Archive for March, 2017

A Partial History Of Public Racism

March 30th, 2017

Let’s tell a story in three parts. The first part takes place in 1983, on a September game of Monday Night Football. Howard Cosell, an broadcasting institution even then, commented on a breakaway play by Redskins wideout Alvin Garrett. Cosell referred to Garrett as a “little monkey”. The exact quote was “That little monkey gets loose, doesn’t he?”

It was a controversial comment and even though Cosell defended himself and what he said as not being racist, he quit Monday Night Football after the 1983 season.

 

A few years later, CBS Sports football analyst Jimmy “The Greek” Snyder was fired from his job at The NFL Today after talking to a reporter about how blacks were superior athletes to whites and why. I’ll go ahead and post what he said. . .

 

The black is a better athlete to begin with because he’s been bred to be that way, because of his high thighs and big thighs that goes up into his back, and they can jump higher and run faster because of their bigger thighs and he’s bred to be the better athlete because this goes back all the way to the Civil War when during the slave trade … the slave owner would breed his big black to his big woman so that he could have a big black kid…

 

Ooof. CBS fired him almost immediately after that interview was broadcast.

 

If you want to be charitable, you could say that neither Cosell or Snyder were racist. You could say that Cosell was enthusiastic about Garrett’s playmaking abilities, point to his history of championing civil rights, take him at his word that he used “monkey” as a term of endearment for both white and black athletes and it was a pet name to tease his grandchildren with. You could say that Snyder wasn’t racist, take his African-American coworkers at CBS at their word that they believed him to not be racist, believe him to be a relatively uneducated man talking out of his ass about a complicated, historically painful subject that he didn’t know much about.

 

These are two examples from the world of 1980’s sports but not the only ones I could mention. Now let’s go to the present day and the political arena and the comments of Fox News pundit Bill O’Reilly. Here’s the clip from earlier this week:

 

 

This is the kind of thing that would have forced a guy out of his job in the 80’s and it should have. But we’ve allowed our society to become so desensitized to the insults of our neighbors. And why? Because people throw tantrums against being politically correct. As if it’s so hard to not be crude and insulting. Can’t you just be nice? Can’t you at least disagree with a modicum of respect? Not this guy, and not on the Fox News platform. So he totally dismisses the comments of a 78-year-old congresswoman, makes some crack about her looks and half-heartedly tries to clean it up with a “love ya” at the end like this is all in good fun. Attack an old lady on her looks, compare her hair to that of a dead entertainer’s and act like you’re above the discussion.

 

I’d like to think that if I had the good fortune that Bill O’Reilly had, his platform, his reach and following, I could do something more constructive with it than he does. I’d like to think he could too, but he can’t because he’s an obvious bully who’s scared of the other in society. He can’t deal with people who aren’t like him so he denigrates them to lower them in his and other’s eyes. Fox News has given him power and responsibility as a broadcaster and he keeps showing that he can’t handle it. So why should he get to maintain that position?

Some Internet Searches I Have Done

March 29th, 2017

For context read this story first.

 

Here is a partial list of internet searches that I have done. I want to go ahead and list these before I clear my browser history, as one should do once in a while for maintenance purposes.

 

  • “Trump approval ratings”
  • “Aaron Neville”
  • “Demi Lovato nudes”
  • “Aaron Neville nudes”
  • “Everybody wants an egg”
  • “Rand Paul” + “three-dick mouth”
  • “Rand Paul” + “Pink Floyd fan”
  • “Rand Paul” + “never heard Pink Floyd’s ‘Animals’ album, apparently”
  • “Gillian Jacobs single?”
  • “Gillian Jacobs looking”
  • “weather whitesville ky”
  • “Mitch McConnell racist”
  • “Mitch McConnell did 9/11”
  • “Tinder for pc when?”
  • “can’t afford smartphone”
  • “can’t afford fancy date”
  • “Little Caesar’s $5 pepperoni” + “pussy-eating marathon”
  • “Jason Chaffetz” + “chastity lock”
  • “gas prices”
  • “Paul Ryan looks like Eddie Munster”
  • “Paul Ryan douchebag”
  • “Paul Ryan fuckstick”
  • “urban dictionary”
  • “Paul Ryan gangraped by sea monsters”
  • “Ivanka Trump stockholm syndrome”
  • “Matt Bevin” + “secret lizard with humanoid skeleton”
  • “Matt Bevin” + “Bizarro politician”
  • “Kentucky bizarro world”
  • “Kentucky where democracy goes to die”
  • “UK-UNC box score”

    Image search: “Fleetwood Mac”

Music Is Not A Liar

March 28th, 2017

I’ve had relationships compromised. With food, with my family, with sex, love and romance. But not music. Music has always been there for me when I needed it. Even in the silence, music is in my mind and I can make it up in my head. I can make it go anywhere I want to go. I am a dreamer and a composer and it is the wish to bring the sounds in my head to a format where others can listen is a driving force in my life.

 

I will try to make a list of my favorite album for the first 29 years of my life. I don’t want to get into the best music of 2008-onward but I don’t listen to much of it.

 

1978: The Sensational Alex Harvey Band, Rock Drill

1979: Sparks, No. 1 In Heaven

1980: Queen, The Game or Prince, Dirty Mind

1981: The Tubes, The Completion Backwards Principle

1982: Sparks, Angst In My Pants

1983: Tom Waits, Swordfishtrombones or Madonna, self-titled

1984: Run-DMC, self-titled

1985: The Tubes, Love Bomb

1986: Prince, Parade

1987: The Dukes Of Stratosphear, Chips From The Chocolate Fireball

1988: Public Enemy, It Takes A Nation Of Millions To Hold Us Back

1989: Pixies, Doolittle

1990: Public Enemy, Fear Of A Black Planet

1991: De La Soul, De La Soul Is Dead or Pixies, Trompe le Monde

1992: AC/DC, Live

1993: Nirvana, In Utero or Stereolab, Transient Random Noise Bursts With Announcements, or Frank Zappa, The Yellow Shark

1994: Soundgarden, Superunknown, or Nine Inch Nails, The Downward Spiral

1995: Tricky, Maxinquaye or Ol’ Dirty Bastard, Return To The 36 Chambers: The Dirty Version

1996: Cibo Matto, Viva La Woman

1997: Björk, Homogenic

1998: OutKast, Aquemini

1999: Os Mutantes, Everything Is Possible: The Best Of Os Mutantes

2000: Radiohead, Kid A

2001: Daft Punk, Discovery or N.E.R.D, In Search Of…

2002: Sparks, Lil’ Beethoven

2003: Junior Senior, D-D-Don’t Stop The Beat

2004: Magma, K.A. (Köhntarkösz Anteria)

2005: LCD Soundsystem, self-titled

2006: Sparks, Hello Young Lovers

2007: Black Francis, Bluefinger

 

More Cakes Than I Can Handle

March 26th, 2017

Last night, I went to Louisville to see Lil Debbie. If you don’t know Lil Debbie, you should do some Youtubing and Googling and thank me later. She’s on tour through the spring and last night came to Louisville. Did a concert at Trixie’s Entertainment Complex. Which is another story altogether.

 

I thought Trixie’s used to be a strip club. Like it was a strip club that was converted over to a concert venue. I didn’t know it was both a strip club and a concert venue, and it might be my new favorite place to watch shows.

 

You walk in and on the left is the strip club, while the concert venue is on the right. So if you’re watching a concert, and one of the middle acts isn’t doing it for you, you can head over to the strip club side and watch dancers. They wear g-strings and pasties, so the customer can’t have everything.

 

I paid $15 for a hip-hop show headlined by Lil Debbie, who has a song called “Bake A Cake”. She played it last night. Debbie has a baked goods business called Cakes By The Pound. Dancers were walking into the concert side to watch her perform her set. I got more than $15 value worth of cakes for my eyes with all the g-string asses walking around.

 

Lil Debbie has cakes too but you have to watch her music videos to see it. She wore a gold lame skirt and a red tube top last night. So that was part of the appeal for me but I liked her attitude, too. Like I’m attracted to her but I’m also attracted to the way she lives her life. Living the good life, on your terms. Hang out with your bitches, smoke good weed and drink booze and empower your friends.

 

You can see it by the sheer number of women in the crowd going for Debbie. They were in it to win it. It was a typical hip-hop show for the most part, with a lot of dudes, being backed up by their dudes. But the headliner is this little Italian-American girl and her DJ, no hype wo/man, and she’s brought the whole crowd in and they’re singing along with every word! People who came over two hours away from Ohio to see this girl. Me, who came two hours from Whitesville to see her.

 

It was my birthday (almost). I like a good show on my birthday. In 2016, I went to see Magma for my 38th birthday in Chicago. Took a Greyhound bus round-trip. On my 30th birthday, me and a few friends went to Chicago to see the Boredoms. Today I am 39 years old. And I got this photo with Lil Debbie.

Sit and spin, haters.

 

It’s all about love. And DMSR. That’s a Prince song. Dance. Music. Sex. Romance. But it all ends with love.

 

I gotta go back to Trixie’s to see more concerts. That’s a great place.

Weight Loss Challenge!

March 22nd, 2017

I went to the store and stocked up on sugar-free Jello for tomorrow. Thursday is a liquid-only diet, and sugar-free Jello makes the cut. Around 4:30 Friday morning, my mother and I will trek on down to Bowling Green so I can get scoped by a doctor, who will be putting a camera down my throat. There will be anesthesia, which is why my mom is coming along to drive me back. I hope we get breakfast after because I’ll have to go at least thirty-two hours without solid food. Any meal will taste good after that. Gas station sausage biscuits never looks more like nectar of the gods after thirty-two hours without solids.

 

(Somebody should do a jingle to the tune of “Sugaree” by the Grateful Dead. “Shake it, take it sugar-free!” I’m telling you, you might sell a few dozen sugar-free items that way.)

 

(Not like the Dead needs more money.)

 

This is all part of the WEIGHT LOSS CHALLENGE 2017. I’m getting treatment at a facility in Bowling Green and the plan is for me to eventually get bariatric surgery. I have to have weight checks once a month, take a few classes, meet a nutritionist, get a mental health evalution. If I do everything I’m supposed to do, I can be ready for surgery in August or September.

 

They’ve already made me drink barium and take x-rays of my chest and stomach. I drank it very fast through a straw. Have you ever had barium? They make you swallow a cup of crystals that make you want to burp and belch but you’re not supposed to and then they have you drink the barium. You have to not eat anything after midnight the day you come in, like if you’re doing blood work. I’m getting familiar with these processes.

 

I feel nervous about the idea of surgery. That there won’t be any going back after that. And my life will never be the same. And the relationships I had with food I won’t be able to have anymore. There are a lot of moments when I feel cold and scared. I am a cold, frightened neglected child just waiting for the terror to end.

 

Where did that come from? What was that just now?

 

I can’t develop thick skin. I’m losing layers of it one by one. Soon there will be nothing protecting me from the elements. Even my clothes will hurt to touch me. My shoulders will feel a chill I can’t explain. I will go to bed and wait for it all to blow over again but it comes daily, sometimes multiple times. The bad man is in the White House. Why couldn’t you people just make the bad man go away?

What Happened Here?

March 19th, 2017

You are wreckage. What happened here? How did you get here?

 

 

You had a thing that you loved doing. You had your passion. You did it because you HAD to do it. And when somebody has to do something, that’s all the reason they need. They don’t stress too hard on what other people think.

 

You said to yourself, “no one will miss me if I stop doing this, the world will continue”. Which is true. But did you stop to think whether or not YOU would continue.

 

More importantly, you took this major plank out of your life. What did you replace it with? You didn’t. That’s just it. You don’t play shows anymore. You don’t have a band anymore. You don’t stand on stage and sing anymore. What happened here? Why did you stop? Who cared what they thought? Why do you care so much about “them” anyway?

 

 

The closer I got to exposing my true self, the more I felt out of step with the world around me. I was a great jester. I am a funny guy when I want to be. You ever hear that song “Tears of a clown”? There you go. I don’t want to put myself out there in bars and clubs while people are trying to have a good time and have a few drinks, pick up somebody to have sex with, shoot pool with, talk trash with, take selfies with. I am not the good time entertainer for them anymore and I don’t want to be. They’re not wrong for wanting to have a good time, just as I am not wrong for not wanting to not play for them. When our paths have crossed it has not gone well. They talk to me, they always want to have a dialogue with me. They puncture the atmosphere that I try to create. It’s too uncomfortable for them. 

 

I’m not an entertainer anymore. What I want to do isn’t feasible. Anything can stop me now. 

 

Just Relax And Enjoy It

March 19th, 2017

A long time ago, a politician in Texas once remarked that rape was like a hurricane and “if it’s inevitable, just relax and enjoy it”. His name was Clayton Williams, and he was running for Governor at the time. It was 1990, and he had a sizable lead over his opponent Ann Richards. The remarks led to backlash against Williams, as did allegations that he had visited a brothel while in college. On election day, Williams was toast, his lead in the polls evaporated and he crawled back into the world of oil, natural gas, philanthropy, and political fundraising.

 

Clayton Williams would have been perfect for 2017 politics. Went to a brothel, joked about victims enjoying rape? That would get him on the bill at CPAC. Maybe even as keynote speaker.

 

I’ve had a difficult time with all this. I need to be protected from rich people who think I’m a drain on society. Take a moment or two and read the New Yorker story about the connection between Trump, Steve Bannon and the Mercer family. The piece focuses mostly on the Mercer family, especially patriarch Robert. He is a billionaire kook. What do I mean by kook: he thinks that most Americans won’t be negatively affected by nuclear war. Oh, there might be a few deaths but mainly people will be just fine and it might even strengthen people. Like maybe even people might grow an immunity to nuclear exposure or something.

 

Jesus, lord. . .

 

Here we are, caught in a perfect storm. Living in a surreal nightmare that has been years in the making. While we go about our daily business, weirdos form think tanks and spend money to make things happen that will affect the quality of our lives. Then you find out about them and their worldview and you realize that they are fucking twisted and their thoughts are anti-social. Imagine the guy on the subway who touches himself while staring at women, shooting upskirt videos on his phone of unsuspecting women while walking up and down busy streets. Take that pervert, give him two billion dollars. What’s his worldview like? If he wanted to influence American policy, how would he try to do it?

 

The only way, the only fucking way, this Trump thing could ever have worked is if Trump had the very best and the very brightest people working in his administration and he listened to them. He doesn’t and he doesn’t. His chief strategist is a magazine editor/self-proclaimed Leninist who wants to dismantle the state and who’s favorite book is an incredibly racist French novel about Europe beating back a swarm of Muslim immigrants lead by a shit eater.

 

HOW MANY LENINISTS MAKE $750,000 A YEAR ANYWAY?

 

The sheer amount of lunatics, racists, kooks and incompetents in this cabinet are staggering. They got there by patronage, paying their way in. They bought a ticket and are taking a ride. You better believe the Mercer family have a seat at the table, even if they’re not in any official position. The weirdness is staggering. And it trickles down to the Congress, a Republican-led quagmire. More and more we’re seeing the veneer of normalcy flake away. Clayton Williams was a stone-cold prophet. Now we’re starting to see the freak flag fly, and not in a good way.

 

 

I’m Done

March 16th, 2017

I think I’m done as a viable, functioning human being. I’m still living and breathing but mentally I checked out a long time ago and have been on autopilot ever since.

 

I have an addictive personality. I don’t know why I’m just figuring this out. You don’t have to be an alcoholic or a junkie to be an addict, and I’ve always associated addictive personality with drug and alcohol addiction. You can get addicted to gambling or sex or food or or work or television or video games or exercise or  social media or pornography. Or I could.

 

The other day I announced finally that I was seeking treatment at a weight loss clinic so I can get bariatric surgery. The surgery is intense and will require a total lifestyle change. My lifestyle is. . . pretty horrible. I’m filled with shame and secrecy. Depression, anxiety and anger.

 

If you’re an alcoholic or a drug addict, people understand it even if they don’t excuse it. They might not like it, but they’ve seen it enough that it’s common. Somebody who’s addicted to junk food like me just needs to get off it and change his diet.

 

Two things: Changing my diet to a healthy one sounds like the worst, hardest thing you can do. Go to the top of Mount Everest and when you get there, light a stick of dynamite and put it in your mouth until it explodes and rips your body into pieces. I’m not a mountaineer. Why would I do that? Also, I’m always afraid of some unseen “They/them” and what “they/them” think about me and what I’m doing. I’m a riddle wrapped in neurosis containing an enigma.

 

I don’t want to go out anymore. I want to stay in the warm womb of my bed and eat junk food until it kills me. I can’t believe it hasn’t already. I’m supposed to have a mental health evaluation in May. I can’t imagine it will go well.

 

If I’m not done as a person, I have so much more work to do. I could have the surgery in August or September if I do everything I’m supposed to do. If I pass the mental health evalution for example. They may agree with my diagnosis that I am unfit to have the surgery. I can’t handle it. It’s too much pressure. Too many changes that I can’t make. I can’t change my world that fast.

Reaching Across (The Stiff-Arm)

March 13th, 2017

In this social media age, how you say something is half the problem, and the only half you control. Perception informs reality. What I think you said becomes what you said because that’s what I think you said. Strip away real world interaction where you would have to look and talk to one another and everything we say to each other is boiled down to words on a screen left for the other to interpret as they will. That is the other half of the problem, their interpretation.

When echo chambers collide

I’ve given this some thought because some of the more considerate left-wing people out there are wondering how to reach out to the Republican voter, or the Trump fan, or the self-proclaimed “conservative”. You’ll notice that I put “conservative” in quotes, there. I did that in order to distinguish between conservatives, who have a set of ideals and ideas in terms of policy and ways of governance, as opposed to “conservatives”, the kind who like making liberals mad and things that make liberals mad as if politics is some sort of Kentucky Wildcats-Louisville Cardinals bullshit.

 

The only thing I’ve been able to figure out is to distinguish the Republican voter from Republican leadership. Because when the bullet hit the bone, Republican voters will feel the hurt just as badly if not more. But you can’t say that the GOP is fucking up when they introduce legislation to deregulate coal companies, gut the EPA, make it easier for mentally ill people to buy guns, make it easier for employers to ask for DNA samples of their workers, etc. . . no, you can’t do that, because the little Republican snowflakes take it personally, as if you said they fucked up themselves. Just now, I referred to them as snowflakes because I’m filled with spite. . . because the voters fucked up in November and can’t see it. At least not yet.

 

On January 19th, the day before Trump’s inauguration, I went to see Steve Earle in Nashville. He played a long show, with a lot of in-between-song banter, mostly about the situation with the country as it stands right now. And I distinctly recall him saying near the end of the night that “people get the kind of government they deserve”. It’s been almost two months so I might be fuzzy on the exact wording, but when he said that I thought “no, no they don’t. Nobody gets what they deserve.”  Nobody deserves whatever is about to happen between now and the end of Trump’s presidency (whenever that may be), not the people who voted for him, or against him, or the people who didn’t vote at all, whether they didn’t have time to or because they couldn’t. Nobody.

 

There may be a better way to reach out to the other side, but I doubt you’ll get far with “conservatives” because they are still beating the drum of drinking coffee cups filled with liberal tears and posting pictures of the electoral map from 2016. It hasn’t hit them personally yet. Or maybe it has and they’re too ignorant to realize it. Either way, it’s hard to reach out to people who would stiff arm you at every opportunity.

 

Of course, there’s always open hostility. Whatever you think is best for the situation.

Guilty Conscience

March 11th, 2017

My WWE Network subscription ran out yesterday.

It was a gift from a friend who believed it was a fantastic thing, and if one is a WWE fan then he would be right. I have in a past life been a WWE fan. Before Election Day 2016. Before Linda McMahon became the head of Trump’s Small Business Administration.
I felt sick about having that damn subscription and stopped using it after November. Normalizing a monster like Trump belongs at the feet of people like Vince McMahon, who held two early Wrestlemanias at Trump Plaza in Atlantic City and letting Trump be the focus of the main event of Wrestlemania in 2007. That was the year Umaga wrestled Bobby Lashley in a Trump vs. McMahon hair match, with Stone Cold Steve Austin as referee. Donald Trump is in the WWE Hall of Fame, if it means anything.

 

Donald Trump is Vince McMahon’s idiot friend, and that guy is in the White House right now. Not to say McMahon is all that brilliant but he has at least eaten his own failures as opposed to Trump who’s failures are owned by other people, who rack up and pay for his losses.

 

There is more wrestling out there to enjoy and appreciate. At one point last year, I had compiled a list of my favorite matches from the first seven months of 2016. It got to be a long list, over 150 or more. It consumed my time and energy. I enjoyed it but I feel embarrassed now, seeing what the end of 2016 brought us. I really thought it couldn’t end so terribly. I got distracted in my cake and circus, and I have a guilty conscience about it.

 

I might be going crazy while the world burns itself. While bad people hurt those who can’t fight back. I feel powerless and any rage I could muster would go nowhere. Sometimes I muster the ability to resist in concrete ways. I’m on the phone with my representatives a lot more now. I am more awake then I was a year ago, and and certainly more than I was two years ago. But I envy those who are still sleeping in their bubbles. I envy the privileged. I am jealous and there’s two deadly sins right there. I already have gluttony, sloth and lust down pat. Anger isn’t even a sin anymore, it’s a bassline to life. If I were prideful, I’d have all the basis covered.

 

Wrestlemania is coming in a few weeks. Mary and the Colonel used to go every year. Since the Colonel passed away, Mary has gone without him. She has friends in wrestling now. She knows these larger-than-life characters as people… these blown-up one dimensional TV characters are another thing altogether when out of the limelight. The world is a strange place, and once upon a time I would want to know that world but not anymore. The fantasy dies behind the curtain. You don’t want to know who’s a dickhead in real life. Never meet your heroes. Never meet anyone. Meeting people is terrible.

 

Vince McMahon can drink my piss.