Piss and Vinegar

The Round Mound of Rebound Pitches a Tent.

2009-03-05T22:35:00.000-08:00

"What do you think an artist is? He is a political being, constantly aware of the heart breaking, passionate, or delightful things that happen in the world, shaping himself completely in their image. Painting is not done to decorate apartments. No, it is an instrument of war.""
-Pablo Picasso.

As you may know, I have an extreme passion for basketball. Growing up in Arizona, especially during the early 90's, I wound up becoming a rabid, and lifelong fan of the Phoenix Suns.

One of my favorite players as a kid was Charles Barkley, or "The Round Mound of Rebound." His playing was interesting, and everything about him seemed to exude this enormous amount of attitude and charm that demanded a level of respect I wish I knew how to capitalize on myself.

Throughout his career, and even up until now, he's never been a person you would consider to be shy. Many bar fights, gambling habits and controversial statements have kept him someone who, despite if you love him or hate him, still manages to keep you not only entertained but captivated.

Recently, ol' Barkley was popped for a DUI offense. One thing that I can't say I've ever denied with Sir Charles is that he lacked any amount of integrity. In denying to allow his celebrity status, he willing had himself incarcerated for ten days in another notorious local Arizonians' playground, Tent City.

For those of you who aren't aware, Tent City is most definitely a place you do not want to find yourself in. Everything about it screams, basically, internment camp.

Arizona reaches temperatures of at least 125 during it's peak in the summer. Tent City is an outdoor prison, and it stems from "Americas Toughest Sheriff" Joe Arpaio.

The problem with Joe is that during the past decade or so, all that standing out in the sun, and oppressing minorities and those just awaiting trial, must have bleached his once pink brain to a soft mushy gray.

I wish I could make up a character as unbelievable as this, because thats what he is--a character. The laws he's imposed reach far beyond that of his alloted duties. Throughout the years, he's been the subject of so much controversy, it makes my head spin.

Any other elected official, or civil servant who's cost not only the County which he serves (Maricopa) as well as his State millions and millions and millions of taxpayers money would have been kicked swiftly out on his ass, after having done time in his own institution.

He's refused amnesty, admitted to leaving objects in the open for prisoners to harm themselves/each other, caused several pregnant women/teens to miscarry, attempted to quell free speech, had several mentally retarded or unstable/blind individuals to die due to his mens tortuous practices, allowed several of his officers to receive hand jobs/touch suspected prostitutes breasts and asses all under the guise of "proving they weren't cops", turning a blind eye to his men breaking a paraplegics neck, hesitated to give any evidence of 15 of his men guilty of smothering a naked inmate male to death, neglected to pay attention to a nearly 20 minute brutal beating and murder of an inmate at the hands of another inmate even seemingly not noticing that the deceased inmate was dragged down the hall and left out in the open before any guard responded, and even killed a dog. I mean really? A fucking dog?? And this literally is just the tip of the ice berg.

This isn't the old west anymore, and someone needs to inform Joe of this.

I understand prison exists for a reason, but I'm also not ignorant to the fact that many of the people behind bars are guilty of nothing more than maybe smoking marijuana. Most drug offenders and users shouldn't be incarcerated in my opinion. In Holland, the government willingly provides not only drugs for users, but services to help them get clean and safe environments in which to do said narcotics. Holland has one of the lowest drug problems in the world, and I think thats indicative of forward thinking, and taking a chance.

Arpaio has done enough damage to civil liberties, caused enough human suffering, spat in the face of the judicial system, and taken it upon himself to be the judge, jury and executioner, often times skipping that whole pesky "fair trial" business and sending a person who's not even convicted to Tent City.

I understand that child touchers, murderers, rapists or other convicted criminals of violent crimes do need to be reprimanded. But as hard of a pill as that is to swallow, these are still human beings, and while they are stripped of their civil rights, are still entitled to human rights as they are in fact human beings.

Prison politics, while seemingly inconceivable and unimaginable, more often then not take care of wife beaters and child touchers in quite fair ways. Once convicted, I don't feel any sort of mercy for the guilty when those cell doors lock, because as far as I'm concerned that individual had his day in court with a jury of his peers, and now gets to take his punishment from his peers. What I'm saying is that I don't fault prisoners for extracting the revenge families of the accosted wish they could take out on said individual.

But it isn't up for the guards to decide, and if something does go down, those guards need to be their, dutifully mind you, to break it up. Thats what they are paid to do, thats where my money is going.

Many of the crimes the Bush Administration was guilty of, most notably torture (such as water boarding) are things that Arpaio is guilty of himself. During the last eight years, he's had basically a free pass to whatever he wants, whenever he wants and no one can ask a question or say anything otherwise, lest they wind up finding a gram of coke in their glove box when they get pulled over for a "routine" stop.

But now the economy is circling the drain, and if not for the every single one of those inhumane issues discussed above, then for the simple fact that he bleeds out more money than Charles Barkley ever has with his gambling habits. And much more frequently, as well.

In the span of three years, he was the subject of 2,150 lawsuits, which is more than 50 times as many prison-conditions lawsuits as the New York, Los Angeles, Chicago, and Houston jail systems combined. Combined. Maricopa County has paid out 43 million dollars in settlement claims during his tenure.

Any CEO who cost his company that much in lawsuits would be strung up by his neck on Wall Street for all the peasants to beat with sticks and rocks. So why is it so different for the State of Arizona to tie his ass to a cactus, and let the families of those wronged by him to make him account for his transgressions? I realize thats not a feasible punishment, but it certainly fits his conduct of business.

I think the answer lays within the fact that Arizona is a Red State, through and through. And Neo-Conservatives hate change more than they hate minorities and the poor. The simple notion of a new man in town paints every single one of their collective khakis yellow from the crotch to the leg.

"What if it's a black man, or God forbid...a Mex-E-can?" The boarders will be opened wide within a week, queers will be fucking on the front lawn of the governors mansion. Judges will be allowed to do their job, and Joe Arpaio will melt, because all of his power is stored within his mighty badge.

It's time for a change. Not only in Maricopa County, not only in Arizona, not only in America, but world wide. The simple fact that theres a gestapo like task force in the Land of the Free should terrify every individual, especially those who thought, "Change? Yes We Can."

It's time to remove him from office, and rebuild the tarnished reputation of a fair county and it's cities.

Headstone in Rome.

2009-01-20T10:10:00.000-08:00

First and foremost, I waited last night until 12:01am to truly celebrate the demise of the Bush Administration, the most ugly and demeaning Presidency that I think I can even recall, even flipping through the texts of history books.

Part of me is very vanilla, though, about the swearing in of Obama. So many years ago, on those same steps is where Dr. Martin Luther King, JR. stood and delivered perhaps on of the most inspirational speeches in American history.

I truly feel now that all those years that parents have told their children, "you can be anything you want to be" is a very valid, very true and attainable goal. That despite color, you can go far.

But thats where those lines end. We've still yet to have homosexual Presidents. Think about it: That administration would be FABULOUS! But we've yet to have a President stand there and not say he didn't believe in this Christian God, or anything of that sort. We haven't had a woman President yet.

As long as your dick's bent straight, as long as you have a dick, as long as you worship that same God, we welcome you with open arms.

Everyone wants to say Obama is the savior of America. Hope is that powerful equalizer that brings everyone down to an even-set playing field; no one is above or below those lines of wanting change for something positive, hoping that things can be corrected.

I voted for Obama, I'll make no qualms about that.

But there isn't really a discernible difference between he, and Bush on paper. They both were in favor of the Patriot Act.

I know when I'm being lied too. I know that Obama being where he is, is solely because he IS a black man. If people wanted real, tangible change, they'd have voted for Ron Paul. But he's a creation by an organization to polish the turd thats become our political processes. And truth be told, it might have always been a turd, it was just never this stinky.

He's here simply to polish that turd and try to pass it off as a diamond, and I'm just not buying into it. No one will want to hold this guy accountable for what he's saying and doing because he doesn't stutter when he speaks, and he can look a camera in the eye without laughing, and he won't be called out for a spade being a spade...and my head might fucking explode.

Dance puppet, dance.

Five years ago, 15 normal American's outside of Illinois knew who this man was. He'd barely gotten time to get his ass in that Senators seat, much less even get it warm before it was auctioned off on Ebay. Now he was thrown into the waves of the Presidential race.

And don't get me wrong, I like that he wasn't there long enough to become a visible person of "politics and usual", but honestly, what the hell?

He didn't even have enough time to make his politics in CHICAGO, let alone AMERICA something known. Thats why so little dirt was had on this guy.

What I'm saying is, and not trying to come off like some crazy fucking Anarchist conspiratorial whack-job, is that after all of this death and destruction...we will still wantonly accept these hand outs, and eat it up like we were starved for nachos, and Uncle Sam was doling out Government Cheese.

Here, let me put it in a different context: Take N'sync and Backstreet Boys. For you kiddies out there, thats the equivalent today of Fall Out Boy, and Panic! At the Disco. They were pre-packaged to make money off of adolescent girls, and horny cougars.

Eventually people will despise this man. There is no Shangri-La. But it won't ever be for the proper reasons. He wants to bring troops out of Iraq. Celebrate good times!...except those kids are on their way to Afghanistan. And I wouldn't be surprised if their tour of duties weren't retroactive to their Iraqi tours, meaning they start from scratch.

And Afghanistan, when you think about it, is worse than Iraq! What are we fighting?? For what? Do you ever remember anymore? It's still a war that was defiant of the UN, and by supporting that while condemning Bush is still...politics as usual.

The Who once said, "Meet the new boss...same as the old boss."

He's got a different color of skin, and thats it. Whether you support the war efforts or not, thats neither here nor there. We need to look up the word accountability and apply it to situations that our leaders place us in, because it's our money. It's our homes, it's our reputations, and god damn it...it's our lives, and our friends/childrens/mothers/fathers/sisters/brothers lives at stake. Even the most timid of animals will fight to the death to protect their flock.

We're too busy popping champagne because our struggle is over.

The Boxer Brief Chronicles.

2009-01-18T23:33:00.000-08:00

Hey guys, I just wanted to do a quick update on the writing front. Of course I do a daily update at Days Gone By, and a weekly update of For Your Consideration. But lately I've also been writing and working on a book of short stories, which recently I unveiled the title over at Days Gone By. It will be called File Under Powerviolence. I have a few people interested in talking about publishing it, which I was told the other day is practically unheard of when a relatively unknown, young writer (I'm only 23) to get published.

So I decided to take care of the unknown thing.

A few months back during the D4 fiasco, which if you're up to date on Piss and Vinegar, you know a thing or two about. Well, one of the people who didn't like what I'd done during that event (an editor at Punk News) wrote an article on his site, Bitter Press, called Plugging the Leak.

If you know anything about Bitter Press, you know that guy is awesome and he gives a lot of unheard of authors a chance to be a little bit heard. After the fiasco we talked a bit, and an invitation was extended to submit a story for his site, and I accepted.

Fast-forward five months:

I recently submitted a story near and dear to me as I wrote it called Shootin' At a Mound of Dirt. It's picked up some steam (it's on fucking Digg!) from word of mouth, etc.

Truth is I'm doing this all alone, and this is my passion. I really appreciate everyone who's jumped on board, and I hate to ask this but please...without word of mouth, I'm going nowhere, and I mean fast. Check it out on Digg. Check it out on Bitter Press. You like it? Digg it. You hate it? Do the opposite of that. Leave a comment, and please...just share the link. I've worked really hard, and I'm finally seeing some of that pay off, but without the help of people reading this...I'm dead in the water.

Thank you guys so much. Piss and Vinegar ain't dead, I swear it. I just want to keep my blood pressure low, but if I were a betting man...I'd say the Tuesday, and the 24th look like mighty fine days to check back up on old Piss and Vinegar.

The Zionist Zeig Heil!

2009-01-06T21:19:00.000-08:00

Israel, can you please calm the fuck down? I mean, my God whats next? Interment camps? Maybe, and this might not be such a bad fucking idea, but maybe you might want to look into acid showers and opening back up the gates of Auschwitz and really teach those god damned dirty Palestinians a thing or two.

The title of "God's Chosen People" can only go so fucking far, because to be quite honest I don't see God around anywhere with a generals helmet on leading tanks into war.

America might pull some fancy, cutesy bullshit once and a while when we dip into the Middle East, but you sit right in the middle of it all and constantly poke and prod. And I get that you're a people that have been through thousands of years of suffering, but do you even realize that you are slowly turning into the Eric Harris and Dylan Klebold of the World Stage? I'm half expecting you to stroll down the Gaza Strip in Trench Coats reciting some real Old Testament judgment (you know, the kind where God smote people for taking dumps and not lighting a scented candle afterwards.) Oh wait....you already are.

What makes your plight any different than that of Africa's, of the Irish, of the Native American's or every Gandhi-esque figure that ate the butt of a riffle because they wanted freedom? A wall and some Dead Sea scrolls?

Your actions with bombing Lebanese civilians to retaliate against their troops is nothing short of Hitler instituting the Holocaust. But now with the Palestinians over what? Because they want some land that is rightfully theirs, yet you feel is due to you because your God promised it? Guess what? You share the same God.

Maybe God's been two timing you both. I've seen it a hundred times. Maybe God's a player. "Sure baby, your my only one and I've promised this land for ya. Who loves you the most?" He just gave you both different names...but it's the same guy.

Palestinians know him as Allah, Jews might know him as Yahweh...we American's simply know him as the dude that lets our favorite football team win the Superbowl.

So maybe God's a player and never expected you two to be in the same room. And by golly, it surely is a bit awkward now, but trust me baby, he loves you the most.

The blame lies here solely with Israel, and it pains me to say that to an extent, but theres only so much bullshit one can absorb before you have to hold the incompetent on trial for their transgressions. Theres no need, in this modern world and society for a need to be a Zionist. There simply isn't. We've progressed to the point where we don't have to rely on trading sheep and cattle for the neighbors virgin daughter. We have e-harmony and MySpace now, so...you know...it's okay to step into the modern world, if only for a minute.

Theres always going to be aged people who are book smart, but do not know their pinkies from their dicks, and for the past eight years thats really been an indicative statement of America. But now I have to wonder if the rest of the world will hold Israel in just as much equal contempt as we've felt for our transgressions now that they are instituting "guerrilla warfare" and civilian hand-to-hand combat.

If it takes the rest of the modern world shunning and ostracizing Israel until they fuck right off about the Gaza Strip, and remove the collective holy sticks from their asses and realize that what they are doing is no different than what they suffered through during Egypt, Rome and Nazi Germany's Third Reich, then so be it.

This isn't a slight against Jewish people whatsoever, either. The truth of the matter though, is that each and every single gathering of people be it; Southerners, Muslims, Christians, Jews, Blacks, Mexicans, Asians, Irish, Russians...what the shit ever, it's always the minority of morons that think they know whats best for everyone else.

But this, coupled with America's involvement in the Middle East these past few years...I just don't see how the addition of our "most trusted Allies" jumping on the wagon of pummeling those dirty, dirty non-believers is not going to result in World War Three with an A-Bomb the size of Texas not being dropped on either one, or both of us.

Calm. The. Fuck. Down.

If you wanna measure dicks, make it a side bet during some other pissing contest over the Wailing Wall or something. But innocent people are suffering because your pimp God spoke to you louder.

I'm an escape artist, not a fucking lumberjack.

2008-12-31T18:56:00.000-08:00

It's the end of the world, and everyone is invited, like it or not.

This is the final Piss and Vinegar of 2008. From Max Bemis to Jesse Jackson to Fat Mike to the world at large, so many things were covered in such a short amount of time.

This blog carried a lot of controversy with it, and I'm sure 2009 will have it's own fair share. My only resolution is to update more, and finish writing this book which is so close, I can taste it.

Be safe everyone, and if you're gonna drink...do it somewhere where you can spend the night. No one wants to start off the New Year dead. Unless you're suicidal...then I stand corrected.

In keeping with the theme of how this year has been nothing but a shit salad, all my plans have fallen through. This always seems to happen to me.

I escaped this year. I lost a lot of people along the way, I made some great friends though, as well.

I've seen what I want to do, and where I want to be by this time next year. I want to work even harder to become everything I aspire for, or at least die trying.

I escaped this year, even when at times I truly didn't want to get back up. I didn't do it alone, either. Thank you to everyone who was there for me when times weren't so great.

I don't know one person who had a great year, and I for one am quite happy to see it go. I have a lot of high hopes for the next year; I'm hoping you do to.

We could all use a win at this point, I think. And I feel like the foundations are coming into place. So make the best of it guys, and drink away the shitty year of 2008. Come tomorrow you get to start it all over again. Hoorah!

So here we go!

Armageddon-outta-here, 2009 and beyond!

-Aaron Hale.

Declining to Deploy Troops to Wally World.

2008-12-13T01:26:00.000-08:00

Welcome to one of the greatest obstacles most of us 20 to 35 somethings have ever faced.

Around each corner, the businesses we placed our our deferential faith in are now putting up foreclosure signs.

All our lives, we've been trained to place our faith in banks. Save up. Get two credit cards, build your credit, have a savings account and checking account. Plastic above paper, paper above something tangible.

What a lot of people don't realize is that part of the reason why America, and other Western Nations are now falling on hard times, is because theres no tangible asset or backing to our capital.

At some point we stopped backing our capital with gold, for hopes and dreams in a stock market. My question is...where is the actual, factual, tangible cold hard backing?

What bothers me, or rather I should say, what terrifies me is that people have begun to say that in the history books people would look back and revere George W. Bush as a decent leader who made unpopular decisions that eventually paid off.

How could anyone actually believe that? His first year in office, he spent six months of those at his fucking ranch.

Thats like showing up to your new job, even at KFC, and you show up for the first 8 days and just kind of coast. You then take 8 days off in a row. Guess what, theres someone else who needs that money, and doesn't mind coming in for an extra shift to batter chicken or make mashed potatoes for 8.25 an hour.

Maybe we should about the Chicagoian Politician's way of doing business; if we get an iffy-leader...auction that shit off on E-bay.

But I propose a question to anyone who reads this blog:

When you see these mega-corporations now closing down shop, every single AIG, Sally Mae, Washington Mutual, GMC and Ford...when you see them shutting down shop, is this necessarily a bad thing?

America, and the Western World as a whole, was built on the broken backs of the little man. It took one guy with a little bit more of the green stuff in his pocket to buy them out to start an empire.

But if all these countries were built on the backs of the little man, where are we to feel inclined to feel sorry for any of these companies?

America is flushing money down the drain in several conflicts. Without even commenting on that, it's almost impossible no matter what side of the fence you're sitting on to deny that the actual fighting, and tactical combat...has been horribly mismanaged. Does Petrayus even know his dick from his four stars?

We live in a time when we have, at our disposal, means of 'deterring' combatants without shedding blood. Don't tell me that them there rag-heads are somehow immune to riot squad procedures. Tear-gas stops pretty much anyone in their tracks. Drop a few of those in a particularly heated area, some concussion grenades and have some green berets go in there and handcuff every person with a rock (or higher)near their hands. Round 'em up, put 'em to trial and let Iraq become whatever it's going to become on it's own.

Same with Afghanistan. Gas every crevice thats even two inches deep. Whatever crawls out goes straight to the huskow.

I'm not a proprietor of war, but I'm not a merchant of death either. While I feel little remorse for those who continually strap bombs to their chests, use woman and children as shields, and pervert a universally acknowledged religion of peace...I also believe in Democracy. Everyone, no matter whom, if captured, is deserving of a fair trial. Take that for what it is.

But what do these wars have to do with the current situation of our collective economies? Simple: Thats where the funds are going.

These same corporations now coming to Washington, D.C with their hands out to beg for bailouts so they don't go bankrupt...are the same companies that helped back these confrontations, instead of going through the UN.

The Government is a sticky wicket. While they felt they were above God, and the UN and surpassed it, if you're skin is brown and you have any kind of accent and you came into this same country without going through the "proper channels"...you're ass will be deported, no questions asked. Good fucking bye, Pablo.

People want to rally against immigration. "Those spics are taking our jobs." Word?

Whens the last time you saw a nationally born American, with a doctorates in medicine, complaining about an illegal taking his job behind the scalpel? You haven't.

Truth is, the jobs they are taking are the ones we spoiled motherfuckers refuse to take. Johnny Redbloodedcitizen didn't want to show up to KFC, but heres a guy who doesn't grasp English as well, but who's willing to work 12 hour shifts without a break without over time. It's nothing short of what America was built upon all these years ago.

Is it necessarily a bad thing is GMC goes bankrupt? Nope.

The one thing I feel is good about socialism is the theory that people needn't make more than 200,000 a year. At what point do you need to make more than that? You can only have so many creature comforts.

But when your net worth is 30 million dollars...you don't have to work another second in your life.

These car companies screwed themselves, and now complaining about the STD's.

A bailout won't be the penicillin.

The people to blame aren't the people losing their jobs. The people to blame are the same ones begging for a handout while flying private jets.

Private jets? Fuck off. You think you've got it tough when you're flying a private fucking jet?

Having it tough is a mother with three kids, and a dad in jail for the next 25 years on Grand Theft Auto, and she's working three jobs and sucking truck drivers dicks for bus fare and baby formula.

Theres no circulation in the country where the big auto companies are trying to rake in the money.

Unfair lending practices, check.

Outsourcing their jobs to countries where they pay the workers ten dollars a week, check.

Terminating hundreds of thousands of jobs, helping deprive the country of the circulation of money, check.

Now they've all collectively gathered their mooching sacks (only the medium sized ones) and come a'knocking.

Theres only two ways that this can go. If they are allowed this bailout, we're fucked. Every person they've fired thats now losing their homes now has to dig in their empty pockets and start paying for these assholes affronts.

Or, God really forbid this...that Uncle Sam goes to Kinko's and prints up some Jacksons.

Why is that a bad thing? Seems simple enough...

Well, I have a few records that are quite coveted. Part of the reason why they are coveted is because they are rare. In fact...that's basically the only reason why. There is a limited amount of them.

Think back to history class. You might have to cut through some pot-stained and whiskey drowned memories, but think back to countries that felt printing money would make the issues go away to pay off the debt. It dropped it down to nil. People burned their money to stay warm. Hence, "money to burn".

Thats whats going to happen. I feel its better to say fuck you to these companies that've been sucking the teat of all of us dry, and let them fucking eat shit with the rest of us.

I truly feel if that happened, the modern man will sack up and begin working again. Who doesn't love shopping at a mom and pops? The money is in the community, theres a job there...there is honesty in a very ugly place.

It sucks right now, but if people thought outside the box...

Man, fuck it. We're gonna be in debt anyways. Why not eat it a little bit more, and go to college and chase the dreams we were always told we unsafe, or silly.

Because right now, from the bottom looking up and seeing those high rises being foreclosed...all those safety nets are breaking, all those sure bets are coming up snake eyes.

If you're going to be in debt 30 thousand dollars in times like these, whats another 20? In rational thinking, if you wanted to be a nurse but became a real estate agent...well, houses bottom out: People never stop getting sick.

These corporations want to sink their claws into us. After so many years of saying oil is running out and we had to charge 4.50 a fucking gallon, all of a sudden people stopped driving Hummers and started driving Huffey's. God bless the silent revolution that took place.

But now gas is 1.55 again. People are feeling better about filling up, and the initial reaction is to take advantage of the low prices.

Sooner or later, it's gonna start inching it's way back up. 2.00? Fuck, at least its not as bad as the summer of 2008.

Gotcha bitch!

Cheer for the underdog. Support the little guy, and it's gonna turn around and help you when it's time for you to ask for help.

Time Machines and Iron Lungs.

2008-12-08T23:16:00.000-08:00

One thing I've noticed in my years of dating, and observing (not in a pants around the ankles, in a bush outside her house kinda way) girls time I've noticed...it's pretty hard to really know who it is you're dating.

Now, I don't have a very close relationship with my mother, but one of the most important pieces of advice I've ever received from anyone came from her: Never date a girl you can't see yourself spending the rest of your life with.

And that most definitely applies to girls dating guys, too, I'm sure.

But a huge problem with why relationships fail, with why so many marriages fail is obvious: theres a breakdown in communication.

Things get rushed for numerous reasons. For example, America still tries to hold tight to its Puritanical roots. Everywhere you look; TV, Movies, Books, Advertisements, the Government, Churches, Parents, Friends and family all seem to be pressuring you to get married. Get married, settle down and have some kids.

It's subtle, but when you think about it...its actually pretty staggering.

Here, how many times have you heard this when you were a child from your parents, "Just wait til you have kids of your own," or, "I hope you have a child like you," and of course, "One day when your married you'll understand..."

How many Zales/Kay commercials have you seen, especially now during the Holidays til roughly February 15th. "Every kiss begins with K", "No you've got a friend in the diamond business."

Every bit of that is subtle pressure. But when you get older, you begin to feel that slightly more aggressive pinch when all your pals start growing up and settling down.

It's a proven fact that when something is rushed, the outcome will most likely not be savory, satisfactory or it might not even survive.

You give into all these pressures to alleviate the tension, and in the end it becomes a life suck. You have years of your youth sucked away, not to mention theirs.

And so much of this stems from dating someone without thinking about whom it is your crawling into bed with. But the thing is...so often it's nearly goddamned impossible to even figure out who it is sleeping next to you. You can live with someone for three years, and not know important, vital information of them.

It's because we don't know how to ask, and we don't know how to observe. Most importantly...we've lost the ability to communicate. To verbalize the internal structures of our insides. Why? So many of us have been hurt before. Everyone inevitably becomes, in some form or another, a type of 'damaged goods'. And that sucks, but life's fucked up. That just happens.

But it can cause division, when really all that person (or you) needs an adhesive.

Now granted, thats a hard concept to grasp. But it stems from responsibility, and unfortunately...most of this new generation has no fucking clue what that means. I'd like to say it isn't our fault. I'd like to place the blame on people, I'd like to place the blame on society...but the truth is, if any blame can be exchanged, if any buck can be passed then you first have to recognize that there is a problem.

And when you recognize there is a problem, you have to realize that you are continuing it. Future generations will judge us by how we dealt with the smallest of details. It's the Devil in detail will damn your soul when the final product is set.

But it's ingrained in us now to go with our knee-jerk reactions. No one wants to take responsibility for their actions. We raise a generation of kids who come from broken homes, and refuse to punish them for their transgressions.

Some of these seems so audacious that it couldn't possibly be true. Case in point, parents are suing a school because their children are sending each other nude photos.

Thats not even something I can wrap my head around.

And I truly believe it's because we succumb to the pressure, we refuse to stand up and take the responsibility...we refuse to communicate because "talky is hard. me no do so well." Fucking nations of imbeciles running wild at this point. Absolute imbeciles who think that going green is a sanctimonious action. This isn't just centralized to America, either.

I don't think teacher should be allowed to institute capital punishment. I feel thats at the parents sole discretion, and I believe the parent should have a right to discipline a child. The thing is, there isn't a fine line between discipline and abuse: Discipline is done with love to help correct an issue; abuse is when there is malice and intent to hurt a child.

But given that, teachers are the medium for parents. Teachers roles in society are wholly important, as they are expected to not only educate but instill a modicum of discipline and morality in a student.

They shouldn't be allowed to spank a child, no, but when a child acts out theres definitely a few problems: home life could not be so great, emotionally unstable, etc. However, kids do make mistakes.

But while American parents are trying to hold schools responsible for their children's need to act out in a sexual manner because thats what their swamped with all around. Look at Miley Cyrus. The little slut has been busted on NUMEROUS occasions for pushing the bounds of decency. And her "father" just allows it, because this harlot in training is bringing him money.

Why aren't Americans suing Miley Cyrus then? If we're going to be that outlandish, why aren't the guns pointed in her whorish direction? Shit, we used to burn chicks at the stake just in case they used a broom for anything other than sweeping.

But before we can necessarily scoff at America's practice, the rest of the world fails as well. Take ol' Mother Britain, for instance. A teacher sat his students down, and came up with an ingenious form of discipline for being tardy: push ups.

Push ups. Probably the healthiest thing in the world. It's something you can take with a grain of salt and humility, as well. It's kind of funny, but theres nothing malicious about this...in theory.

But British parents said, "Oi, fuck you prick! No ones going to punish my sweet lass/lad for being late, especially in a healthy and constructive manner, you bloody sod!" And they suspended the teacher.

When you suspend or sue a teacher for menial things such as these, the ingrained manipulation in these...shitty little fucking brats (Americans, British...who fucking ever) heads. They can strip the teacher of power.

They strip the parents of power they should theoretically deserve. But every time some yuppie-spawn parent sues a teacher, it exploits how little respect they deserve from their child.

And it stems back to being pressured to marry young, procreate. Do it to, and if you don't...you fucking blew it.

But as I started out with, I have a theory. Man of Science coming through.

The way you can truly know the girl you're dating, who she really is...because face it. We all date our representatives. We may never meet the true party leader until Johnny Law shows up, and your trying to convince them you walked into that beer bottle flying through the air.

Watch her with her father.

How a girl acts with her father is how she truly is at her most uninhibited. If he neglected her, and she has daddy issues...watch how hard she tries to get his attention. Or how she tries to get the attention, be it negative or outlandish, or overtly synthetic.

If thats the case, shes most likely never going to be real with you. She will constantly do whatever it is she thinks you want, and eventually...as much as a heaven that sounds like, if you're a decent human being at all...that won't fly.

I dated a girl once who's father treated her like she was a son attempting to gain favor. Think Michael to George in Arrested Development. No matter how good the idea was, he always turned down the ideas to keep Michael hungry for acceptance.

Her father did the same to her. As a result, he tended show more favoritism towards his youngest, and it killed her.

In her life outside of home, she acted more like a chameleon, and unfortunately...I never got to know the real her. Whatever sect of friends she was with, she adopted that identity. I understand people tend to blend with their friends to be a bit more cohesive, but...she adapted and adopted each, and every one of their personalities.

Theres a flip side to this coin, though.

When a girl is truly happy, and has a healthy relationship with her father, it more often than not emanates in her true personality. You can see it in her smile, how she dedicates herself to her goals, and how she will treat you.

I've been lucky to've been blessed with an amazing step-father. My biological dad, I don't even know his name. There are no pictures of him.

But my step-father is better than most fathers, period. I hope, truly, one day I can be half as decent as he is. From this, I'm learning how to treat a woman properly.

He was never pressured to marry my mother. In fact, almost the opposite. But through it, they found true love on their own terms. It took them both a few tries, but they got it right.

For 20 years they've gotten it right.

And when you marry for the right reasons, you'll know it's true. It might not be easy, but it takes dedication to make anything worthwhile. Don't fret...love will find you.

But you have to observe. You have to watch. You have to study, and you have to communicate. Pride has no place in these situations. Love isn't a pissing match, and marriage shouldn't be a cage match for dominance.

But you have to take responsibility for your actions. Some of that requires you to cut your losses when the person your with isn't the one. A child won't save that. Passing the buck won't mask a dead relationship and shitty parenting. It only exploits a lack of a will to fight for something more.

When you rush something, when you aren't patient...you end up ruining years of your life, and another persons. You end up risking to ruin a child's life completely.

Patience really is a virtue.

Declaration of Dependence

2008-11-19T22:50:00.000-08:00

Hey, if you want to check out an amazing blog with some really spectacular photos...do yourself a great big old favor, and click this here link. You'll thank yourself for checking it out, and please...leave her a comment. Everyone should be adulated for their good work.

The past few weeks in my life have been somewhat dominated by lengthy sessions of soul searching. The topics of the future, where I fit into relationships in my life, how people fit into relationships in my life, mental stability, etc.

I've never been a very open person with what I'm personally going through. It's all about comfort, and I don't think, in my entire life, I'd ever felt comfortable...

Until about a year ago.

2007 was, in retrospect, was a chaotic and confusing time...but it may've been the best year I've lived through.

I'd felt I'd found the person I'd want to go the distance with in 2005. A few days after my birthday, however, that all came crashing down. And I know, wah wah. Same old story with a slightly different tune.

But it's funny how things that happened in the past drastically alter your course in life. When she left, it hurt like hell. Absolute hell, and thats a story so many people go through. He left, she left, and it's weird. They still are in same town, so what did they actually leave?

A hole in your heart where the blood ran out, to quote AFI.

The beginning of 2007 saw me boarding a plane to California to get away for a little bit. Working a job that truly had no pertinence to humanity ("Data gathering", aka phone surveys. Yeah, boo hiss--I'm sorry I was part of that, but money is money).

I met some new friends, some that to this day are some of the closest I could ever have. And it takes times like those to put everything else into perspective, where you can just stand outside the ring of fire and see whats being burned, whats burnt, and what can still be salvaged.

Returning back to Arizona after this trip, I felt like I couldn't continue on. Three months later, I was on a plane to Albany, New York with everything I owned in four suitcases.

A few months later my father was diagnosed with Pancreatic Cancer, and it was time to come home.

When I came back, it was really hard for me to have any connection with anyone anymore. A lot of people who'd I'd considered life-long friends...well, unfortunately the expiration date had come on that.

But I'd been lucky enough to strengthen a bond with someone who'd, in a million years, I would have never been able to say, "This person won't shape my life. She will shape, and change it."

Everything about her screams at you to take notice. Every part of her is charismatic. Her trials and tribulations haven't crippled her, they've made her stronger, and to me thats certainly more than commendable. It's god damned inspirational.

My family life, outside of my step-father, isn't one of cohesion. My mother and I butt heads constantly, and I honestly feel little to no connection to her. As a result, while I'm not an emotionally void person...I'm a better listener than I am a sharing person. It's so hard for me to fully trust someone, because it's never really panned out for me. I know it's the same for so many people, and thats one of the biggest reasons for all the misery and sorrow in the world.

But it's arbitrary. These feelings aren't singular, and I don't feel like I'm alone in feeling this way, I don't want that to be the tone you might get from this.

But for me, it's gotten to the point where sometimes it honestly feels like make or break. I've watched my mother for the past 23 years slip further from sanity, and I can't help but think thats whats in store for me. The future scares the shit out of me.

So much so that it's begun to paralyze the present, which will most likely if continued, affect the future. The same future I've been scared of since day one. Irony is a bitch mistress.

And I've never been able to fully digest things happening with me. I threw myself deeper into writing, into music, into movies and comic books and friends dilemmas.

It's so weird, the role that women play in mens lives. Why? They are only human, they aren't Jesus Christ, they weren't devised to be a savior. They aren't the reason for the problems in the world, or anything like that. But for some reason, that link towards women, the draw and the need, and the pining...thats the most universal language. Theres not one being on this planet that is impervious to the devastation of destination heartbreak. I defy anyone to not have at least one scar from the wars waged in love and loss.

So it happens, and you feel is emptiness. A void, because you never once realized how truly worthless you were until that moment of vindication you had became absent.

And for me, I've never been able to open myself up completely. To ever face what I've personally faced again, I don't know if I have it in me to kick out one more time. For so long I've felt that I wouldn't ever be able to be that person who could actually say what was really on their mind, and not face immediate retribution, and thats such an awkward place to be in.

I truly believe the reason why so many people face the same road blocks in their lives is because they don't have that missing piece to the puzzle, or at least an extra leg to help them walk on. I'd always felt that way...

Until now.

I'm not a needy person, I don't constantly have to spew what I wish to eschew. What chews constantly, I'm not that guy and I never will be. But everyone wants something behind them, just in case. And until now, I'd never been able to accept that help because It'd always felt that accepting help meant accepting defeat in the same breath. And it's not that I'm overtly proud; I just don't want to inconvenience anyone. Everyone else has their own problems, and knowing me doesn't signify to me that they've signed up to shoulder my burdens as well.

But with her, oh my God...it never has felt like that. Theres a transition we all make, and for most it's so subtle you never realize it's happened. You may never, either. I might never have, either, until recently.

All it takes is for you to believe in someone, and for them to believe in you too. It's so hard to have faith in a person, and I think thats where faith in God comes into play. What you can't see, feel, touch or hold can't ever really let you down, can it?

But to roll that dice...theres such odds that it will come up snake eyes. But with her, it's never even been a thought. It's never been something I've questioned. For the first time in my life, I can honestly say I have faith.

I think the world of her. And while I make a lot of stupid mistakes that drive her crazy, she's still there. I know deep in my heart I'd easily go to war for her. I love her with every ounce I can muster, and then some.

And to her I say thanks. I never want anyone I know to feel like I take our time together for granted. I've seen just how frail humanity can be, and I've seen how quickly things can change. And I know entirely, that whatever may come and whatever the future may hold for our friendship--good or bad, I've never been more lucky to've known someone. To be a minute pixilation in a picture in her life is better than merely observing the work in progress in passing.

For her, I'd weather whatever may come. It's a bit scary, but not in a negative way. Like riding the fastest roller coaster, and thats the best definition for how it is knowing her.

Her travels, her talents, her ambitions. Her way of handling the things that most people don't have the strength to even fathom, her humor and her intelligence...her wit, her observations and wisdom are astounding and awe-inspiring.

Where I was a year ago, I'd never have thought I'd be able to just look back at it and shrug. I'd never thought it'd no longer eat at me every moment. Now I'm grateful for it, more than any words could ever describe, because they've allowed me to see past the breakers and realize..."life's been good".

Thank you. God knows I'm fucked without you.

Mike Rowe Files For Unemployment.

2008-11-18T13:11:00.000-08:00

Throughout my life, I've had notoriously bad luck with girls, but I've also noticed that with each folly I've learned something important.

Case in point: Fooling around with a girl on a bus heading towards church camp...It's probably not the best idea you could have. If you live at home with your parents, maybe buy a lock.

But I've learned that no matter how good things are going one moment, theres always another side to that coin. And when that other face rears it's ugly head (or tails), you better be somewhat prepared.

Sure, one moment you're drunkenly having sex on a friends bathroom floor, and shes saying you feel like God, but in the next moment you find out that...shit, shes an atheist.

I always thought I would be able to shake off the constraints I have about girls. The thing is, as I get older, they only get worse. My wanton love love for movies, comic books, video games, science, comic books and desire to punch George Lucas in the throat for what he's doing to my child hood have pretty much solidified me into a specific group. An elite group, filled with the brightest, strongest...okay, well, nerds.

Need a reference from a 1980's comedy flick? My name is Zuul. Need a Simpsons quote at the drop of a hat? I'll qygibxo you good.

And I find it remarkable I've even had as much sex as I've had. But one thing thats always surprised me, is the ease with which other guys my age seem to have in getting women.

It's like during high school, one of the numerous times I ditched, that was the day they gathered up all the guys and told them what to do.

For the past few years, since The 40 Year Old Virgin, I've had friends who've watched that make the comparison between Andy, and I.

"How so?"

"Well you have little collectibles. How many movies do you have? Whens the last time you left your house for something besides work or grocery shopping?"

"Come on, that could be anyone."

"You definitely put the pussy on the pedestal."

And before I can stop myself, I find myself saying, "What does that even mean?"

So the past few months I've been working on it. It's been nearly a year since I've tested the waters, if you will. So I started thinking like a scientist. What am I doing wrong, here. What have I learned, what process should I be taking.

I have a friend who's a girl, very attractive...all of that. One of the coolest things about her is her mentality, when it comes to sex. She has the mentality, and I mean this in the most sincere and complimentary way, the mentality of a guy who is single, who used to be a frat boy quarterback, and now continuously is smooth with the opposite sex. And it astounds me to no end.

Her advice would be to simply sack up, and do it. Simple as that. Yet to me, it seems like Stevie Wonder has a better chance at sight than I do being able to ever just "do it."

But I've learned a lot from this girl. A lot that maybe I should have learned growing up, but was too busy debating music or Simpsons episodes. Truth is, I just don't have that "it". What ever "it" is, I lack it, and I wish there was some sort of diagram that led you to the promised land.

But what I've learned from her is valuable.

I've learned when I'm nervous, the part of my brain that normally would tell me to 'think' and 'edit' what I'm about to say completely shuts off.

It only took countless (debatable) faux pas about her ethnicity, pondering if I had too much clothing during a very heart-felt moment, accidentally suggesting mob-like brutality on her pet hermit crab, insinuating she was somehow 'over-the'hill' and continuously frustrating her to points of near mental breakdown to realize that: I don't know how to talk to women. I don't know anything about them. I know more about thermodynamics than I do about the workings of the girl psyche. And sadly, thats very, very true.

So I've begun to work on that. I began calculating all the information I'd learned from previous girls, and I realized I've learned quite a bit and didn't even notice. Kind of like in Hospitality class.

I've learned if a girl has a piercing below the equator...well, she's not the girl you want to introduce to your parents. I've learned that girls are excellent liars. They can tell you nothing is wrong with a smile on their face, and begin to hate your guts while you think everything is hunky-god-damned-dory.

I've learned that they are much...much smarter than men. They've learned, early on, while we were out doing 'manly things' like inventing the wheel, or fighting a war or purifying salt water that just like the President of the United States, while he is the face of government, that the true power lays deep....deep behind the mask.

I know when it happened, too. It was during one of those times menfolk thought they were out "shoe shopping", they were gathering together plotting and planning their next moves.

I might sound like a paranoid fool, but put it into perspective: Who really needs that many shoes. Look in a girls closet. Forty pairs of things they have never, ever worn. Thats forty meetings they had, talking about you.

What proof do I have? Simple.

Males have turned a peanut into butter, they've turned dinosaur grease into fuel, they've made it possible for 2000 tons of steel float on water. All commendable accomplishments...except men also will wear a pair of underwear until it's six threads and half a button left, as long as the elastic still...elastifies. While we were too lazy to get up, walk six feet and change a channel, women figured out the flaws in logic we have.

There is no cure for the common cold, but there is a pill to make an impotent man Ron Jeremy's stand in. Our priorities are skewed, and women realized this. We think with our "intuition".

I guarantee you a girl came up with the concept of a blow job. It's too simple for man to think of. I also bet a woman came up with the idea for GPS.

It went something like this: A girl didn't know what to get her man, because he's already got a remote and microwave. She knew what lengths men would go to for any kind of release.

I mean, masturbating? I've done my fair share of Assassinating JFK, but it recently struck me that if you have to use lotion to do it...it's something that shouldn't naturally happen.

And a girl realized this too, and she realized it during her monthlies.

A woman also got tired of a man not asking for directions, but realized his love of gadgetry. Garmin!

I've also learned girls also mean more than what they say. A whole...lot...more.

Whats on your mind? "Nothing". Lies, lies...lies. She's probably pissed, and she's probably pissed at you for not knowing.

It's like that saying, "Feed them shit and leave them in the dark."

Theres a reason why terms like "pussy-whipped" exist, and there really isn't much of a proper equivalent.

Ever run into a wild guy friend you had in high school, or college? Always drinking, partying, a million girls and always up for a good time. You run into him years later, and he's married with a kid and he's not at all like the person of old? Thats because of her. And I'm not saying thats a bad thing, sometimes that needs to happen.

But I've learned that girls won't tell you whats on your mind. Why? Why all these game playing? Well, it's because, knuckle-head, that she cares about you a lot at the moment in time and you should recognize that. How do I figure? Because YOU ARE NOT EQUIPPED TO DEAL WITH THE PRESSURES SHE GOES THROUGH ON A DAILY BASIS, and when it gets to the point where all she does is want to shut up about it and not have to consume another portion of her life, then you should shut up and probably buy her something like flowers. Immediately, if not sooner.

For the love of God, don't press the issue. She'll come to you when shes ready to talk about something.

But I've also learned that girls will harbor resentment until the end of time. You could date a girl, piss her off and not realize it, break up with her and think thats it. Guess what? She still hates your guts, she still tells all her friends and THEY hate your guts.

If you fuck up badly enough with a girl, and you don't rectify the situation...you might as well move to the next city over, because that pool is no longer willing to let you swim in it.

Some girls just aren't worth your time, my God there are others so much better than the one who you think, not know, but think is the only one. You want what you can't have, like a baby only wants it's ball when it's taken away.

Every girl, even your little love dumpling, wants to fuck Josh Hartnett. Theres nothing you can do about it besides rent "Lucky Number Slevin" or "Pearl Harbor" and hope for the best.

She's never that drunk.

You're never that good.

She's never, ever unprepared for dire situations.

You'd better get prepared.

If she's a little bit young, it might seem fun...but it is not worth the hassle. Trust me.

She's had her fair share of discretionary events. Unlike you, however, not everyone knows.

Never, ever call her the name of an ex-girlfriend during an intimate exchange and expect that relationship to last.

She has just the same right to have sex with whomever she wants, whenever she wants. Get past that if she's with you. If she weren't interested, she'd still be looking for her panties on the dorm lawn. And no, it isn't settling if she chooses to stay with you...just shut up.

Just shut up.

You think you're right?

Shut up.

And most importantly...listen to her.

Confidence will get you places. Like they say in Hollywood, fake it til you make it.

Unfortunately, I'm not good enough to follow my own advice.

Glenn Danzig's Glass Jaw.

2008-11-03T14:30:00.000-08:00

In 24 hours, America begins the end of it's two year long tap dance to choose the next leader.

The rest of the world sits on the cusp of page thats deciding if it will turn, or not. America may either go forward, or choose to attempt to stay in the old way of things and find a way to rectify the problems that have become so prevalent.

Regardless of who is chosen to lead this country, they need to realize that lives are at stake. That the past eight years, there has been more upheaval world wide than in recent memory.

The next leader needs to realize the Western Civilization is on the cusp of another Great Depression, and as history as taught us, World War is the only way to rectify, fully, a depression, and the tasks in front of us all are daunting.

It's sink or swim. Plain, and simply put we're in a do or die situation.

So it's up to Americans to vote and raise some concerns, yes, but it doesn't end there. These problems won't relent as soon as the next man takes helm at the Oval Office. We have to keep on this. Nothing will get done if you don't keep at the grindstone, even is it might cost you everything.

People want a change. They strive for a better future for themselves, and their children. It's a very noble thing to want, but these things will not happen without blood, sweat, and tears.

The competition has to stop. Differences are meaningless, because it's different variable that make everyday life worth living. Red state, blue state...mix it together and you get purple. We're all bruised from life...it's time we learn to heal together. For a house divided will crumble upon itself, so shall a people. But if the people are united, then they become something stronger than impenetrable.

But more important than the Presidential election, is the initiative portion of the ballot. Pay close attention, make sure not to skip over it. It's very important. More important than what happens in DC, because these are your own back yard.

So go out and vote, yeah. But don't think it's over after tomorrow. Life doesn't go on pause for four years until the next election, thats how these problems arose in the first place.

Gimme a Shimme, Gimme a Shake.

2008-10-24T15:39:00.000-07:00

Dedicated to Dennis, and Velvet.

So, it's strange to be round these parts again. It seems like every one's a critic, and sometimes I can't string a sentence together without it leading me into hot water. That's fine, at least I've got a devout fanatic in an old buddy of mine from the pages of Punk News. Check him out, he really is a special little fella.

But to every one who had some nice things to say about the recent Dillinger Four controversy, I'd like to extend a hearty thanks. I've made a lot of new friends, and I appreciate it a lot.

I think it really felt like things had become completely out of control (and I thought the Internet would soon start eating itself) when the Mighty Mitch Clem opened the doors back up to the worlds first online punk comic strip, Nothing Nice To Say, and started a story arc presumably centered on actions from yours truly. I don't care what anyone thinks, that's pretty bad ass.

But enough of this! It's time for the here, and now!

Some one close to me has went through a lot of hardships lately, and I truly don't know if I could personally have the strength he's displayed during these trying times. Most recently, theres been a personal tragedy within his family. Now, not that that is bad enough, but the tragedy has now gotten the Federal Government involved in the situation.

Without getting into the specifics of it all, it's going to result with him taking the Federal Government to Court.

Despite the stress, and toll that will obviously take on him as well as his pockets, I can't explain how proud I am to see a civilian grabbing onto the meaty seat of the Government, and not fucking letting go.

So often we see people just lay down and die. I truly suspect the reason why Government hangs so closely on the teat of Religion, is because when Faith is introduced into a cocktail, and that little plate comes your way...you're paying for your seat in Heaven. Why worry about what happens in the mean time, because infinity is so fucking long. It's just so long, you better pucker up now...

The two play off of each other, and the lowest common denominator (for those outside of the United States reading this, I'm referring to the Mid West of America).

If you can find someones worst fear, and manipulate it to where you seem to have the answers, then you have the golden ticket. Simple as that. And whats more scary than not knowing what happens after that final fucking breath? I'm pretty sure during a death rattle, you aren't too worried about the mortgage.

So why fight for the here, and now? Why fight for what is happening tomorrow, when the day after is a bigger question mark?

So my friend is now preparing to tango with the Federal Government. It seems so taboo. To bite the hand that's supposed to feed. But I hope he bites so hard, he draws blood. European governments live in fear of the people revolting. France is a great example. And I'm not saying that any of those countries are better than ours, I'm saying that we set a precedence here for what it means to be a Western Civilization, and now with the idea of a black democrat President becoming a somewhat sobering reality for a lot of those Americans stuck in a time frame the rest of us try to move past, you hear the voices of old come through the radio.

Cries of socialism, fears of a "Negra President". You see our true colors come to light, and they aren't Red, White and Blue. In keeping with the theme of yesterday's folklore, our colors are yella.

Why is it even a fucking issue anymore, color of skin? Why aren't people asking questions, why aren't people ready and willing to fight?

George Bush is still in office, you fucks. That guy could be clubbing baby seals and selling nukes for pogs (they ARE do for a comeback...), and no one has a fucking clue what that asshole is doing because....because we have a short attention span. We can't focus on the man bending Lady Liberty over, and teaching her the Texas Steam Roll, because of look, Sarah Palin wardrobe cost $150,000, and while that is an issue that should be examined (for you kids in England, that's nearly 300,000 Pounds, and to put things in perspective that's money that could fund under privileged schools around the country) but the thing is...we shouldn't take our eyes off this fuck.

If there was ever a neck fit for a noose, it holds up the head of the leader of the free world. I mean that sincerely.

Short attention spans, loss the will to fight, readying ourselves for the after-life and what comes next...

America is becoming a senile Alzheimer's patient with pneumonia and no family.

But...not all is doom and gloom.

Through my time I've taken off of here to put things into perspective (I.E turning 23, catching up with Scrubs, the Simpsons and It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia) a very close friend of mine, Velvet, has really started to come into her own as a photographer. She's actually starting to gain a lot of interest from numerous blogs and websites (and rightfully so) but the scary thing is, she's just beginning.

There are a set of photos she took of a recent dual protest in Southern California, of both McCain and Obama. Both were protesting the other while supporting their guy. But whats really fascinating about her set of photos (the way she takes them is completely unbiased, which is simply beautiful) she captures a moment in time that not many people will ever see. After November 4th, Americans will most likely go back to being complacent, as they've done with every Election. But these photos really capture a point in time of uncertainty, disillusion and a wanton desire for hope to return, and change to be born.

Throughout the sets of her pieces, you get this idea that the photographer took the picture with two eye's in mind; hers and the person unknown who may stumble across them. She can exploit texture, depth, and manipulate it to where it only serves to strengthen the character and integrity of the subject at hand.

There's something so approachable about her, and that's not me saying that because I know her. I say that, because again going back to the protest pictures, you get a sense of a world view. And an appreciation for the story in the sand begging to be written, as well as read.

Go check it out!
http://www.flickr.com/photos/velvetonholiday/ http://www.flickr.com/photos/velvetonholiday/ http://www.flickr.com/photos/velvetonholiday/ http://www.flickr.com/photos/velvetonholiday/

Nervous Wreck On a Four Lane Highway

2008-09-24T22:26:00.000-07:00

So late nights provide some of the more interesting...loosely meant, I mean, interesting programs. Loads of infomercials, random sex specials...poker after dark, which I've been watching for the past month and still know nothing about. But then there was one commercial I saw that literally shook me to my core.

I can handle humanity caving in on itself. I expect it, because people in power will always make that decision, and as long as people still see color of skin as a reason to abhor an individual. Religions, party lines, gender orientations...drugs...I understand that. Narrow mind sets encompass humanity, and bury it with futility. Futility being in that some day we honestly will no longer see these as issues to discriminate, and the only reason to dislike someone would be on there more foundation, and which that compass directs them towards in life's maze.

But the patterns of love and cruelty are nearly parallel. In such, love guides us to act on impulsions that disintegrate the thought process of normally intuitions. I'm not defending the actions, but it becomes quite apparent in most situations of Domestic issues.

But where I draw the line is when people don't know where the fuck to empty aggressions out on. Whats wrong with hitting the gym? Whats wrong with jogging, or riding the bike, or writing? Creating something out of anguish?

But then I see this commercial...I see this commercial about abused animals being kept in shelters.

Despite the horrible Sarah McLaughlin song, at the beginning when that dog is shaking in terror, and it's eyes look so terrified, it literally breaks my heart. Dogs don't deserve ever being beaten, or hurt. Cats, ferrets, any animal. If someone takes the liberty to hurt an animal...a pet...

Animals, some can be dicks, but for the most part reflect how the person who cares for them are. I couldn't ever imagine harming a pet, because they are there for comfort, for companionship. To pick up the line for wanting to give love, and receiving unconditional love.

It's hard for me to trust people, but I can respect a lot. But anyone who abuses a pet immediately loses any respect in my eyes. It's a characteristic of someone who has extremely violent tendencies.

I've went ahead and donated towards the ASPCA, which you can also do as such at www.myaspca.org.

Theres no reason a dog, or a cat or whatever animal doesn't deserve the same chance to be loved. Absolutely none. This organization is non-profit, and avoids the propaganda tactics that PETA might add. They don't have the same pizazz, or flash and backing...but, this is a way to become involved with something that actually makes a difference by nursing abused, harmed or neglected animals with shelter, food and medicine.

Humanity, I.

2008-09-22T23:21:00.000-07:00

Humanity, I
Watched the sun set in the middle of the day.
Bathed in summer during the middle of winter
Choked to death on words I'd never say.
Humanity, I.

Humanity, I
Saw the struggles of modern man
To make life simple and complex.
Tasted freedom in the form of cam.
Humanity, I.

Humanity, I
No longer have the will to live
To stand in line
Or quell the urge to swim.
Humanity, I.

Humanity, I
Want to take the chance to dream
That humanity has more to offer
Than what mortal eyes will see.
Humanity, I
Raise my voice to sing
In empty, hollow choruses
"Let freedom ring."

Humanity, I
Felt my heart break in September
When she turned and walked away
I spent many months staring at the pacific
Wishing to drown my problems in the bay.
Humanity, I.

Humanity, I
Lost my faith
Waiting for your soul to revive
And through these Armageddons
Only the weak seemed to survive.
Humanity, I.

Charlie's Foxtrot (Putting the 'Con' in Controversy.)

2008-09-14T21:01:00.000-07:00

The past week has been a cluster-fuck of controversy. Thats the easiest way of putting it. I've been reeling for an entire week trying to put this in a light where I could properly see what was in fact there, and what really isn't.

Before I go any further, this edition of Piss and Vinegar is dedicated to some very special people. Fat Wreck Chords, Dillinger Four, Racket Magazine, Punknews.org, Alternative Press and last, but certainly not least...Scott Heisel.

At the tail end of last week I was offered a link to Dillinger Four's epic, and utterly amazing new album, six years in the making, "C I V I L W A R". This past month has been very hard on me. All you need to do is check the more recent posts to see that. However, I don't feel in my heart that this should ever turn me bitter and jaded. In direct correlation, I saw some people I'm fond of suffering bad months as well. Jobs lost, job security in the balance, ruined relationships...and I saw a lot of people not having anything worth smiling for.

Instead of letting that fester, I attempted to bring a smile to a few peoples face, and in essence, I really did. But...that blew up in my face. Things got out of hand, and I assumed the responsibility that was dually mine. I won't get into this particular incident at length for now.

The next thing though, that I know, I'm fired from Racket and blacklisted left and right with certain people in the record industry. I felt shitty for what I'd done, and the general trust I'd abused, and still do too, to an extent. However...

When I was a kid, and I know I'm not even old now, but back then when I was a kid, punk rock was a different beast. While the internet surely existed, the advent of all it's capabilities hadn't truly been realized because most people didn't own a PC, nor did they have an internet connection (much less a T1 or Cable/DSL). But growing up in a fairly rural area the only contact we had with music was with what they told us was cool on the radio. And to be quite honest, while I still love some nostalgic 90's rock (tell me you don't fucking sing along with "Santa Monica" or "Semi Charmed Kind of Life", I dare you. You're a liar if you say you don't like those songs.) to be honest, I couldn't relate to any of that shit on the radio. I just fucking couldn't, for the most part. Sure, there was the occasional Green Day song that made it somewhat palpable for a moment being, but other than that...I mean, what did I care about Sixpence None The Richer? Does ANYONE even remember how horrible that song was? "Closing Time" just means you move it to somebody else's house, and tear the motherfucker down with less of a tab.

What we had were mixtapes, and word-of-mouth. We had the 'thank you' notes in the back of CD's. And when Green Day thanks Operation Ivy, and covers a song of theirs....you might just want to check what thats all about.

As much as I want to say a bands talents are what should be the selling point, as they rightfully should, you still need to get that word out.

And it happens when someone passionately displays love for your music, and your band. Especially when MTV and Clear Channel aren't endorsing you whatsoever. Good luck even finding table scraps.

And at the end of it all, it's people like me, who offer traveling bands a floor to crash and a plate of food. Who help book those shows, who play songs and cd's for people, who make suggestions based on other things that person likes musically. Ask anyone who's spoken to me for ten minutes, ask them how soon it becomes apparent I try and sell them on the Gaslight Anthem, or the Alkaline Trio. I've dedicated skin to three chords that I feel can fucking save lives.

One day I got a chance to write for a music magazine. Suddenly I get all this skinny, I get all these albums and bands asking me to listen to them, as if I'm important or my opinion actually matters for anything. And maybe it doesn't, but at this particular moment, I'm willing to bet it does, if even on a minuscule and minute level.

I value honesty above anything else. Integrity is important to me, so very important. And I made a mistake, my first one in nearly three years, and it cost me...or so I thought. So I thought.

I've taken time to ponder this series of events. Things hit the wall, and have become enormously blown out of proportion.

The simple fact is, at one point I was something I disliked. A critic of music. In a tangible form, on the internet. You want to read the hardest things I've ever written? Go to Racket Mag dot com. Anything that isn't an interview is me hating every ounce of myself. If I hate something, I don't mind being vocal about it, but not in written form. For the most part, these are kids who put a lot of hard work into making something they liked, and hoped other people would too. If you think it's okay to actively try to take away from them, and discredit them...then FUCK you. It isn't.

It'd be just the same as someone going into your wedding, shitting on the cake and saying the frosting was too sweet. The person shitting on the cake, you're not gonna say, "Well hot dog! I'm glad I didn't try it, I have sugar foot." No, truth is, if you're fat like me...you probably would've liked to try that cake for yourself. And even then, you might've kept your mouth shut if you didn't like it, because it isn't always about you, or us. Sometimes it's about the people who spent that much time working for something.

So why do it? Why be miserable doing something?

The truth is, I love music. In and out, up and down. I still remember the song that was playing (Jimmy Eat World's - A Praise Chorus) the first time I ever told a girl I was in love with her. I have a "Top Five" for every possible situation. I've done my time in the crowd, I've sung the words, I've shared mics, I've drunkenly danced to Hot Water Music's "220 Years" in a dead audience. Every time Fake Problems comes to town, I yell the words back extra loud and catch glances from everyone, just so people will wake up and pay attention to whats happening. With a torn medial meniscus in my right knee, I jumped on stage and sang "Walking is Still Honest" with Against Me! Music means every fucking thing to me, and without it life if but a soundless dream not fit for even the poorest of pariahs.

But even more than that, I am a writer. I write. That is my life through and through. Even if I woke up tomorrow and couldn't bare to do it again, I would. I would.

I've been writing since I was in the fourth grade. I have a need in my soul to do this, more than I do to breathe or wake up ever again. Thats the absolute truth.

So why do reviews, and interviews with assholes who thought they were the fucking Beatles and Rolling Stones all into one?

Before I started with Racket, I fell out of a relationship that nearly killed me. During, and after. And for a long time afterwards, I had no clue as to whom I was anymore. I'd become sterile and complacent. I worked a job I fucking hated, I acted in a way that isn't me. At all, and I cannot stand not to be honest with anyone, especially myself. Basically...walking dead.

I couldn't write a story to save my life. I couldn't. I had such a writers block after that break up, one that lasted over a year. But I wanted those words and ideas and thoughts and motivation and drive back in my fingertips.

And I also looked up to Lester Bangs. I still do, don't get me wrong. But I also wanted to get my name out, in case I ever wrote a book.

Fast-forward, I'm still disaffected towards a lot of writing about music on a 'professional' level, and decide to take it to the next stratosphere. I applied for a position with Alternative Press, freelancing. I'll get back to this in a second.

As far as Racket Magazine is concerned, I had my grievances. The whole time, and thats not a mystery. But I'm not, and I refuse to shit on them. Ever. They are good people, and my actions put them in a weird predicament. That said, I feel like I wasn't ever thought of in a positive light to begin with. Not that I beg for notoriety, because if I'm deserving of it, it may come one day. I just feel like the time I spent was never once appreciated. That put me in a position of complete depression with where my career was going. Writing, I mean. I just felt faceless, and for the first time I was trying hard to accomplish something. Not even just for myself, but other people around me. I have the belief that no one gave a shit, and thats fine. I'm still thankful for the awesome things I got to do.

Fat Wreck...I love your bands. I don't like NOFX, but god damn it if I don't respect Fat Mike himself. Everyone their seems solid, but this incident has lent new credence. It's a sinking ship, and I think I just realized that. They've lost their best-selling acts to major labels (Against Me! Rise Against, Anti Flag to name a few) they have almost no younger bands there to help the label re-build itself whatsoever, outside of maybe Dead to Me and the Flatliners. NOFX, Lagwagon and No Use For a Name can only go on for so much longer (as evidenced in NOFX's "Passport..." series on Fuse). American Steel are an amazing band, but they've never achieved the success they rightfully deserve. The Lawrence Arms, as much as it pains me to say this, may be coming to a close, and signing Dillinger Four...you can't build anything of merrit on that band. They'll draw well, sure, but they don't like to release new material. It's been six years since "Situationist Comedy". The biggest fumble, too, was them not doing everything in their power to bring the Gaslight Anthem aboard.

I'm sorry for whom I hurt their, but the truth is...I did my job, in a roundabout way. I got people, in a way, really hyperventilating about a band that's been dormant for nearly a decade. In the terms of underground music...that's nearly impossible, with so many bands worthy of attention falling on and off the radar nearly daily. Not that this particular band needs any help, but with years and years of taunting new releases, new music, and then shooting them down, it became a game of "band who cried album."

Punk rock is not a business, inherently. A lot of people have gotten rich off of it, because rebellion is commercially viable. But these actions weren't out of the realm of sneaking someone into a show who was under 21, and it wasn't an all ages venue. Thats the truth. Anyway you cut it, whoever has heard this album, knows for a fact how fucking good it is, and cannot wait to get this on wax, to go to the shows, to buy the merch and learn the new choruses. Plain, and very fucking simple. And with all the controversy within this album already, it's going to get a lot more attention than you initially gambled on. I'd bet the farm on it.

Now, back to Alternative Press.

I sent in my portfolio. I felt confident in my decisions for it, and I felt that I stood a decent chance. I really did. But I got the run around so very often, I got discouraged, said fuck it and decided to start my own little blog and just work diligently on my book(s). Theres some who believe in me, one in particular. And when she says she believes in me, I know I can walk through fire. I might get singed and burned, but I'll come out of it alive with a story to tell.

When this controversy became what it has generally become, the first person to come shitting on my doorstep was the same guy at Alternative Press. You, Scott Heisel. You.

The email I received from you was salt on an open wound.

Now, it isn't that so much. I've seen the depths you're willing to go to, to try and somehow become relevant with the kids again. Enough so to divulge my personal information in a very popular and public forum, to somehow further blacklisting me, because of heresay.

After I went through the trouble, on the worst day of my life, to defend your putrid, stale and egotistical ass. Saying, "This was my fault, he did nothing wrong. I'm in the wrong." you took the time to slander me. To use my full name in something that in no way is important to you. That could've hurt my future, you piece of shit. Do you even realize that? While I took time to take the hit, and tried to keep your name out of this situation, you still fucking took time further accusations, lie (and get caught in said lie).

I'm not a he said-she said person. I read what you, yourself have been saying, and I've been intensely quiet about this. But now that we're on the subject, I want you to think back to that email you sent to me. There wasn't an ounce of courtesy in that, you're too preoccupied with being a dick. Then you wonder why people don't care about what you've got to say anymore, or at least anyone who's worth an ounce of shit?

I'll explain it, then: You'll wear an Armalite shirt, grow a beard, pop up all over message boards on the internet, while bobbing on the cock of fashion oriented music. Norma Jean, Underoath, I know you like those bands, pal. And that's fine, but you're so disingenuous about the process. You'll shit all over a band in your magazine, and then plaster them all over the cover. Your ethics...are very unethical. Didn't they teach you journalistic integrity? Or did it fly out the window in order to, "you have to be able to sell your magazine."?

You have an air about you, that exudes this pompous "I'm somehow better than the kid standing next to me at the show cause I know these guys on a personal basis." So what man? Name dropping only gets you so far.

Did I want to write for your magazine? Yes and no. I wanted to get my own name out there so one day, I wouldn't have to write about music. I love it too much to pretend like I have any business telling anyone what they should think about it, at the end of the day.

So here goes.

My name is Aaron Earl Hale-Williams. I live in Arizona City, AZ. Mailing address is PO Box 95, Eloy, AZ. Half Mexican-Half Irish. I write stories, but...I'm done with trying to pretend my opinion on how good the new Off With Their Heads album is. I'd suggest people check it out, yeah...other than that...this is the last time I'll ever give some of you the courtesy of a name-check. I'm not Scott Heisel, thats not how I operate.

Besides, theres some real important shit going on in the world. Atom smashing, Hurricanes, wars, poverty and real life situations. This right here, this is me giving my two cents about the situation at hand. It won't be happening again, and I apologize. Drama is for people who need reality tv.

Dinosaurs will die. Nothing can continue to exist forever, not a worthless medium of entertainment, nor a glorified machine that will not accept it's no better than a tabloid.

I'm nothing. Some of the people mentioned here, they are nothing.

It's everyone else who means something, and it's time we worked on that.

If some of you mentioned here were about the music whatsoever, you'd think outside of the box you've hammered yourself securely in. Those nails left holes, you're taking on water...you're about to fucking sink.

Bands will still exist with, or without you. We'll still here it, and only care about them. The other mediums are nothing short of sucker fish, sustaining life from an actual creature.

And thats repulsive.

And I need a shower. I feel very, very dirty.

But I leave you with a few questions, and I want these to be answered:

What do you allow to influence you, and your decisions? Whens the last time a record review made you rush out and purchase an album? If culture exists on the mediums of art, in all it's forms, then with content being shared as rapidly as it is, does culture actually exist anymore?

With every bit of buzz that surrounds something, do you ever worry that that buzz belongs to something thats going to sting you? What will last?

Are we a product of push-button topics, are we educated idiots absorbing misinformation, and doomed to only preach this as truth?

Story of the Saguaro

2008-09-06T23:52:00.000-07:00

Yesterday was the funeral for someone who was close to me, and my family. His death, Leroy VanVerth was his name, came as a complete shock and utter tragedy.

It really did come out of left field. No one, I think who knew him, could have ever predicted that this was in fact the way he would go.

Last Sunday, 8/31/08, he was stabbed to death for his car.

Leroy was a great man, a kind and compassionate person. He was one of the few religious leaders I've met in my life that I could honestly say I respected. To pardon the pun, he truly practiced what he preached.

And in the days since this tragedy, I've done a lot of soul searching. A lot of looking for some justifiable feeling I could have towards this situation, and to be quite honest...I just can't find any.

There are times right now when I feel emotionally void. There are times when that sore just re-opens, and I want to cry. I want to be so angry about this, and I just can't. I can't, because I know in my heart Pastor VanVerth wouldn't have, either.

But I'm searching for some kind of harmony. Some sort of clarity, some sort of reasoning that could make me understand why something like this could happen.

How a man could survive, like he did, the depression, the dust bowl, social upheaval, and actually serve in several wars. How he could give comfort to dying men on foreign soils, with bombs falling and bullets flying everywhere. How a person can see the darkest depths of humanity, things that would prove to most others that God wasn't on the battlefield, and still serve what he believed in so diligently.

How he could survive all of this and die at the hands of some person with a knife over a car.

And...I just can't.

But what gives me hope, and gives me comfort is the following: He got to spend his final moments with the person whom he loved most on this earth. The girl he married in the 1940's, his high school sweetheart.

To tell her he loved her one last time.

Now I find myself trying to find some sort of solace. Sleep doesn't come, and I find myself still shaking at the sight of him in a coffin, and how that memory won't ever leave me.

And how unfair it is that when they lay a person you love in a coffin, they never ever resemble the person you once knew, and how unfair of a representation that is of them. And that no one deserves that to be their final image on this earth.

But most importantly, I pray that one day humanity won't resort to these lows. That one day murder, rape and broken hearts won't be such a pivotal portion of ones time spent here.

That one day we can stop the violence just long enough to enjoy a sunset and sunrise in the same sentence. That we won't have to worry about sheltering our children, or hurt this much when we realize we can't.

It might be impossible, but if I really gave up on that hope, I'm not sure if I'd have anything left to believe in.

Go out and hug someone.
Tell them you love 'em.
Call someone you haven't spoken to in a while and just talk.
Or shoot an email or text.
Why not write a letter or postcard?
Make a new friend.
Greet a stranger.
Strengthen bonds with old friends.
See the sunrise and sunset.
Fall in love.
Live for something great.

http://www.cvvc.org/

If you ever fall into a situation like this, please know there are resources and people who care.

I left my heart in Southern California.

2008-09-01T01:43:00.000-07:00

I try to update this about once a week, and I aim for Fridays. But lately, I've just been feeling pretty down, and I think a lot of that has to do with me having returned from Southern California almost two weeks ago.

I spent a decent amount of time out there, which is something I'd never had the opportunity to at length before, and the entire time felt like a waking dream. But nevertheless is also felt like, and was, a blessing.

Where I live is the death and absolute bane of human existence, and I say that with as little dramatics as I can possibly muster. It's a town called Arizona City, in...well, Arizona. Imagine that.

The irony is it isn't even an actual city. It isn't incorporated. There are a few businesses here and there, and somehow a Domino's, but other than that it's about thirteen miles away from the closest semblance of civilization. However, that town is called Casa Grande, and it isn't exactly the epicenter of culture either. That towns economic stability is almost solely resting on the shoulders of a Wal Mart, and a Wal Mart distribution center that employ, last time I checked, 20-30% of the towns working populous.

To paint the picture as clearly as possible, if you've seen the movie "Three Kings" with Ice Cube, Mark Wahlberg and George Clooney, try your best to recall that landscape. In the movie, you're under the impression that it's the tale of four soldiers at the tail-end of Desert Storm at the beginning of the cease-fire agreement. Try and remember that landscape thats sold to you as Iraq and Kuwait.

That movie was shot in Arizona City, and Casa Grande predominantly.

But this is where I've spent most of my life, in this area. As much as one would think you'd get acclimated to it...you really don't. Not if you've ever seen, even at a glance, a picture of a great city like London, Paris, Toronto, Seattle, New York or San Francisco.

But the trappings are so strong here, those small town trappings. When I went to Casa Grande Union High School...which...top notch educational facility they have their (it was designed and modeled by the same people who make the prisons in Arizona. Looks like one, too. Bars on windows, impending gates and on campus cops and security guards outnumber most of the office faculty.)

But when I went to CGUHS, I took notice of something that I feel led to me having a break down, because it seemed like no one else noticed it: Most of the teachers used to be students at that very same school.

It's something to me that was very subtle. As subtle as having a dictator on a Nations currency, I feel. In the way that it felt like, man...if these educators didn't make it out...what fucking chance do I really have?

I've grown to despise and hate most of the faces I've known my entire life, because they are the same exact fucking people that were there before them. So many married young, had kids and discovered meth. Walking into the Airport Tavern for the first time this year, was one of the most depressing things I've ever done in my life.

Walking into the bar and seeing all these grimaced faces choking down gulp after gulp of some old shot they'd ordered a million times before, making passes at the girl at the end of the bar who's had five kids and should be at home taking care of them so they don't carjack me in eight years, or take me hostage when I'm at the Quick Trip. Instead, they are there at this bar thats ironically placed at the edge of town, a place they won't ever go past because of the great unknown.

And you sit back and watch this with a drink in hand, and you realize, the only thing that separates you from them is this passage you've built in your head that somehow you have more cultural wisdom and intelligence than they have; too afraid to admit it's most likely denial of the inevitable.

It's like the ship of the Damned in William Faulkner's 'Mosquitoes'. You realize all these other people are dead, you just don't want to accept the fact that somehow...you're just as much a cadaver as they are; you're every bit as damned.

So I wound up having an opportunity to cover the Warped Tour in California on August 17th. At first it felt like a passing idea, but as time drew much more near it became evident that this was actually going to happen.

The trip started off with a friend and I going to meet another friend who was in town (and being so fucking gracious in taking me with her to California, and even more so to let me stink up her futon.) We meet her and her mother and her mother's boyfriend. Some drinking ensued for a dew days, another pal stopped by for a while...more drinking ensued, there was a baseball game which was one of the best times I've ever had in my life.

Before we'd even left Arizona I was already realizing how much of a deviation this was going to be from my tomb of normality. I consider myself a person who handles (and thrives) on change. I feel I react extremely well to on the spot things, and everything getting turned on it's head, and I started to break out of this shell I've been building for myself for months.

Everything I'd convinced myself I wasn't a fan of, I became receptive towards, and began to enjoy things I'd written off. The most obvious of this would be that normally I'm a proprietor of flight. Why? Because I hate, hate, hate...hate long distance travels. Even a seven hour flight to Chicago drove me insane, once. But one key benefactor is: I was basing all my hatred for long distances in cars and buses off of the fact that I usually travel solo.

When I rode with Velvet (the kindly girl whom let me hitch a ride and sleep on her futon) it was just a completely different experience.

Now, I've been to California enough times that I think if I go again I have to start paying state taxes. But I love California. Well, Southern California. I've not had the pleasure of heading up North yet. But I love California. It's a complete contrast: A different world than anywhere I've ever lived/been before.

I love Boston, I love New York City. I'm okay with Albany, NY. Chicago was great! Denver, Colorado Springs (birthplace, yo) are a lot of fun. I can live a hundred more years and never think of another reason to go to New Mexico and New Jersey again. We should give those back to Mexico, and England (respectively.)

But the point I'm trying to make is that, out of all the places I've ever been, Southern California as a whole is the one place I've ever felt completely alive and happy. It's honestly why I continuously make excuses to go there. Whenever I'm depressed with my life, when I feel I've hit a creative block or hit an emotional speed bump in my life, I've always found the love I felt I've never truly had in California.

Most people hate, with vehement passion, Los Angeles. They hate the contrast of 'glamor' and 'glitz' with the inverse of crime and degradation. Even me, myself, should hate the polarizing effect that a place like the Sunset Strip of Hollywood casts on people, because, well...I hate all things that are that fake, but for some reason it's a different beast of burden when I'm there.

In New York City theres girls with bent-noses walking down 42nd Street in tight-fitting, skimpy uniforms where they serve wings or "dance" for business men. This is their way of "showcasing" their "talent" in hopes of one day being asked to dance in a play on Broadway. Everyone has an education and a degree in self-importance, but most work at 'chic' hotels or fashion boutiques because everyone else has that same education and degree. Educated idiots drowning in a cesspool of the American Dream. But each and everyone of these people are 100% convinced that they will be a success. Men and women.

But you enter a place like Sunset Strip, and even though it's flooded with Japanese tourists and people with costumes of movie characters that maybe weren't even that great in the first place, theres the people who live there. Who breathe that uncirculated air of Hollywood's ghosts, praying to God that some how their lungs are gonna fill with Marylin Monroe's ghost.

Their birth place as far as they are concerned, is the sidewalk of Mann's Chinese Theater. Yet somehow when you look into the eyes of some bleached blonde, forty-something woman who's lived a much harder life than I ever will, you see in the back of that glossy exterior that they themselves realize that their final resting place is going to inevitably be Skid Row.

And for some reason, I love that. Not the abandonment of it all, but the people watching. The stories in faces that I couldn't ever fathom of putting to paper: They come to life when everything else seems so dead and gray.

And it's such an odd phenomena, to see something so over-polished and self-assured be so gritty and full of doubt when you scrape it with your finger nails.

I want to breathe that. I want to breathe the dregs of society; I want to bask in ebb and flow of humanities breaking point. Because when everything seems so disgusting, you can turn right around and see a street performer who probably works weeknights at Kinko's or the Comfort Inn, playing guitar just because he or she didn't feel like staying in. Somehow the expression of art is more affluent in the places where commercialization of culture won't ever touch.

And then you leave that area, and go to other great and fun places. Pomona, San Clemente...all over, and theres still so much to take in. It's such an odd thing for me, to see people who live there not even realize they are being inspected with eyes wide full of curiosity. How can they not notice, even after having lived there for however long they have, that where they are standing is the only place that makes sense in this entire country?

Perfect weather, a diversity of races combining to co-exist and create a mesh of cultures that really, I've not seen anywhere else.

I made some new friends this time around, and I got to be with old friends. I got to spend time with the one person who makes my whole existence seem somewhat validated, and I know I wasn't even deserving of that much. She's so incredible, it honestly hurts not to be able to bug her face to face now.

I started off the second leg of this trip (first being the days spent in Phoenix) at, really, for all intents and purposes is a frat house. Thai food, a crazy neighbor, three white kids not comfortable with the community. Read: Anyone brown they were weary of. A black room mate I barely got to talk too, but was still a rad dude. And one very on edge Editor of a certain magazine who became very anxious when I started saying, "minority" loudly. (Sorry man, sometimes I shouldn't be brought out in public.)

One afternoon, a few of the room mates and I made the trek to China Town. Patrick (who's really hairy) Wesley (who's lived in Africa, but is somehow white) and his gal pal, who...I've forgotten her name. Sorry. And a Mexican named Hector, who isn't a stereotype whatsoever (living in Southern California, drives a van...name is Hector. It's okay, I'm half beans and rice). So we went to China town, and had some great sandwiches. Thing is, I love mustard, and there was this condiment bottle I thought was mustard (it was yellow-ish) and liberally squirted on my sandwich.

I should have known better. The Chinese are fuck crazy with their condiments. After being convinced there was an exorcism in my mouth, and the Devil was winning, the gentleman in front of me was wiping tears away from his eyes, and saying "I should have warned you, but I figured you knew." Yeah, funny man. I'm used to hot things, not nuclear garnishments. Fuck you, funny man. Fuck you.

But China Town can eat a dick. Everyone there is full of evil, and shoddy masonry.

The third leg of the trip saw me being put in a scenario, as good as I am with change...took me so far out of my element, I thought surely I would die. See, I'm 22 and love comic books. I've been a nerd for thirteen years strong. Futon crashing at a pretty girls house (a pretty girl who makes my voice crack, even though I've been done with puberty forever). She finds it all hilarious. I'm glad I could be such a source of the funny during my time in California, guys. So glad...

We had a lot of fun, and...a doomed expedition to the Warped Tour, which saw the casualty of her vehicle. To be fair, the expedition was doomed the second the term "Warped Tour" was thrown in the mix. So she had to tend to getting her car towed, I however was now all alone in the town of Carson, California, surrounded by walking advocation's for abortion. I hate the youth of today.

But I got a nifty press pass, and was allowed to walk backstage. Now, a few things come to the top of the list here. Meeting and watching Rise Against from side stage, check. Getting to hang out at length with Hunter from AFI/Hunter Revenge, and Aaron from Reel Big Fish, as well as getting to meet the legendary thrash punk band, DI, and getting invited on side stage to watch the most passionate performance I'd seen in quite a while. But two things really come to mind.

First off, it seemed like every other song on KROQ in California is "I Kissed A Girl" by Katy Perry. Katy Perry for those who don't know (and good for you if you didn't) is the latest record company creation to generate revenue from sexual ambiguity. Katy Perry however, has been in the music industry for a while. See Katy Perry, or Katy Hudson as she used to known, recorded albums in a previous life for a Christian label. I'm an atheist, but that rubs me the wrong way. I'd kill for some convictions in this modern world.

So I'm talking with Aaron from Reel Big Fish, and we're slapping our knees at having the same name, when this broad starts signing autographs. Now, I'd heard the song, and glanced at the video (in hopes of girl make outs, I'll confess.) but I couldn't, even know with a gun pointed at my beloved cat Rizzo's cute head, pick her out of a crowd. So I asked him whom she was, and he said he hadn't a clue (though I suspect he did, but wanted to see where this was going) so I said, "Fuck this. I'm going to ask her. Excuse me, who are you?"

Katy Perry: "I'm Katy Perry."
Me: *blank stare*
Rando slut-fan in booty gym shorts, annoyed: "She has a song on the radio."
Me: "I still have no clue who you are."
Rando slut-fan, more annoyed: "She's on MTV."
Me: "I still have no idea who this lesbian is."

Imagine the egg on my face.

The second highly notable event would be, a few posts back (What To Wear When Swimming With Sharks) I'd taken many pot shots at Max Bemis.

I don't hate the guy, I know major label bands don't make any money, and I do thoroughly enjoy "...Is A Real Boy", but that being said, I still take grievance at his new practices. So Say Anything was one of the headlining bands at this particular date, and I thought I'd make his acquaintance. So I do, and I introduce myself. I then go on to say I write for Racket Magazine, and of course here at Piss and Vinegar, and had written a piece about him.

A light visibly went off in the crazy man's head, and even though I'd known he'd read the piece (several posts on AbsolutePunk, a reference in Punknews weekly Navel Gazing, as well as thirty emails and posts on his bands message board will ensure things like this) I was shocked he wasn't pummeling my face with his angry little fists. He smiled, laughed, and it seemed alright.

But the rest of the trip...yeah. After Velvet came back and picked me up (I would've left me to die) we went back to her place.

I bonded with her awesome turtle, Yertle. There were some bad jokes (told by me) and funny jokes (told by her) and a general havoc wreaking on my every attempt not to beg for her hand. Whatever, I don't want to come off as lame...

The last night was something with her/in California is something thats gonna be burned into my memory, until I've killed those cells with Sam Adams. But even then, I think I'll still have the feeling left, and to be honest...it was the best time, this whole trip, that I've ever had in my life.

Certain people have that ability in your life that can restore your faith thats been shattered. But even more few and elusive people can transcend that, and every once in a while you come across one or two people in particular that make every ounce of shit in life worth it. I have a hard time expressing this to people, but I wish them to know that I've never taken a moment of knowing them for granted. Not her especially.

Jonathan was a great host. I'll never look at Olympic gymnastics the same again. The other room mates are slightly less crazy, but insane just the same...and I hope that never changes about them.

Theres a lot of people I didn't get to see that I wanted too. Hopefully if there is a next time, I will.

The train ride home felt like defeat, but at the same time...it was beautiful. I read Robert Sheffields, "True Love Is A Mixtape" and at one point couldn't help but weep, when he talked of his wife's passing. I hope one day I can mean that much to someone.

But now I'm gonna end this post with the following: This right here is the second most honest thing I've ever (poorly) written in my life. Theres a lot more that happened than I'll ever manage to replicate in an online setting. I hope I never forget a second of it.

There was a lot of self-discovery. Theres a lot of emptiness at this moment knowing this right now in my life isn't what I want. But I'll have to keep going on, and on, and on, and on (to quote Against Me! *We Laugh At Danger (And Break All The Rules.)*) But I also got to experience the people I feel closest too, and for that, I'm more than grateful; I'm in eternal karmic debt. Thank you for that.

And in closing, I leave those I spent time with this play list. I hope they get the time to listen to the songs, and hear what it is I'm not gonna ever be able to say: I left my heart in Southern California.

Side One: I Know You're Leaving (Baby, I've Done The Same.)

1.) Lemuria - Pants (Album: Get Better)
2.) The Gaslight Anthem - 1930 (Album: Sink or Swim)
3.) Billy Reese Peters - Mexico (Album: Almost Heaven)
4.) Murder by Death - Spring Break, 1899 (Album: Red of Tooth and Claw)
5.) Chuck Ragan - California Burritos (Album: Loz Feliz)
6.) Manchester Orchestra - I Can Barely Breathe (Album: I'm Like A Virgin Losing a Child)
7.) The Velvet Teen - Radiapathy (Album: Out of The Fierce Parade)
8.) Alkaline Trio - San Francisco (Album: Goddammit)
9.) Led Zeppelin - Stairway to Heaven (Album: Led Zeppelin IV)**

**For a very specific memory.

Side Two: I'm Barely Standing, But Standing Nonetheless.

1.) Tegan and Sara - The Con (Album: The Con)
2.) Billy Reese Peters - Almost Heaven (Album: Almost Heaven)
3.) The Gaslight Anthem - High Lonesome (Album: The 59 Sound)
4.) Alkaline Trio - Do You Wanna Know? (Album: Agony and Irony)
5.) Against Me! - Sink Florida, Sink (Live in London!!! Americans Abroad!!!)
6.) Bob Dylan - Forever Young (Album: World Gone Wrong)

Thats all folks! See ya Friday.

The Potential Motion of the Ocean (Get Sunburned and Get Funky).

2008-08-29T23:00:00.000-07:00

November second looms in the distance. Like a nervous guy on Prom night about to meet his date's parents, it looms and you know it's coming.

What's important to you?

Seriously, what is important to you? Here in the United States, you see a thousand different issues, all biding for our attention. Gas prices, health care, gay marriage/rights, abortion, the Wars in Iraq and Afghanistan. Lets not forget good old immigration. Energy...so many things, and so little time.

So we place and hedge our bets in two combatants for the most glorified civil servant position in the United States: the President. Commander in chief.

For the past eight years, I can honestly say that this near-decade has been the most tumultuous time I've been through. I'm only twenty-two, but I know firmly the things happening now have repercussions on the future that have so much potential to harm our future generations.

Apathy has been the wind in the sails of the boat that is America, and I'm getting a little sea-sick. Within the past few days both "respective" nominees have announced whom they've chosen as their running mates. For Barrack Obama it's Joe Bidden. For John McCain it's Sarah Palin.

Nevermind the fact that John McCain has chosen, well...a naughty librarian and Obama has picked (most likely) the person John Cougar Mellancamp talked about in all those songs. Nevermind those facts, because the truth is..it's smoke in mirrors.

For four years, no one gives an absolute shit about politics. It's during these lapses that something to damning to the spirit of America, so defiant of the Constitution it's self; the "Patriot Act", becomes legislation.

Wire tapping, police state like activities, Guantanamo Bay and torture? Fucking torture, are you kidding me? This is America, for God's sake...we cannot allow, as citizens, for that to happen.

"But it's to stop the terrorists."

Well, maybe. Maybe it is, and lets play Devil's Advocate for a second and say intangibly, it is to stop those ragheads from destroying our freedoms. Okay.

So you torture three hundred Muslims under suspicion. Suspicion that one of them has nuke firmly implanted betwixt their colon and kidneys. And currently, they are planning to walk into New York City, and wipe the five Burroughs off the face off existence.

What about the other 299 people who weren't terrorists? You never hear them speak, you never see them again. Their stories are inconsequential because Jane and Dick Durante in Kansas City, Missouri get to sleep comfortably knowing the one person is brought to justice.

You know what? That shit might be okay for Cuba or North Korea, but this is America. Liberty is supposed to balanced and fair; JUSTICE for ALL.

It's like saying there might be a golden needle in a haystack. Only instead of searching through it all, you just say "fuck it" and burn the hay stack.

Sure, the needle might still be there.

But that hay was to feed your horses. Your horses count on you for that food, and you just burnt the entirety of what you had, only ashes remain. The irony is you burned the hay stack to prevent the needle from hurting one of the horses.

So the horses have to fend for themselves. But they've become domesticated...so they might starve. And even if you restock the hay, what if there is another needle? Burn that one too. Now, the horses don't trust you anymore.

That in a nutshell is National Security, and the governments practices. We're all the horses. We used to buck and kick when we were told what to do, but now our spirits broken.

And it cannot be like that. If you bother to speak against, your patriotism is called into question.

Except, in the word 'Patriot', 'Riot' rounds it out. You have to be willing to dissent when things aren't what they are supposed to be. At all costs, I truly believe, you must fight for your freedoms.

So what do you believe in?

The illusion of change is more romantic than the actual accomplishment of said change. Most people want to win the lottery and be rich, but most of those people never buy the ticket. Most people want big houses and nice cars, but never work for them. The illusion is much more important.

A few years ago people were buying hows that in all actuality they couldn't afford. They were offered a rate that could fluctuate, a sliding scale if you will, and they signed on. Many of those same people also leased cars. Leased, not bought. So when your driving down Evergreen Terrace, you saw all these nice houses and cars, and you thought "that persons doing alright."

Fast forward to now. In my neighborhood theres hundreds of homes that are practically brand new, but no one resides in them. It's the same all across America, too. Lexus, Chevrolet and Ford all 'phasing out' the ability to lease cars now. It's every man and woman for themselves. Fuck the children, they need to figure it out on their own.

Thats the romanticism of illusions.

So now we're facing a 'historic' election. Old white devil with hot VP, versus a black male and the 'salt of the Earth', a blue collar individual with 'family values'. Each are chosen to off-set the inadequacies of their nominee. Obama faced critique that he was elite. Bidden is the working class hero. McCain is viewed as old and set in his ways of business as usual. With Palin, well...she's a woman. A gun toting, soccer van driving, young and vibrant counterpart.

But before this election can rightfully be called historic, the electoral process it's self has to change. It simply has too. Lives are at stake, no matter which way you cut the cake, and politicians still treat it like a fucking game. Each state is worth collective points?

One state is worth more than the other. Texas is worth more than Rhode Island. Easily. So those citizens get over looked because they don't matter as much? How can my vote mean shit when theirs doesn't?

The illusion of change. Last election it was John Kerry and George Bush. The consensus is Americans felt they didn't have a choice. One was busy flip-flopping and the other was busy talking to "God". Not one of us had any clue what either were doing, and dejectedly we marched into those poll booths and cast our votes.

But now we have "choices". Whats McCain's policy on free speech? Whats Obama's stance on the drinking age? Better yet...who cares? These are decisions each individual State has the right to vote on. It's why the decriminalization of marijuana is enacted in California. The problem is the Government over steps it's Constitutional boundaries and applies Federal prohibitions on something thats SAFER than tobacco, a product this nation was founded upon.

How does America not have a Universal Health Care system in place? Besides the logical answer of lobbyists and money, how can they justify wire-tapping as a step in safety, yet not provide something as physicals pro-bono to it's same people they are trying to 'protect'? I don't understand that line of thinking.

"It has socialist tendencies."

So what about SOCIAL security? What about police, fireman, libraries and public schools?

But we allow this to happen to us. We allow it because we get scared. Of what are we fucking scared of? Planes, and bearded brown people with box cutters? Why?

During the Revolutionary War (sorry my British friends, you had to know it was coming.) farmers bore arms, pitch-forks, rocks and fists to fight. If they died, then so be it, they stood for what was true to them.

September 11th, 2001 planes fall from the sky, and thousands of people are killed and injured. Was I scared? Yeah, kinda. But for different reasons. I live in the desert, son. The desert. I'm not at the top of the list...well, except the nuclear plants near by. But I was scared that whats happened, would happen. That we'd forget we have the rights to bare arms. And thats how I feel about the situation.

We have the capabilities to protect ourselves by any means necessary, and thats where the hysteria should have stopped. But we were told about anthrax, and gas, and somehow duct tape fit into the equation. We allowed our President to go above Congress and the UN and OK a war. And I'm not going to get into the war because those men and women are there doing what they feel is right. We all got duties to fulfill, and they are there because they dropped everything at a moments notice just in case their families were in danger and their freedoms were being violated.

What repulsed me is we didn't have more faith in ourselves. Did these actions exploit weaknesses within our society that needed to be addressed: yes. But as with everything, hysteria mounted and robbed us of our sanity and dignity. The founding fathers, though slave-owning as they were, still would never have stood for what happened. The people who died on Iwo Jima and Germany, or during the Revolutionary War seem to've died in vein, because we do not remember whence we came.

Theres a line that needs to be defined. We need to come to terms that at some point, we have to accept responsibility for our own actions. We've allowed every transgression in our names.

We bitch and moan about energy and gas prices. We've drained the world of oil, because it was there. Oil is a non-renewable source, yet there are people have the gall to still drive SUV's and bitch that it costs them nearly 100 dollars to fill up. Well, I live in Arizona. I don't know what rain, snow or clouds look like. The sun shines almost every single day. Same with Florida, New Mexico, Texas and Arizona to name a few. Why can't we you know...harvest that some how? Like...with solar panels.

Chicago is the WINDY City. Lets get some turbines in that mother fucker then. We have two huge oceans that churn every single second. Um, so...lets do something with that. These are renewable resources. They don't do any damage whatsoever to nature...because THEY ARE NATURE.

But the only answers I'm hearing are John McCain's cute little play on the Beach Boys song, "Bomb bomb bomb, bomb Iran." That scares the SHIT out of me.

Obama is no better. Neither are. At all.

We have to take care of ourselves before we decide we need to go save the world. Simple. We can't stop horrific things from happening, we can only prepare for them. That in no way entitles anyone to take a preemptive strike. We don't have that responsibility, or right. It IS important how the rest of the world views us.

America is a great place. It is, and thank God for that. Just like every other country, we've done things that we had no business doing, but what I feel is over looked is how often we reach out to the world when tragedy such and Natural disasters happens. But now we're paying for the sins of our fathers, and we have to work hard to differentiate ourselves from them.

What I would love to see one day, instead of cardboard signs and catchy slogans in protests, I would love to see everyone walk into the White House and take a painting or carpet. It's ours, we paid for it.

I would love to see Americans not vote one election year. As a form of silent protest. If no one is elected, then who wins? We do. A blood-less coup. A silent pimp slap to our Government thats refused to listen to the people who sign their checks and pat their backs. Who smell their shit, and smile and say, "You're absolutely right Senator, your shit...it just doesn't stink. Might I even say it has a hint of rosemary and pine?"

Last year my father, a life-long Republican, a 72 year old man who worked every day of his life, who has given me so much was diagnosed with prostate cancer.

At the time I lived in Albany, New York. He was diagnosed on his birthday, just over a year ago this month (August 9th). He also went through a re-constructive knee-surgery on his left knee, and issues with his right knee as well.

After having his re-constructive knee surgery, he immediately began radiation for his cancer. And for those of you who've not had the pleasure of watching the person you love and respect most suffer like that, let me tell you...it's not all that fun. Root canals and full-cavity searches are presumably more enjoyable.

And there would be nights where I would sit here at my computer, and he would struggle out into the living room, during the winter with the AC and fans on, and be sweating buckets. And he would sit in his chair, and even though it was obvious through his body language that he was in complete agony, he'd never complain.

One night though, I was sitting here and he came out. His face was beat red from the radiation, sweating profusely and eyes screaming in pain. He sat down in his chair in the darkness, and began to weep.

"It wasn't supposed to be this way", he said "I never wanted it to be this way."

And I told him cancer can happen to anyone. Anyone meaning that he's never smoked a day in his life, and has always been active.

"No. I worked every day of my life to have what small amount of things I have. I gave my blood, sweat and tears for everything I have, and now I have nearly nothing."

He's not a materialistic man. A year before this happened, my mother got into some legal problems that caused him to put leans on his vehicles he'd owned for the better part of five decades. The bank owns them now.

"I wanted more for you, and your mother. Here I sit, and I can't do anything about it, and I've never felt more worthless in my life. You come into this world naked and screaming...thats how you go out."

His HMO's wouldn't cover certain basic medical procedures he needed at the time. His disability checks decreased because he aged, and he was beginning to become a drain. Instead of Uncle Sam helping at all, a man who'd trusted his government to do so in his later years, he was shunned. He was made to feel worthless, because our citizens now have to work two to three jobs just to stay afloat somewhat. People who should be retired, and the President lauds this as something commendable. If you feel thats commendable, that an 83 year old diabetic woman would have to stand and greet door at the same Wal Mart that put her grocery store out of business, at 2 in the morning, and shes doing it so she can afford insulin...if you feel thats commendable, kill yourself. This shouldn't even be an issue. She did her time, he did his time. They don't need to work until they die, they've earned a few fucking days off.

And I watch the spirit begin to weaken.

All the while the President stood in front of seniors, and pledged support to a bill that would help lighten the financial load on their medication. Ed never saw an amount of relief from that.

One day in the mail we received fifteen pamphlets on "what to do with your deceased". Where to bury, how to do all of this shit. And instead of that killing him, he made the subtle move of changing his political affiliation to independent.

I'm proud to say he's nearly cancer free. His knees are stronger than ever. He walks easier, and works just as hard as he did sixty years ago. He still loves his country, but now calls bullshit openly when it's present. And thats not to say he never did, but in terms of what we're told in 'patriotism', he held his tongue and worked harder within his community to make things better for his neighbors. He still does that, but now he's adamant in raising his voice as loud as he can when a spade isn't even a spade.

We aren't red or blue states anymore. Thats their term for us. We're mixed. When you mix those colors, we're all purple. We're all bruised, and it's time to fight back.

God won't talk to me, my congressman won't talk to me, my mayor won't talk to me. I'm guessing it might be the same for you. So maybe it's time we talked amongst ourselves. Find common ground, and not focus on push-button topics. We all love our families (for the most part). Thats something every citizen in the world can agree on, pretty much. We all want to strive to be better people, be healthy, take care of what needs to be taken care of and enjoy life to the fullest extent we can.

So change? Yes we can. And it starts with us saying, "Fuck you Barrack Obama. Fuck you, John McCain." First Amendment. Exercise it.

The Devil Owns a Flat in Leeds.

2008-08-23T23:18:00.000-07:00

A little pre-face here: I'm drunk. So lets do this shit.

So, as some of you may or may not know, I also moonlight over at an online magazine called Racket Magazine. I don't get paid, because I barely do anything as it is. In fact, to be quite honest, theres about five to ten things I could be doing right now. But, instead of having any semblance of professionalism in my lazy body, I'd rather sit on the Punk News boards all night, while drinking piss-warm wine, and proclaiming: "I want to throw a wine bottle at Thom Yorke's fucking face. Radiohead sounds like a retarded wolf howling over the back drop of synthesizers and late 1980's Macintosh computer blips."

If someone reads this, and has connections to that smash-faced fuck, Thom Yorke, please inform him that Aaron Hale of Racket Magazine/Piss and Vinegar fame would like to challenge him to a knife fight.

Something about him just gets my blood a'boilin. Maybe it's the simple fact that they haven't ever made anything that didn't immediately make me search for something sharp to shove into my larynx. What gets me further is that people continuously claim to give a shit about them. Seriously, I think it's okay to stop pretending now. If you wanna latch onto the teats of something "cool", and "different, man" why not go scope out Broken Social Scene? Shit, maybe they'd come to Arizona for once.

But thats entirely whats wrong with the music industry as a whole today, anyways. It's the same reason why a band can't even afford gas while on tour.

Last year Radiohead made a big splash by announcing a "label-free, pay what you want album", titled "In Rainbows". However, a month later announced the project was a "success" and would be releasing the album on a major label.

They play both sides of the fence, and you can't do that with life. Try working your desk job, right? Say you work at a company that sells insurance. Say you have a falling out with your boss, and you decide to take on some people and "insure them" on your own.

All these major insurance companies catch wind, when people, customers, start signing up with Joe Schlomo's "Protectitall". His catch is, pay what you want.

It becomes a big success, Schlomo's venture. People sign up. Some pay a penny, because their wisenheimers, and some pay a legit amount of 20, or so a month.

But you begin to trust Schlomo. He's a good dude, and all. He used to work for the man, now he knows how it all works. In his commercials, he even talks about how he got tired of seeing people so easily denied. "We all need health care" says Schlomo, "after all, this is America."

After a year, Schlomo sells your deal to a bigger HMO.

So while the context and it's presentation to you may be the same, the principle of the whole matter is ruined.

See, this is whats wrong with music. While the labels themselves, the "Big Four" are the face of Evil, whats behind the mask is a little bit more disgusting. Because it's me. It's you. It's the consumer.

Let me back up. Let's break it down. "Consumer". The base word is "consume". We all know what that means (unless you somehow don't. Then I'd advise you to find a tree, some rope, and play reverse neck-tie.) But the Western Civilization, we're not creatures of necessity. Necessity meaning eat, drink, shit, sleep.

We need the big screens, fancy cars, nice houses. Thats what we think we need. We WANT those things, truth be told. I don't know anyone who needed a Mazarati, or their lungs would collapse.

So we throw so much money into the music business, the entertainment industry. Everything. And look, art IS important, but it shouldn't be on the level of being sold to you as a Pepsi product. It just shouldn't. It's about expression, passion, and everything else. I'm not against a person making money from their craft, not at all. I'm against someone making money off someone else's craft.

James Brown died while still being an active performer. "The Hardest Working Man in Show Business." Working, business...a singular individual, in essence.

The populous doesn't give three shits about the "industry". They buy what makes them dance, laugh, or get away from home. Thats about the extent that people really care. Theres money to be made, and somewhere along the lines, 20 dollars for CD seemed okay. Somewhere along the line, 50 dollars was alright for a concert ticket price. Somewhere along the line, someone decided that people would pay these prices if there was a nice sheen to everything.

People just don't look into the depth of structure. Why? Circular logic. The same reason you pay 20 for a CD, or 99 cents for a singular track on iTunes, or 50 dollars to see U2 at Madison Square Garden: Bills to pay, jobs to work, families to support. Who has time for something so petty.

But we no longer have time for anything that doesn't fit in those food groups. We're too involved with the gays getting hitched. Those goddamned illegals taking our jobs. Gas prices sky rocketing. Push-button issues that distract us from things that, you know, maybe we should pay attention too.

Then along comes Radiohead. The savvy band, the "intellectuals favorite." They do something, like, totally different, man. They drop their label. One of the biggest bands in the world is label-less, and decide, "You know what? Fuck the man!" and lo and behold, heres an album that you can pay whatever money for. We don't care. It's about the ART, not the imprint on the back.

A month later they turn around, and release it on a major because, "In Rainbows is a classic album, and deserves to be delivered to the masses."

Mass consumption.

So what happened? They pulled the biggest publicity stunt that went unrecognized, because they dared to fight the evils of corporate rock structure. They gained credibility, and they garnered a pretense of authenticity with the rock critics and music nerds. The thing is, the credibility they gained was from critics who write for Rolling Stone, Pitchfork, Spin, etc. Each, and every one of those publications are sponsored by corporate funding. So who are they appealing too? A bunch of people that talk the talk, and cash the checks of those whom allow them to diverge from the beaten path long enough.

Rolling Stone gave "In Rainbows" four and half stars out of a possible five. But where I call bullshit shenanigans is that Radiohead got people talking again. They pulled a two part ploy, and made a bundle of money doing so.

By releasing an album "label-less", they made that money directly. In doing so, they got people talking about a band thats shelf life seems to never go away. 22 years they've been making shitty music, and people have been engrossed by it forever. Whatever, I might not be meant to get it. But getting people to talk again gets people interested in buying your product once again. That many people buying an album without this image of a label backing them, well that just means the attention is grabbed by a label again. Big sign on bonus.

For years, all I've ever known is that a band doesn't make money off an album. They make it off of touring. It's why some bands never come off the road. It's why the Rolling Stones have been on a farewell tour ever since Brian Jones croaked. The money is in the merch, and ticket prices. With a rejuvenated interest in your band again, you basically sell tickets to your show to people who might not know that much about your band outside of, well...your Radiohead.

So the consumers bought into it. Consume, consume, consume.

Consume: A verb used with object - 1. To destroy or expend by use; use up.

We're using up the music industry. With each torrent download, with each burned CD, with each ringtone and Mp3.

Radiohead's ploy was successful in pushing units. Selling tickets. There wasn't any art there to speak of. Avant-garde and abstract can only go so far before it becomes apparent that it's just covering up lack of tangible ideas.

It'd be like me using emoticons every other sentence to display my emotions properly. I'm angry now, grrr, >:|. Now, I'm like, happy, yay! :). Oh man, I'm so coy, like whoa, :P. Now I'm sad :'(. And now I'm on par with Radiohead's output.

Radiohead aren't alone in this, either. I mean, I wound up covering the Warped Tour in Carson, California. The final date of the 2008 tour, August 17th. Angels and Airwaves, fucking Katy Perry, Say Anything (and I wound up meeting Mr. Max Bemis. Read "What To Wear While Swimming With Sharks.") and all these other bands that just map out their "chaos" prior to them stepping on stage. Image is so fucking important to everybody, and it's fucking disgusting. It's fucking disgusting when a band tries to do it non-nonchalantly, and present this image of creativity and spontaneity.

How much longer do we have to re-live the fucking 80's? I was alive in the 80's. Guess what, it sucked then and it sure as fuck sucks now. We have bands wearing make up and, hair coiffed so perfectly askew. Girls jeans, white belts, sing/scream falsetto's. I can't fucking take that anymore. Aren't there just average fucking people anymore? At all? What happened to t-shirt, jeans, and just living in the moment. I know for a FACT most of these bands spend hours putting their faces on before they step out on stage.

And whats the difference? I know it's about what the music is, not what they wear. I know that, inherently, but the thing is...I know most of the youth today don't. And yeah, punks are just as guilty with their mohawks, and safety pins. Sid Vicious is dead, mother fuckers. Let it fucking go. For God's sake.

But it should be about what they play. The thing is, they all play the same fucking song. Whats the difference between Bullet For My Valentine, and As I Lay Dying? The only obvious answer is that one of the members from As I Lay Dying should be the drummer for Bullet For My Valentines actual Valentine, and bullet should have been delivered. And that person should be laying there, dying. How dare they disgrace William Faulkner's classic like that.

But what's the fucking difference? They all sound the fucking same. I cannot tell the difference between Panic! At The Disco's first album, and ANYTHING that Fall Out Boy have done. I can't. I only know the one defining thing is that Pete Wentz is tagging Ashley Simpson. Thats all. And I shouldn't even fucking know that.

But we buy into it, and instead of over-indulging, we gorge and gorge. We consume until there is nothing left. Against Me once said in their song, "Don't Lose Touch":

"Constant entertainment for our restless minds, constant stimulation for epic appetites. Is there something wrong with these songs? Maybe theres something wrong with the audience. Manipulation in rock music; fucking nausea."

With every wrong, there are some rights. Being on the big stage, a major label isn't a bad thing, necessarily. You have to have your integrity intact, and there are bands like that. Against Me! being one of them. Rise Against, etc. The Clash, Ramones...they were on major labels. They changed the landscape of music all together, and so will those former bands when it's all said and done. I have no doubt one day, if I'm lucky enough to find a girl thats willing to procreate with me, that when that kid is 20, he or she will reference those bands like my generation references the Clash, and the Ramones.

If the music industry, the "Big Four" collapsed tomorrow, I don't think many bands would exist. I doubt we'd see a Radiohead anymore, I doubt we'd see a Linkin Park or even 99.9999 percent of mainstream rap/hip-hop. But I do know that if it did, we'd still see Against Me, Rise Against, Alkaline Trio out on the road 280 days out of the year. They'd still make music, regardless of who puts it out. Because thats all a major label is: A company with distribution capabilities. It's own distribution capabilities. By that standard popular "indie" labels likes Epitaph, Vagrant and Saddle Creek (to name a select few) all qualify as major labels. Epitaph, especially. As much as it pains me to say this, Brett Gurewitz may in fact be the anti-Christ.

But if the industry collapsed, I think Radiohead would "gracefully bow out. Citing 22 years, countless platinum albums, world tours and throngs of fans as reason enough to say, "there isn't anything else left to accomplish". I.E = No one signing us royalty checks anymore, we don't care.

Maybe they did try to revolutionize things, though. Radiohead, I mean. After all, Nine Inch Nails set the gold standard for releasing albums on their own. Trent Reznor has made MILLIONS in doing so. But Trent is also disgruntled with the musical landscape as well, and actually has credibility. He's pretty much done what he's wanted too since day one.

But maybe Radiohead got scared, when people weren't paying for their product. Maybe Thom Yorke had to switch to wiping his ass with 50 dollar bills, instead of 100's. Maybe the money fights starting seeing casualties when quarters got thrown in the mix (I know they are British, and their money probably is too, but I don't know the money structure across the pond. I Americanized it. Suck it.) Maybe they looked at their bank statements, and saw that their great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great grand children may have to work at McDonald's while going to college. Who knows. But the tact isn't there with them. They crumbled in less than a month when the money was right.

We totally bought in, too.

Through the Trees (Rest in Peace).

2008-08-14T02:12:00.000-07:00

Part of what influences me (almost as much as literature) is music. I'm pretty sure that isn't exactly a ground breaking revelation, but the crux of what I'm getting at is that throughout my life I've always had a problem finding my place. Where do I fit in? Did I ever fit in? Was it actually at all important that I fit in? Why did I ever actually feel that need to find social acceptance?

It's something we all go through, and it's kind of funny how we all find ourselves ten years down the line. For many of us, the problem somehow just seems to slip from mind. We find our core group of friends, or something just tickles our fancy in such a way that that in itself becomes our identity.

We might get lose touch though, with ourselves and whom we once were. When I was in Elementary School, I seem pre-destined for the society of the wallflowers. I got good grades, and I kept pretty much to myself. My friends were books, and I spent recess in one of two places: either in a quiet corner in the Library, or on the basketball courts playing ball.

I had a few friends, but the area that I grew up in, Eloy/Toltec, Arizona (we considered it Toltec, although technically it would be considered Eloy. The difference was in Toltec it was much quieter, and crime was much less of an issue.) But the school I went to, Toltec Elementary, consisted primarily of Eloy residents. Why is that an issue?

Well, I was born in Colorado Springs, Colorado. My mother is white, and my father was an illegal alien from Mexico. Flash forward to a time and place where we are living in Eloy.

In Eloy, the minority is Caucasian. And you know what, I just don't give a swirling shit about race. The whole god damned thing is so minute and fractured, it really has no place as a measuring stick. But the truth of the matter is, not many people share that view that I have. And back then, many people were explicit about their opinions of my mixed ethnicity's.

I would get beat up when I went to the bathroom by Hispanic kids because I wasn't Latino enough. At every turn of the corner, the white kids would mock me and my parents (I have a step father who is a tremendous and inspirational man.). Several times when I would have classes in that Library, I would go to the bathroom and come back to my seat and sit down, and some prank would be pulled.

One time this kid, Joey Wozney stuck a sewing needle in the cushion of my chair. The thing is the chairs were navy blue, and seeing the pin was just nearly impossible. When I sat down, the pin went so deep into my right ass cheek that it actually got embedded into the bone. I had to go to the hospital, and it took needle nosed pliers, and five stitches.

So why did I strive so hard to fit in with these kids? These same kids that pulled those humorous larfs I also bent over backwards to try and appease. I would try so hard to befriend them, and I still cannot understand why.

One day I, in 1994 I discovered this album, "Dookie" by this then up-and-coming Green Day. During the time, people were still staring at their shoes, revelling in their grunge-y haze, and hating lives.

Dookie went on to sell over 10 million copies. It brought punk rock to the mainstream attention once again, with such a bullet point that hadn't been seen since the heyday of the Clash. It was brash, snotty, it had an attitude, and some how it was just dug at the emotion that most people have buried deep within them: angst, nihilism. A "FUCK YOU" from deep down in them guts.

Revolutionary. It was a sonic invasion, and an aural salvation. It began my life long love. It was a gateway drug to something so pure, I could never top that with any substance or chemical (and I love substances and chemicals.) For once I was lost...and at the tender age of 9, I was found.

And these other amazing albums I discovered through Green Day's "Dookie", that were so very influential on who I've become: Green Day's "Insomniac", Smoking Popes, "Destination Failure", Rancid's "Life Won't Wait" and "...And Out Come the Wolves", and Jawbreakers, "Dear You".

And as I grew and progressed with punk rock music, and music as a whole, so many other albums stuck with me: AFI's "Sing the Sorrow", through "Alkaline Trio's "Good Mourning".

And of course, my favorite album of all time: Alkaline Trio's, "From Here to Infirmary". Not only did this album effect me in a way that no other album had since Dookie, but this album came at a time in my life when I was entering high school. When everything I had become accustomed to had begun to change. The lyrics dealt with feelings I was just discovering, and making sense of ones I'd given up on ever trying to decipher.

Punk rock has saved my life. It's given me a voice I never would have realized in a small town, in a community that has one of the Nations highest rates for teen pregnancy, and meth addiction. A small town that people never seem to leave, and everyone knows everyone. Where you will live, and where you will die.

So why are these albums important? Each one of those albums, while they were extremely pivotal to my cultural DNA, helping me forge forward and identifying a purpose in my life: to write.

But why are these albums important? Well, it's not much whats within those tracks, but what they all have in common.

On August 12th, 2008 Jerry Finn passed away after being taken off of life support. He suffered a massive brain hemorrhage in July 2008.

He showed little signs of improvement during the 31 days of being on life support. For the rest of his life, he would have lived as a vegetable.

What those albums shared in common is that, in some way, Jerry Finn had some hand in their conception and sound and how they eventually turned out. He had an ear for capturing a sound most big name producers and mixers couldn't even fathom.

I always felt he had so much of a heavy hand in how pop-punk/alternative rock garnered attention in the mainstream, and I feel he was somehow always over looked.

Make no mistake about it: in an age where fashion is everything in music, and substance is so hard to find, Finn's resume always reflected that of a man who RESPECTED an area of music that is always over looked and constantly forgotten, at least until it becomes viable for consumption once again.

For Jerry Finn's friends, and his family I express nothing but good thoughts and well wishes. The man had such a hand in how I have come to view life, and how I've grown to become comfortable and okay with life. From Here to Infirmary flat out saved my life.

Thank you, Jerry Finn. While it couldn't have happened without the talent of those artists, the outsider perspective you gave helped those idea's and ambitions reach a whole new level. Many of the records you touched turned into classics, and for a bigger name producer to consistently work with smaller independent artists, to notice their potential instead of just jumping on whatever fad was happening at the time: be it rap/nu-metal, pop music, eyeliner core...you stuck with what you so obviously respected. And for that, I respect you.

What makes this equally tragic is that in this day and age, not many share that vision and passion you had. More or less, it's JUST about the money, it's JUST about getting in and out before you fall-out.

Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you. THANK YOU!

I hope you're at peace, Jerry. I hope you don't hurt, and I hope wherever you are, you can at least listen to the music you love.

Jerry Finn (1970-2008).

What To Wear When Swimming With Sharks.

2008-08-09T02:15:00.000-07:00

The past week has been quite an interesting one. In the sea's and depths of the almighty interwebz, yet another feud was born, on (shockingly!) a message board.

The only difference this time is it was spurned on by a rock star who got his panties in a twist over a few people's popular opinion.

Max Bemis, lead singer/residentl crazy-man for pop-rock band, Say Anything

recently came up with an interesting concept to become a bit more interactive with their fans. The idea was too create custom songs for fans. To be quite honest, the idea is actually kind of cool in my opinion. But when reading further into the promotion, it kind of becomes apparent that this is a band that, to be honest, may just be out of ideas.

To give you the cliff notes of the custom song promotion, it's basically this: The band Say Anything will write a song about the purchaser, for the hefty sum of $150.00 (USD) The song is for personal enjoyment, which is understandable, except when reading further you discover that the band maintains the rights to the song allowing them to release the song for commercial use at a later date. Basically, the purchaser is doing the job of the band, while paying a nominal fee, with the band retaining the option to release the song to make money off of at a later date.

Imagine if you will, you're coming home from the Airport. You might be a little jet lagged, and maybe you got in on a red-eye flight. Instead of bothering one of your friends to pick you up at 2am, you decide to drop the money on a taxi cab home.

So the taxi is waiting for, and the guy, lets call him Little Jeffy. Little Jeffy (he might be short. Have you seen Taxi drivers at night? Not exactly Brad Pitts, or Yao Mings.) Little Jeffy helps you with your bags into the trunk, and begins the long trek home. About fifteen minutes later, Little Jeffy pulls into a gas station, and keeps the meter running.

He gets out, and goes to reach for his AmEx, but realizes he left his wallet in his locker at the station.

"Hey, buddy...bad news. I don't have enough gas to get you home" Little Jeffy informs you, "Would you happen to have some money I can use to fuel up?" Well, Hell, it's been a long trip. You just wanna get home. You get out of the car, swipe your Visa. After swiping the card, you realize Little Jeffy went inside to take a deuce, and get some twizzlers and a Rockstar.

"Fuck." you think, and just pump the gas yourself. Gas is $3.80 a gallon, and sixty dollars and 24 gallons later, the tank is filled. You get back in the car, and rest your eyes, until you notice that the meter is still running.

A few minutes later, Little Jeffy returns, and says "Hey bro, um, I wouldn't feel right about this if I get pulled over with you in the car. It might make this whole venture that much longer. Would you mind driving the rest of the way home? "Why not?" you say, and get in the drivers seat. The rest of the ride home, you and Little Jeffy talk about your families, and maybe even the Cubs. Maybe this year is their year, right? He shares some twizzlers, and you start to think Little Jeffy isn't so bad. Maybe even might want to invite him out for a beer sometime, you know?

Finally, after a forty minute drive your home. Little Jeffy helps you get your bags out of the trunk, and says it was nice to meet you. He deducts twenty bucks from the meter, and your total comes too (including the sixty dollars for gas) 150.00 dollars.

You get inside, and realize that you just paid Little Jeffy to do his job for him, and gave him the ability to use that gas you bought him to make more money that night.

It's understandable you might want to chase after Little Jeffy, but he's peeled off into the night, and all thats left are skid marks in the drive way, and the faint sound of him cackling into the distance.

Max Bemis is Little Jeffy.

So when PunkNews broke the story of Say Anythings' Custom Song Promotion, many of the users too um bridge with the 150.00 price tag, with many people feeling that the customers would be 'doing the bands job'.

Below are some particularly interesting (unedited) comments made:

"capitalism at its finest. ugh." by user listofdemands.

"How about you just mail me the $150, I'll shit in a coffee-can and mail it back to you priority. You'll get as much joy out of it, I promise." by user baldsteve.

"Sell Anything." by user AndyP.

"Why should fans assume they'll get anything worth listening too for $150?
I'm sure their record advance was more than $150 a song and that just managed to create a double album of shit. For $150 I would imagine you'd get little more than Max banging on a table top and reading the description you wrote." by user Dante3000.

While opinions are as rampant as assholes on parade on the internet, what happened next was some what unbelievable in my opinion.

Max Bemis became enraged. Enough so to construct a poorly written 'fuck-off' message aimed solely at the PunkNews community, with "rival" site, AbsolutePunk.

"...another thing that actually OFFENDS me, which is hard to to these days, are the people who are pissed that musicians make money. the strange, slow, old people on punknews.org and the few annoying stragglers on this website. people who care about us understand this obvious fact: touring all year and being away from our loved ones, sweating our hearts out onstage and living a weird freaking life may not mean we all have to be millionaires, but it's a job that deserves SOME financial compensation, like any other..."

Throughout his tampon-tirade, he vehemently claims that he could be in a boy band, to take the easy way out and start a boy band. He even goes as far as to suggest the users of an INTERNET message board meet a horrid end.

If you're an artist, you cannot look at negative connotations made towards your output. There will always, always be someone there to take shots at you. At what point, Bemis, do you actually not only gain confidence with yourself, but actually grow the fuck up enough not to let a few words get you all pissy? You're a rock star, touring the world and making enough to survive on. Thats almost completely unheard of in a time when most independent bands can't even fucking afford to go out on tour, because the gas prices are so obscene. Do hear them bitching and moaning about, "oh so-and-so said we suck turds on the internet"? No, you see them doing as much as they can, giving as much as they can to people, in hopes of reaching a broader audience, and maybe even getting to the level that Say Anything has reached.

For God's sake, I'd love to one day get to the point where people are trashing me on the internet, because that at least means I'm doing something right along the way.

The thing is, while I might be a user of PunkNews, I also do realize at times a lot of the comments made are quite unnecessary, but thats just the nature of things. And don't get me wrong, I actually liked Say Anythings' previous effort, "...Is a Real Boy."

But when you can willingly justify charging your own fans, who've bought your records, merch, went to your shows and sang along to your lyrics, when you can justify in your own mind charging them 150.00 for a singular song thats about them, it reeks of several things. It reeks of desperation, it's reeks of pandering to the narcissistic side of young suburban kids who have maybe only a passing interest in music.

It feels completely disingenuous as well, when you can angle your "artistic vision" and force it to produce nothing short of a product. Music is completely different than other forms of art, in that it's supposed to come from the heart and soul. It's supposed to be fueled by passion, and desire. A esoteric induction of your inner-most feelings, laid bare in front of whomever may, or may not listen.

To put it in perspective, 150.00 can buy a 4gb iPod nano that can hold 1,000 songs.

The other problem I feel is evident with Bemis' complaint towards a message board, is that he comes off extremely pretentious, and arrogant. I do feel he has the right to defend his actions, but it's the way he went about the entire thing.

At what point do you grow a fucking pair, and take the high road? At what point do you just shrug it off, laugh about it, and keep doing what you feel is best for you?

"In Defense of the Genre" (Say Anythings' most recent effort) seemed lacking whole-heartedly. It felt plagued by a lack of ideas, and went on completely too long. While there were some decent efforts, the entire album seemed to reflect a drained mood from Bemis. After his recent controversial jabs, it only paints the picture with more texture that this is a man, and a band that have no idea what they are doing anymore.

Maybe they got too much too quickly. It's been heavily documented that Max has had his bouts with mental illness, and I think it's just taken an irreparable toll on his bands' future.

You can't force something that has to come naturally. You just fucking can't. When you attempt to do, you become the veritable whore and loose all credibility. And Bemix, to be perfectly fucking honest with you, the kids are always gonna be able to sniff of something phony and fake.

Maybe it's time to hit the showers, buddy.

Broken Bones Taste Like Broken Bones.

2008-07-30T23:14:00.000-07:00

You ever feel like you're on the cusp of evolving, mentally I mean? Like you're about to transition into the next phase of meta-physicality (sic?) only to cringe at the thoughts and uncertainty? Does rock music save your soul, or are you listless in your own body, a ripened carrion ready for the plucking?

I've felt this way consistently, and right now it feels like I need to make a move, or else I'm going to become one of those people who are twenty-seven, and sleeping in their parents house without a job.

I look down inside myself constantly, and wonder what it is about me thats so scared to complete surrender, and just...grow up.

Rites of passages. Are they detrimental in some one's chemical mixture? Without them, are you forever doomed to be a wallflower, melancholic and obtuse?

I've been furiously at work trying to write the best I can. To produce the best quality I know how, and I sit back and look at these short stories. Each, and every one of them are a chronicle of who I am, in some way or the other. Of where I've been, and where I've wanted to go.

And I'm a quarter of the way through, and I look at everything...and I see how naked, and empty I truly am. How wide my world might be, it's empty. I feel like I haven't accomplished anything, and mean so very little to anyone.

When I was younger, all I wanted to do was pursue academia in it's rawest form. To backpack Europe, and study at Oxford. Have a collection of degrees, and the like.

When my family lost our car, and I realized my parents had never made a plan for me to go to college, I realized that I actually am not any different from anyone else. There isn't anything unique here, there isn't anything that you'd want to buy into. I'm less than just like you: I'm the person at the back of the bus reading a book, that you wouldn't have noticed, except he cleared his throat.

You get two sides of the coin growing up. One being that this is America, the Land of Opportunity. Dig your nails in the sand, and eventually you'll find a pearl.

The other side is that it's nearly impractical to believe in that other side of the coin. That chances are, you're gonna wake up balding and forty with three kids, a nag wife and a third lean on your mortgage. The cars on the fritz, little Anthony has an ear infection, and your Boss has been slowly cutting back your hours, all while the price of bread, cheese, milk, fruit and gas has reached the glass ceiling you wanted to crash through when you were 22, full of piss and vinegar.
And you sit there with life passing by you, and with great fervency, you claw and clamor at your receding hairline. "It's time to go to the store" yells that God damned nag wife. You have to sign off an Ellen's school slip that informs you you'll be paying $150 dollar for her to accomplish what she should have done for fucking FREE all year long in school: fucking pass, and pay attention. Danny's in detention at his repository school, because he just has so much anger.

And a part of you is jealous of Danny cause he gets to express it. You sit here in a mental melt-down, screaming silently "If something doesn't break, I'm just gonna go fucking insane."

You can't leave your wife, because for the rest of your life she gets to do what she does now: sit on her ever bubbling, ever fattening-fuck ass while you get called an idiot by a purple faced goon with a Polo tie, for 31,000 a year. You CAN'T fucking leave her, because she would continue to draw alimony, and 35% of your check, because of the (ironically) three tax deductions you popped out, which, if they didn't all have your failing intricacies, you'd be quite fuck certain they weren't anything less than a milk man's child.

You coulda bought rubbers. You coulda tossed down 400 bones, and still had your youth. You coulda, shoulda, woulda, and now you're up shits creek because "it was spur of the moment", or your wife cooed into your ear, "Come on, Daddy. Cum in me. I want to feel you explode."

Who knew thirteen seconds would haunt your ass until the day you die.

At least now you get to have sex with that barren waste land on birthdays, Christmas, and Anniversaries.

So whats the point, I wonder, sometimes. Why do we allow ourselves the mental repudiation of calm-like-a-bomb domesticity? Sometimes I can't even blame Scott Peterson for taking Laci out to the Lake.

Theres a reason why Bob Dylan stands magnanimous amongst us mere mortals. Theres a reason why "On the Road" is like divine deliverance, and Jack Kerouac was the vessel in which this Holy Scripture was imparted unto us.

There's a reason why rock and roll courses through our veins, and theres a reason why theres that one girl you can't ever get out of your head, no matter how many beers you drink, and subsequent girls you fuck JUST TO ESCAPE that lingering doubt, of what could've, should've, and would've been, had there been an ounce of courtesy from a high power.

Eventually you stop caring who comes into power, and you lose touch with everything except whats right in front of you, and whats right in front of you isn't so fucking grand. The will to fights not even a fathomable option, but God damn, that fetal position looks so comforting. Like a revelation womb, without a uterus or fallopian tube anywhere near you.

I'm tired of running around like a chicken with my head cut off, and I'm tired of being scared of taking chances. I pray for determination. Do you pray for salvation, or the strength to get through just another work week.

Nothing scares me more than knowing theres no end in sight. That I'll be old and useless, if I'm lucky, before I can retire. Humans weren't meant for that, and I really think it's about time we changed that.

Choking to Death on the Alphabet Soup.

2008-07-22T22:58:00.000-07:00

So the other day I was at a truck stop diner eating breakfast, when I was totally not eavesdropping on the table next to mine, when I heard maybe the most incredulous story I'd heard in quite a long god damned time.

It seems that in Tuscaloosa, Alabama an officer-friendly pulled over one of the mighty road mavericks, a truck driver.

Manuel Castillo was pulled over, and felt he was conversing quite well (and friendly) with this police officer, when at the end of the conversation he was slapped with a $500 dollar ticket.

You'd assume this rogue driver was speeding, tossing bottles out the window, flipping babies off, riding in the middle lane, and...of course littering. You'd assume that, I'm sure. However, (http://www.theledger.com/article/20080718/NEWS/807180467) it appears he didn't speak English well enough.

Now, I'd be more shocked if something like this hadn't happened in Tuscaloosa, Alabama of all places, but...I mean, let's face it. It's Alabama. Up until four weeks ago, I think slavery was still completely legal. Even now, I think they don't mind turning a blind eye to a weekly lynching (three a week in the Summer when the Monsoon hit's and the electricity goes out...just to pass the time.) but what actually strikes me is when you read the article, and Senor Castillo says, "It just doesn't seem fair to be ticketed if I wasn't doing anything dangerous on the road..."

He wasn't ticketed for anything else. Nothing whatsoever, which begs the question...why was he pulled out in the first place? I realize Hispanics aren't necessarily as common as trailer parks and swamps in Alabama, but I'd really like to know what caused the initial stop. I'm pretty sure it wasn't random.

Alabama, listen to me...you're one step away from the United States trading you to the French. You got that? You're making the rest of us look bad.

But further more, I had no idea that was a fucking law. I mean...really? If you can't speak English well enough, you get ticketed 500 bones? Is this something only in the South? Because in the West, it's enough to let you become the Governator. Secondly, if this is the case, why isn't Louisiana the richest State in the Continental U.S? Have you ever tried to hold yourself a conversation with someone from the Bayou? It isn't happening without you wanting to wear a pair of Depends afterwards.

Alabama might be teaming with nothing but microbial action. Years of inbreeding, moonshine and white skin has left that portion of America eerily reminiscent of the scene in "Children of Men"when the community of refuges are hiding. It's dilapidated, desolate, and the air has a sweet, sweet scent of despair.

If the South assumes it will rise again, apparently they haven't realized that the rest of the country has a little something called the Internet, and electricity. Maybe the first step isn't spending tax dollars on haranguing Mexicans when a bunch of White Suburban Kids have just reinvented the wheel in the Meth game, and have added just a hint of Raspberry. You know, just to mask the aftertaste of Bleach and Anti-freeze.

This is America. These problems do need to be faced with straight-laced decency from the common folk, because these things aren't o-fucking-kay. It isn't alright to stop someone on the basis of their skin. It isn't alright to suspect someone because they might not speak the same language, and it especially isn't right to punish them for being different.

As a Nation of immigrants, I feel that those idealisms of our forefathers has been forgotten and overlooked. We're the Bastards of the world, the kids no other Country could tolerate. The losers, the nobodies, and the lepers. Yet, no we're the one country that's somehow thrived with that. And if you at all feel that this cop is deserving of vindication for slapping that Hispanic with a ticket because of his grasp of the English language, well...the only ones that have the right to make that call are the ones who were here first. The rest of us really should just fuck off.

It'd be different maybe, if Mr. Castillo wasn't a legal citizen. But this is a man who's went by things legally. He works here legally, he lives here legally, he's jumped through the hoops...theres not reason to reward that with a fine.

So I'd highly suggest anyone who reads this and is a little irate at what's happened, that they contact the Tuscaloosa P.D, and share your concerns. (Phone: (205) 349-2121) or write in at:

City Hall
2201 University Blvd
Tuscaloosa, Alabama
35401

Sticks and Stones may break my bones (but words will hurt forever.)

2008-07-16T21:09:00.000-07:00

So this is the inaugural launching of Piss and Vinegar. I'm sure it'll soon be apparent why that specific title was chosen.

So we kick this baby off today with the spot light shown on the Reverend Jesse Jackson. It seems that after his endless tirades and calls to get rappers to stop saying the very controversial "N-Word", Reverend Jesse Jackson has himself indulged in his "brotha" side: (http://news.yahoo.com/s/ap/20080717/ap_on_re_us/jackson_n_word).

The thing about Jesse Jackson, and his cronie Al Sharpton is that while they have done quite a lot to help advance the Black community, they've actually done just as much to help damage it in the long run.

Remember when Michael Richards had the very famous, and career killing Laugh Factory incident? Where he ranted and raved around the stage screaming: "He's a nigger! He's a nigger!" and you watched the frail remnants of a failed actor/comedian's mentality dissolve entirely. Who was one of the first people on the scene to cry foul?

When Don Imus infamously added "nappy-headed hoe" to the American lexicon, Jackson, and Sharpton called for his head on a pike.

Towards their own community they've settled more on the facet of a word (that granted carries quite a stigma of oppression, and hundreds of years of horrific brutality), they've focused more on a word and less on putting importance of schooling and education.

Enough so to take aim at rappers who use the word. While I do feel that the word itself is something that can be negative, I also feel that in order to take the power out of anything it must be confronted. Lenny Bruce, Richard Pryor, to name a few also felt the same way. When you say something enough times, eventually it takes away it's power, and it then in turn just becomes what it is: Another word.

But Jesse Jackson, the severity of him saying this specific word completely eradicates whatever dumb-fuck goal he originally had. He's completely lost touch with the culture he's become the self-proclaimed voice of, and in the long term, he may have alienated those who've supported him as well, who might've been well-meaning.

A statement given by Jackson after the fact went on to say,

"I am deeply saddened and distressed by the pain and sorrow that I have caused as a result of my hurtful words. I apologize again to Senator Barack Obama, Michelle Obama, their children as well as to the American public," Jackson said in a written statement. "There really is no justification for my comments and I hope that the Obama family and the American public will forgive me. I also pray that we, as a nation, can move on to address the real issues that affect the American people."

As deeply saddened as he may have been, he's also been videotaped as saying, in a very hushed-tone saying "I want to cut his nuts off." for "talking down to Black people" (http://youtube.com/watch?v=aZEsHj66EBY).

This man is a fucking pastor, for one. You're deeply saddened? You're saddened you got caught, so just own up to it. You're god-damned right there is no justification for ANY of your comments. You cannot suggest we as a Nation move on from this to face "real issues that affect the American people." because this affects quite a large populous of the American people. He chastise Obama for talking down to Black people, when he himself has made a career of standing on the soap-box with an endless tirade against musicians and film makers who use the words, calling for boycotts.

Nevermind the fact that you want to cut his nuts off. Whatever your infatuation is with a young black mans genitalia might be, theres no need for that blanket lust to be broadcast aloud. But cut his nuts off? What the fuck is this, Roots? Is he Kunta Kinte?

What this does reek of, to me, is that of jealousy. Obama stands the legitimate chance of becoming the first Black President. This has the ability to completely destroy, or at least take a huge chunk out of the glass ceiling so many black youth have had to deal with their entire lives. Jackson of all people should be able to recognize that. As much as he hates Ludacris for throwing Jesse's new favorite word around like it's comma, he should realize how much of a positive influence he can be, for not glorifying the gangster lifestyle he's condemned endlessly.

What this reeks of is jealousy. Jealousy, and an obvious show of a man who's lost touch with those he's supposed to represent. He won't be the first black president.

So who does Jesse Jackson have to answer too. While Imus, and Richards were completely wrong for their vile and contemptuous remarks, the hoops he made them go through were rings of fire.

Do as I say, not as I do.

I'm curious what you feel about this. The only reason I feel so pissed about the whole goddamned thing is because for years, and years Jackson has beaten the drum to the point where the drum isn't even taut anymore. He's been so high and mighty for so long, turning his nose up at anyone. It's almost as if he's got nothing better to do than make peoples lives shit.

He ruined, absolutely ruined the lives of those kids at George Mason. That whore who couldn't keep her lies straight and accused those men of raping her. All were expelled. They lost any standing they had in the community, and were dragged through the mud. Jesse Jackson drove the buggy they were tied too.

Some lost scholarships. An entire country blacklisted them, and their communities turned them into Pariahs....and the outcome of the Supreme Court case? They were innocent.

It's time Jesse Jackson be held accountable for his sins. He's a man of the cloth, and can surely understand the meaning behind that. He's demanded accountability from many, many people, and ruined just about as much lives. He's put a smear on an entire race, and still tries to demand respect.

What do you think about all this? Should he be held accountable? Is an apology worth anything, given his nature to covet Obama's nuts? Let me know, and thanks for reading.

Spread the word!