Wow, this sure was a great college party until that douchebag picked up a guitar...
I made a discovery this evening. I was taking a break from my mountain of math (and drinking my Mountain Dew) when I decided to take in a bit of the modern classics. While I find usually the works of Proust, Joyce and Mann to be entertaining, eye-opening, intellectual, educational, and fun to tell people I'm reading, tonight called for something with more pictures of my friends I'm secretly attracted to dressed in progressivly sluttier and sluttier clothing. Of course, I'm talking about Facebook and Myspace. (If you guessed Nathaneal West, you were close.)
It was inbetween that voluptious vixen in my Perceptions of Law class last semester and my high school chum's sultry older sister that I stumbled upon what may be the most truth-ringing Facebook group ever established:
"Wow, this sure was a great party until that douchebag picked up a guitar."
There I sat, awe-stricken in utter disbelief that so much truth could come out of the internet! Call me crazy (or Ray Jay Johnson) but while at collegent parties (with the exception of ones where the primary focus was to "Search") there's always been the moment of dread when someone hears that someone has at least a passing interest in whatever hipster band Pitchforkmedia.com readers find worthy a 5.8 or higher this week and something triggers the "hey, they *kinda* sound like Dave Matthews! You should get your guitar out" mechanism. The result is two-to-five minutes of passive enjoyment (oddly simultaneous with ever plummeting sobriety) followed by anywhere from 30 minutes to an hour and 15 minutes of awkward contentment while someone who can quote every second of "Harold and Kumar" verbatim plays everything from that late 90's alt-rock staple everyone only knows the first verse and chorus of - to - select horribly mangled ironically unironic selections from Bob Marley's "Legend," which the culprit will boast is his "best album. Sooooooo good!"
For those not at college and/or friendless commuter students, you may not understand the serious circumstances of such a situation. At a party, there's just about nothing worse than when I'm mackin' on a cutie and I turn around to see some Bay Area pothead asshole playing the opening notes to "What I Got." "OH MY GOD! I KNOW THAT SONG" some fan of "Me and You and Everyone We Know" with some ridiculoid notion that every boy is in love with her and has convinced herself she is better looking than she by all means under any standard is will say. This obnoxious uproar will suddenly strike up a drum circle, compensation for the drumming with extra irritating inactivity, of friends intently listening in and wandering in and out of singing the lyrics, carrying aimless conversations, or taking pictures of themselves to convince their friends back home (via Facebook) that they've been replaced.*
Come come now guiratist assholes, notice that no-one is "digging" your "tasty grooves." The five stoner kids at every college party dating the mid-30s tatooed guy at their internship will listen to anything, so if you feel the need to play and form a circle of either uninterested or uninteresting people, do not use them as a guide of when to start/stop/complain about how single you are while you drink and try to hook up with your friend's ex you sumuvabitch!
Now, I'm not knocking playing music at parties. Sometimes, when everyone has an instrument and is just jamming, it can be great. Or some light music of a select few can be the perfect end/beginning of a perfect night when things are slowing down/picking up. Heck, I've been one to spit some bars when two friends with instruments and one who can beatbox say "Hey Chaz, you should rap for us!" and some anonymous girl** will say "You can rap?!" and some girl who knows me but for some reason didn't know what is sustaining my existance on this Urth says "Chaz, I didn't know you can rap" and then I freestyle for five straight minutes or so and make everyone happy, shortly followed by/enabling me to be in the dorm's bathroom wrist-deep in a Sufjan Stevens fan whose only previous exposure to hiphop had been her older brother's Talib Kweli CD he used to play back before the events inspiring this week's number two film ("United 93") and number one film ("RV," inexplicably) at the box office had taken place...
BUT
...if you've been to a party where such a guitar driven funicide has taken place, you know exactly what I'm talking about. I was thinking the other day about one or two circles of friends I used to chill with just about every weekend last year, and how this year they've slowly phased me out of *our* group all-encompassingly. The motivation for such actions (my rising to rap superstardom, the choosing-sides following certain incidents that divide friends, the fight I got into with a drunk belligerent guest at one of such parties yet the bitch provoked me and secretly no-one likes her yet they think everyone else likes her and there must be some decency in her but she's truthfully a decrepit piece of human waste with nothing of fucking value to add to the world, my ceaseless quoting of "Mortal Kombat") is unknown, but the other day when I was searching for someone and, due to Facebook's new search feature, saw a list of all their parties and subsequent guest lists I wasn't informed about, I*** was a little hurt. I was chalking up all the unreturned phone calls, Facebook messages and eProps to them just being busy and giving them the benefit of the doubt. Now, unlike my contemporaries Dem Franchise Boyz, Oooooooh, I don't think they like me.
This had me feeling down until I found the titular Facebook group of this very entry. Once I read it (And its corresponding Group Description) a wonderful revelation dawned on me. When comparing the hypothetical great times I would have had with said friends to the infinetly better times I've had not listening in a circle to some unwashed struggling business major pointlessly playing an Oasis song that suffers significantly from not being "Wonderwall," I realized I have walked away with far more than what I would have had had they not Peter Gabriel'ed me from their Genesis. In retrospect, this is probably for the best, as even though I'mour in the "Red Rain," "In Your Eyes" I might have had to "Shock the Monkey" and hit one of their guitars with a "Sledgehammer," "BIG TIME!"
Solsbury Hill,
Chaz
*C'mon! Why can't you be a man like me and tell those obsolete country bumpkins that they're of no more interest (Except for my birthday when I want them to write on my wall, K?)
**As all girls truly are.
***Yes me, the War Machine to Ghostface's Iron Man.
It was inbetween that voluptious vixen in my Perceptions of Law class last semester and my high school chum's sultry older sister that I stumbled upon what may be the most truth-ringing Facebook group ever established:
"Wow, this sure was a great party until that douchebag picked up a guitar."
There I sat, awe-stricken in utter disbelief that so much truth could come out of the internet! Call me crazy (or Ray Jay Johnson) but while at collegent parties (with the exception of ones where the primary focus was to "Search") there's always been the moment of dread when someone hears that someone has at least a passing interest in whatever hipster band Pitchforkmedia.com readers find worthy a 5.8 or higher this week and something triggers the "hey, they *kinda* sound like Dave Matthews! You should get your guitar out" mechanism. The result is two-to-five minutes of passive enjoyment (oddly simultaneous with ever plummeting sobriety) followed by anywhere from 30 minutes to an hour and 15 minutes of awkward contentment while someone who can quote every second of "Harold and Kumar" verbatim plays everything from that late 90's alt-rock staple everyone only knows the first verse and chorus of - to - select horribly mangled ironically unironic selections from Bob Marley's "Legend," which the culprit will boast is his "best album. Sooooooo good!"
For those not at college and/or friendless commuter students, you may not understand the serious circumstances of such a situation. At a party, there's just about nothing worse than when I'm mackin' on a cutie and I turn around to see some Bay Area pothead asshole playing the opening notes to "What I Got." "OH MY GOD! I KNOW THAT SONG" some fan of "Me and You and Everyone We Know" with some ridiculoid notion that every boy is in love with her and has convinced herself she is better looking than she by all means under any standard is will say. This obnoxious uproar will suddenly strike up a drum circle, compensation for the drumming with extra irritating inactivity, of friends intently listening in and wandering in and out of singing the lyrics, carrying aimless conversations, or taking pictures of themselves to convince their friends back home (via Facebook) that they've been replaced.*
Come come now guiratist assholes, notice that no-one is "digging" your "tasty grooves." The five stoner kids at every college party dating the mid-30s tatooed guy at their internship will listen to anything, so if you feel the need to play and form a circle of either uninterested or uninteresting people, do not use them as a guide of when to start/stop/complain about how single you are while you drink and try to hook up with your friend's ex you sumuvabitch!
Now, I'm not knocking playing music at parties. Sometimes, when everyone has an instrument and is just jamming, it can be great. Or some light music of a select few can be the perfect end/beginning of a perfect night when things are slowing down/picking up. Heck, I've been one to spit some bars when two friends with instruments and one who can beatbox say "Hey Chaz, you should rap for us!" and some anonymous girl** will say "You can rap?!" and some girl who knows me but for some reason didn't know what is sustaining my existance on this Urth says "Chaz, I didn't know you can rap" and then I freestyle for five straight minutes or so and make everyone happy, shortly followed by/enabling me to be in the dorm's bathroom wrist-deep in a Sufjan Stevens fan whose only previous exposure to hiphop had been her older brother's Talib Kweli CD he used to play back before the events inspiring this week's number two film ("United 93") and number one film ("RV," inexplicably) at the box office had taken place...
BUT
...if you've been to a party where such a guitar driven funicide has taken place, you know exactly what I'm talking about. I was thinking the other day about one or two circles of friends I used to chill with just about every weekend last year, and how this year they've slowly phased me out of *our* group all-encompassingly. The motivation for such actions (my rising to rap superstardom, the choosing-sides following certain incidents that divide friends, the fight I got into with a drunk belligerent guest at one of such parties yet the bitch provoked me and secretly no-one likes her yet they think everyone else likes her and there must be some decency in her but she's truthfully a decrepit piece of human waste with nothing of fucking value to add to the world, my ceaseless quoting of "Mortal Kombat") is unknown, but the other day when I was searching for someone and, due to Facebook's new search feature, saw a list of all their parties and subsequent guest lists I wasn't informed about, I*** was a little hurt. I was chalking up all the unreturned phone calls, Facebook messages and eProps to them just being busy and giving them the benefit of the doubt. Now, unlike my contemporaries Dem Franchise Boyz, Oooooooh, I don't think they like me.
This had me feeling down until I found the titular Facebook group of this very entry. Once I read it (And its corresponding Group Description) a wonderful revelation dawned on me. When comparing the hypothetical great times I would have had with said friends to the infinetly better times I've had not listening in a circle to some unwashed struggling business major pointlessly playing an Oasis song that suffers significantly from not being "Wonderwall," I realized I have walked away with far more than what I would have had had they not Peter Gabriel'ed me from their Genesis. In retrospect, this is probably for the best, as even though I'mour in the "Red Rain," "In Your Eyes" I might have had to "Shock the Monkey" and hit one of their guitars with a "Sledgehammer," "BIG TIME!"
Solsbury Hill,
Chaz
*C'mon! Why can't you be a man like me and tell those obsolete country bumpkins that they're of no more interest (Except for my birthday when I want them to write on my wall, K?)
**As all girls truly are.
***Yes me, the War Machine to Ghostface's Iron Man.