National Dust: Primo

It should affect me more, but my inability to escape the teenage ennui that I embraced before really is the shits. The worst part about it is that as a form of existential torture its not even fuckin' unique; my entire generation (the lamentable, irascible, irrelevant Millennials)suffers from this. Or would suffer, if we'd get off our couches, put down the cookie-cutter fads, pull up the pants, and get our shit together.

What bothers me most is that this used to be a credible yet ridiculous lifestyle choice. Squares wouldn't give you the time of day on the street but deep inside those double-breasted jackets a dark seed of respect would gestate. It wasn't being crazy to make a point, it was being crazy because the fire was at your feet and joining the race looked so good when the beers wore off, but they never did, did they? Today you've got people killing themselves for hours about which pair of shoes looked more ironic with their ensemble. Open a newspaper and watch it bleed; it still won't make you puke like the tragically hip.

Awash in a sea of post-modern, post-post, post-transcendence troglodytes and the only thing keeping you afloat in the jetsam of fixed-gear bikes and flotsam of scarves-in-summer is your own two fuckin' hands, broken from pounding on your head to drown out the indomitable noise. But I ain't spilling bile on these good-natured folks, no sir; when family falls all you have is your peer group. I wouldn't piss on another person if they were burning, but I would point towards the nearest latrine.

No, what gets my teeth a-grindin' is the helplessness. And that big middle finger I give the high-brow Ivory Tower Society gets shoved right back in the old mug. As kid, it was running to and fro, trying to score ladies and flee from responsibility and the culture feeds on that. Being the clown is all fun and games until the paint comes off and then what? Just a fuckin' slob with greasy hands and a silly wig. You can cram 15 people into a phone booth but you can't pick up the goddamn receiver.

While it may sound all bleak and boo-hoo, remember that a fella's gotta have a little respite every now and then. You got to strip yourself bare, go find a cave, and throw a bone through your nose. Live like a wild person and fight for supremacy. Don't misunderstand: I'm not sayin' go join a commune with their psychosomatic dogma what makes you feel guilty for living and even guiltier trying to find the escape hatch. All it is is this: sometimes, you gotta go just a little crazy. If people push you away, bite the motherfuckers. Like, with your goddamn teeth. Supersanity is the deadliest disease sweeping this great United States of America, and if you vaccinate yourself with a little crazy they wrap you in a blanket and toss you on the fire.

And that, suckers, is when those toes start to get red hot again...

Psychotic Reactions

A potpourri of thoughts. For instance:

--While I haven't seen it, there is no way "The Social Network" makes up for the myriad ways in which Facebook ruined my life. If we can have cars with built-in breathalizers, we need computer monitors with the same. Facebook chat and cheap rum mix like George W. Bush and the NAACP.

--Some entrepreneurial young person will put together a montage of Julia Roberts' face over the past fifteen years, and it will horrify you. Also, she played herself in Ocean's Twelve, a movie which is primarily blamed for my skin cancer.

--Blogger has a few suggestions for labels for this post, and they include the following: scooters, vacation, and fall. Prescient in all the right ways. Did you hear? The CEO of Segway died whilst riding a Segway. While not the literal definition of "irony," that's a pretty fucking close shave.

--It's fall in the Midwest, which can mean only one thing: hipsters in Uptown now feel vindicated for never taking that scarf off. Without knowing it, I just fulfilled one of Blogger's labels! Thanks for the tip, computer.

--My entire stereo system was built in the early 1990s; I either have to replace the entire setup or shell out big bucks for a new turntable. At times like this, I have to ask myself: "How much do I want to listen that goddamn 'Mountain' album?" And the answer is always "a lot."

--Looking back, the only celebrity deaths that have really made me feel shitty have been comedians. I didn't go to class for a week when Richard Pryor died and I called in sick the day after Greg Giraldo passed. I also did a shit-load of prescription drugs those days, so their legacy lives on!

--O.J. Simpson beats the murder rap. Kobe Bryant is acquitted of rape charges. Magic Johnson beats AIDS. I'm just saying.

That's it for tonight! Hooray!