(no subject)
When I get angry, I get quiet. This tends to do very few people any good in ascertaining my mood, however, since I’m usually hesitant to speak anyways unless I have something that absolutely needs to be said. A few drinks or extreme happiness can loosen my tongue, but even still, I’m often the least animated of the bunch. This isn’t exactly unrelated to the rest of this post, but it isn’t really all that related either.
Last night, a friend turned 21 and we celebrated the occasion at Howl At The Moon, a dueling piano bar in Universal City Walk known for its raunchy music and overall Howard Stern atmosphere. Sure enough, the songs were raunchy, several girls were encouraged to remove their shirts in exchange for a free shirt from some up and coming fashion company (dirty girl or filthy bitch or something like that, I don’t remember) and, in fact, a character from the Howard Stern show was in attendance. Not being a fan of the show, I couldn’t tell you who - some old guy with a “Howard Stern for president” sign who was possibly, literally, mentally handicapped. During various stages of the evening, a real, honest-to-god porn star came up on stage (but left her top on, to the dismay of the male audience and half the female audience), the guitarist for Quiet Riot jammed on Guns N’ Roses with the house band (after doing several lines in the bathroom on the sink in front of a bewildered bathroom attendant and an amused, half-drunk, me), and Alice Cooper’s drummer sat in. I started on Guinness, then moved to scotch before Marie and I gathered ourselves around midnight and headed to the parking structure ($10 just to park, by the way) to drive home.
Sitting there, I became aware of two distinctly different types of girls in the bar. I say “distinct” because there certainly were many different types of girls there, but these two distinctly different types were larger, more visible groups, and therefore more prone to catch awareness.
The first type included the entire female population of our party group. This type of girl was out to have fun, as any 21st birthday party group should be. They drank to get drunk, and danced because it was fun - because the music demanded it. They laughed and talked to one another in shouts over the band across the small table before grabbing one another by the wrist and dragging each other onto the floor to dance to Sweet Child of Mine or Knockin’ On Heaven’s Door.
I have a great deal of respect for these types of people. It wasn’t that they threw the concept of self-image out the window - it was that they just really didn’t give a fuck what anyone else thought of them. They were having the time of their lives dancing and laughing and it didn’t matter how good they danced (then again, not knowing how to dance myself, for all I know, they were all great) or if anyone was looking at them (or, more importantly, if anyone was not looking at them) - it was all about fun, friendship, and celebration.
I think my brother is the male equivalent, and I’m sure he would have had a great time last night if he came. On his 21st birthday, he tried to clog dance in the middle of a crowded bar, eventually dropping his full beer (a Murphy’s Red, a sinful thing to spill) all over our feet. He didn’t care, he was having a great time. My brother will pop in fake crooked teeth in a restaurant while ordering, just to give the waiter/waitress a laugh. In a clothing store, he’ll drop his pants to try on clothes in the middle of the aisle, just for the hilarity of watching any friends/family with him at the time freak out and scatter.
I wish I could be more like this type of person sometimes. Maybe not to the extent that my brother is, but somewhere in between. It isn’t that I don’t have a good time. I’ve found that most of my life is some variation of a “good time” and I’m thoroughly enjoying every second. It’s just that I have trouble expressing my good time. At the bar, these laughing dancing girls, one of them my girlfriend, tried repeatedly to drag me out onto the floor… but I stayed locked to my seat, drink in hand. It wasn’t that I was having less fun - I just didn’t want to show how much fun I was having. I don’t know… strange.
This brings me to the second distinct group of girls there. I’ll call them the “look at me” girls. These girls, painstakingly done up and dressed in their most attention-getting clothes (and still far less attractive than most girls in the bar) clearly measured out every action they took by how much attention it garnered. They presented the illusion of having fun while closely monitoring the amount of attention others were giving. When the free shirt offer was announced, these girls were the first to rush to the stage and offer to undress - one removing her blouse with the deft of a professional stripper (then again, maybe she’s just a regular at Howl At The Moon and has lots of experience). When a bartender handed out red LED Coors promotional stickers, these were the girls who immediately stuffed them into their shirts to simulate red, blinking, nipples. Or to their asses. Big, blinking, “look here” signs.
I noticed two rather amusing things (from my vantage point in the dark corner on my barstool) about these two groups. The first group (the “Fun” group, we’ll call them) paid no attention to the Look At Me group. However, the Look At Me Group constantly threw bothered glances at the Fun group as they danced and enjoyed themselves. And the reason for this, I believe, is despite the fact that they couldn’t acre less about the attention the other patrons of the bar were giving, it was the Fun Group who was getting most of the attention. It could just be because the Fun Group was comprised of, in my opinion, more attractive girls than the painted, phony, self-obsessed members of the other group. Whatever the case, I found this very amusing, particularly as the Look At Me’s went to more and more desperate measures to try and get attention and failed. I knew it was only a matter of time until two of them started making out with one another just so people would look at them.
It’s probably a self-esteem issue, I know. The fun girls in my group were all intelligent, attractive, and charismatic - and they knew it. They didn’t need people to pay attention to them in order to feel good about themselves. They just wanted to dance and laugh and celebrate a birthday - they already felt just fine about themselves. Meanwhile, the other group was so desperately defunct of self esteem, they resorted to near animalistic ploys for attention. I do not know of a single woman with a good self-image who’d leap onstage and take her top off in front of a barful of strangers simply to get a free t-shirt.
Anyways, I’m not sure if there’s a point to all this except to say it’s rare to meet a person, man or woman, who is together, smart, and fun to be around. I lose faith in humanity so often (as you well know, all one of my readers here), so it was a very pleasant surprise to meet a whole handful of genuinely good people - strangers, friends of a friend, and to see just how large a contrast they presented to the rest of the people around them.
Driving to work today, I was flipped off. The big one. THE FINGER. The thing is, I can’t figure out what I did to deserve it. I, like anyone, have done plenty of things behind the wheel to deserve the single digit of insult, but I can’t think of a single thing I did today to warrant it. In fact, I was so surprised by its appearance (backed by the sunglassed face of a man in his 40’s or 50’s in a black acura) that I laughed - an explosive guffaw that I’m sure wasn’t the reaction he wanted. It’s possible that I was so oblivious on the road that I did something that truly deserved this guy’s reaction. But I don’t talk on the phone. I do sometimes listen to loud music in the car, but I didn’t today. I’m not easily distracted, when it comes to driving, so I really don’t think I did anything.
Was it my bumper stickers? I have a hockey player sticker (maybe he’s a baseball fan), a UCLA sticker (USC grad?), and a “Restore Glen Canyon” sticker… the most likely culprit but still a long shot. Who likes Lake Powell… who likes any lake enough to flip someone off? He had California plates (I could see something like that happening if the person were a Utah resident). So, I really don’t get it. Maybe he mistook me for someone else who cut him off somewhere down the road. Maybe he has a thing against beat up Fords. I just don’t know.
I have to admit, there is little more amusing than a person giving someone else the finger. The look of anger on their faces as they make that simple gesture that’s supposed to anger other people - and it’s always for silly reasons. I remember, as a kid, learning “the finger” was like learning a secret code. That and the f-bomb were the two biggest discoveries of my preteen life (of course, after about 14, discoveries come a dime a dozen until you’re about 21 and there’s nothing left to do but seek to repeat those high moments of your earlier life). But now, it’s just so funny. I mean, if I were angry at this driver for some reason, his indignant finger might have made me angrier - but having done nothing wrong, having no expectation of the finger I was receiving - I saw it for what it really was. A pathetic and powerless gesture by a pathetic and powerless man in a black Acura and sunglasses. It would have been better for him to get out of his car and do something about it, if I pissed him off so much (remember, why oh why did I piss him off? How?). If he was so angry, let him do something about it. Or even better still, since he’d likely never do that, he should just fling himself into traffic or take a bath with the radio. It would be the most power a person like him could ever feel or possess.
Bukowski - The Finger
the drivers of automobiles
have very little recourse or
originality.
when upset with
another
driver
they often give him the
FINGER.
I have seen two adult
men,
florid of face
driving along
giving each other the
FINGER.
well, we all know what
this means, it's no
secret.
still, this gesture is
so overused it has
lost most of its
impact.
some of the men who give
the FINGER are captains of
industry, city councilmen,
insurance adjusters,
accountants and/or plain
unemployed.
no matter.
it is their favorite
response.
people will never admit
that they drive
badly.
the FINGER is their
reply.
I see grown men
FINGERING each other
throughout the day.
it gives me pause.
when I consider
the state of our cities,
the state of our states,
the state of our country,
I begin to
understand.
the FINGER is a mind-
set.
we are the FINGERERS.
we give it
to each other.
we give it coming and
going.
we don't know how
else to respond.
what a hell of a way
to not
live.
Last night, a friend turned 21 and we celebrated the occasion at Howl At The Moon, a dueling piano bar in Universal City Walk known for its raunchy music and overall Howard Stern atmosphere. Sure enough, the songs were raunchy, several girls were encouraged to remove their shirts in exchange for a free shirt from some up and coming fashion company (dirty girl or filthy bitch or something like that, I don’t remember) and, in fact, a character from the Howard Stern show was in attendance. Not being a fan of the show, I couldn’t tell you who - some old guy with a “Howard Stern for president” sign who was possibly, literally, mentally handicapped. During various stages of the evening, a real, honest-to-god porn star came up on stage (but left her top on, to the dismay of the male audience and half the female audience), the guitarist for Quiet Riot jammed on Guns N’ Roses with the house band (after doing several lines in the bathroom on the sink in front of a bewildered bathroom attendant and an amused, half-drunk, me), and Alice Cooper’s drummer sat in. I started on Guinness, then moved to scotch before Marie and I gathered ourselves around midnight and headed to the parking structure ($10 just to park, by the way) to drive home.
Sitting there, I became aware of two distinctly different types of girls in the bar. I say “distinct” because there certainly were many different types of girls there, but these two distinctly different types were larger, more visible groups, and therefore more prone to catch awareness.
The first type included the entire female population of our party group. This type of girl was out to have fun, as any 21st birthday party group should be. They drank to get drunk, and danced because it was fun - because the music demanded it. They laughed and talked to one another in shouts over the band across the small table before grabbing one another by the wrist and dragging each other onto the floor to dance to Sweet Child of Mine or Knockin’ On Heaven’s Door.
I have a great deal of respect for these types of people. It wasn’t that they threw the concept of self-image out the window - it was that they just really didn’t give a fuck what anyone else thought of them. They were having the time of their lives dancing and laughing and it didn’t matter how good they danced (then again, not knowing how to dance myself, for all I know, they were all great) or if anyone was looking at them (or, more importantly, if anyone was not looking at them) - it was all about fun, friendship, and celebration.
I think my brother is the male equivalent, and I’m sure he would have had a great time last night if he came. On his 21st birthday, he tried to clog dance in the middle of a crowded bar, eventually dropping his full beer (a Murphy’s Red, a sinful thing to spill) all over our feet. He didn’t care, he was having a great time. My brother will pop in fake crooked teeth in a restaurant while ordering, just to give the waiter/waitress a laugh. In a clothing store, he’ll drop his pants to try on clothes in the middle of the aisle, just for the hilarity of watching any friends/family with him at the time freak out and scatter.
I wish I could be more like this type of person sometimes. Maybe not to the extent that my brother is, but somewhere in between. It isn’t that I don’t have a good time. I’ve found that most of my life is some variation of a “good time” and I’m thoroughly enjoying every second. It’s just that I have trouble expressing my good time. At the bar, these laughing dancing girls, one of them my girlfriend, tried repeatedly to drag me out onto the floor… but I stayed locked to my seat, drink in hand. It wasn’t that I was having less fun - I just didn’t want to show how much fun I was having. I don’t know… strange.
This brings me to the second distinct group of girls there. I’ll call them the “look at me” girls. These girls, painstakingly done up and dressed in their most attention-getting clothes (and still far less attractive than most girls in the bar) clearly measured out every action they took by how much attention it garnered. They presented the illusion of having fun while closely monitoring the amount of attention others were giving. When the free shirt offer was announced, these girls were the first to rush to the stage and offer to undress - one removing her blouse with the deft of a professional stripper (then again, maybe she’s just a regular at Howl At The Moon and has lots of experience). When a bartender handed out red LED Coors promotional stickers, these were the girls who immediately stuffed them into their shirts to simulate red, blinking, nipples. Or to their asses. Big, blinking, “look here” signs.
I noticed two rather amusing things (from my vantage point in the dark corner on my barstool) about these two groups. The first group (the “Fun” group, we’ll call them) paid no attention to the Look At Me group. However, the Look At Me Group constantly threw bothered glances at the Fun group as they danced and enjoyed themselves. And the reason for this, I believe, is despite the fact that they couldn’t acre less about the attention the other patrons of the bar were giving, it was the Fun Group who was getting most of the attention. It could just be because the Fun Group was comprised of, in my opinion, more attractive girls than the painted, phony, self-obsessed members of the other group. Whatever the case, I found this very amusing, particularly as the Look At Me’s went to more and more desperate measures to try and get attention and failed. I knew it was only a matter of time until two of them started making out with one another just so people would look at them.
It’s probably a self-esteem issue, I know. The fun girls in my group were all intelligent, attractive, and charismatic - and they knew it. They didn’t need people to pay attention to them in order to feel good about themselves. They just wanted to dance and laugh and celebrate a birthday - they already felt just fine about themselves. Meanwhile, the other group was so desperately defunct of self esteem, they resorted to near animalistic ploys for attention. I do not know of a single woman with a good self-image who’d leap onstage and take her top off in front of a barful of strangers simply to get a free t-shirt.
Anyways, I’m not sure if there’s a point to all this except to say it’s rare to meet a person, man or woman, who is together, smart, and fun to be around. I lose faith in humanity so often (as you well know, all one of my readers here), so it was a very pleasant surprise to meet a whole handful of genuinely good people - strangers, friends of a friend, and to see just how large a contrast they presented to the rest of the people around them.
Driving to work today, I was flipped off. The big one. THE FINGER. The thing is, I can’t figure out what I did to deserve it. I, like anyone, have done plenty of things behind the wheel to deserve the single digit of insult, but I can’t think of a single thing I did today to warrant it. In fact, I was so surprised by its appearance (backed by the sunglassed face of a man in his 40’s or 50’s in a black acura) that I laughed - an explosive guffaw that I’m sure wasn’t the reaction he wanted. It’s possible that I was so oblivious on the road that I did something that truly deserved this guy’s reaction. But I don’t talk on the phone. I do sometimes listen to loud music in the car, but I didn’t today. I’m not easily distracted, when it comes to driving, so I really don’t think I did anything.
Was it my bumper stickers? I have a hockey player sticker (maybe he’s a baseball fan), a UCLA sticker (USC grad?), and a “Restore Glen Canyon” sticker… the most likely culprit but still a long shot. Who likes Lake Powell… who likes any lake enough to flip someone off? He had California plates (I could see something like that happening if the person were a Utah resident). So, I really don’t get it. Maybe he mistook me for someone else who cut him off somewhere down the road. Maybe he has a thing against beat up Fords. I just don’t know.
I have to admit, there is little more amusing than a person giving someone else the finger. The look of anger on their faces as they make that simple gesture that’s supposed to anger other people - and it’s always for silly reasons. I remember, as a kid, learning “the finger” was like learning a secret code. That and the f-bomb were the two biggest discoveries of my preteen life (of course, after about 14, discoveries come a dime a dozen until you’re about 21 and there’s nothing left to do but seek to repeat those high moments of your earlier life). But now, it’s just so funny. I mean, if I were angry at this driver for some reason, his indignant finger might have made me angrier - but having done nothing wrong, having no expectation of the finger I was receiving - I saw it for what it really was. A pathetic and powerless gesture by a pathetic and powerless man in a black Acura and sunglasses. It would have been better for him to get out of his car and do something about it, if I pissed him off so much (remember, why oh why did I piss him off? How?). If he was so angry, let him do something about it. Or even better still, since he’d likely never do that, he should just fling himself into traffic or take a bath with the radio. It would be the most power a person like him could ever feel or possess.
Bukowski - The Finger
the drivers of automobiles
have very little recourse or
originality.
when upset with
another
driver
they often give him the
FINGER.
I have seen two adult
men,
florid of face
driving along
giving each other the
FINGER.
well, we all know what
this means, it's no
secret.
still, this gesture is
so overused it has
lost most of its
impact.
some of the men who give
the FINGER are captains of
industry, city councilmen,
insurance adjusters,
accountants and/or plain
unemployed.
no matter.
it is their favorite
response.
people will never admit
that they drive
badly.
the FINGER is their
reply.
I see grown men
FINGERING each other
throughout the day.
it gives me pause.
when I consider
the state of our cities,
the state of our states,
the state of our country,
I begin to
understand.
the FINGER is a mind-
set.
we are the FINGERERS.
we give it
to each other.
we give it coming and
going.
we don't know how
else to respond.
what a hell of a way
to not
live.