A Moment Past, and What Do You Have to Say For It?
- Hello. If I haven't said it already, I think garage rock is the greatest thing in the whole wide world. The purest form of expression, aside from the professional printed novel and the 15-year old's poem next to his algebra notes.
Advert: Listen to Little Steven's Underground Garage when and if you can. If you live close enough to New York City, you can hear it on 104.3 FM, Sunday nights from 10-12. If not, go to the site; they keep the episodes recorded. And if you're reading this now, go to the site, and go to episode archives and listen to the one titled "Louie, Louie." Not only is there terrific music to be listened to, but between the first and second song, there's this beautiful prose about the freedom of the cinema to young America.
Fuck you if you don't listen to me, and fuck you if you don't like it.
I interrupted my Spanish homework to tell you this? Of course I did. I had to. I have no purpose to learn the Spanish language as it is for multiple reasons. It's occurred to me that I cannot retain the knowledge I've gained in this class because I've been demotivated to do so. That's what seven-nine years in the same class will do to anybody. Not to mention the ridiculous prefix and suffix changes, particularly in the preterite and imperfect tenses. I cannot recall what 'poner' and 'poder' mean.
What good is it to become a well-rounded person? To a writer, maybe. But otherwise, I am sick of overachievers. I'm sick of people telling me to stop being envious. I'm sick of people who outspokenly state their disinterest in the world with half-hearted sincerity.
- Where did the places to go go? What happened to the place where all the kids could get together and just hang out? Cliques have existed forever, but became a mark in the 50's, it seems. If entertainment has taught me anything, nerds and bullies could still hang out in the same malt shop in the 50's. They'd be hassled, but it was still amiable as long as everybody was singing. That's unrealistic, don't listen to that. But there were places where kids could go see local bands. We have too much access to bands, and I think that's why so much of our universe has been homogenized. Nobody works to like a band anymore. There are no more stories about the time you got onto the fan bus, were left at a diner, and had to hitch-hike to get to the joint only to arrive at sound of the opening chord/drum solo of their big new hit. There's still band nights at churches and VFW's, but they're all influenced by each other. The same angry gents, the one riot grrl act, all with paragraph-long names and song titles. Do any of them have their boom-box taped demos with them for five bucks each? No. Just go to the website; their purevolume or myspace profile. That's when you know what to do.
That's when they become your 'favorite' bands that you only have that one song you really like. You couldn't give a flying fuck about their influences. More likely than not, it's Green Day's "American Idiot" album, and that's it. Everyone has the crunching guitars, the relentlessly controlled drum work, and the subscription to Guitar World. Nobody fucking wails anymore. Everyone has the screaming singer, or the nasal-whiny guy who insists on stretching words for miles even though they shouldn't.
Nobody works! Nobody jangles, nobody pops, nobody rocks. Nobody Nobody goes out to like something. It'll come to you, and it'll be safe, and there's nothing to be afraid of. What's their name? Oh, that's cute. Who's in the band? Oh, we hung out once at this kid's party. Who are they like? Oh, I like them, maybe I'll listen to their demo on myspace. Sure, I have no right to recall and reach for nostalgia that is not mine to even share with those who do. I cannot even claim access to it. But I can dream. I can dream for a little more community, and a little more innovation. Less self-parody. That would be great. If we could all take the tongues out of our mouths, and keep them moving so that we're prepared to have something to say.
- Though, I could not think of a better state to be in than one that is outspoken. And that state must be in the greatest nation in the world. And I think of all the places in the world, the greatest nation is Imagination.
- Have a good night, and listen pure.
- I love you with all my heart.
[At a car wash, Comic Book Guy elaborates on the personal value of his bumper stickers to an attendant.]
Comic Book Guy: "I insist you take special care with my collection of valuable and humorous bumper stickers, particularly this one [points to 'My Other Car is the Millennium Falcon'], which was given to me by a Harrison Ford look-a-like."
Car Wash Employee: "No habla Ingles, señor."
[I copied and pasted this from a site; shouldn't it be 'hablo' Ingles?]
Advert: Listen to Little Steven's Underground Garage when and if you can. If you live close enough to New York City, you can hear it on 104.3 FM, Sunday nights from 10-12. If not, go to the site; they keep the episodes recorded. And if you're reading this now, go to the site, and go to episode archives and listen to the one titled "Louie, Louie." Not only is there terrific music to be listened to, but between the first and second song, there's this beautiful prose about the freedom of the cinema to young America.
Fuck you if you don't listen to me, and fuck you if you don't like it.
I interrupted my Spanish homework to tell you this? Of course I did. I had to. I have no purpose to learn the Spanish language as it is for multiple reasons. It's occurred to me that I cannot retain the knowledge I've gained in this class because I've been demotivated to do so. That's what seven-nine years in the same class will do to anybody. Not to mention the ridiculous prefix and suffix changes, particularly in the preterite and imperfect tenses. I cannot recall what 'poner' and 'poder' mean.
What good is it to become a well-rounded person? To a writer, maybe. But otherwise, I am sick of overachievers. I'm sick of people telling me to stop being envious. I'm sick of people who outspokenly state their disinterest in the world with half-hearted sincerity.
- Where did the places to go go? What happened to the place where all the kids could get together and just hang out? Cliques have existed forever, but became a mark in the 50's, it seems. If entertainment has taught me anything, nerds and bullies could still hang out in the same malt shop in the 50's. They'd be hassled, but it was still amiable as long as everybody was singing. That's unrealistic, don't listen to that. But there were places where kids could go see local bands. We have too much access to bands, and I think that's why so much of our universe has been homogenized. Nobody works to like a band anymore. There are no more stories about the time you got onto the fan bus, were left at a diner, and had to hitch-hike to get to the joint only to arrive at sound of the opening chord/drum solo of their big new hit. There's still band nights at churches and VFW's, but they're all influenced by each other. The same angry gents, the one riot grrl act, all with paragraph-long names and song titles. Do any of them have their boom-box taped demos with them for five bucks each? No. Just go to the website; their purevolume or myspace profile. That's when you know what to do.
That's when they become your 'favorite' bands that you only have that one song you really like. You couldn't give a flying fuck about their influences. More likely than not, it's Green Day's "American Idiot" album, and that's it. Everyone has the crunching guitars, the relentlessly controlled drum work, and the subscription to Guitar World. Nobody fucking wails anymore. Everyone has the screaming singer, or the nasal-whiny guy who insists on stretching words for miles even though they shouldn't.
Nobody works! Nobody jangles, nobody pops, nobody rocks. Nobody Nobody goes out to like something. It'll come to you, and it'll be safe, and there's nothing to be afraid of. What's their name? Oh, that's cute. Who's in the band? Oh, we hung out once at this kid's party. Who are they like? Oh, I like them, maybe I'll listen to their demo on myspace. Sure, I have no right to recall and reach for nostalgia that is not mine to even share with those who do. I cannot even claim access to it. But I can dream. I can dream for a little more community, and a little more innovation. Less self-parody. That would be great. If we could all take the tongues out of our mouths, and keep them moving so that we're prepared to have something to say.
- Though, I could not think of a better state to be in than one that is outspoken. And that state must be in the greatest nation in the world. And I think of all the places in the world, the greatest nation is Imagination.
- Have a good night, and listen pure.
- I love you with all my heart.
[At a car wash, Comic Book Guy elaborates on the personal value of his bumper stickers to an attendant.]
Comic Book Guy: "I insist you take special care with my collection of valuable and humorous bumper stickers, particularly this one [points to 'My Other Car is the Millennium Falcon'], which was given to me by a Harrison Ford look-a-like."
Car Wash Employee: "No habla Ingles, señor."
[I copied and pasted this from a site; shouldn't it be 'hablo' Ingles?]