Enough Is Enough

Dear Avid Reader,

So give me all your poison
And give me all your pills
And give me all your hopeless hearts
And make me ill
You're running after something that you'll never kill
If this is what you want then fire at will

-My Chemical Romance (2004). Thank You For The Venom. Three Cheers For Sweet Revenge.

How much is enough? Have you ever asked yourself that? What I mean is, how much money is enough?

When you look at your current balance, at what point will you look and say, "Finally. I have enough."

Is it $1,000? $10,000? $100,000?

I have decided that $0 is enough. If I can look down and see no negative sign in front of the number, I'll be happy.

I think that we walk through life saying to ourselves, "When I have enough money, I can do X." (no not the drug). Or we will say, "I just wish I had enough money. Then I'd stop worrying."

So has anyone ever sat down to put a figure on it? No. Why? Because somehow we've bought into the idea that more is not enough. So once we reach a certain point, we look up to see that there is more to be had.

And there is always more to be had.

Once you sit down and put pen to paper and settle the matter of what is enough, you find that you have enough. The desire to get "enough" is just a desire to get more. We realize that we've been chasing a ghost.

When I sit down and write the figure, it's smaller than I think. And then, the desire leaves.

The Next Post Promises To Be Better,

James

The Writers In My Head

Dear Avid Reader,

Percy: So what would you write about if you had a blog?

Kent: Dude, don't even ask me. I hate those things.

P: Yeah, I know it's a lot easier to sit on the sidelines and hate on stuff, but I'd like a little help here.

K: Fine. Write the first thing that comes to your mind.

P: Radishes. I don't know why, but radishes.

K: What? Radishes?

P: Yeah, I just got a juicer and the recipe book has a recipe that includes radishes. "Good Morning Tonic" I believe.

K: Does a radish have juice? What would that be like?

P: Not sure.

K: What about the juice's color? This potential post raises more questions than it answers.

P: Oh you know what, it isn't radishes in the book, it's beets. Yeah beets.

K: This blog of yours is gonna be lame.

P: I think it will find a rabid following among beet and beet-juice enthusiasts.

K: Well then the readers of your blog are gonna be lame. Think of something else.

P: Hmmm. What if the beets were hallucinogenic?

K: Now we're talking.

P: Yeah, beets crossed with opium plants in a government lab. The post could revolve around a secret "black ops" section of the EPA.

K: Finally the public will care about the EPA. Now just add some pirates with laser guns and you got yourself a blog entry.

P: What do I call it?

K: Something edgy. Something cool.

P: Can't Beet The Pirate Life?

(pause)

K: Blogs are dumb.

The Next Post Promises To Be Better,

James

Feeling Dizzy on Dizzy Feelings

Dear Avid Reader,

You know something, getting old isn't that great.

I went to see the new Harry Potter movie this past weekend. It was good. I went with some friends and we all had a good time.

On the way home we began talking about the past and what we did when we were younger. Eventually the conversation led back to our crushes. Of course the more bizarre the ex the better the story.

My wife told a story of an early beau she had. This particular guy, we'll call him Dirk, had a overactive chivalry section in his brain. He believed that every man should carry a sword and be involved in the medieval act of "courtly love".

After a while, my wife decided to break it off and Dirk did not take it too well. He went home and began smashing things. Later on that year, my wife had to call Dirk in order to talk about student council business (they were both on the student council). Dirk answered the phone, heard my wife's voice, handed the phone to a friend of his and began to smash things with his sword. The friend provided my wife with play-by-play on what he was doing.

I can only imagine the scene...

Dirk answers the phone, "Hello."

My wife, "Hey Dirk, it's me. I wanted to discuss this year's Winter Formal."

"One sec."

"Dirk? Hello?"

"Hello?"

"Yes, hello. Who is this?"

"This is Dirk's friend."

"Where's Dirk?"

"Well...right now he's busy. He's trying to pry his sword out of the wall."

"The wall? What happ..."

"Yeah, he tried to kill the wall with a spinning thrust. So, yeah, you know. Oh wait...right now he's trying to climb the couch and...yeah, he just split the ottoman in half."

"Oh my."

"Yeah. You should probably call back later."

Dude's Got Issues

Needless to say, we laughed at my wife's story. She continued to tell us of the obligatory run-in in the hallway they she and Dirk had. They saw each other, and Dirk pressed into my wife's hand a heart shaped piece of faux jewelry. A symbol of his undying affection and an illusion to a past relationship that Dirk had with another girl.

Hilarious.

Don't we all remember those days? Love, betrayal, loneliness, everything seemed so much more epic. It was like each emotion was potent. It was like we would never trust anyone again after we were wronged. We would never love like this love that was over. We would never be understood by anyone else ever in the world.

Things were a lot more extreme in those days. Why not now?

The Kids Aren't Alright

Maybe because we have jobs. We don't have the time to dwell and explore the full breadth of emotion.

I believe that this may be part of it, but I think it's because those emotions were so new. We didn't know how to use them. We saw adults say that they were in love and we wanted to be "in love" too.

Feelings are like drugs, or better yet wine. When we were young, we kept drinking and drinking until we became drunk. And what a heady brew it was.

Now, we are more responsible. We imbibe and sip. We don't need to keep drinking to get the feeling we want. Just a shot'll do.

And it's a good thing. We should be staggering around, three sheets to the wind on emotions. But still, let's remember our foolish youth, and smile. Let's even have a toast to our fomer selves.

First round's on me.

The Next Post Promises To Be Better,

James

Listen To Live Or Live To Listen

Dear Avid Reader,

Have you heard of this new genre of music? Well, it probably isn't new, but relatively speaking it is. It's called "Hick-Hop". What is Hick-Hop you ask? We'll let me tell you. Essentially it's country with a rapper.

Have you heard about this? It's like the fourth seal of the Apocalypse has been broken. Currently, the big deal is a guy named Cowboy Troy. He works with country acts Big n' Rich and Gretchen Wilson. He' black, wears a cowboy hat, and raps...during country songs.

It's insane.

And the really crazy part is that this isn't the first time rap and country have been thrown together. Click on this link. I'll wait until you come back.

Did you see that? This has been going on since the 80's! And did you read the other crazy names it had? Hick-Hop, Hill-Hop, Hip-Hopry & Country-Hip-Hop. What in the heck is going on here. Am I the only one who realizes that this is crazy?

Does anyone else think hearing the phrase "Hick-Hop" is akin to hearing the phrase "Nazi Synagogue"?

I fell like I'm taking crazy pills!

Behind The Music

I know I'm not the only one that feels that way. But why do I feel that way? I feel as though it's because of the way I think of music.

When someone asks you what type of music you like, they are really asking what type of person you are. Or at least, they are asking why type of person do you want to be associated with.

If someone says jazz, you probably think they are either cultured or pretentious. When someone says country, you probably think that are honest & hardworking or you think they are ignorant. When someone says rap, you may think they tough or stylish or ignorant or violent. Every music has a philosophy behind it.

Let's take country and hip-hop. They have varied cultures. One is urban and one is rural. The median listener age for one is younger and for the other it is older. And to be perfectly honest, one has listeners that are white and one has listeners that are black.

These different groups create different cultures for themselves. In hip-hop, the culture is rooted in street life. The four elements of hip-hop are MC, DJ, Breakdance, and graffiti Art. For country listeners, there is Old West mythology, field & Stream sports, and line dancing. The two ideologies are seemingly on opposite ends of the spectrum.

Mix Tapes Of Affiliations

See I think about music and philosophy and listener. I wonder, which comes first, the philosophy or the music. Would I feel as individualistic if I hadn't listened to punk music? Would I be so concerned with the little hypocrisies that everyone makes each day as a sign of a dark, corrupt world if I had chosen to listen to Tejano? Like in the movie High Fidelity:

"What came first: the music or the misery? People worry about kids playing with guns and watching violent videos. That some sort of culture of violence will take them over. No one worries about kids listening to thousands, literally thousands of songs about heartbreak, pain, rejection, suffering and misery. Did I listen to pop music because I was miserable, or was I miserable because I listened to pop music?"

-Gordon, R. (2000). From the Movie High Fidelity. Based on the book High Fidelity by Nick Hornsby.

That part in the movie always resonated with me. Music to me is more about participating in a life philosophy rather than just entertainment. Better stated, there exists cultural rules to each major genre of music, and listeners are aware of those rules when they listened to these particular forms of music.

Depends On What The Chicken And The Egg Listen To?

So I wonder, do we gravitate to these philosophies because it is inevitable and we cannot escape who we are? Or do we choose the music we listen to because we find the genre's philosophy appealing and decide to be a part of that? Maybe the reason is more selfish and we choose to be a part of these culture because we want others to associate us with the values of a particular genre.

I think back to the first time I bought music. It was through one of those clubs that "gives" you ten albums for a penny, then you spend the rest of your life on the run. I remember buying albums that were popular at the time. Ace of Base, Real McCoys, and others. I really liked them. I still like Ace of Base.

No, I am not ashamed of that fact. Ace of Base ROCKS!

But I remember the first time I listened to a They Might Be Giants album. I had gotten the idea to buy it from a friend of mine and an appearance by TMBG on Tiny Toons. When I first head the album, I could stop playing it over and over and over. The same thing happened when I bought my first Green Day album. I listened to it constantly.

These two bands are two of my favorites. I still buy every new release. But after I purchased these albums initially, I began to become aware of a culture beneath. There was a prevailing thought of "integrity", "non-conformity" and other cliche's of punk culture.

I began to learn more about it. I came to understand that Green Day was a controversial figure in this culture. I felt pressure from the culture that I was becoming a part of to choose between the band that I loved and was instrumental in exposing me to the culture, or the rest of the bands that I like as well.

I came to the conclusion that there was flawed thinking in becoming to extreme with punk ideology. I realized that each person has made some form of conceit and become part of the system that they seek to change. Even the most ardent members of the underground are hypocrites.

Essentially, I've chosen Green Day. I've chose to believe that if everyone sells-out, then no one sells-out.

So is Hick-Hop a bad thing? No, not culturally. I like the idea of people removing barriers rather than me or someone else trying to draw the lines.

But does that mean it's good music, or even a good idea? The jury is still out on that.

The Next Post Promises To Be Better,

James

On Being The Undisputed Champion

Dear Avid Reader,

There has been a culmination of things in my mind. First we have "Chicken Little". Then we have the "World Series of Poker". Lastly, we have Charles Peirce.

What do they all have in common? Simple: Politics.

What In The Heck Are You Talking About?

Often, I hear that America is not long for this world. People decry that America will no longer be the number one super-power in the world. Soon, Washington will be in flames and somehow an entire nation will be wiped from the globe. This is the Chicken Little I was telling you about.

This is all because America is viewed as an empire. Empires typically start, rise, and conquer all the nations around them. Then they become the epicenter of trade, thought, and everything. Finally they become to proud, have a period of infighting, and then are destroyed by enemies. This would work except for one thing: America isn't an empire.

America has become something of an oddity. We practice cultural imperialism. Our Boy Bands can beat up your Boy Bands, DANG IT! Everyone loves "Everyone Loves Raymond". Who hasn't seen Pulp Fiction, or Titanic, or E.T., or Star Trek?

But we aren't forcing the world to buy our products. We in America live our lives and the rest of the world pays to watch. Just because everyone likes it doesn't mean that we are conquerors. It just means that we are good at what we do.

But we are on top. We have the most, we produce the most, we're number one, by golly. Everything is coming up roses here in America. But we aren't the only ones doing what we do. Lots of countries have free-markets and representative governments. What if someone steals the number one spot?

A Peasant Sits On The Throne

At this point, I'd like to go on a tangent and then come back. I was watching the World Series of Poker. For the uninitiated, this is an annual poker tournament held in Las Vegas. It has been going on for some 30 or 40 years. It has grown from a few participants to a player pool of thousands. Anyone can enter. It is this egalitarianism that makes the World Series so enjoyable. A professional, world-class player can win or a nobody can win. This year a nobody won. A nobody from Australia, Joseph Hachem.

Now, in the past, I feel as though most Americans would be upset because a non-American won an American event. But even if that wasn't the feeling in the past, it certainly isn't the feeling here in the present. The same is true in the America's Cup. America held the boating title for 113 years until they lost in 1983...To Australia.

You know, I'm starting to hate Australia.

Freaking imperialists.

I Can't Lose What I Don't Put In The Middle

When we've lost these titles, no one has come out screaming that everything must be done to win because America's pride has been diminished. Rather, we say "good game" and we prepare for the next meeting. It would seem that we lack the hubris for a downfall.

Some would say that I am underestimating the ego of America. But I think those detractors are overestimating the toughness of America. I'll explain this in a round about way.

If we were actually an empire, we'd be out taking over countries. This would be to show how great a nation we are. We'd try everything in our power to control everything to secure that we are number one.

Instead, we've "gone all in" behind one brand of philosophy: pragmatism. Pragmatism is the only truly American philosophy. We invented it. It states that something can only be true if it works over a long period of time for the whole of humankind.

We in America have seen what happens when you run around taking countries over. Just like in Risk, you spread your armies to thin and you are left open to attackers.

If you put the choice to Americans, "would you rather America be in control of all of North America, or would you rather have a new iPod", they'd take the iPod.

This is where the argument of toughness comes in. I believe that Americans would rather have 100 more channels of cable than be a citizen of the most powerful nation in history.

The Redcoats Are Coming! The Red Coats Are Coming!

Right now it is in vogue to be afraid of China. Now, first, let me say that I think China and India emerging into the global economy is good. The free-market economist always will. He'll say competition is beneficial to everyone: customers, companies, government, education, everything.

So China emerging is a good thing. And personally, I think America always operates better when there is someone to play against. First it was Britain, then Germany, then Russia, then Japan, now China. Don't we always win these things?

Sorry, you know me, the egotistical American.

But let's say that we didn't win. Let's say China becomes the number one nation in terms of productivity, GNP, GDP, wealth per citizen, whatever. Does that mean America is suddenly the worst country in the world?

No.

There's no way we are falling past five or six. America will still have DSL internet right? We'll still have 30-screen-multiplexes with stadium seating right? We'll still have McD on every corner right? So what's the big deal.

In a sense, America's identity isn't wrapped up in where we are ranked. Our identity is wrapped up in our "way of life". America cares so little about what happens outside of their town that losing the "title" will hardly affect them. Just give them their distractions and they'll be fine

(That last line may have been a little too cynical, but hey, it's the truth)

I say let China run the world for awhile. Let's see how they like a bunch of Euros griping about everything. I can't wait to have France off our backs. Let's see how China likes getting their buildings blown up. I for one welcome the vacation. Let's put a big banner over the earth that reads: GRAND RE-OPENING! UNDER NEW MANAGEMENT!

They can't do any worse of a job than we have.

The Next Post Promises To Be Better,

James

Stars Hollow vs. Basin City

Dear Avid Reader,

Do you know the two places in the title of this post? Both are fictional places. Both are involved with recent popular events in entertainment.

Let me see if I can help with Stars Hollow...

"Of course Lorelai didn't tell Luke she was eating dinner with Christopher. Rory was wrong about who called who, but was right to tell Christopher not to call. I wonder what Emily and Richard will have to say about all of this?"

Do you understand that? If so, then you and I have a TV show in common.

The Gilmore Girls.

Yeah, I watch Gilmore Girls.

I'll Be There On The Next Train

My manhood, it seems, is just another tragic casualty incurred during my marriage.

Now I could try and convince you that this show is good, just like my wife tricked, er, convinced me. I could tell you about the awesome, obscure pop-culture references peppered throughout the show. I could tell you about the sly wit. I could tell you how Sebastian Bach from Skid Row has a recurring role. But I know that doesn't matter...

...it's the Gilmore Girls. I should know better.

I expect that a pack of cowboys and ninjas will come to my house any day now and demand that I hand over any tools, duct tape, hole covered socks, and grill equipment that I own. My days as a true man are indeed numbered. I am preparing myself for a life of asking directions, having someone else change my oil, and wearing a coat when it's only 60 outside. Or maybe a giant Milwaukee's Best beer can will land on my head.

(sigh) I had a good run there.

Digging The Hole Deeper

Was it my fault that it happened? Maybe. I could have resisted more. I could have told Robyn that I am just not interested in "those shows" and refused to watch. But I accepted her offer. "Just watch it once with me," she said sinisterly, er innocently, "I think you'll really like it. The main character likes the Clash. If you hate it I'll never ask you to watch it again."

"Alright," I surrendered, "I'll watch your dumb show. But I'm not going to like it."

And then I said I didn't like it, but I allowed her to have reign over the controller when it came on. It made her happy, and in reality, it wasn't that bad of a show. Skip a few months into the future and here we are. Waiting in my house. Looking at my tools for the last time.

Good-bye crescent wrench. I knew him well Horatio.

What I Learned During My Checkered TV Viewing Habit

But let me tell you something about that show and why it's so popular amongst women (and emasculated men). It's the thing you notice during your first viewing. It's that pace. I was watching it the first time and within the first two segments I said out loud to Robyn, "No one talks like this!" She responded, "I know. It's awesome."

"Slow the freak down!" I screamed at the TV. "Shhhh," she scolded, "You're gonna miss something."

And indeed I did miss something. So now I have to watch this whole episode again, which is exactly what Robyn wants.

I see what is going on here!

Anyway, you can't turn away from the show. If you blink you miss half a conversation. Dialogue is flashing by at a trillion miles a second.

Then it hit me...Marketing Class.

Shopping...I Still Hate That, Can I Keep The Crescent Wrench?

I learned in my marketing class that women shoppers are always gathering information. They ask their friends what they buy, they look on the internet, they look in magazines, and when they arrive at the store to shop, they keep on gathering. The service, the layout, the other customers, everything.

For men, when they reach the store, information gathering has stopped and buying has begun. That is where the whole "shopping conflict" cliche comes from. Women are still looking for information, men have stopped.

And so we return to the Gilmore Girls. The whole show is a barrage of information. The words are coming fast. I mean FAST. Watch one episode and you'll see what I mean.

During this assault, women are actually being stimulated. Men, on the other hand, are being beaten to death with all of the words. It took me a few episodes to become acclimated to the environment. I mean, with all of that hostile enemy fire, er talking coming at me, it was a wonder that I survived.

So, let's try something that's more focused. Something a man can appreciate.

Good For The Goose

Have you recognized the second town yet? Basin City the setting for the comic book, and the movie based on the comic book, Sin City.

If you have seen it, I won't ruin it. But I will say that the comic and movie are very similar and it is worth a look even if you aren't a comic guy.

I mean I watch Gilmore Girls and I liked it.

Sin City is a Noir piece. The pace is very slow, foreboding. It gives the viewer time to consider the action, to take it all in. The visuals are as much a part of the story as the dialogue. And I found that I was having a familiar feeling with the movie. The men all have strong sense of pride. They feel duty, honor, and a need to protect.

These feelings are par for the course for men. So I took these "rules" for granted, but I wonder if Robyn missed out. She may not have fully understood the sacrifice of the men in the movie. It's not something I can explain really, just something that I understand. A philosophy. A biological imperative if you will.

Actually, I'm sure she doesn't get it. She didn't like Gladiator and that moving is swimming in all of this "male-psyche mythology".

But now I wonder if it's the same for me. Is there something that I am not fully appreciating about Gilmore Girls? I know these differences are self-evident and they have been stated before. But still I wonder, can men and women ever fully understand each other, or does something always get lost in the translation?

And why is it OK for her to watch Sin City and it's not OK for me to watch Gilmore Girls?

How is that fair?

The Next Post Promises To Be Better,

James

La Vie BohemeLa Mort Boheme

Dear Avid Reader,

Something occurred to me while I was watching a commercial for
Rent: The Movie.

Now, I liked Rent: The Musical. It didn't strike a chord with me like it did for others, but it very much captured the moment of the 90's. So I like that about it.

It had the typical feelings and stories of the decade. Young adults coming together to create a patchwork family because they couldn't relate to their real ones. They aspire to create a "art" instead of money. They glorify an existence that they call "bohemian".

Now I understand what the bohemian is and I even romanticized the idea. I feel like everyone in Gen X does. Who would want to cast off everything and paint in New York? But I considered it and I question why that is my generation's ideal.

Voice Mail

Now the classic bohemian is someone who makes art. But in reality, few bohemians are artists So I remove artistic ability or production from the equation. But I do realize that art plays an important role for the bohemian. So appreciation for art is part of the equation.

The other aspect of the bohemian, is poverty. So bohemian life, then, is primarily about money or lack thereof. But before we get into that, I need introduce some new characters in order to make some comparisons.

And with them my straw man of an argument will be complete.

I'll Cover You

I feel like bohemians fall between two extremes. There is on one end the connoisseur. The connoisseur is someone who has money. He has money becasue he works hard. With the money that he earns, he can afford to surround themselves with fine things. They appreciate quality through glorification of man's works and excesses of wealth

On the other end we have the monk. This person shuns all comforts in order to gain a spiritual purity. Think of him as a recluse. He lives away from society and seeks quality through a minimalism, a nakedness, a tearing down of man's excesses.

In the middle is the bohemian. Someone who does not have wealth and sees that as a purity. But the bohemian is interested in finer things as well. They want to be versed in art, literature, and the like. They see these finer things as a spirituality as well. It is through art that there are creative expressions of the pure soul.

In a sense, they want to have it both ways.

Over The Moon

They want purity, but they want their creativity to be appreciated. They want a Spartan life, but want to be seen as worldly. Having money is selling-out, but not owning or creating art is seen as a shallow life.

Now art costs money. It does. Learning an appreciation for art costs money too. So you have to have money in order to become a connoisseur. But you can't have purity if you have money, so have to get rid of it. Do you just throw it away like the monk? That would be too drastic a move for the bohemian, so they buy cheap art. There, now I have no money, but I have art.

Hoo-ray!

What You Own

See, art is a product. It is, it's a thing that is made/produced and it can be bought. Buying a product makes you one thing...a consumer. The bohemian, therefore, is nothing more than a snobbish consumer. He's a person that is too afraid to have completely nothing, too lazy to earn enough to become a true appreciator of the arts, and doesn't have the talent to make art himself. He flaunts things like independent film, local music, and experimental theatre because that is what he can afford. He lives a life of conspicuous poverty, flashing his badge of bankruptcy in order to gain a moral high ground in arguments. He considers himself as part of the elite. After all, he was buying The Postal Service CDs before they were big.

They talk a good game. They are very smart and very educated. But I am done with the claims of "selling-out". To the bohemian I say, "Whatever dude. You just need to chill." You can elaborate on the downfall of "true art" to someone else.

Because you shouldn't have to prove that you deserve existence. You should just deserve it.

The Next Post Promises To Be Better,

James

I Can't Make It Today...I'm Sick

Dear Avid Reader,

Today I am sick. Really, it's no lie. I was sick yesterday, but I didn't realize it until the day was half over. So I called in and I am feeling better today.

Thanks for asking.

As I was sitting at home recuperating, I realized that sick days are a strange thing. The TV is different, you eat different things, you are somewhere other than work or school. But here's the really strange part: sick days are always the same. You always get the same drinks, same food, watch generally the same kind of TV. You call it your "sick food" or "sick drinks". When you are at home recuperating, you fall into a different schedule/habit. It's your sick day schedule.

So I began to think of sick days as a place that you visit. A different universe filled with talk shows, reruns, and soup. It's a place where you are quiet, alone, and focusing your energies on healing. A temple of meditation if you will.

But you never come upon this place by looking for it. Your body has to decide that you must take a break form the regular universe and visit this other one. You're walking along, minding your own business, the suddenly, BOOM! You're at home, alone, fluids all around.

Fluids are very important in this universe you know.

You Know That Icky Taste In Your Throat After You're Sick

My time here took a dark turn. You see, I became dependent on this shadow reality. I went to let the cats in and looked outside. It was cloudy and ominous. I was scared and didn't want to take a step out into it. I shriveled back into my private world, afraid to confront the problems of the real one.

But I tire of this place. I want to rejoin the living and be useful again. I fight my illness, determined to break through the coffin of Gatorade and blankets that is around me. I know that this sick universe is only temporary. Created for me to escape to and then escape from in a moment.

That and I want a cheeseburger and I'd feel guilty eating one when I'm supposed to be "ill".

The Next Post Promises To Be Better,

James

On Polite Interrogation

Dear Avid Reader,

Traditions and conventions have their place. I for one would have things stay as they are rather than paw at the tapestry of society.

But recently I had to go to a meal. You know the situation, your company, school, church, has a function. You don't want to go. You hate these things. You're in a room of strangers. All of them wanting to grill you about the details of what you do during the week. And they ways of making you talk.

But you know you're going. And don't bother asking why you're going, cause man, that's a losing battle. Trust me. Just know that you're right, there isn't a logical reason, and quit while you're ahead.

So you're going to suck it up, tie the tie, trim the beard, and head out for your inquisition. When you arrive, it is just as you have envisioned. Awkward. The questions, as you expected, are all variations on the same questions you heard the last time you were at one of these things.

Or maybe, this is the same function and you are stuck in a time vortex. Better act like you belong before the Time Wraiths find out what's happened and send the Langoliers after you. Just smile and nod. You can try and find a rip in the space/time continuum when you get home.

Wait, here comes someone. Play it cool and act natural. ACT NATURAL!

Here Come The Questions...Just Plead The 5th

1) What is your name?
2) What do you do to earn a living?
3) Where are you from?
4) With whom did you arrive (spouse, friend, alone)?
5) How are you connected with the group that is holding this function (friends, relatives, alone)?
6) How long have you been affiliated with the group?

Are your eyes rolling? Mine are. It's hard to type this way.

Here's the thing, I realized that these questions are all about external qualities. Most of them are concerned with how you are connected with the network that the group has established. Sort of like, are you a "major player" or are you on "the fringe". So these questions aren't really about me, they are about everything around me and how I am connected to it. You know, what power do I sway with the group.

I recently participated in one of these meals and luckily I escaped. But during the meal, I began to wonder, why ask these same questions? Why not ask questions that are intended to find out the "real" me. What would these questions look like?

They're Gonna Hit You On Cross

The questions that I came up with initially were questions that concerned pop culture. I thought that maybe if I found out what you liked, then I would find out what you are like*. These questions are meaningless because no one else would have the same tastes as I do. So asking who would win in a fight, the Millennium Falcon or the Enterprise-D (Picard), may end in confused looks rather than a deep discussion on theoretical physics, crew make-up, and how Betazed telepathy would effect a Jedi's the use of The Force.

And may I guarantee that this question WILL be discussed in the comments section.

I thought of political questions, but those are too touchy. No one wants to start a flamewar during a nice dinner out. Talking sports is about as meaningful as talking about the weather. No real meat there. So where do we go from here?

So I realized that maybe I was asking too much. We all have decided to guard our inner thoughts from everyone else until we feel like that area of our brain is safe from ridicule. Until people have shared experiences, we can't allow our real feelings to run around. So we dip our toes into each other to test the waters. If it's warm/cool enough, we put a foot in. Then a leg. Pretty soon were splish-splashing around.

But I still hate those dinners.

Do I have to go?

Yes.

Fine, here's your stinking answers.

...McCarthy.

1) James
2) Purchasing Coordinator for Harding University. I buy stuff when someone needs something.
3) Originally, I'm from Fort Worth, TX (White Settlement if you're from DFW). Right now I live in Searcy, AR
4) I came with the red-head over there. She's my wife Robyn.
5) Sure. There's probably someone around here I know. What about that guy over there. No the dude next to him. Yeah I know him.
6) Varies. Let's leave it at that.

The only thing left now is to cut this section out, paste it on notecards, and pass them out.

But I think I'll print the Falcon vs. Enterprise question on the back. You know, just in case.

The Next Post Promises To Be Better,

James

*Gordon, R (2000). Idea stolen from movie: High Fidelity. Movie based on the Nick Hornby book: High Fidelity.

...And Thanks To Anyone Else That We Forgot

Dear Avid Reader,

I was having a conversation with my friend Jay yesterday. We were talking about different things and I brought up the fact that I was writing on my blog and that I was discussing Preemptive Thinking. He remembered that I had brought the subject up to him before and asked if I remembered that he had thought of Preemptive Listening as an addition to my thesis. I said that I had, but then something terrible dawned on me...

I had used some of his thoughts on Preemptive Listening in my post on Compassion. Most of the post was stuff that I had come up with, but I began to feel guilty. I felt as though I had given Trey his credit in the post but not Jay. What kind of a friend was I? I completely neglected his contribution.

Then I became paranoid.

All of my posts, ideas, any thought that I had ever had, what if they all were merely thefts of someone else's creativity? Had I had an original thought, ever? Forever? Forever ever? Forever ever ever?

But then I began to lawyer up. "I'd been the first to post it," I thought, "Publish or perish I always say." More people heard me say it first, I had more witnesses, and math matters in big precedence cases like these, right? I had him right where I wanted him.

But then the "crazy pills" started wearing off and I began to float back to reality. This is just a idiotic blog. Because there was no money involved, there probably wouldn't be a trail. Nobody wants to fight over principle, only over money. Then I began to hear a song in my head.

I don't know what they want from me
It's like the more money we come across
The more problems we see

B.I.G., Notorious (1997). Excerpts from Mo' Money Mo' Problems. Life After Death. Retrieved 11/03/2005 from Lyrics Mansion

Biggie always makes me philosophical. Something in the beat or something in the "mad rhymes" perhaps. I began to wander away from the semantics of who started the idea, to the core of the issue. Maybe my conscience could be completely soothed if I could destroy the entire premise of having original thought. I wondered, have any thoughts ever been established without some other thought to build off of? I mean, where do thoughts come from?

Pistol-whip Epistemology

The answer is called epistemology. Epistemology is a school of philosophy concerning how we can come to know. There are two main, rival branches: a priori & a posteriori. A priori knowledge is knowledge that is derived from reason alone. A posteriori knowledge is knowledge that is arrived at by experience.

After I remembered this I asked myself some questions. Were the thoughts that I wrote universally apparent to me, indeed all humans, before I stated them? Or did I need the experience of Jay's conversation before I could arrive at them?

I became worried again.

I began to lose all perspective. I was spiraling out of control. The post became a ticking time-bomb in my mind. Jay could sense the tension in my voice. I cracked under his interrogation of, "What's up, dude?"

I confessed my sins trying desperately to throw the albatross from my neck. I begged for his mercy. "Oh pity me my brother," I cried, "I have wronged you by not providing a complete APA format citation of your contribution to my posts. Indeed, I have not even included you as a footnote. I beg forgiveness!"

"Rise," he said, "I don't know if you are rising because we're on the phone, but I'll assume you've risen."

He needn't have worried. I stood at attention, awaiting my punishment. Beaten with whips? Reeds? A firing squad perhaps?

He continued, "We are friends. Even if you were to publish these thoughts, I am more interested in the conversations that we have. As long as they continue, I don't care who gets credit for what."

I cracked a smile. My heart leapt! I had gained forgiveness from my brother!

...and little does he know, I recorded the whole thing.

My book is coming out in December and now he's not getting a penny.

Muhahahahahaha!

The Next Post Promises To Be Better,

James

What Is With These Kids Today?

Dear Avid Reader,

Let me tell you a story.

There's an old man. He is in his house quietly doing a crossword. He goes to fill in the final blank when there is a subtle vibration. He feels it getting stronger. There is a ripple in the glass of water sitting on the night stand next to him. He looks up and sees that the vibration is spreading to the pictures on the walls. Then it spreads to the light fixture above. The vibrations turn into drum beats, then screetching guitar, then a furious yell, "CAN YOU TAKE ME HIIIIIIIGHERRRRR?"

The old man covers his hears and screams, "Turn that racket off!"

But the perpetrator of the racket, a teenage boy next door, is lost in the song. He turns it up even louder. The old man become crazy with rage, and begins to get up, determined to end his torment...

About The Author

We are all familiar with this cliche. Teenagers listen to, or watch, or play on the computer things that adults do not understand or like. Usually these strange things are seen as destructive or subversive. Usually, cliches such as these have some grain of truth to them.

I participated in this particular cliche when I was a teenager. I liked to dabble in underground music and enjoyed flaunting my obscure tastes conspicuously whenever an opportunity arose. I think this sort of elitism is common, especially with the young. You may be familiar with these sort of people (me). They're the ones that decry the evils of radio and mass appeal. They proclaim that "true art" is only alive in the underground scene that they are active participants in. "Don't pollute your mind with that trash," they'll say while pointing to your favorite CD, "you gotta listen to this, man. This is the future/revolution/kumquat of music. REAL music." Then they hand you a tape of some band of euros playing their guitar too close to the amp.

Yeah, so, um, sorry to everyone I knew in high school...

...and in college.

Where's This Going James?

During those years as an elitist, I had a typical appreciation for all forms of music. But I knew that one day I would be old. And when that day came, there would be a style of music that I would find terrible and my children would love it. But I had a feeling, or maybe a fear, that there was a limited amount of musical expressions. I felt as though we were using up the few last original styles/genres that were left. So I became curious...

What would this new style that the old-man version of me would find so awful?

And now that I am getting old, shouldn't it be showing up right about now?

The Furture Ain't What It Used To Be

We'll today's teenagers aren't yesterday's teenagers. If you have your ear turned to what's happening now musically, you may have already noticed what I'm getting at. Here it is: have you noticed that there isn't anything offensive about today's music?

A common reaction to that question is "What's offensive anymore?" I can see the rationale behind that but I do not except it as an excuse. There should somebody, somewhere making music that is dangerous. This dangerous music should be enjoying some high level of popularity. This is the way it has been for the history of Pop Music (big P). Has it taken only 60 years to become bored with the whole thing?

Instead of my old man version being offended and repulsed by our children's erosion of character, I am going to be offended and repulsed by our children being lame.

Let me give you an example of lame. Here is an excerpt from a current "metal"/"hard rock" song:

Looking back at me I see
That I never really got it right
I never stopped to think of you
I'm always wrapped up in
Things I cannot win
You are the antidote that gets me by
Something strong
Like a drug that gets me high

(Chorus)
What I really meant to say
Is I'm sorry for the way I am
I never meant to be so cold
I never meant to be so cold
What I really meant to say
Is I'm sorry for the way I am
I never meant to be so cold
I never meant to be so cold

To you I'm sorry about all the lies
Maybe in a different light
You could see me stand on my own again
Cause now I can't see
You are the antidote that got me by
Something strong like a drug that got me high

(Chorus)

Crossfade (2004). Excerpts from Cold. Crossfade. Retrieved
11/02/205 from Lyrics Heaven

"What I REALLY meant to say"? "Sorry"? "Maybe"? This supposed to be a "hard rock" song? The guy is apologizing to his girlfriend! He even has a girlfriend to apologize to! And if he REALLY menat to say something, why didn't he say it? He's a metal singer! This song breaks like 40 or 50 metal rules. And the kids call this a rock song.

Well it's not a rock song, it's an emo song. Everything that was once rock is now emo. Let's talk about feelings. Let's consider things. Hey I love emo, I'm a big emo guy, but where is the dark music? Where is the sinister atheism of Alice in Chains? Where is the decay and emotional atrophy of Nirvana? Where is the pain of Metallica? Where are the nightmares of Pantera? WHERE? I ask you again, where?

And it's everything music, not just rock. Take rap and hip-hop. There are no more exaggerated tales of street life. There's no more cartoonish violence. What's in its place? Invitations to drink alcohol at dance clubs and descriptions of what it's like to buy a new automobile. This sort of "bling" was present during my teenage years, but there was also a darker mood to a lot of what was being made.

Even pop (little p) has weakened. I mean, weren't Mariah Carey, Madonna, and Gwen Stefani pop vixens fifteen years ago? If all of the "hot chicks" are 40+ years old, then I'd definetley say you had a problem with being cutting edge or cool. Am I wrong here?

In The Ancient Times, The Artist Leads The Way...

Everything has gone soft. I guess you could even say there is nothing left that is "hardcore", and I blame the kids. It's hard to say which came first, the lame music or the lame kids, but I think it's the lame kids.

When I look at generations, I always fall back to Strauss and Howe. They term the generation after Generation X (Gen X) as Millennials (Mills). The Mills are more interested in fitting-in and conforming than Gen X. They are interested in being pat of a community, whereas Gen X was interested in individuality. Look at the things that they have had during their formative years: cell phones, internet, play groups, etc. They have all been involved in teams and groups all of their lives. I think this reflects in their music preferences.

Their music is not going to be shock because that would drive people away. They would rather bring people closer. Music for a Gen Xer was an expression of them as an individual. Gen X'ers would usually describe in detail the particular sub-sub-genre they liked. Now, you are more likely to hear a Mill say, "I like everything". It's even hard for Mills to describe what is popular or what particular bands they follow. To distinguish themselves in that way is not in their nature.

The old man arrives at the boy's house and begins pounding on the door. The boy comes to the door. "Yes," he inquires, "may I help you?"

The old man brushes by the boy and makes a bee-line to the stereo. "As a matter of fact, you can," the old man says, uninterested in the boy. "It's this terrible music. What is this called?" the old man spits out.

The boy, confused, answers, "Creed. They're one of my fav..."

"Trash," the old man interrupts as he breaks the CD in half, "I liked it better when the band was called Pearl Jam." The old man reaches out and presents the boy with a CD Notebook.

"Here," the old man continues, "Now this is some music. Some REAL music. None of this mass-produced, jibba-jabba that you're playing. Your polluting your mind with all of this junk."

The boy turns the pages: Soundgarden, Stone Temple Pilots, Toadies, there were hundreds. The boy, stunned asks, "What is going on? Who are you? What are you doing here?"

The old man smiles, "I'm nobody. But I figure if you're gonna play something loud enough that I can hear it, then you may as well play something good."

The old man turns to leave.

"Why are you doing this?" the boy asks.

The old-man half turns and says mournfully,"Because a long time ago, a man knocked on my door and gave me all of his records. I'm just returning the favor."

"Really?" the boy asked.

"No," the old man says suddenly, "I'm just tired of listening to you play your freaking terrible music. Cause if I hear you play 'Hollaback Girl' one more time, I'll be forced ruin this house with a blow-torch. Comprende?"

The boy nods shamefully.

"Good" decrees the old-man.

And they both tolerated each other's existence ever after.

The End.

The Next Post Promises To Be Better,

James