Welcome to the 4th episode of the increasingly popular "Local Heroes" segment. Its the part of the show where we profile one of our very own Sleaze Roxxians and their own music.
This week we chat with the ever talented, and hilariously funny, musical genius that we all know and love as Joshua A.D.!!
Joshua A.D., welcome to Local Heroes!
Hello!
We are not all from LA, so we haven't seen you doing your magic, so as an intro tell us a bit of who you are.
I'm not from LA either, thank christ. I originally grew up north of Baltimore, Maryland on a horse farm. Pretty boring. I was about 30 minutes from Baltimore, an hour south of Philadelphia, 3 hours south of New York City and an hour and a half north of Washington. You'd think it would be interesting but it really wasn't. I moved away when I was 17 to New Orleans for college. Spent 5 amazing years there, did 10 months hanging in Chicago and then made the Maryland to California cross country drive last summer.
That's just locations. If you want to know "who I am"...read on I suppose...
So what is your band? What are you doing musically at present?
My band is Joshua A.D., my first ever venture into being a "solo" artist. It's sloppy hard rock, punky I guess, with a sense of humor about itself. It's both intentional and unintentional. I write serious songs about things I think about, but at the same time I can't take anything seriously. So onstage playing original music for strangers, I have always devolved into humor. It's like the lowest common denominator in entertainment. I always get good feedback, and it takes a lot of pressure off. The band's music is like The Dictators meets Thin Lizzy meets AC/DC and Motorhead. I'm by no means a good musician, so the humor takes the edge of that. Bands often do that to insulate themselves to criticism. I guess that's true for me as well. But even when I played in serious bands it was always more fun to make the audience laugh. 75% of the time they can't hear the words or understand the songs live anyway.
Very cool HMJ, lets talk live shows - what is a HMJ gig like?
All fun, no pressure. I want to actively engage whoever is watching the band. A lot of times bands can switch into live-auto pilot. They pull off the poses and the songs, but they're just not really 'there' you know? I write new jokes and skits and segues for each show. That's done so if someone in the back of the bar is trying to ignore the band, I'm throwing different shit out there besides music to get their attention. It works. Even if they go back to ignoring me once the next song starts. At least they heard SOMETHING I said. Being a performer is inherently desiring attention. It's about ego for most. It's more philosophical for me. "HEY LOOK I EXIST! AND I INTERACTED WITH YOU!"
So it's a whole show of music/comedy that pulls everyone into being self-aware of 'rock music'. I try to take that delicate mystique of music and shatter it. It's more honest and funnier that way.
Do you do any of your comedy in your routine? We know you are the forums premier funny man.
It's hard to detect the sarcasm here when it's in text and in an interview that was emailed to me. But yeah, see my above answer. You have to be funny. I've played in metal bands where you bludgeon your audience with heavier content. It's not fun. You can't expect strangers to get off on that.
Here's an example of a joke I do live. We finish a song and I say "Hmm, that one didn't sound quite right. Let us consult the big book of rock n roll music theory." Then I hold up a playboy magazine and study it. "Ahh, here's what we did wrong...we played that C diminished and these Cs are clearly augmented." Yeah, sounds silly, but it always gets a giggle from someone. Even if it's just the bartender.
How long have you been doing this & what is a highlight for you?
The solo "Joshua A.D." band started in January 2010. I had given myself months to get situated once I moved out to Los Angeles. Prior to that I was in a punk band Urban Search & Destroy in New Orleans and Chicago that fizzled out in November 2008. Writing duties in that were split 50/50 but since my songs had their own sense of humor to them compared to the other guy's...it made sense that one day I should just do it myself. That's where I got a taste for comedy in rock music. Before that I was in a metal band called Exigence that recorded lots of demos and played parties - but Hurricane Katrina fucked it all up and half the band formed a death metal band shortly there after.
Before that was a classic rock cover band I had with high school friends in Baltimore. Zeppelin, Beatles, Floyd and all that usual stuff. Typical 'first band' experience.
What are your hopes for your musical career?
Absolutely none. I am well aware most people won't like the songs I write, especially considering how I sing them. I get off more on the whole "entertaining" thing, and taking a room full of people who don't give a shit but suddenly feel compelled to applaud. It's like winning. Being successful in music is just like any other job. You have know the right people and get a lot of favors done. Friends of mine run in that racket. It seems like more stress than fun to me. My band and I laugh onstage. I encourage that. Shitty sound? Who cares! If you're having fun, people sense it. They can sense bullshit too.
The whole goal of Joshua A.D. is just to put myself out there in the L.A. scene. I offer a pretty unique experience and I might as well get out while I'm young and try.
You've got guts to do what you do - especially the stand up comedy - do you get much negativity & if so how do you deal with it?
Only online. Where it is easiest to throw stones. Among friends, everyone loves it. They do because they know that I love it. It's pure fun. Believe it or not, audiences love it - especially other bands. I often get the "I can't believe you do this stuff" reaction, but in a good way. The off the wall nature of it is what keeps in interesting. If I was just your regular rock musician, I'd feel pretty lost. Cutting out a clear identity for yourself is the hardest part - but once you got it down, you're golden. And the best part is, only you need to feel that way.
Any music for sale? How do we check you guys out?
All of our live rehearsal demos will be up at http://www.reverbnation.com/joshuaad for anyone. If and when we get the money to go into a studio to record regular demos or an album (which we can easily do, we have 10 original songs ready to roll) then I'd simply give it away for free. It's not about selling CDs or t-shirts. I have a day job, and acting as musician/performer is a hobby. I get off on having people tell me how much they laughed at something or what song they really like. That's all that matters. In this day and age, you can't ask for much more. I wish the god damn concerts were all free, but the promoter would kill me.
You're in LA, in the clubs, rockin on - what is the scene like for Glam Rock these days?
I guess it's fine. You have to remember that most young bands gigging in LA take their shit to heart. They are trying to make it and get noticed. That doesn't leave a lot of room for scenes and friends. In other cities, yeah definitely, but In LA everyone is kinda out for blood. Not always, but you get that feeling. A lot of the musicians are kinda dicks too. That's why I love what I do. It's like showing up to a funeral with a birthday cake.
But it's just with people in my age range, their 20s, and such. Older guys are always cool and laid back. So I guess at one time there was a kick ass scene going on. Maybe there still is. Honestly, I have not gotten out there that much. Once I am regularly gigging in Hollywood I will get back to you.
We love the people who are out there doing it - any advice for the young viewers at home?
I cannot stress this whole 'have fun' bit enough. So many people into playing music don't seem to. They want to appear fun and cool and crazy. But they're not. So if you're going out with your band...just be honest with who you are and what you want to do in a performing sense. Once you got that, ENGAGE your audience. Be borderline combative with them and other bands. You got to give people a reason to care. When I am at a local show....I really DON'T care....so fucking come at me with something. No fear, no regrets, blah blah blah...
What is next up for the Band?
We are playing this Saturday at Harper's in Tarzana, CA. After that...more gigs that are TBA. Recording a demo and album would be nice too. I'd love to get out of the Valley and down to San Diego for some shows. My style is very niche it seems, so simply getting exposed to as many people as possible is the highest priority. I suck at networking and promotion....so that's an uphill both ways kinda battle.
Who is in your band?
The band name is Joshua A.D. - I sing and play bass, write all the songs, plan out the shows, and so on. My cohorts are Justin Salmons (from Dallas, TX) on guitar and Stefano Ashbridge (from Utah) on drums. They do an awesome job tolerating my ideas.
I also do a weekly podcast @ http://www.noantennaneeded.com as just another way to 'get out there' to speak.
I'd also like to say thanks to you, Easy. I never get to do stuff like this. Even at a small scale.
Joshua A.D. - It's been a pleasure, love your work man!!!
Thursday, September 9, 2010
Thursday, February 18, 2010
Media is a Social Disease
"The man who makes an appearance in the business world, the man who creates personal interest, is the man who gets ahead. Be liked and you will never want."
~Willie Loman, Death of a Salesman
That's a fair bit of wisdom, Willie. It probably sounded real good 60 years ago. Unfortunately, we are living in a different time. A time where beloved franchises like Hooters and Pabst Brewing are up for sale. A time where Burger King has partnered with Starbucks. A time where the president is black, the mayor of New Orleans is white, the Saints won the Super Bowl, Keith Richards has given up drinking, and MTV’s Jersey Shore has been renewed for a second season. It makes me wonder how a fictional stalwart of post-WWII Americana would handle life in 2010…
He’d probably be on the Internet. With a twitter account. And a Facebook account. And a YouTube account. And an eHarmony account. If anyone was still on MySpace, he’d probably be flooding your bulletin board with invitations and exciting new business propositions. He was a salesman, afterall. People tell me all the time (slight exaggeration) that my notes are hilarious and I should be a full-time writer. I appreciate the flattery, but I don’t have a clue about writing professionally. From what I’ve observed, it involves a heavy online presence and a lot glad-handing with other internet bloggers. That’s not really a scene I’m crazy about. One might as well be going door to door selling vacuum cleaners if that’s what it all boils down to. Running around selling yourself despite not really offering any worthwhile content. You type your thoughts into a computer. Good for you. You tweet political articles and pipe in your two cents. Your ‘friends’ add their commentary. Apparently, this is modern networking. Technology has given the world a massive stage to share information with virtually no regulation and yet it remains the same old song and dance. “Hey man, check out this thing I do, if I get enough people, I get paid.”
That brings me to the whole Willie Loman symbolism. A clueless, idealistic dude with a briefcase just barely keeping his head above water. All that’s really changed is that his briefcase is now a laptop and his mistress sexts him on his blackberry. His 30yr old sons would probably still live at home, though. That occurrence will be a constant in any generation. Every morning you will wake up and log on thinking that pot of gold is just the next click away. According to Willie Loman, just being a likable person will ensure your success in the world. As far as I know, none of my friends are in jail. They’re all educated, friendly people. Where are their 60inch HD plasma flat screens? I guess there’s more to this rag to riches game than simply shaking hands and smiling.
I’m not completely disparaging this phenomenon of people turning their personal online presences into money making endeavors. That’s how the world works. Fast talking telemarketers with bargain bin office supply deals are the way of the world. Whether you’re a self absorbed blogger or a rock band trying to legitimize your talents by MySpace page views. All I want to do is eliminate this illusion that we are on the cusp of a new cultural identity and/or business model. There is no revolution in twittering. It’s an accelerated process of schmoozing and kissing ass for quarters. That’s what it was with Willie Loman in 1949 and what it continues to be today. Poor Willy worked under the guise that he was realizing the American Dream and JoeBlow.Blogspot thinks he’s on the cutting edge of communication. It’s all thinly veiled product placement, but in 2010 anyone can do it because the product is ourselves.
Okay, I just found out that 3 of the people on Jersey Shore aren’t even Italian. Excuse me while I extend this Willie Loman metaphor and vehicular suicide myself.
(Author's Note: I wrote this while on the clock at my office. Dolla' dolla' bills y'all.)
~Willie Loman, Death of a Salesman
That's a fair bit of wisdom, Willie. It probably sounded real good 60 years ago. Unfortunately, we are living in a different time. A time where beloved franchises like Hooters and Pabst Brewing are up for sale. A time where Burger King has partnered with Starbucks. A time where the president is black, the mayor of New Orleans is white, the Saints won the Super Bowl, Keith Richards has given up drinking, and MTV’s Jersey Shore has been renewed for a second season. It makes me wonder how a fictional stalwart of post-WWII Americana would handle life in 2010…
He’d probably be on the Internet. With a twitter account. And a Facebook account. And a YouTube account. And an eHarmony account. If anyone was still on MySpace, he’d probably be flooding your bulletin board with invitations and exciting new business propositions. He was a salesman, afterall. People tell me all the time (slight exaggeration) that my notes are hilarious and I should be a full-time writer. I appreciate the flattery, but I don’t have a clue about writing professionally. From what I’ve observed, it involves a heavy online presence and a lot glad-handing with other internet bloggers. That’s not really a scene I’m crazy about. One might as well be going door to door selling vacuum cleaners if that’s what it all boils down to. Running around selling yourself despite not really offering any worthwhile content. You type your thoughts into a computer. Good for you. You tweet political articles and pipe in your two cents. Your ‘friends’ add their commentary. Apparently, this is modern networking. Technology has given the world a massive stage to share information with virtually no regulation and yet it remains the same old song and dance. “Hey man, check out this thing I do, if I get enough people, I get paid.”
That brings me to the whole Willie Loman symbolism. A clueless, idealistic dude with a briefcase just barely keeping his head above water. All that’s really changed is that his briefcase is now a laptop and his mistress sexts him on his blackberry. His 30yr old sons would probably still live at home, though. That occurrence will be a constant in any generation. Every morning you will wake up and log on thinking that pot of gold is just the next click away. According to Willie Loman, just being a likable person will ensure your success in the world. As far as I know, none of my friends are in jail. They’re all educated, friendly people. Where are their 60inch HD plasma flat screens? I guess there’s more to this rag to riches game than simply shaking hands and smiling.
I’m not completely disparaging this phenomenon of people turning their personal online presences into money making endeavors. That’s how the world works. Fast talking telemarketers with bargain bin office supply deals are the way of the world. Whether you’re a self absorbed blogger or a rock band trying to legitimize your talents by MySpace page views. All I want to do is eliminate this illusion that we are on the cusp of a new cultural identity and/or business model. There is no revolution in twittering. It’s an accelerated process of schmoozing and kissing ass for quarters. That’s what it was with Willie Loman in 1949 and what it continues to be today. Poor Willy worked under the guise that he was realizing the American Dream and JoeBlow.Blogspot thinks he’s on the cutting edge of communication. It’s all thinly veiled product placement, but in 2010 anyone can do it because the product is ourselves.
Okay, I just found out that 3 of the people on Jersey Shore aren’t even Italian. Excuse me while I extend this Willie Loman metaphor and vehicular suicide myself.
(Author's Note: I wrote this while on the clock at my office. Dolla' dolla' bills y'all.)
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 schizophrenia...at 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?
*silence*
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 person...but...you 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.
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.
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 mang...I...I...like...you...hey..you gotta a dollar...man...I 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.
Fuck.
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 mang...I...I...like...you...hey..you gotta a dollar...man...I 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.
Fuck.
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