"It's a fine line between clever and stupid, really."
-Nigel Tufnel
Reality is a bit of a cheating whore. We think it's one thing, we have a good grasp of the situation and everything is hunky dory, and eventually we're shocked to discover that reality has been fucking the pool boy, the mailman, your best friend and your father, and it's all been documented on everyoneyouknowisfuckingyourgirl.com
Not that I have first hand experience with any of that, mind you. Masturbation is evil, and it makes the invisible space sheriff hate you, so don't do it, kids.
ANYHOO. We lead ourselves to believe we have a good grasp on the objective state of our lives, because we are constantly making ourselves forget that we are only capable of maintaining a subjective perspective. It's a kind of meta/zen Catch 22. The only way we can maintain a proper 'outside' view of life is by being aware that we are limited to our narrow 'inside' view. I'm pretty sure this is what the Matrix was all about, except I have worse kung fu and better writing.
So what happens when your life gets flip turned upside down? Unfortunately, the odds of such an event resulting in us becoming the Prince of a town called Bel Air are pretty slim. Usually, I just get a weird sense of vertigo. Not the physical variety, but again, a more metaphysical sort. I was so focused on point A, that I neglected to notice that points B-Z are no longer where I thought they were. My compass is not just thrown off, it's spinning wildly after having been eaten by a magnetic bear (I imagine this is what will happen to Polar Bears confused by global warming).
Back to perspective.
The problem with subjective reality is that it's one unique snowflake against 6 billion others. We all have opinions, we all have assholes, and guess what? Most of them stink (except for porn stars: their bleached anuses (anni?) and advanced degress in the arts make them unique exceptions to this rule). So how do we resolve this endless struggle to maintain our balance when the whole world is throwing us off?
I dunno. Drugs? Booze? Youtube videos of sleepwalking dogs running into walls?
The fact is, the great question isn't 'who am I?' It's 'Am I who I think I am?' And if not, who? Because every person who has ever met your has sized you up and judged you based on limited interaction. And I hate to tell you this, but that look on their faces? It ain't cuz they smell roses...
Tuesday, March 24, 2009
Sunday, March 15, 2009
The difference between what is and what we want to be
So I was over at www.thelastpsychiatrist.com reading his review of On the Road, and I thought he brought up some pretty salient points.
Let me start off by saying that I read OTR about 6 months ago. At the time, I was trying to get caught up on some of the classic American novels of the 20th century, so I picked up a copy of OTR and a copy of Catch 22, and re-read Catcher in the Rye. My reactions were as follows.
1) Catcher in the Rye: Oh man, I can't believe I hated this when I was 15. This perfectly captures the feelings of teenage angst, of wanting to be something more than what you are, that unique teenage narcissism and desire for adventure that makes being a teenager so enraging and frustrating yet so fucking great in hindsight. Glad I re-read this.
2) Catch 22: Oh man, this is not what I expected. I didn't realize it was so absurd. But man, this is funny stuff. No wonder it's a classic.
3) On The Road: FUCKKKKKK. THIS SUCKS. WHY DID I WASTE MY MONEY? FUCK YOU SAL PARADISE. FUCK YOU DEAN MORIARTY. FUCK YOU JACK KEROUAC.
On the Road, in a word, sucked. I thought this was going to be the summary of every road trip fantasy, the search for freedom and meaning in a society gone mad. I'd laugh, I'd cry, and I'd come away inspired to make my own reality, to venture out into the world and make my mark at any cost.
What a load of shit. On the Road is about two whiny bitches who are terrified of life. There is no deep meaning behind their journey. They run not for the sake of freedom, but because they don't have the balls to stay. They aren't looking to make their mark: they're petrified of it. Dean is the more dominant of the two, meaning he's the one who pretends to have a sack. Sal has no such pretension. He's a coward and he knows he's a coward. He needs to leech of a stronger personality, because this is the kind of guy who disappears in crowds. Dean just happens to have the biggest mouth around, so Sal sucks onto his underbelly like one of those fish you see swimming around sharks, and goes along for the ride. There is not a single goddam noble moment in the entire book. Sal is a non-entity. He is a supporting character in his own life. Dean is an asshole. He abandons kids as quickly as he can conceive them. He lies to women to fuck them (this doesn't make him a ladies man or suave. Anybody can fuck women as themselves provided they have the confidence. Dean does not).
Maybe one day an author will come along and pen the REAL great American road trip book. This clearly isn't it.
Let me start off by saying that I read OTR about 6 months ago. At the time, I was trying to get caught up on some of the classic American novels of the 20th century, so I picked up a copy of OTR and a copy of Catch 22, and re-read Catcher in the Rye. My reactions were as follows.
1) Catcher in the Rye: Oh man, I can't believe I hated this when I was 15. This perfectly captures the feelings of teenage angst, of wanting to be something more than what you are, that unique teenage narcissism and desire for adventure that makes being a teenager so enraging and frustrating yet so fucking great in hindsight. Glad I re-read this.
2) Catch 22: Oh man, this is not what I expected. I didn't realize it was so absurd. But man, this is funny stuff. No wonder it's a classic.
3) On The Road: FUCKKKKKK. THIS SUCKS. WHY DID I WASTE MY MONEY? FUCK YOU SAL PARADISE. FUCK YOU DEAN MORIARTY. FUCK YOU JACK KEROUAC.
On the Road, in a word, sucked. I thought this was going to be the summary of every road trip fantasy, the search for freedom and meaning in a society gone mad. I'd laugh, I'd cry, and I'd come away inspired to make my own reality, to venture out into the world and make my mark at any cost.
What a load of shit. On the Road is about two whiny bitches who are terrified of life. There is no deep meaning behind their journey. They run not for the sake of freedom, but because they don't have the balls to stay. They aren't looking to make their mark: they're petrified of it. Dean is the more dominant of the two, meaning he's the one who pretends to have a sack. Sal has no such pretension. He's a coward and he knows he's a coward. He needs to leech of a stronger personality, because this is the kind of guy who disappears in crowds. Dean just happens to have the biggest mouth around, so Sal sucks onto his underbelly like one of those fish you see swimming around sharks, and goes along for the ride. There is not a single goddam noble moment in the entire book. Sal is a non-entity. He is a supporting character in his own life. Dean is an asshole. He abandons kids as quickly as he can conceive them. He lies to women to fuck them (this doesn't make him a ladies man or suave. Anybody can fuck women as themselves provided they have the confidence. Dean does not).
Maybe one day an author will come along and pen the REAL great American road trip book. This clearly isn't it.
Spring Cleaning
The following are things I've meant to write about, but as spring is now upon is, and I haven't done jack squat and the ideas have kind of stagnated, I think I'll let them go (at least, until winter comes and I'm bored and depressed).
1) When I was a kid, I saw a snuff film on the internet, that in retrospect, was clearly staged. This still has haunted me for years, until I realized how incredibly fake it was. I was going to tie this into the movies we used to gawk at for being so realistic, that are now just cheesy to watch (hello, all of Arnold Shwarzenegger's 1980s oeuvre).
2) I used to have (and occasionally still do) recurring nightmares which resembled the plot of 28 Days Later. Obviously, this means I'm completely psychotic.
3) Another effort at explaining just how much I loathe 95% of Indie Rock, especially The Fucking Arcade Fire. I will revisit this again in the future, I promise.
I really, really hate them.
4) Gigantism: God's way of telling us bigger isn't always better.
5) My forbidden love for Avril Lavigne: sure, she's awful, and annoying and married to a troll, but oh man, the things I'd do to her. This would be tied into the idea that any women with a guitar is automatically sexy, with 2 notable exceptions: Melissa Etheridge and for some, Juliette Lewis, who was much sexier when she was killing a lot of people in Natural Born Killers.
6) Gary Coleman: why?
7) Screech: Ditto
8) That douche who used to be on Saved by the Bell and now hosts the former bass player for Journey's Dance Like You Have Epilepsy Crew. Mario Lopez, there we go. I can't even ask why, because it's obvious there is no good reason for him to exist.
9) I got a guitar magazine with Steve Vai on the cover, which led me to ask: how does a guy who is so good at something cool make that something seem so uncool?
10) Is Dane Cook Unspeakably awesome or awesomely unspeakable? Hint: it's the latter.
Well, now that those are out of the way, I'm hoping to get a bit more positive now that spring is a-comin. I'm looking forward to writing about why the Habs broke my heart (or made my heart soar, if they stop sucking balls), questioning if there is a pair of shorts in existence that can solve the eternal 'permanent erection due to Montreal women wearing nothing but mini-skirts for 3 straight months' issue, and of course, moaning endlessly about how people today spend too much time on the internet, very little of which is spent reading this blog.
1) When I was a kid, I saw a snuff film on the internet, that in retrospect, was clearly staged. This still has haunted me for years, until I realized how incredibly fake it was. I was going to tie this into the movies we used to gawk at for being so realistic, that are now just cheesy to watch (hello, all of Arnold Shwarzenegger's 1980s oeuvre).
2) I used to have (and occasionally still do) recurring nightmares which resembled the plot of 28 Days Later. Obviously, this means I'm completely psychotic.
3) Another effort at explaining just how much I loathe 95% of Indie Rock, especially The Fucking Arcade Fire. I will revisit this again in the future, I promise.
I really, really hate them.
4) Gigantism: God's way of telling us bigger isn't always better.
5) My forbidden love for Avril Lavigne: sure, she's awful, and annoying and married to a troll, but oh man, the things I'd do to her. This would be tied into the idea that any women with a guitar is automatically sexy, with 2 notable exceptions: Melissa Etheridge and for some, Juliette Lewis, who was much sexier when she was killing a lot of people in Natural Born Killers.
6) Gary Coleman: why?
7) Screech: Ditto
8) That douche who used to be on Saved by the Bell and now hosts the former bass player for Journey's Dance Like You Have Epilepsy Crew. Mario Lopez, there we go. I can't even ask why, because it's obvious there is no good reason for him to exist.
9) I got a guitar magazine with Steve Vai on the cover, which led me to ask: how does a guy who is so good at something cool make that something seem so uncool?
10) Is Dane Cook Unspeakably awesome or awesomely unspeakable? Hint: it's the latter.
Well, now that those are out of the way, I'm hoping to get a bit more positive now that spring is a-comin. I'm looking forward to writing about why the Habs broke my heart (or made my heart soar, if they stop sucking balls), questioning if there is a pair of shorts in existence that can solve the eternal 'permanent erection due to Montreal women wearing nothing but mini-skirts for 3 straight months' issue, and of course, moaning endlessly about how people today spend too much time on the internet, very little of which is spent reading this blog.
Sunday, March 1, 2009
Are You Experienced? aka, <3's for Bruce Campbell
I remember an Old Spice commercial from a few years ago that, quite frankly, was a great piece of art than any of the movies that have ever won an Academy Award. This commercial starred a man so talented, so iconic, so downright amazing, that no piece of hardware could be given that would give him justice.
Hail to the King, baby. You know I'm talkin about Ash himself. Bruce Campbell. A man who can only be described as 'groovy.'
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Af1OxkFOK18
Some of you have probably never seen Evil Dead, and it's 2 awesome sequels, Evil Dead II and Army of Darkness. Do yourself a favour and give'em a watch, you will no doubt start screaming THIS IS MY BOOMSTICK for no particular reason and you probably won't trust your own hand again, and you'll probably spend hours looking at youtube videos of the cast of Evil Dead: The Musical singing Do the Necronomicon. But that's neither here nor there.
Experience is a funny thing. Cynics out there would probably say that people can be easily lumped into categories, and once you figure out which category somebody belongs to, you can predict exactly what they'll do in any given situation.
Is this true? I hope not. I'd like to think people are more interesting than this. I think it's fair to say that people act according to their prior experiences. And I'd like to think that each person's experiences are so unique that it makes them less predictable, not more. The minutae of life fascinate me. What small things affect who we become? My favourite moments in conversation are when somebody says something about an event in their life that may seem insignificant, but when you put it in the right light, explains more about them than when they share a seemingly much more traumatic or earth shaking experience. They say that the eyes are the windows to the soul, but as Bruce Campbell claims, experience is much more telling.
Of course, could we expect anything less from the man who gave the world the greatest advice ever?
Say it with me. Shop smart. Shop S-Mart!
Hail to the King, baby. You know I'm talkin about Ash himself. Bruce Campbell. A man who can only be described as 'groovy.'
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Af1OxkFOK18
Some of you have probably never seen Evil Dead, and it's 2 awesome sequels, Evil Dead II and Army of Darkness. Do yourself a favour and give'em a watch, you will no doubt start screaming THIS IS MY BOOMSTICK for no particular reason and you probably won't trust your own hand again, and you'll probably spend hours looking at youtube videos of the cast of Evil Dead: The Musical singing Do the Necronomicon. But that's neither here nor there.
Experience is a funny thing. Cynics out there would probably say that people can be easily lumped into categories, and once you figure out which category somebody belongs to, you can predict exactly what they'll do in any given situation.
Is this true? I hope not. I'd like to think people are more interesting than this. I think it's fair to say that people act according to their prior experiences. And I'd like to think that each person's experiences are so unique that it makes them less predictable, not more. The minutae of life fascinate me. What small things affect who we become? My favourite moments in conversation are when somebody says something about an event in their life that may seem insignificant, but when you put it in the right light, explains more about them than when they share a seemingly much more traumatic or earth shaking experience. They say that the eyes are the windows to the soul, but as Bruce Campbell claims, experience is much more telling.
Of course, could we expect anything less from the man who gave the world the greatest advice ever?
Say it with me. Shop smart. Shop S-Mart!
Friday, February 20, 2009
In homage to Nick Hornby and my homeland
One of my favorite books, and I suppose, movies, is Nick Hornby's High Fidelity (you might remember the film, starring the always adorable and sympathetic John Cusack). The characters in that book, who worked in a wonderfully neglected and empty record shop called Championship Vinyl, were constantly making lists: Top 5 albums of all times, top 5 Side 1 Track 1's of all time, top 5 albums made by transgendered people on heroin who ended up attempting suicide but failing and now make a living selling decently made Japanese cars, etc... Well, in homage to him, here is my own top 5 list, but with a little twist. I grew up on CanCon before it went to pot (yet again, Fuck. You. Arcade Fire.) So here it is, the best Canadian rock albums from the 90's.
5 The Tragically Hip - Road Apples
Canada's band. It comes out rockin your face off with Little Bones, one of the greatest straight up rock tracks of all time, let alone in Canadian history. To be honest, that and Cordelia are the only absolutely essential tracks on the album, and there's other albums I prefer that didn't make this list (Big Wreck? Zuckerbaby? Sloan? They all deserve a seat at the table). But I included Road Apples because if I didn't have at least one Hip album, my citizenship would probably be revoked, and besides, who doesn't love lyrics like "Well we're the last of the big-time penetrators/Playing dead to fuck the undertaker?"
4 Matthew Good Band - Beautiful Midnight
Nobody in Canada was as cranky as Matthew Good. Here was a guy who ripped on every other band, politicians, celebrities, and his own band mates. MGB blew up in the wake of their follow up to this album, and Matty Good has gone on to release some underrated but seriously morose solo albums. Still, this remains his crowning achievement, and it has a lot to do with the guitar work of Dave Gehn, who was a bit of a mix between Tom Morello electronic fuckery and classic rock noodling. This album would have been great for the opening 30 seconds alone, which has a group of chearleaders chanting 'K-I-C-K-A-S-S, that's the way we spell success.' The singles were as good and commercial as MGB ever got, especially Hello Time Bomb. Load Me Up is a lost classic. Personal fave: Jenni's Song, which starts off with the most epic riff of MGB's career, before evolving into a gorgeous shimmering guitar riff and massive chorus. I can't think of a weak song here, and it makes me wish MG wasn't such a prick: maybe this band would still be together if he'd managed to get hooked on heroin or valium or some other sedative.
3 Finger Eleven - The Greyest of Blue Skies
When I first heard this, I honestly thought this was about as angry as music got. Before I knew of death metal, black metal, Scandinavian Church-Burning metal, or any word that ended with the word -core, I couldn't imagine anything heavier. Listen to that weird guitar effect that opens the album on First Time, and picture yourself as a 15 year old who had never heard anything heavier than No Doubt. Yeah, that's how I felt. It's second song is called Drag You Down, which is honestly the worst song Finger Eleven ever put out. But I have fond memories of listening to the middle of this album over and over. For the Ocean, Broken Words and Suffocate is like the best punch to the back of the skull you have ever received. I heart Finger Eleven. A lot. And they were never as pissed off, dissonant, catchy, vulnerable and just down right awesome as on TGOBS. Oh, and forgive the Depeche Mode cover. It's actually not as bad as you'd think.
2 I Mother Earth - Scenery and Fish
The second and last album they released with Edwin as their singer. After this, they abandoned the funky bluesy alt-rock they had perfected, and with their new singer (who I never liked and thus can't remember his name), went for a more 'modern rock' sound. That is to say, non-descript, bland and boring. But this album...FUCKING. AWESOME. I'm sure everyone remembers One More Astronaut, in the way that you remember any other song that was huge, but hasn't stood the test of time (according to general consensus. That song still rocks). But besides the great singles (such as Raspberry and Another Sunday), there were some great hidden gems. People like to fellate Stone Temple Pilots for writing the perfect driving song in Interstate Love Song, but my lead foot gets activated by Used to be Alright, a song about 'getting high for seven days, down in New Orleans.' Every song has a sing-along chorus, and there's some amazing instrumental jams, which puts to rest the notion that the grunge era lacked musicianship. See the jazzy bits in Songburst and Delirium. This was combining latin percussion rhythms with some major Stevie Ray Vaughan/Hendrix fetishes, and it worked suprisingly well. This is an album that will without doubt be forgotten by time, and it's too bad. For some nice boys from Toronto (we won't hold that against them), they rocked like soul brothers from deepest Africa. By the way, that's Alex Lifeson of Rush playing the geetar on Like A Girl. How's that for Canadian rock at it's finest?
1 Our Lady Peace - Clumsy
The first album I ever bought, and yes, it was on tape, way back in the ancient year of 1996 AD. To be honest, it's really not as mind blowing as I thought it was back then, and it sounds a bit dated. You can literally hear the mid-90s in the mopey trudge of Car Crash, and non-sensical but still somehow depressing lyrics of Hello Oscar. Still, Clumsy remains one of the best written songs of the decade, and 4am is a touching ballad about family that stands up. Carnival and Big Dumb rocket were fan faves back in the day, and there's good reason: they're experimental and catchy in a way that could never work these days. But the piece de resistance then and now remains Superman's Dead. It is to this day one of 3 songs you can be sure will be played at any Our Lady Peace concert (the others being Starseed and (ugh) Life). OLP went one to release some great material after Clumsy, especially the Ray Kurzweil-inspired futuristic rock of Spiritual Machines, but they've lost the plot since the departure of guitarist Mike Turner. His signature is all over Clumsy, and I can't help but have the feeling that years from now, his original touch on the 6 string will be rediscovered and honored.
Well, that's it. The top 5 Can-Con rock albums of the 90s. I'm sure I don't have a big enough reader base to inspire any debate, but if anybody has any thoughts or albums they'd like to include, I'd love to hear from you.
5 The Tragically Hip - Road Apples
Canada's band. It comes out rockin your face off with Little Bones, one of the greatest straight up rock tracks of all time, let alone in Canadian history. To be honest, that and Cordelia are the only absolutely essential tracks on the album, and there's other albums I prefer that didn't make this list (Big Wreck? Zuckerbaby? Sloan? They all deserve a seat at the table). But I included Road Apples because if I didn't have at least one Hip album, my citizenship would probably be revoked, and besides, who doesn't love lyrics like "Well we're the last of the big-time penetrators/Playing dead to fuck the undertaker?"
4 Matthew Good Band - Beautiful Midnight
Nobody in Canada was as cranky as Matthew Good. Here was a guy who ripped on every other band, politicians, celebrities, and his own band mates. MGB blew up in the wake of their follow up to this album, and Matty Good has gone on to release some underrated but seriously morose solo albums. Still, this remains his crowning achievement, and it has a lot to do with the guitar work of Dave Gehn, who was a bit of a mix between Tom Morello electronic fuckery and classic rock noodling. This album would have been great for the opening 30 seconds alone, which has a group of chearleaders chanting 'K-I-C-K-A-S-S, that's the way we spell success.' The singles were as good and commercial as MGB ever got, especially Hello Time Bomb. Load Me Up is a lost classic. Personal fave: Jenni's Song, which starts off with the most epic riff of MGB's career, before evolving into a gorgeous shimmering guitar riff and massive chorus. I can't think of a weak song here, and it makes me wish MG wasn't such a prick: maybe this band would still be together if he'd managed to get hooked on heroin or valium or some other sedative.
3 Finger Eleven - The Greyest of Blue Skies
When I first heard this, I honestly thought this was about as angry as music got. Before I knew of death metal, black metal, Scandinavian Church-Burning metal, or any word that ended with the word -core, I couldn't imagine anything heavier. Listen to that weird guitar effect that opens the album on First Time, and picture yourself as a 15 year old who had never heard anything heavier than No Doubt. Yeah, that's how I felt. It's second song is called Drag You Down, which is honestly the worst song Finger Eleven ever put out. But I have fond memories of listening to the middle of this album over and over. For the Ocean, Broken Words and Suffocate is like the best punch to the back of the skull you have ever received. I heart Finger Eleven. A lot. And they were never as pissed off, dissonant, catchy, vulnerable and just down right awesome as on TGOBS. Oh, and forgive the Depeche Mode cover. It's actually not as bad as you'd think.
2 I Mother Earth - Scenery and Fish
The second and last album they released with Edwin as their singer. After this, they abandoned the funky bluesy alt-rock they had perfected, and with their new singer (who I never liked and thus can't remember his name), went for a more 'modern rock' sound. That is to say, non-descript, bland and boring. But this album...FUCKING. AWESOME. I'm sure everyone remembers One More Astronaut, in the way that you remember any other song that was huge, but hasn't stood the test of time (according to general consensus. That song still rocks). But besides the great singles (such as Raspberry and Another Sunday), there were some great hidden gems. People like to fellate Stone Temple Pilots for writing the perfect driving song in Interstate Love Song, but my lead foot gets activated by Used to be Alright, a song about 'getting high for seven days, down in New Orleans.' Every song has a sing-along chorus, and there's some amazing instrumental jams, which puts to rest the notion that the grunge era lacked musicianship. See the jazzy bits in Songburst and Delirium. This was combining latin percussion rhythms with some major Stevie Ray Vaughan/Hendrix fetishes, and it worked suprisingly well. This is an album that will without doubt be forgotten by time, and it's too bad. For some nice boys from Toronto (we won't hold that against them), they rocked like soul brothers from deepest Africa. By the way, that's Alex Lifeson of Rush playing the geetar on Like A Girl. How's that for Canadian rock at it's finest?
1 Our Lady Peace - Clumsy
The first album I ever bought, and yes, it was on tape, way back in the ancient year of 1996 AD. To be honest, it's really not as mind blowing as I thought it was back then, and it sounds a bit dated. You can literally hear the mid-90s in the mopey trudge of Car Crash, and non-sensical but still somehow depressing lyrics of Hello Oscar. Still, Clumsy remains one of the best written songs of the decade, and 4am is a touching ballad about family that stands up. Carnival and Big Dumb rocket were fan faves back in the day, and there's good reason: they're experimental and catchy in a way that could never work these days. But the piece de resistance then and now remains Superman's Dead. It is to this day one of 3 songs you can be sure will be played at any Our Lady Peace concert (the others being Starseed and (ugh) Life). OLP went one to release some great material after Clumsy, especially the Ray Kurzweil-inspired futuristic rock of Spiritual Machines, but they've lost the plot since the departure of guitarist Mike Turner. His signature is all over Clumsy, and I can't help but have the feeling that years from now, his original touch on the 6 string will be rediscovered and honored.
Well, that's it. The top 5 Can-Con rock albums of the 90s. I'm sure I don't have a big enough reader base to inspire any debate, but if anybody has any thoughts or albums they'd like to include, I'd love to hear from you.
Tuesday, February 17, 2009
In which I contemplate exploiting everyone I know for a few cheap laughs
I've been trying to keep this blog fairly non-personal. As I've noted before, nobody gives a fuck how my day way, and as I'm trying to be entertaining and lighthearted, talking about things that are close to me just don't fit the format. Still, this blog is meant to be a practice area for me to strengthen my writing. Given that, I do feel I should be trying to get some resembling insight into the human condition down.
A few things have happened to me recently, that I'm going to try and keep as vague as humanly possible. I do feel that these events have changed my views on life, especially relationships (not necessarily romantic, but how we as people relate to each other). But if I had written about them, the people involved probably would have instantly recognized themselves, and might very well have kicked the living crap out of me. So my question is; should the personal become the public if there is value in it being analyzed? At what point can I justify cannibalizing my life and the people in it, to entertain?
I think this is the ultimate paradox at the center of all art. Great art has traces of those who created it inside: from the director and writer of a movie leaving hints of autobiography and personal philosophy to the author who lives his fantasy life through his novels, art is nothing more than the artists mind, filtered to become universal. But how diluted can those emotions and thoughts get before they become trite, too specific to be traced to a specific thought pattern that makes up the artists soul? But at the same time, if they don't filter at all, especially if their art deals openly with relationships, or is heavily autobiographical in nature, is it fair to exploit those in their close circle? How do you justify selling your closest friendships and romances to a general public?
So I'm struggling with that. I want to put something valuable and true and genuine out, but I don't want to hurt those who give my life meaning, even if it means giving my art meaning. But there's no easy way to avoid that.
A few things have happened to me recently, that I'm going to try and keep as vague as humanly possible. I do feel that these events have changed my views on life, especially relationships (not necessarily romantic, but how we as people relate to each other). But if I had written about them, the people involved probably would have instantly recognized themselves, and might very well have kicked the living crap out of me. So my question is; should the personal become the public if there is value in it being analyzed? At what point can I justify cannibalizing my life and the people in it, to entertain?
I think this is the ultimate paradox at the center of all art. Great art has traces of those who created it inside: from the director and writer of a movie leaving hints of autobiography and personal philosophy to the author who lives his fantasy life through his novels, art is nothing more than the artists mind, filtered to become universal. But how diluted can those emotions and thoughts get before they become trite, too specific to be traced to a specific thought pattern that makes up the artists soul? But at the same time, if they don't filter at all, especially if their art deals openly with relationships, or is heavily autobiographical in nature, is it fair to exploit those in their close circle? How do you justify selling your closest friendships and romances to a general public?
So I'm struggling with that. I want to put something valuable and true and genuine out, but I don't want to hurt those who give my life meaning, even if it means giving my art meaning. But there's no easy way to avoid that.
Friday, February 13, 2009
A rumination on family, or why my sister is a bitch, but Ayn Rand is a bigger one
First off, I want to get this out of the way:
Hi Lauren. If you're reading this, odds are you know what it's about. If you're waiting for an apology, I suggest you pack a lunch.
Now, for the rest of you, however many faceless internet strangers that may be.
Family is a funny thing. Theoretically, all it is is people who share a part of their genetic makeup with you. But that little double helix we call DNA is more than just skin deep (feel free to take a minute to contemplate whether that was really clever or really stupid). Family is a completely irrational construct, when you get down to it. Ok, I know, it ensures reproduction, and therefore the continuation of the species, yada yada yada. But to be honest, I'm pretty sick of evolutionary psychology. Not that it doesn't make sense, because it mostly makes a shitton of it, but it bores me, and for the sake of this blog, I'm gonna assume it bores you also. Anyway, family is irrational because of Ayn Rand. If you do not know who that is, shame on you, go read a fucking book instead of this blog, and learn something for gods sake.
Anyway, for those literate minded individuals among you, Ayn Rand was a proponent of a philosophy she called Objectivism. This philosophy basically stated that as humans, we are unique in that we possess the ability to reason, and therefore it was our duty to mostly ignore our emotional sides, and act in an entirely rational way at all times. The way to do this was to make money. Lots of it. In fact, her characters efforts went pretty much entirely into capitalistic pursuits (when they weren't fucking that is. If Angelina Joles is cast as Dagny Taggart as rumored, she is once again gonna spend a lot of time onscreen with her tatas hanging out. Don't screw this up for us, Hollywood). Those who gave or asked for charity were depicted as weak, angry, stupid little people, who through sheer pluck and determination, could pull themselves up by their own bootstraps. That is, if they hadn't been so weak, angry and stupid.
ANYWAY. The problem is, Ayn never wrote about kids. Kids aren't rational. When I was a kid, my favourite show was about 4 turtles that walked through radioactive goo and became ninjas trained by a rat, who fought a gigantic talking brain that lived in the stomach of a man-shaped suit.
And this seemed entirely reasonable to me and kind of expected this kind of shit to happen in day to day life.
So kids can't participate in capitalistic ventures. And they HINDER their parents attempts to do same. You simply cannot put the same effort into making money once your kids are born. Well, you can, but you're probably a shitty parent. Kids require love and attention just as much as money to put a roof over their head, food on the table, etc...Plus they tire a parent out, so there is just less energy to be put towards earning. It's that simple.
So, family is irrational. But we stay with it, because it just FEELS GOOD. It gives us a sense of belonging, a sense of home in the truest sense. I've been out of the house a good while now, but my apartment will never make me feel the way my parents' house does.
Which brings me to the title of this blog. Finally.
A sister of mine, who shall not be named, said something truly stupid and just plain, old fashioned mean to me tonight. Let's regress to cihldhood: she hurt my feelings. She knew it. Everyone present knew it was a stupid, thing to say. There was no apology issued. There is more I can write about this, and I'd like to, if only to vent. But the fact is, I'm only using this to make a point, not to get revenge.
The point is, I still love my sister. I would forgive her for anything she does. That is the irrationality of family. Yes, she's inconsiderate, ill-tempered, bitchy, and many other negative things. She's also very bright, can be capable of great generosity and kindness, and she's tough as nails, among many other positive attributes. But I don't love her for her pros and cons, I love her because she's my sister. It's not rational to forgive and forgive, but we do it. And that's the greatest refutation of Rand I can think of. She might be the objective one, but hey, she died alone and was mourned by Alan Greenspan. I can't think of anything worse.
Hi Lauren. If you're reading this, odds are you know what it's about. If you're waiting for an apology, I suggest you pack a lunch.
Now, for the rest of you, however many faceless internet strangers that may be.
Family is a funny thing. Theoretically, all it is is people who share a part of their genetic makeup with you. But that little double helix we call DNA is more than just skin deep (feel free to take a minute to contemplate whether that was really clever or really stupid). Family is a completely irrational construct, when you get down to it. Ok, I know, it ensures reproduction, and therefore the continuation of the species, yada yada yada. But to be honest, I'm pretty sick of evolutionary psychology. Not that it doesn't make sense, because it mostly makes a shitton of it, but it bores me, and for the sake of this blog, I'm gonna assume it bores you also. Anyway, family is irrational because of Ayn Rand. If you do not know who that is, shame on you, go read a fucking book instead of this blog, and learn something for gods sake.
Anyway, for those literate minded individuals among you, Ayn Rand was a proponent of a philosophy she called Objectivism. This philosophy basically stated that as humans, we are unique in that we possess the ability to reason, and therefore it was our duty to mostly ignore our emotional sides, and act in an entirely rational way at all times. The way to do this was to make money. Lots of it. In fact, her characters efforts went pretty much entirely into capitalistic pursuits (when they weren't fucking that is. If Angelina Joles is cast as Dagny Taggart as rumored, she is once again gonna spend a lot of time onscreen with her tatas hanging out. Don't screw this up for us, Hollywood). Those who gave or asked for charity were depicted as weak, angry, stupid little people, who through sheer pluck and determination, could pull themselves up by their own bootstraps. That is, if they hadn't been so weak, angry and stupid.
ANYWAY. The problem is, Ayn never wrote about kids. Kids aren't rational. When I was a kid, my favourite show was about 4 turtles that walked through radioactive goo and became ninjas trained by a rat, who fought a gigantic talking brain that lived in the stomach of a man-shaped suit.
And this seemed entirely reasonable to me and kind of expected this kind of shit to happen in day to day life.
So kids can't participate in capitalistic ventures. And they HINDER their parents attempts to do same. You simply cannot put the same effort into making money once your kids are born. Well, you can, but you're probably a shitty parent. Kids require love and attention just as much as money to put a roof over their head, food on the table, etc...Plus they tire a parent out, so there is just less energy to be put towards earning. It's that simple.
So, family is irrational. But we stay with it, because it just FEELS GOOD. It gives us a sense of belonging, a sense of home in the truest sense. I've been out of the house a good while now, but my apartment will never make me feel the way my parents' house does.
Which brings me to the title of this blog. Finally.
A sister of mine, who shall not be named, said something truly stupid and just plain, old fashioned mean to me tonight. Let's regress to cihldhood: she hurt my feelings. She knew it. Everyone present knew it was a stupid, thing to say. There was no apology issued. There is more I can write about this, and I'd like to, if only to vent. But the fact is, I'm only using this to make a point, not to get revenge.
The point is, I still love my sister. I would forgive her for anything she does. That is the irrationality of family. Yes, she's inconsiderate, ill-tempered, bitchy, and many other negative things. She's also very bright, can be capable of great generosity and kindness, and she's tough as nails, among many other positive attributes. But I don't love her for her pros and cons, I love her because she's my sister. It's not rational to forgive and forgive, but we do it. And that's the greatest refutation of Rand I can think of. She might be the objective one, but hey, she died alone and was mourned by Alan Greenspan. I can't think of anything worse.
Tuesday, February 10, 2009
Stuff White People like is right
An entry on stuffwhitepeoplelike.com recently listed The Onion as something that white people (such as myself, and odds are, you) like (duh).
That's pretty spot on. Furthermore, as the article suggests, I do, in fact think I should be writing for the Onion. I've never thought I was a walking cliche, but in light of this revelation, and further viewing of the site, I've realized I'm pretty much the whitest person on the face of the planet.
Reality can be so degrading to one's self image.
That's pretty spot on. Furthermore, as the article suggests, I do, in fact think I should be writing for the Onion. I've never thought I was a walking cliche, but in light of this revelation, and further viewing of the site, I've realized I'm pretty much the whitest person on the face of the planet.
Reality can be so degrading to one's self image.
Thursday, February 5, 2009
Why I can never be a hipster, no matter how little I try
As we all know, Montreal is the doucheba.... I mean, hipster capital of the world. This fact came to light a few years ago when every skinny tie wearing fuckhead in the world moved to the Plateau to be near the magic... nay, the orgasmic karma... nay, the pure, unadulterated genius of (you guessed it) The Arcade Fire. Gods gift to music, descended from heaven itself to grace us with its bombastic intrumentation and downright prophetic lyrics. Which would have been cool: people have flocked to Memphis to be near Elvis (or what's left of him). Liverpool became a mecca for music fans hoping to get a bit of that Beatles magic. So it all would have been groovy except for one thing:
The Arcade Fire fucking suck. And I don't mean they suck in the way that boy bands suck, or that disco sucks. The Arcade Fire have managed to invent a whole new way to suck, and it has little to do with how shitty the band is (although, they are EXTREMELY shitty). It's a mixture of how insanely pompous the band is (you never hear them denying the claims that they saved music), but it's mostly with how smug their fans are. Go to an AF concert, and I guarantee you, you will not find one person who is not a complete and utter jackass in the joint.
This whole thing was meant to be funny, but I'm tired, and don't know where it's going. Needless to say, I hope the Arcade Fire pull a Lynyrd Skynyrd/Buddy Holly-Big Bopper-Richie Valens, plus a little of a Duane Allman, and a sprinkle of Great White.
The Arcade Fire fucking suck. And I don't mean they suck in the way that boy bands suck, or that disco sucks. The Arcade Fire have managed to invent a whole new way to suck, and it has little to do with how shitty the band is (although, they are EXTREMELY shitty). It's a mixture of how insanely pompous the band is (you never hear them denying the claims that they saved music), but it's mostly with how smug their fans are. Go to an AF concert, and I guarantee you, you will not find one person who is not a complete and utter jackass in the joint.
This whole thing was meant to be funny, but I'm tired, and don't know where it's going. Needless to say, I hope the Arcade Fire pull a Lynyrd Skynyrd/Buddy Holly-Big Bopper-Richie Valens, plus a little of a Duane Allman, and a sprinkle of Great White.
Monday, February 2, 2009
To blog or not to blog, that is the question: a mission statement
To be or not to be, that is the question.
Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles,
And by opposing end them? To die: to sleep;
No more.
The above, as we all know, is one of Shakespeare's most famous lines from one of his most famous plays (Hamlet, for those of you who are ign'ant and lack book learnin'). It can be viewed as one of the most profound existential questions that can be raised: is it better to sit around tugging on your sack (or female equivalent thereof) in the face of adversity, or to man up and charge head on?
Or you can view it as an easy way to seduce slutty english lit majors. As I'm a shallow excuse for a human being, I choose the latter.
Kidding.
Anyway, I bring this up as a wayward way of declaring my intentions for this blog. I started it at the urging of a friend of mine, after I complained about losing interest in writing (not good news for an aspiring journalism student). This blog is me manning up and putting the good, the bad, and above all, the ugly out there for you, my obviously hobby-bereft public, to enjoy. I've decided to suffer the slings and arrows, I'm taking arms against the seas of outrageous fortune, I'm rocking like a hurricane, off the rails like a crazy train, the lights are out so I'm entertaining you. The 2 key words there are 'entertaining' and 'you' (KC was all about entertaining you, but I'll save my rant about Nirvana for another day). This will not be a blog about the minutia of my daily existence. Let's face it, my life is not that interesting, and to think you'd find it fascinating would take more narcissism than I can possibly summon. This will be about my uniquely hilarious thoughts (I'm not a narcissist, but dammit, I'm allowed to be somewhat full of myself), observations, and will also function as a way for me to appeal to women (Oh, you write a blog? Do me now, you mysterious artistic type!) We'll share some laughs (hopefully), shed some tears (probably), and in the end become better people (unlikely).
For now, if you're reading this, you're in the minority. Ideally, that will change and I'll become an internet sensation, and enjoy massive amounts of e-fame (which is of course the same thing as real fame, but without getting paid, and my mom won't understand what it is that I do). So hey, if you're in, and you're enjoying the party, spread the word.
Or you can view it as an easy way to seduce slutty english lit majors. As I'm a shallow excuse for a human being, I choose the latter.
Kidding.
Anyway, I bring this up as a wayward way of declaring my intentions for this blog. I started it at the urging of a friend of mine, after I complained about losing interest in writing (not good news for an aspiring journalism student). This blog is me manning up and putting the good, the bad, and above all, the ugly out there for you, my obviously hobby-bereft public, to enjoy. I've decided to suffer the slings and arrows, I'm taking arms against the seas of outrageous fortune, I'm rocking like a hurricane, off the rails like a crazy train, the lights are out so I'm entertaining you. The 2 key words there are 'entertaining' and 'you' (KC was all about entertaining you, but I'll save my rant about Nirvana for another day). This will not be a blog about the minutia of my daily existence. Let's face it, my life is not that interesting, and to think you'd find it fascinating would take more narcissism than I can possibly summon. This will be about my uniquely hilarious thoughts (I'm not a narcissist, but dammit, I'm allowed to be somewhat full of myself), observations, and will also function as a way for me to appeal to women (Oh, you write a blog? Do me now, you mysterious artistic type!) We'll share some laughs (hopefully), shed some tears (probably), and in the end become better people (unlikely).
For now, if you're reading this, you're in the minority. Ideally, that will change and I'll become an internet sensation, and enjoy massive amounts of e-fame (which is of course the same thing as real fame, but without getting paid, and my mom won't understand what it is that I do). So hey, if you're in, and you're enjoying the party, spread the word.
Sunday, February 1, 2009
This will be a post-modern blog, and I have no idea what post-modern means
I like trying to look smart.
I don't think I'm alone here. An unscientific survey recently revealed that 73% of people talk mostly out of their asses. We've become more and more convinced that it's better to appear to be something than to actually BE that thing. Want an example? Look at Ken Jennings. Mr. Jennings had a moment in the sun (or if we want to be anal, 22 moments in the sun once a week for about 70 weeks). He was famous for having dominated Jeapardy! like Alexander the Great dominated the assholes of ancient Greek boys. (Note: I had to wikipedia Alexander the Great to find out whether he was gay or not. What'd I say about appearing smart without actually knowing anything?)
Anyhoo.
Ken Jennings gave the impression of being a fucking genius. By the end, poor old Trebec was just exasperated with him: you know that little mid-show interview they do with the contestants where they say something interesting about themselves? What the hell do you ask a guy when it's his 70th time doing this little song and dance? So, any nice bowel movements lately? It gets pretty difficult to make small talk.
So Kenny was obviously smart. Or was he? Because with all the facts shoved into his mellon, what the hell had he done to make a name for himself? If Jeapardy had never been made, what would his command of arcane trivia have done for him, other than made him a hit at parties? (Note: one thing I do remember was that Ken was a mormon, yet always killed at the category 'potent potables' which deals solely with alchoholic beverages. I can only imagine the Church of Latter Day Saints' parties this guy went to, where instead of getting fucked up and dancing with lamp shade on his head, he talked about all the drinks he couldn't actually consume with other teetotalers. Of course this guy was the life of the party, his biggest competition was Donny Osmond. This is kind of a roundabout way to say, Fuck You, Donny Osmond).
So Ken, although looking brighter than anybody you or I could ever conceive of, wasn't smart. He knew a lot of shit, but it was all totally useless. He didn't have a command of anything important, he couldn't alter the world in the way pure geniuses do. And we hold him up as somebody to be emulated.
Being smart is HARD. It's more than being good at something, it's about knowing HOW to be good at something. We'd much rather just have everybody fellate us mentally (that actually sounds fun), for looking like we have this know-how, than to go out an acquire it.
I'll take 'This blog post wasn't very good' for $200, Alec. Hopefully it gets better from here.
I don't think I'm alone here. An unscientific survey recently revealed that 73% of people talk mostly out of their asses. We've become more and more convinced that it's better to appear to be something than to actually BE that thing. Want an example? Look at Ken Jennings. Mr. Jennings had a moment in the sun (or if we want to be anal, 22 moments in the sun once a week for about 70 weeks). He was famous for having dominated Jeapardy! like Alexander the Great dominated the assholes of ancient Greek boys. (Note: I had to wikipedia Alexander the Great to find out whether he was gay or not. What'd I say about appearing smart without actually knowing anything?)
Anyhoo.
Ken Jennings gave the impression of being a fucking genius. By the end, poor old Trebec was just exasperated with him: you know that little mid-show interview they do with the contestants where they say something interesting about themselves? What the hell do you ask a guy when it's his 70th time doing this little song and dance? So, any nice bowel movements lately? It gets pretty difficult to make small talk.
So Kenny was obviously smart. Or was he? Because with all the facts shoved into his mellon, what the hell had he done to make a name for himself? If Jeapardy had never been made, what would his command of arcane trivia have done for him, other than made him a hit at parties? (Note: one thing I do remember was that Ken was a mormon, yet always killed at the category 'potent potables' which deals solely with alchoholic beverages. I can only imagine the Church of Latter Day Saints' parties this guy went to, where instead of getting fucked up and dancing with lamp shade on his head, he talked about all the drinks he couldn't actually consume with other teetotalers. Of course this guy was the life of the party, his biggest competition was Donny Osmond. This is kind of a roundabout way to say, Fuck You, Donny Osmond).
So Ken, although looking brighter than anybody you or I could ever conceive of, wasn't smart. He knew a lot of shit, but it was all totally useless. He didn't have a command of anything important, he couldn't alter the world in the way pure geniuses do. And we hold him up as somebody to be emulated.
Being smart is HARD. It's more than being good at something, it's about knowing HOW to be good at something. We'd much rather just have everybody fellate us mentally (that actually sounds fun), for looking like we have this know-how, than to go out an acquire it.
I'll take 'This blog post wasn't very good' for $200, Alec. Hopefully it gets better from here.
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