How I Love The Angry

I'm not the kind of guy who makes friends easy. And that doesn't mean I hate people simply because we're all on the same city block, nor does it mean I will curse your good name from here to my grave just because I don't like the look of you. It just means, that I keep my guard up....and often. I stay defensive until I get a good feel for how a person is and interact with them accordingly.

Being the gruff, mangy sort, it takes people some time before they even decide to approach me. And I give great kudos to anyone who does. You gotta be a pretty open person to look at me and say, "Despite the pissed-off look, the constantly balled-up fists, and that big vein sticking out of your forehead, I'm still gonna hear you out." It takes guts, and I always respect guts. Still, even chumming up to me will only get you so far. At best, it'll get you to a place where I won't ignore you when you talk. If your end goal is the walls broken down and full on, open conversation, be prepared to put in work. If the interests match up, and the attitude clicks, then maybe someday in the future we'll be pretty tight. If that sounds a bit too tedious, that's cool too. I'll just keep the ol' guard up and we can do the acquaintance thing until we're sick of each other. I can save all my endearments for other people.

And boy, let me tell you people something; nothing endears me more to a person than to watch them get pissed. Not frustrated, not cranky, not stressed out or grouchy, but full on "I will strangle your fucking cat" pissed. If you are so angry that you could inflict bodily harm on whatever derisive son of a bitch put you in that mood, and I happen to see it, we'll be buddies from then on out.

And it concerns me that I get so excited to see people so mad, because I'm not sure it's normal. I'm pretty sure I'm not a sadist or anything. I get bummed when good people get hurt, and hate to see dogs and cats get turned into roadkill. But, I have no problems seeing good people blow their tops. Weird.

I think it's because seeing someone pissed kind of sets the bar. You have an idea of what kind of tolerances this person has. I mean, if someone loses their mind at a fast food attendant because there was an onion ring in his bag of fries, you're probably not going to give them too much shit about the tie they're wearing.

Also, if those tolerances happen to match yours, then it's kind of subconscious bonding. Part of you says "Oh good, I hate that shit too!" and you feel a bit more comfortable complaining about it. Think about it this way, if you went to work and said to someone, "I hate this place," and they looked at you confused and replied with "Really? I love it here. I can't wait to come to work every day," wouldn't it make you just a little suspicious? I know I would. Hell, I'd probably spend my time wondering if they were a kiss-ass, one of the Happies, or an alien. Either way, I couldn't deal with them (except maybe the alien......as long as he left his probing gear at home.) I t would just be too hard to relax around someone who doesn't complain. So, I guess I align myself with those that do.

The reason I bring this up is because at my place of employment, I got to make a friend.

This person I had kind of known since I started at this place. She's one of those people who's just ultra easy-going. Assertive when she needs to be, but usually just quiet and trying to to make the best with what she's got. Naturally, I give her a ton of crap. She's a good sport about it though, shakes her head and smiles like it's no big thing. Very mellow and very cool.

Then today, she got pissed. Some changes were made at the ol' day job, changes that affected her and she didn't know about, and she commented on it. Not the kind of commenting I would've done, mind you. She didn't threaten to combine broomsticks and rectums or anything like that. She simply made statements along the lines of "Well as long as I've worked here," and "When did we change...?" Very reasonable combinations of words and phrases.

But it was her tone! A deep dark edge in her voice that dropped her voice down three octaves and made it snarl. For about ten seconds, she sounded like Michael Clarke Duncan, it was damn near terrifying. And she doesn't go into shy and humble when she's pissed, oh no, she'll eyeball your ass. Fan-friggin-tastic.

And as I listened to her speak those reasonable combinations of words and phrases, in the spaces between the words, I swear I could hear the following:


"Why are you jacking with me like this? I do good things for this shithole. I come to work everyday and put up with you infantile pricks. I smile in the face of kids and their dipshit parents. And now you want to make my life harder? You know what? Fuck you!"

I'm sure my ad-libbing is a little more vicious than hers, but the substance had to have been the same. She had pain inscribed into her voice, and she used her words with the hope that when they soared through the air and approached the other person's eardrums, it would climax in a bitch slap.

So, I have a new chum. And I'm stoked. The chance to complain about stupid people and their stupid guidelines is one that I will never miss. Misery may love company, but fury craves an audience.

Gordon B. Hinckley R.I.P

On Sunday, January 26th, 2008, Gordon B. Hinckley, president of the LDS church passed away. He was 97 years old

And honestly, I'm a bit bummed out by this.

While there is no love lost between me and the Mormon religion, I still tip my hat to Mr. Hinckley. I found him to be decent, and a complete gentleman. I'm going to miss the guy.

A lot of you may be asking why an angry nihilist like myself would even be slightly regretful over the loss of a religious leader? Particularly a leader who heads the one religion in Utah that overshadows everything. Anyone who lives in this state knows that you can't scratch your nose without the church eventually finding out about it. And that if you choose to believe in anything other than Mormonism, more pressure is put on your life because of it. The Mormons can be a very forceful, albeit polite, entity when it comes to spreading the religiosity to us hell-bound nonconformists. As such, there's been a kind of uneasy truce between myself and the church. So, what in hell drives me to memorialize Hinckley?

Easy, the man had the right attitude.

Gordon was willing to acknowledge that there are people who don't buy into the LDS way of doing things, and had no problems with it. If someone wanted to reinterpret existence and morality in a different way, it was all cool. As long as you didn't go around killing folks, stealing things, or dumping your ego around on others, chances are good he would've even been your buddy.

And, he was willing to pass that message on to his flock. In many of his speeches (which I won't quote, simply because I don't know them verbatim,) he would tell the members of the church that it was cool if people didn't buy into the church, it didn't make them any less of a person. He said something along the lines of, "If you know someone who isn't Mormon, be their friend. And don't do it because you want to preach to them, just do it because everyone needs a chum. And maybe they know something that we don't, that could make us stronger Mormons."

And I can sit well with that ideology. There's nothing about the LDS church in it's legacy, or it's practice that will ever compel me sign up. However, I've met and known tons of the church's faithful who have been nothing but cool. Decent, well-meaning people who's only disagreement point with me is what they do with their Sundays. They've never challenged me on where I stand, and I've never torn their belief system apart. And it's worked out just fine.

I'm scared now that the person who replaces Mr. Hinckley won't have that sensibility. I'm worried he'll take the pro-active approach on the church. I worry that this attitude of integration and brotherhood will take a back-seat to the big push of recruiting new followers. It means that the dark side of Mormonism, that elitist notion of "we're right, you're not," may rear it's ugly head again. And that right there is what has constantly bothered me about the LDS, or any other aggressive religious idealism for that matter. If I am not one of your converts, I am an enemy to you. No ifs, ands, or buts about it. And I just don't have the time for more enemies, especially those who judge me merely on where I'm sitting in the afterlife.

So, Mormons and apostates alike, let us celebrate Mr. Hinckley, and his willingness to say that one religion may not be for everyone. In tribute to the man, I welcome all of you to be my friend.

Just leave all the church stuff at home.

Ghostface

Ghostface Killa, legendary MC of the Wu-Tang Clan, has recently commented on the disappointing sales of his latest album; The Big Doe Rehab. He feels that this slump was the result of illegal downloading, and was commented as saying;

"I got 115,000 friends on MySpace and I get 30,000 (copies sold) in the first week -- that's not good. I know a lot of y'all got (the album) but you downloaded it."

Now, I'm sure you all know how I feel about piracy, so I'm not gonna retread old ground. Nor will I start ripping on Ghostface for his opinion, since I dig me some Wu. No, what interested me was the subtext behind his thinking.

You see, his type of music is designed to appeal to a certain demographic, the lower-income urbanites. His lyrics often refer to difficult times and hardships with living in a huge city and having limited finances. People getting shot, growing up poor, this is all common lyrical fodder for GFK. And while I'm sure that there are tons of people in various economic and social demographics who dig on the man's work (myself included,) the primary fan base for his type of work lies mainly with the inner-city African American. I think we can all agree on that right?
So, if an album designed to target this demographic slumped, and if the result was indeed high traffic illegal downloading, that can mean only one thing....

The inner city denizens have computers.

It means that even in a lower economic environment like the ghetto, people possess a computer of some sort, and have a basic understanding of how to use the thing. At the very least, it means they can install and operate software, manage folders, and transfer files without too many problems. Even if they're using a device as user-friendly as an iPod, there's still a bit of technical know-how to get the songs onto the thing. The ghetto is computer literate.

And personally, I think that's fabulous. It says to me that the bar has truly been leveled and that access to information and technology is finally within everyone's grasp. And many might jump on stereotypes and say that all these people do is steal music, check Myspace, and watch porn. Whilst I doubt that, even if it was true it doesn't mater because the resources are still within arms reach. It means that the days of learning to do word-processing on outdated Apple II's because the school couldn't afford anything better are disappearing behind us. And damnit that's a good thing. I first popped my cherry on one of those things, and didn't develop a single idea of what a computer was capable of. Now, it's like the lights have been turned on, and I can actually use one of these things to accomplish goals instead of just browsing smut. And yes, I consider making half-assed music and pissy blogs a goal, thank you very much.

So Ghostface. Mr. Killa, I know that you must be a little discouraged by making only 30,000 sales in the first week of the album's debut (damn, what I could do if I got 30,000 sales period!) And I know it worries you that your popularity might be waining. But consider the good that is occurring for your listeners. Today they might be downloading music. Tomorrow, they might pursue graphic arts, they might become web developers, or computer admins. Hell, they might just make a Wu-influenced album on a freeware music recording app, and it could all be because of you.

Martin Luther King Jr. Day, Revisted

Friends, another Martin Luther King day is now upon us. A good tribute to a very cool guy. I think regardless of what bolt of cloth people come from, everyone can kind of respect what the guy was trying to do. Looking past the protests and keen speeches, all the guy wanted to do was level the playing field. Just trying to keep things square amongst folk. If you get on the boat, so do I, and if the boat sinks, we sink together.

My original intention was to pull something from the old "House Of Hell," that I wrote a few years back on Martin Luther King day. Because I wanted to pay homage to the guy, but I didn't want to actually think of anything new. Suffice to say the original text, which I'm pretty sure involved beating Tom Cruise with a baseball bat, is no longer on that website. And that's probably for the best. Sometimes, old ideas just don't cut the mustard anymore.

Instead, I decided to celebrate the day by reading the transcription of the "I Have A Dream Speech." You know, the famous one he delivered on the Lincoln Memorial? The one that every single news channel and PBS special has to show clips from? Yeah, that one.

Funny thing is, I only knew about that speech from television specials. Which means, I only knew what had been condensed into a quick and easy package for my consumption. I had never actually read the thing. And now, that I have actually combed through every single word, I have newfound respect for the man.

You see I, probably much like you, treated that speech as MLK's Utopian vision of the future. Lots of peace with no violence or hatred or discrimination, you know, very Star Trek. Everyone loves everyone and works together to build a new world.

And I don't really buy into Utopia. I've got nothing against the idea, and if it shows up one day I'll definitely hop in for the ride. But to me, the notion is flawed. It doesn't work with egotistical animalistic types like us. So, I had always tipped my hat to MDK for trying to reach Utopia, but always figured the guy was a trifle too optimistic for the real world.

But, now that I've read the speech, I know the truth. Martin Luther King wasn't preaching Utopia, Martin Luther King was pissed.

Allow me to quote one of my favorite passages:

"In a sense we have come to our nation's capital to cash a check. When the architects of our republic wrote the magnificent words of the Constitution and the Declaration of Independence, they were signing a promissory note to which every American was to fall heir. This note was a promise that all men, yes, black men as well as white men, would be guaranteed the unalienable rights of life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. It is obvious today that America has defaulted on this promissory note insofar as her citizens of color are concerned. Instead of honoring this sacred obligation, America has given the Negro people a bad check, a check which has come back marked "insufficient funds."

Comparing the plight of the black man to a defaulted check? Fucking awesome! Martin Luther Kind wasn't talking unity, he was feeling screwed over. Him and his kin had gotten a raw deal, and he was out to vent his frustration. And what's better is he did it with some of the most blunt and brutal words imaginable. That, right there, is skill. To drop some wisdom that is both intelligent and vicious. It's like getting the most polite bitch slap across your face.

So, in the true spirit of Martin Luther King, I shan't preach to you about harmony nor peace. I won't suggest you stop being driven crazy by the world, or by the people in it. I don't ask that you love your fellow man.

I just ask that you give your fellow man the benefit of the doubt.

Go out there and try to assume the best about the people around you. If you see someone who is ethnic, gothic, potentially homosexual, or whatever makes you nervous, try to avoid the stereotypes. Try and treat people like people, and avoid the temptation to associate them with terrorists, rapists, criminals, perverts, blah blah blah.

If a person is a sucky human being, chances are good that they'll let you know in some way or another very rapidly, so presume the best. You ain't gotta love them, but do give them a chance.

I say to you today, my friends, so even though we face the difficulties of today and tomorrow, I still have a dream. It is a dream deeply rooted in the American dream.

"I have a dream that one day this nation will rise up and live out the true meaning of its creed: "We hold these truths to be self-evident: that all men are created equal. I have a dream that my four little children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin but by the content of their character."

-Martin Luther King Jr.-

I'm A Weak Revolutionary

A couple things about me: I hate Wal-Mart and I love French bread. I find Wal-Mart to be an industry designed to destroy smaller, independently operated businesses and treats it's internal infrastructure like slave labor. And on the flip side of things, I find French bread to be absolutely delicious, with the perfect balance of crunchy crust and warm, tender innards. And usually, both just existed as two random facts involving myself.

But, like things tend to do, my worlds collided.

Me and Mrs. Boogie made a stop by Wal-Mart last night. Not with any kind of love or loyalty, mind you, in fact we were both pretty disgusted with ourselves. But, when two people are tired and would otherwise have to take twice as long in order to go to two different stores for a handful of items, standards tend to get lowered in the name of convenience.

So, I'm wandering through Wal-Mart, feeling a little guilty, when I stumble across the French Bread rack. As is my habit, I give it a thorough molesting. And wouldn't you know it, the bread was warm! It had that soft quality to it, with just the right amount of crunch to the crust, it was outstanding. I'm sure you people know how hard it is to get a decent loaf of the French goodness, but this was at nine o'clock at night! It's impossible to even get an edible slab of bread at that time of night, much less one that's all warm and toasty. So, I grabbed a loaf and went about my business.

Whilst driving home, me and the missus started ripping of slabs of our newly acquired baked booty. And, while it hurts me to say it, I must confess, it was the best damn loaf of French bread I've ever had in my life.

The crust had just enough thickness to make it pliable, but it was smooth enough not to flake all over the place. And the center, oh the center was fantastic! You could actually taste the grains in the crumb. I've never been able to do that before, and it was marvelous.

What happened here? I usually hit the local places for my bakery needs, because local business always put in the necessary time and effort for good breads, and usually have some traditional recipe that has stood the test of time. Yet, here I am, fawning over bread from a big box chain and singing it's praises. Did they lace the bread with crack? Am I eating equal parts yeast, flour, and ecstasy?

Probably not. What has most likely happened is that I stumbled on some decent baked goods, and sold my soul to the man. I caved people. Traded in my ideals for cooked yeast. I went in fighting against the corporate beast, and ended up becoming Ephialtes.

I'm so ashamed.

Understanding Adam Savage

A few months ago I was reading an interview with Adam Savage of Mythbusters fame. It was a pretty insightful and cool read, but there was one thing I just couldn't wrap my head around. He said something along the lines of "seeing old-school carpenters sitting with their morning coffee and thinking about how that would just be the life."

And I could never figure that out.

I've got nothing against carpenters, hell I think most carpenters do some fantastic work. But, the job has zero personal appeal to me. It's not a job I don't think I could do comfortably, or do well. So, I just couldn't figure out what Adam Savage was so entranced by.

At least until today. For you see, today, I found my carpenters.

Whilst chilling at my local Borders, I got to listen to some live tunes. It was this group of old folks with some acoustic instruments were just grooving along to some old-school standards. A little jazz, some bluegrass, a bit of celtic, and tons of folk. And it wasn't anything original or revolutionary, just a bunch of old friends making noise in a public space.

And it was perfect.

There was no concerns over image or musical skill and complexity. There was no pressure to achieve any kind of fame and glory. They wore comfortable clothes and played whatever they felt like playing. If nobody knew the song, they figured it out on the way. If someone, wanted to play another instrument, they'd swap with someone else, and figure out how to play the thing during the song. Whenever someone screwed up a line, or botched a solo, everyone chuckled, shrugged, and rolled with it. There was no "getting the parts right," or making sure everyone was in time or tune or whatever. If you're having a musical problem, you get through the tune and deal with it later.

Even the audience didn't matter to these guys. They'd sit and talk with each other between songs until everyone was ready to play something else. It didn't matter if an audience was watching them or not. They were going to talk guitars and give each other shit until they were good and ready to play another tune. It was fantastic!

You see, I'm someone who runs over every note and beat with a fine tooth comb. Constantly, I worry about how a song is flowing, whether or not things are in tune, if I have enough measures to cover an intro and a set of verses.....blah blah blah. At this point in the game, I couldn't imagine taking my sweet time between performing songs, for fear the audience might get bored.

So to watch a bunch of old-school guys play like that, well it was just too cool. I kept thinking to myself, "How cool would that be? To just play whatever with a bunch of chums, and not care about the end result?" To be past that point where you're so comfortable with your place in life, that you can jam without thinking about how well your doing. To just play music because it's fun.

I know, a lot of you probably figured this out a long time ago. What can I say? I'm a little slow. But, I'm catching up. I can finally understand what Mr. Savage meant, and I can definitely see the appeal. Hell, maybe someday, I'll be able to make a little good-time tuneage like my new buddies at Borders.

Chances are good, I'll still be an obsessive perfectionist, but at least I have something to shoot for.