On what would've been Kurt Cobain's 42nd birthday (scary), I want to discuss what music means to you. How do you listen to music? Are you a casual listener who makes it nothing more than the soundtrack to your driving/work-out/house cleaning? Or are you, like myself, a die-hard, buy-every-album, research-the-artist's-childhood, visit-their-home, lover of this greatest of inventions called music? By the way, music is not a human invention. The birds did it long before and, in the case of most things in radio today, way better than we did.
So here I sit in regret, listening to the leaked tracks of U2's new album and obliterating four years of waiting and speculation on my part about what this thing would sound like. When I heard that the release date would be March 3rd, I marked that day in my head as a day of experiencing this thing full force--the music, the album art, the lyric booklet, the design and feel of the album as a whole. This is how music was experienced from the 50's-90's, and how it should always be experienced. Now we're in the era of mp3's, album leaks and impatient bastards with no regard to how the artist intended for their hard work to be heard. Now I am guilty of that as well. After waiting for four years for this album, I'm experiencing it in all the wrong ways--through a lame Myspace stream. March 3rd will now be an anti-climactic day. It's just no fun knowing exactly what you're getting. Sigh.
By the way, I am baffled by these people who are able to ignore music altogether. Have you ever met someone who is simply not a fan of music? I have. What godawful planet have they come from? I didn't even think it was humanly possible to listen to the Beatles and not feel something. Music, when done right, should make you feel like you can run a marathon straight out of bed. So why is it that music means nothing to some folks? I just don't know. It's just another element of human behavior that I can't comprehend.
Ok, I know I've rambled today. This blog lacked the structure and sheer mind-blowing brilliance of my previous writings. Ha. Truth is, my frustrations over this leak are getting the best of me. I just beg of you to listen to music the way artists intend for you to listen. Don't take music for granted. This is someone's art. Once it is released it becomes public domain, but for the artist it's like bringing your kid to the first day of kindergarten and peering through the glass to see how the teacher is treating them. Are they gentle and patient, or are they frivolous and treat every kid the same without regard to the fact that they're all different kids? Maybe that made sense to you, maybe it made none. Either way, rock on.
Quote for Today: "Wanting to be someone else is a waste of the person you are."
-Kurt Cobain
Current Listening: U2 - No Line on the Horizon
Friday, February 20, 2009
Monday, February 16, 2009
Blog 5: Cinco de Blogo
Tourette's Breakdown Part 2. I'm gonna make this quick so I can get back to watching "Lock, Stock, and Two Smoking Barrels." Ok, so I'm watching "Deliverance." I enjoy Jon Voight and banjo music, and there's only ONE place to go for that combo. Here goes:
1. I'm pretty confident that ShamWows are made of nothing more than Tom Selleck's chest hair. How else could they be so absorbant?
2. More on ShamWows--"The Germans always make good stuff." Really? Always? I think any Jew alive in the 1940's would beg to differ...
3. Most people find the Olsen Twins hard to tell apart. Not me. Here's my way of differentiating one Lemur Sister from another--Mary-Kate is the one with HEATH LEDGER'S BLOOD ON HER HANDS. Simple.
4. I envision the ULTIMATE sitcom : one whose entire cast is made up of annoying best friends/sidekicks from previous sitcoms. Including: Theo Huxtable's mischievious pal Cockroach, the "man, the myth, the a-hole" Screech Powers, the adorably unhygenic Kimmy Gibbler, Family Ties' surely half-tarded neighbor Skippy, John Ritter's clingy and borderline creepy buddy from Three's Company, and OF COURSE, the always dependable best friend of Growing Pains' Mike Seaver, the aptly named Boner.
(note: out of five blogs, I've name-checked Kimmy Gibbler in two. Just giving you an idea of the kind've thing you're reading here...)
5. The city is safer than the suburbs, and let me tell you why. If you're going to get killed in the city, let's face it, it's going to be at the hands of a rejected member of the G-Unit right there outside the Dunkin Donuts. No warning, just shooting. Done and done. Now if you're going to be killed in the suburbs, it's going to be at the hands of a little league coach that secretly sits outside the high school to watch the boy's track team do laps in their shorty-shorts. You'll be taken to his basement/dungeon where you'll be hanged by your toenails for months at a time, your nipples being made into his own personal eye-patches, begging for the sweet release of the battery acid bubble bath that he'll force you to take on your last day. These suburban people are NUTS. City it is for me.
6. I don't understand why doctors tell patients of near-death experiences that they're "very lucky." No, "very lucky" would have been not having your face torn off by the bobcat in the first place.
7. Starburst : The Juice is Loose. Go ahead, cut open a Starburst. No juice to speak of. You're being marketed your own saliva. Yeah.
8. I can't think of eight. I'm not a machine. I'm no Stone Phillips...
Seacrest out.
Quote for Today: "We learned more from a 3-minute record than we ever learned in school."
- Bruce Springsteen - "Bobby Jean"
Current Listening: PJ Harvey - White Chalk
1. I'm pretty confident that ShamWows are made of nothing more than Tom Selleck's chest hair. How else could they be so absorbant?
2. More on ShamWows--"The Germans always make good stuff." Really? Always? I think any Jew alive in the 1940's would beg to differ...
3. Most people find the Olsen Twins hard to tell apart. Not me. Here's my way of differentiating one Lemur Sister from another--Mary-Kate is the one with HEATH LEDGER'S BLOOD ON HER HANDS. Simple.
4. I envision the ULTIMATE sitcom : one whose entire cast is made up of annoying best friends/sidekicks from previous sitcoms. Including: Theo Huxtable's mischievious pal Cockroach, the "man, the myth, the a-hole" Screech Powers, the adorably unhygenic Kimmy Gibbler, Family Ties' surely half-tarded neighbor Skippy, John Ritter's clingy and borderline creepy buddy from Three's Company, and OF COURSE, the always dependable best friend of Growing Pains' Mike Seaver, the aptly named Boner.
(note: out of five blogs, I've name-checked Kimmy Gibbler in two. Just giving you an idea of the kind've thing you're reading here...)
5. The city is safer than the suburbs, and let me tell you why. If you're going to get killed in the city, let's face it, it's going to be at the hands of a rejected member of the G-Unit right there outside the Dunkin Donuts. No warning, just shooting. Done and done. Now if you're going to be killed in the suburbs, it's going to be at the hands of a little league coach that secretly sits outside the high school to watch the boy's track team do laps in their shorty-shorts. You'll be taken to his basement/dungeon where you'll be hanged by your toenails for months at a time, your nipples being made into his own personal eye-patches, begging for the sweet release of the battery acid bubble bath that he'll force you to take on your last day. These suburban people are NUTS. City it is for me.
6. I don't understand why doctors tell patients of near-death experiences that they're "very lucky." No, "very lucky" would have been not having your face torn off by the bobcat in the first place.
7. Starburst : The Juice is Loose. Go ahead, cut open a Starburst. No juice to speak of. You're being marketed your own saliva. Yeah.
8. I can't think of eight. I'm not a machine. I'm no Stone Phillips...
Seacrest out.
Quote for Today: "We learned more from a 3-minute record than we ever learned in school."
- Bruce Springsteen - "Bobby Jean"
Current Listening: PJ Harvey - White Chalk
Wednesday, February 11, 2009
Blog 4: The Generation of Dream Killers
I have a phrase that I've been throwing around lately. It doubles as my mantra and my excuse for dropping out of school, and it's this: "It's not that I have no direction. There are just too many directions I want to go in." This is not a bad problem to have. I'm very greedy when it comes to what I want out my life. I want it all; and by that I don't mean money, houses, women, fame, etc. I mean I want to leave my mark in every area that I love--art, writing, and music. I think my generation, after a certain point, is content to watch their dreams flushed down the toilet.
Let me clarify. When we're born, I think we see the world and its possibilities through a thousand foot window. Anything and everything can be done in terms of our dreams. Then somewhere along the way (I'd say post-college graduation), our view of the world is through a pinhole. The world becomes a much more limited place. We're forced to choose. It's like John Lennon wrote; "...they've tortured and scared you for 20 odd years, then they expect you to pick a career." We're frightened into thinking averageness is the only way we'll survive. Become part of the "machine", as Pink Floyd said. Our dreams are relegated to nothing but juvenile childhood fantasies that have no chance of ever putting food on the table. Then I heard another phrase. "Do what you love, and the money will follow." Do what you love. That's exactly what I intend to do. Trust me, I have no delusions of grandeur. I don't expect to make history books. I don't expect to have my drawings hanging alongside Picasso in museums. I just expect that when I'm on my death bed, I can say with all certainty that I did what I loved. That I didn't let my dreams go down the toilet in lieu of the safe road.
So if you love your office job, if you love pouring concrete--if being a bricklayer is to you what playing guitar is to me, please please do it. A job only becomes "average" when it's not exactly where you want to be. This all may have sounded naive, but what can I tell you? I'm still learning.
Quote for Today: "Every artist is a cannibal, every poet is a thief. All kill their inspiration and sing about their grief." U2 - The Fly
Current Listening: The Clash - Live at Shea Stadium
Let me clarify. When we're born, I think we see the world and its possibilities through a thousand foot window. Anything and everything can be done in terms of our dreams. Then somewhere along the way (I'd say post-college graduation), our view of the world is through a pinhole. The world becomes a much more limited place. We're forced to choose. It's like John Lennon wrote; "...they've tortured and scared you for 20 odd years, then they expect you to pick a career." We're frightened into thinking averageness is the only way we'll survive. Become part of the "machine", as Pink Floyd said. Our dreams are relegated to nothing but juvenile childhood fantasies that have no chance of ever putting food on the table. Then I heard another phrase. "Do what you love, and the money will follow." Do what you love. That's exactly what I intend to do. Trust me, I have no delusions of grandeur. I don't expect to make history books. I don't expect to have my drawings hanging alongside Picasso in museums. I just expect that when I'm on my death bed, I can say with all certainty that I did what I loved. That I didn't let my dreams go down the toilet in lieu of the safe road.
So if you love your office job, if you love pouring concrete--if being a bricklayer is to you what playing guitar is to me, please please do it. A job only becomes "average" when it's not exactly where you want to be. This all may have sounded naive, but what can I tell you? I'm still learning.
Quote for Today: "Every artist is a cannibal, every poet is a thief. All kill their inspiration and sing about their grief." U2 - The Fly
Current Listening: The Clash - Live at Shea Stadium
Thursday, February 5, 2009
Blog 3: Revenge of the Seth
Peel yourself away from that Steve Wilkos Show re-run, because I have some observations to make. I will make them in the form of what I'm calling a "Tourette's Breakdown", in which I will shout out (or type up) whatever pops up in my demented little mind. Go!
1. Disease names need to be clarified. I stopped eating white bread for 2 years out of fear of getting a yeast infection. It turns out that is NOT how you get one.
2. People who end every sentence with "Know what I'm sayin'?" need to be ended. "I'm lookin' to go out on Friday, know what I'm sayin'?" No, how could I ever decipher that? Hang on, let me get my 'Dipshit-to-English Dictionary" and get back to you...
3. I predict 2009 will be the year of the Kimmy Gibbler comeback. I can feel it. I can smell it. Wait, what IS that smell? Gibbler, put your shoes back on!
4. If Al Quaeda ever gets ahold of our Girl Scout Cookie supply, we're done. A Tag-a-Long tragedy could be devastating.
5. "Schindler's List" wouldn't have been such a downer had it been called "Tyler Perry's Schindler's List." Madea taking on Hitler? Almost too funny to ponder. Almost.
6. I am annoyed by hipsters who are afraid of liking big bands. U2 is my favorite band. I can live with that. Some bands are big for a reason, so stop trying to make yourself look different and obscure by citing your favorite band as "Cockroach Vasectomy."
7. I could listen to Salma Hayek read from a medical book and still be turned on.
8. Acne is not taken seriously enough by the public. It is very damaging psychologically, and is not cured by simply "being clean." I know. For five years I looked like I washed with anthrax and toweled off with a cinderblock. I looked like a Hannibal Lecter victim. I was bad. But I was clean, and it always bothered me when people would say "Just wash your face!" So next time you see someone with acne, give them a smile. It will lift their day. Trust me.
9. I'm finding that I deserve nothing, but God still gives me everything. That's a great irony.
10. The people who make history are not the ones with back-up plans and safety nets in their lives, but rather the ones who do what they have to do. Even if they go down in flames.
That is all. Back to the wise words of Mr. Wilkos.
Quote for Today: "A beautiful girl can turn your world into dust."
- Radiohead "Punchdrunk Lovesick Singalong".
Current Listening: The Buzzcocks - Singles Going Steady
1. Disease names need to be clarified. I stopped eating white bread for 2 years out of fear of getting a yeast infection. It turns out that is NOT how you get one.
2. People who end every sentence with "Know what I'm sayin'?" need to be ended. "I'm lookin' to go out on Friday, know what I'm sayin'?" No, how could I ever decipher that? Hang on, let me get my 'Dipshit-to-English Dictionary" and get back to you...
3. I predict 2009 will be the year of the Kimmy Gibbler comeback. I can feel it. I can smell it. Wait, what IS that smell? Gibbler, put your shoes back on!
4. If Al Quaeda ever gets ahold of our Girl Scout Cookie supply, we're done. A Tag-a-Long tragedy could be devastating.
5. "Schindler's List" wouldn't have been such a downer had it been called "Tyler Perry's Schindler's List." Madea taking on Hitler? Almost too funny to ponder. Almost.
6. I am annoyed by hipsters who are afraid of liking big bands. U2 is my favorite band. I can live with that. Some bands are big for a reason, so stop trying to make yourself look different and obscure by citing your favorite band as "Cockroach Vasectomy."
7. I could listen to Salma Hayek read from a medical book and still be turned on.
8. Acne is not taken seriously enough by the public. It is very damaging psychologically, and is not cured by simply "being clean." I know. For five years I looked like I washed with anthrax and toweled off with a cinderblock. I looked like a Hannibal Lecter victim. I was bad. But I was clean, and it always bothered me when people would say "Just wash your face!" So next time you see someone with acne, give them a smile. It will lift their day. Trust me.
9. I'm finding that I deserve nothing, but God still gives me everything. That's a great irony.
10. The people who make history are not the ones with back-up plans and safety nets in their lives, but rather the ones who do what they have to do. Even if they go down in flames.
That is all. Back to the wise words of Mr. Wilkos.
Quote for Today: "A beautiful girl can turn your world into dust."
- Radiohead "Punchdrunk Lovesick Singalong".
Current Listening: The Buzzcocks - Singles Going Steady
Monday, February 2, 2009
Blog 2: I Want Sideburns
Hey, guy at the school library acting like your researching a paper--I forgot to put up some stats about myself in the first blog, should you care. Here goes:
Name: Seth
Age: 22
I Believe In: God. St. John, St. Paul, St. George, St. Ringo.
I Like: Art people (artists?), rock n' roll music and the places it came from (blues, country, r&b), reading books about things, Forensics shows (it was the husband. It always is), redheads, watching Arnold Schwarzennegger struggle like an infant to form words, and quality movies.
Done. Now Blog 2.
I want sideburns. Not even Jason Priestley/Luke Perry sideburns. No, not good enough. I'm talking full-on muttonchops. I want to be mistaken for a Civil War general and, if they're THAT good, even asked where I got my time machine. I want to be able to call people "governor" (govna) with a straight face. Because when you have muttonchops, you can call people that and mean it. Here's the problem with me wanting sideburns. Hair does not grow on my face. I've seen fuller beards on the 16 year olds in my sister's prom pictures (narcs). To give you an idea of how often I need to shave, I received a complimentary razor from Gillette for my 18th birthday. I shaved with that razor not 10 minutes ago. That's right, I've had the same razor for four years. Not only that, but the blade is pristine. It's alright though. If this is my biggest problem, how can I complain? If I get desperate enough, I'll just resort to shaving hair from other parts of my body and Mighty Mending (glue is lame. Thanks Billie Mays) it to my face. I won't say what body part I'll take the hair from, but I will say they'll be very curly and, at times, very itchy sideburns. There may even be some deodorant left in them. Get your head out of the gutter and get back to that paper perv.
This enlightening message brought to you by--Me.
Name: Seth
Age: 22
I Believe In: God. St. John, St. Paul, St. George, St. Ringo.
I Like: Art people (artists?), rock n' roll music and the places it came from (blues, country, r&b), reading books about things, Forensics shows (it was the husband. It always is), redheads, watching Arnold Schwarzennegger struggle like an infant to form words, and quality movies.
Done. Now Blog 2.
I want sideburns. Not even Jason Priestley/Luke Perry sideburns. No, not good enough. I'm talking full-on muttonchops. I want to be mistaken for a Civil War general and, if they're THAT good, even asked where I got my time machine. I want to be able to call people "governor" (govna) with a straight face. Because when you have muttonchops, you can call people that and mean it. Here's the problem with me wanting sideburns. Hair does not grow on my face. I've seen fuller beards on the 16 year olds in my sister's prom pictures (narcs). To give you an idea of how often I need to shave, I received a complimentary razor from Gillette for my 18th birthday. I shaved with that razor not 10 minutes ago. That's right, I've had the same razor for four years. Not only that, but the blade is pristine. It's alright though. If this is my biggest problem, how can I complain? If I get desperate enough, I'll just resort to shaving hair from other parts of my body and Mighty Mending (glue is lame. Thanks Billie Mays) it to my face. I won't say what body part I'll take the hair from, but I will say they'll be very curly and, at times, very itchy sideburns. There may even be some deodorant left in them. Get your head out of the gutter and get back to that paper perv.
This enlightening message brought to you by--Me.
Blog 1 (With a title that creative, you know it's good)...
Let me start by saying this: I don't like blogs. I don't read them, and I've definitely never written one. They've always been about as appealing to me as a "Women of 'The View'" bikini calendar--with the exception of Whoopi "Ms. July" Goldberg. Yum. In my opinion, blogs are the most arrogant forum for self-expression on the planet. Just the idea that any odd college kid (or ex-college kid) can post his thoughts with the idea that people care to read them is the pinnacle of douchebaggery. Lately, though, I've been encouraged to start up a blog. What can I say? I'm a pushover. I am, however, not nearly confident enough in myself to advertise my semi-tarded thoughts as "enlightening" or "insightful", like other blogs, so I'll just put it this way: I have nothing of much use to say. I've barely experienced life. I've not been through tough times. I mean, one time a car full of Latino gangsters threw a peach pit at me through a passing El Camino when I was visiting L.A., but that's about it. The truth is that I'm a 22 year old white boy from the suburbs who has it relatively easy. This is purely for entertainment (geez, even that sounds arrogant). If you get the smallest laugh out of this, then writing this blog has been a joy for me. If not, then hey--at least I kept you from internet poker-ing your daughter's college fund away. For now. And that is a beautiful thing. Read on...
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