doing things for the pure absurdity of it, I ventured out to see the brand new chick flick "He's Just Not That Into You" by myself. Being that I was the only male in the packed theater, I just pretended like I had 139 dates who weren't putting out. I'd never actually seen a romantic comedy at a movie theater before, so the "Awwwwwws" from the female audience during every tender fucking moment were almost as entertaining as the film. I also was under the impression that Ryan Reynolds was in the film too...apparently he's I struggled with this bit of reality for most of the picture.


Moving along...

The movie is based on some book by the writers of Sex and the City, and has to do with women trying to understand men and their convoluted agendas. In short, the message is "Men aren't as complicated as you wish they were" and we get 2 hours and 9 minutes of the star studded female cast dealing with it. You're probably still wondering why the fuck I subjected myself to this. Well, the premise of the film starts with "A bunch of shallow twenty-somethings..." and I just couldn't walk away from that. Plus the film takes place in Baltimore, which is the perfect backdrop for unhappy people. Believe me.

A word to women who want to see this movie, or have already seen the movie. Please do not accept the lessons espoused in the film as divine relationship doctrine. Men aren't complicated? Is that a fucking revelation? If you aren't having sex with your boyfriend/husband, do you really have to ask someone else if "something's wrong"? For fuck's sake, swallow your pride and open your eyes. Follow the tried and true Josh-logic. Be fucking honest about how you feel, what you want, and where you think you are going. If you are living in a shiny pink fairyland and have romanticized every aspect of your sex life to a point where it resembles plot lines of your favorite 80s movies and not just 2 people drunk and fucking - you deserve all the heartache, disappointment, and suffering that you bring upon yourself you damn fucking fool.


Thankfully, the movie doesn't derail completely into forced happy endings so every member of the audience leaves the theater with a renewed faith in humanity. Some characters break up and stay broken up, are forced to pick up their shattered little lives, and deal with the consequences of being too fucking naive. That's only some characters. A few get the hackneyed Hollywood treatment, complete with super-creative marriage proposals that evoked a deafening "AWWWWWWWW" from my estrogen dominated audience. That really was the toughest part to stomach. The concept of marriage is damned by this movie at first, but then it does a complete about face and shoved down our throats as the logical progression of truly 'happy' relationships. That little bit of horseshit almost made me forget about the lecture that was the rest of the film. Telling me how I act as a guy. Let me just say, NEVER IN MY FUCKING LIFE HAS A WOMAN COMPLAINED TO ME ABOUT GIVING MIXED SIGNALS, BEING LED ON, OR UNFAIR TREATMENT. Apparently though, not every man on this planet is as brutally awesome as me - so if some of the aspects of this film's characters apply to you (if you're a guy) or a guy you know, please beat him in the face with a rusty rake.

The one saving grace of this cinematic experiences was a cameo by Kris Kristopherson as Jennifer Anniston's father. KRIS FUCKING KRISTOPHERSON. The most grizzled man alive. I'd pay money just to watch him eat a steak.

Sunday, January 25, 2009

Adventures in Pornography Land

I've never been too into internet porn. Seemed kinda redundant. It was usually very poor quality, and you'd have to wait while a video buffered just so you could skip to the ending. Yawn. Not too mention the deli-style quality of some of these girls, and the fact that I tend to get sidetracked by other details going on the in the room at the time. "Does that guy only have one ball?"..."Haha, they wrapped the couch up in plastic"..."Why is it curved that way?"..."Ugh, this lighting is sooo tacky".

BUT...when you have a laptop computer hooked up in your bedroom, curiosity will indeed come calling. After indulging my initial fantasies about horses, midgets, and derelicts...I've got a few complaints to file. Never would I have thought that I'd be disappointed with strangers fucking at my convenience, but some of this shit is not only ridiculous, but it begs the questions "What the fuck are they doing and why the fuck am I watching this? Fuck."

First off, why are some of these videos a half-hour long? At best, a porn video should only be 2 minutes in length - about the usual total time for my own sexual escapades. Beyond that, its fucking boring. Why is foreplay so prominently featured? They're not even creative, and it lasts for like 10 fucking minutes. Yeah I suppose at first analyzing how the chick is giving a blowjob is intriguing, or obnoxiously visual tongue tricks a guy uses on a chick are educational...but get to the point already. Although when they do that, it just gets more tedious. Alright, he's hitting her from behind on the couch. Now they are on the floor. Oh look, reverse cowgirl. he seems to be going for the wheel barrow..oh wait, back to the floor into a 69. God. Throw in some color commentary and you've got an Olympic event right here. I shudder to think that people actually emulate this shit in their own bedrooms. This is retarded. Unless this is just supposed to be one big cosmic joke on me, I cannot fathom how this is a multi-billion dollar industry. Especially considering how I've continued to never pay for it.

But then we get to the southwestern style mayonnaise center of thisl roast beef hoagie. The money shot. The facial. The Cream Pie. The Anal Explosion. The Grand DNA Inquisition. The EXTREME facial. Its hard to keep track. The titles of the videos lend little help: "Hot Teenage Asian Gets All You Can Eat Hot Cock Buffet, Pumped Full of Cream Sauce". Okay. Right. After you've seen pregnant woman porn or bukkake, that last description doesn't even phase you. Beyond that, these money shots are not only more ridiculous than all the gravity-defying-sport-fucking, they get downright science fictional. I refuse to believe that these girls are actually getting covered in jizz head to toe. I may be actually getting into the know, really enjoying it...and then here comes 2 shark looking dicks blasting what seems to be a gallon of krispy kreme donut glaze for about a minute. This causes me to throw computer across room is frustrated disbelief. NOT physical ecstasy. Then the girls just sit there half laughing half crying with their mouth forced open into a smile like they are waiting to catch a raindrop. All the while, the glaze train keeps coming and coming and coming. Biologically, this is impossible. Even David Copperfield's going "Wait, how the fuck did he do that!?"

So I then close up the computer and feel something between anger, discomfort, and shame. I don't even want to go into bukkake, which is a word that somehow SOUNDS just as stupid and disturbing as the act it describes. Its not even that I have a puritanical approach to sex, I assume I like it just as wild and crazy as anybody else, but I sincerely hope these videos are made purely for comedy purposes. Or at least, watched for purely comedy purposes. I still can't understand why a guy would watch a video featuring the phrase "HUGE COCK" since for me, I'd just feel inadequate and have to resume my relationship counseling. I'd rather not know how big some of these guys' dicks are. At the same token, I don't really want to know how far some of these plasticized girls can squirt across the room. Although I'm glad there's an industry giving all the abused and molested children of the world an outlet for their talents, and that the emotionally crippled are getting as close to actual affection as they're ever going to get - just try not to hit me with those cream cannons, eh?

I don't know. Call me old fashioned.