Cantankerous Chicanery

Well, hello, dear readers, and a happy Halloween to all of you. I trust you are preparing your costumes, bobbing for apples (in that case, how are you reading this on a computer screen…..nevermnd that), or simply viewing horrendous horror movie suntil you’re positively numbed to all the bloodshed and gore on the screen.

I thought I’d put my usual ceberal spin and take a critical look at Halloween. What is it and why do we celebrate it? What does it mean to us? What does it represent?

Halloween, interestingly, originally evolved from the festival of Samhain. Samhain, for those unaware, was said to mark the end of the harvest season. Pagan cultures believed the line seperating this world from the supernatural became thin on this date, and it became a way to honor and revere the dead.

And so from this comes our modern version of the holiday, Halloween. To me, Halloween seems to be a celebration of the darker side of life. This is when you see ghouls, zombies, ghosts, monsters, and movie killers roam the streets. It becomes perfectly acceptable to adorn yourself with fake blood oozing from your mouth and to attend so-called haunted houses with the purpose of being frightened. Such activities on any other date of the year would otherwise be regarded with astonishment.

I’ve always seen it as a way to conquer and tame those more macarbe instincts that rest in us. We purposely make Dracula and Frankenstein cartoonish so as to sanitize them and remove their original morbid properties. But these more gloomy traits have always been with us. They’ve had a long-standing existance and foothold in popular culture; whether it be through horror movies, death metal, or gothic fiction, we’ve always found a need to express the more replulsing aspects of ourselves.

Similar to the original Gothic ethos, though, we find joy and merriment in the lurid. Halloween becomes almost a way to mock and satirize such grim details. We find mirth and merrimen in the night. Kids skip through the streets with their parent’s hand and go door to door, seeking sweet and sugary treats to placate their interests.

The tradition of putting on masks also speaks to our desire to take on a different persna. Through these elaborate costumes, we can become someone else or express aspecs of our being that would otherwise be shunned. It’s the old tradition of dressing up to hide and become something different. How are these costumes any different from the costumes we wear in our daily lives?

All Saints’ Day, a holiday inexplicably linked with Halloween, is also a day to remember the fallen heroes of the church. Halloween is primarily interested in death. It’s a way to honor and revere the deceased. As frightening as that prospect may be, we must keep in our memories those who have previously walked the earth with us, as a sign of respect.

The fragility of the human body and our own incoming mortal fate are also themes of Halloween. At the backbone of the pumpkins and bats is a concern with our perishment. Skeletons are a common motif in Halloween; once again, we see our simultaneous phobia of and curious interest in death. It is something that will happen to us all one day, and Halloween becomes a way to appraoch it, recognize it, and try to understand it—-at least for one day out of the year.

Fear becomes the dominant mood of Halloween. Whereas the rest of the year, we keep our anxiety to ourself, on Halloween we try to air it out as a means of releasing it. WE seek to become scared; we are almost on a quest to witness the most disturbing and horrific sights as a simple thrill. The elixir of emotion, the adrenaline of transgessiveness, the sublime quality of monsters.

One aspect of Halloween that almost has this world-weary cynic and horror afficianado in shambles is its commercialization. sure, some may say Halloween has always had a bit of hookiness to it, but recently it’s really come out. As usual, businesses will jump on anything and merchandise it to hell (pun intended). We see tacky costumes being bought and sold at local stores, television channels now link all of our shows to Halloween in whatever sort of contrived way they can, and kids are being treated to “safe” haunted houses and censored horror movies. It’s enough to make even the most black-hearted vampire want to jump on a hayride outta here.

Yet, it seems that, ironiclly enough, we are witnessin the death of Halloween itself (no doubt from a maniacal, lumbering osychi with a butcher knife). Maybe it was just me when I was a kid, but there truly was something magical in the air when Halloween rolled around. You’d go door-to-door, ringing bells, and at the end of the night settle down to rupture your stomach on all sorts of candy (after having your parents check it for razor baldes….which is a hoax, btw, and more proof of suburbanite moral panic). Friday the 13th and Nightmare on Elm Street would air on all the channels.

This year it seems like barely anybody, from all my friends to random strangers I see on the street, seem barely interested in celebrating or even acknoledging that Halloween is coming. Perhaps people are too wrapped up in themselves and their own business, or they’re truly frightened by the more mysterious aspects of this holiday, or perhaps they’ve grown up and are pessimistic and disillusioned to the whole process, having forget the revrie in being swept up in this sense of fantasia as when we were younger.

Now, as I grow older, and as the world turns, it seems less and less children are romaing the neighborhood. AMC might throw on a half-assed version of The Texas Chainsaw Massacre remake. There’s nary even a roll of toilet paper to be found in the trees. What has happened to Halloween? Have we forgotten its mischevious, wild, and recklessly fun spirit? Is this a symptom of a larger disease of a decaying and alienated, square culture? As a personal fan of Halloween, as someone who used to collect Fangoria and faithfully watch Michael Myer’s every move as a kid, I’d like to think not.

Perhaps Halloween is a corpse now. Like all movie monsters, however, it will suddenly lift its hand up from its grave, ready to strike again in the next sequel.

So how is everybody doing tonight? Boy, I tell ya, I just flew in from New York. There’s no joke there, just something I thought I’d mention.

So ya wanna be a stand-up comedian, eh? Well, I thought as a public service (which has recently been court-ordered) I’d let you….yes, YOU….see how you can be a successful stand-up entertainer. If you follow my step-to-step guide, you should be headlining the Apollo or starring in a Comedy Central series that’ll get canceled after 3 seasons.

• Step 1: Pick a topic

This is without a doubt one of the most important and overlooked aspects of humor. What would a joke be without some subject to satirize? Here’s my helpful list of popular topics that are sure to annoy and bore those in attendance get a riotous response from the crowd!

As you can see, you have a diverse field to choose from. The beauty of it is you can even mix and match! Say you’re dating a black girl; that’s satirical gold right there. Audiences will rejoice and you’ll bring the house down as you inform everyone that yes, there are slight and embarassing cultural differences between white and black people. Imagine your devoted fans peeing their pants as you enlighten them to the untold story of how men and women have difficulties in relationships because they just can’t get along!

• Tacky get-up is a must

When you arrive onto the stage, you don’t want to come off as some hoity-toity elitist. The standard outfit for any performer is a suit jacket with jeans. This lets everyone know you’re somewhat professional but you’re basically blue-collar at heart. It helps the audience identify with you and let them know that they’re not the only ones trying half-assed mid-life crisis gimmicks to escape the reality of their soul-crushing office jobs. For gals, either a dress or just jeans and a shirt will suffice.

If you’re a bit younger and are still coasting on your parent’s money, it’s perfectly acceptable to wander on-stage in a hoddie with rumpled hair. It gives you a slacker/scamp feel, and lets people know that dare you accepted from your friends to try open-mic night when you all were blazing it up gets taken seriously.

• Did something midly interesting happen to you last week? We’d all love to hear about it!

Have you ever stood in line at the grocery store and noticed something slightly askew? Were you talking to your wife and did she not really talk in a funny voice, but in your head you imagined she did? Do you feel like your friends act completely natural but they’re still somehow loveably flawed anyway?

Well, step on up and tell us all about it. We weren’t there at your last family re-union and have no idea what your uncle is actually like, but we’d love to hear his private business discussed in public anyway! Mundane is the new fascinating nowadays. Of course a packed bar will be fascinated with how fed-up you were in traffic today. Why pay for a therapist when you can just regale us with your tales of astute observation?

• When all else fails, it’s time to get awkward

If you can’t overpower an audience with your bullheaded obnoxiousness, you can always play the “weird, but in a smart kinda way” card. Breathe real heavily into the microphone and take a long time between punchlines, making sure to uncomfortably stare at the audience. This sense of playful, postmodern smugness can cover up the fact that you’re actually incredibly nervous and have just forgotten your lines.

• New material is to be shunned

Did you stumble upon somewhat amusing material? Well, it’s time to beat it into the ground. Make sure to repeat the same line over and over, ad naseum. People watching you will probably have no idea, and if so, will love to hear about the fact that someone you were dating broke up with you over voice mail for the 345th time. Repetition builds rhythm, I do say.

• Being reactionary is the key

Refute all logic in the name of common sense. Empiricism and rationale are the enemy. Aren’t you just tired of all this anti-spanking sentiment? Everyone else is too. Feel free to point this out and air your dogma in the guise of humor. Kids today just misbehave way too much in supermarkets, even though one rarely actually sees that. Mock all liberal ideas, because a group of people are always guaranteed to clap and applaud whenever you throw in “U.S.A.!” or just randomly yell something to get your point across.

Well, that’s it for now here at Cantankerous Chicanery, kiddies. Stay safe, and don’t forget to try the veal.

I promised (ha, like I ever hold up to hose) a loooooong time ago during a post about Mr. Kennedy (funny how that turned out) that I’d do a piece letting known my thoughts about one Montel Vontavious Porter. well, here it is.

Ever since I first saw MVP burst onto the scene, I thought he was a future superstar in the making. He had the prescence, cocky swagger, ring psychology, and mick skills that you could ever want in a wrestler. His gimmick was something fresh and interesting; an athlete who thought he was better than the game as a whole. It was a clever spin on the whole “arrogant heel” shtick.

During his first few months, it really seemed like he was going places. Despite the fact that he was (in kayfabe and the WWE fans’ eyes) a rookie, he managed to capture gold quickly and get involved in some noticeable mid-card feuds.

It seemed like the sky was the limit for this guy. However, a funny thing happened. For whatever reason (rumor has it MVP got in the doghouse for mouthing off to a drug test inspector), they saddled him with a losing streak angle. Now the brash and cocky “King of Bling” looked like a perenial jobber. I think this is the turning point when he lost a lot of credibility and interest in the fans’ eyes, through no fault of his own.

Once again, the creative (using that term loosely) team sabotages yet another new star’s career due to their hairbrained schemes and lack of coherent long-term planning. After this, he ws turned face. While initially I appreciated that they were trying to take him in a new direction, in a way I thnk they pulled the plug too soon.

The heart of MVP’s character is that he’s an arrogant dude. Allegedly based off of T.O., he is a skilled wrestler taht nonetheless feels the need to showboat and throw it in everyone’s faces. While once could tweak it to make him a narcissistic but loveable protagonist, ala The Rock, tehy should have tied to mold him more into that sort of role.

Instead, as usual, we get the same half-baked “oh well he’s gonna smile and slap hands with the fans on his way to the ring” deal that results in lukewarm reactions and tepid fan perceptions. When he first got traded to RAW, I had high hopes for him. Not only was he the U.S. champion but he interrupted Randy Orton of all people on his first night on the show.

RAW is the place where careers go to die. It’s a proverbial graveyard, it seems. All hopes for a huge push and a spot in at least the uper mid-card were dashed when Shane freakin’ McMahon did a run-in to attack Randy Orton. The message they were basically sending to viewers at the time was, “Yeah, he’s okay, but he’s not quite ready for the spotlight.” It’s that frustrating sort of indecisiveness that ruins not only MVP’s career but a lot of the other younger guys as well.

From then on, the poor guy’s been in curtain-jerking purgatory. He got stuck in a directionless tag team with Mark Henry (ugh) and has been doing absolutely nothing of note lately. He’s dangerously close to Carlito-level of obscurity here, people.

And it’s a shame to see so much potential wasted like that. Out of a lot of the performers with the company, MVP really stands out to me. Like I said, he has a unique gimmick, a decent talent level, and he can hold his own speaking and has shown he can get the crowd involved.

Beyond the camera, his out-of-ring, real-life ordeal is the stuff of corporate dreams. Here’s a guy who served 10 years in prison for armed robbery and has now trained to be a wrestler. whle in most instances companies would shine away from that sort of background, here it’s almost a gold mine for them.

The guy rose up from poverty, gangbanging, and worked hard to get where he is today. It’s the classical “rags to riches” story America is built on. As well, he has redeemed himself and paid his debt tos ociety, and obviously doesn’t seem to be robbing any cars anytime soon. They get both street cred from the urban audience and a tale of overcoming.

Speaking of street cred—-that’s an area WWE hasn’t really looked into or tapped into. MVP is a self-made playa, but he still has that hood air about him that can connect with the hip-hop crowd. Along with Cryme Tyme, MVP represents the interests and fashion of a new generation….one enamored with Lil’ Wayne and Flo Rida. If WWE got their stuff together and saw the marketability inherent in MVP, they’d have a real cash cow on heir hands.

Sadly, they will continue to rely on pushing-40 DX and their oh-so-wacky hijinks that only appeal to old-school fans stuck in the past or dopey 12 year olds who don’t know any better. Maybe when the ratings plummet to an all-time low and all the talent is held down on RAW and there’s no flesh blood, when fans have finall had enough of the endless Chavo vs. Hornswoggle feud, and when they see through the veil and understand that RAW is a shell of its former self and is now nothing but Saturday Night Live in spandex, will Vince get the message and maybe finally push people like MVP.

Yours truly had the chance to watch A Clockwork Orange for the first time. Yes, I have never seen it until now. But, having previously read the book beforehand, I was slightly let-down. Yes, it is a gorgeous bit of cinema directed by that crazy genius Stanley Kubrick. The themes it brought up got me thinking about violence.

Conflict; what is it, why do we engage in it, and is it a part of our natural being or is institutionalized through the forces of media and cultural pressure? No matter what one’s opinion on it may be, you can’t deny it’s an inescapable fabric woven into our very lives. Think of all the fistfights in bars when people have had too much to drink and the beast within gets let out. Consider the numerous wars all the countries of the world have gone throygh. Look throuh your local newspaper and immerse yoursself in the reports of murder.

Why do we do this to each other? When we, human beings, have ascended to the top of the food chain. Mankind has been blessed with superior brains and logical problem-solving skills. And what do we do? We turn around and use this to fashon better weapons and more cunning ways to harm one another. It’s enough to make one want to move into a cave and become a hermit.

Even the most mellow pacifist would be hard-pressed to say there hasn’t been a moment where they’ve never been angry. Rage is something constantly brewing inside us. We feel wronged, slighted, the twinges of injustice gnawing at our side until we must abate it with an outburst.

Harm to others is a foul of the youth, an intoxication of immaturity, a respite best left to (ironically) the sturdiest and most virile among us. The Angry Cynic here hates to stereotype his generation, but every adolescent movement taht arises in opposition to its elders best expresses itself through directionless rage, partying, and mindless chaos. All the enregyh that could go into producing a beautiful work of art, creating a new classical crescendo, or making a breath-taking sculpture instead is wasted on bar-hopping, hoe-huntin’, and homey backstabbing (yours truly is not even spared this unmerciful fate). Perhaps it is the eternal calling of the teenage vanguar to coninually irk its guarders through seemingly senseless fights and pointless victimization. Hell if I know.

Destructon seems to have a copycat effect. The producers of the movie noted how after A Clockwork Orange came out, many teenagers all over went out and imitated the same acts Alex and his friends engaged in. We keep this desire for death inside, but once we see others are at peace with it, so we become calm to its effects and must pillage and desecrate as well. Conformity, thus, hides the most insidious of evil, langushing within its hallowed chambers the most scarred of faces.

Something interetsing that A Clockwork Orange brought up as well, which often goes ignored, is the aesthetization of violence. Despite all its inherent repellent qualities, the uglier side of urban dwelling can often render its own sort of appeal. Admit it; when Alek crushes the elder woman with a phallic symbol, you appreciate and almost chuckle at the sort of rhythm inherent in the melody of the construction of the scene, as well as its symbolic and metaphorical implications. Such an absurd quality of fatality has to almost be appreciated in its form and sense of black comedy. Beauty itself is not free from the rigors of the grotesque; sometimes in the most extreme forms of art the two become one and whole. Even something that completely violates our very ideal of law can become familiar to us.

Also, another element of violence many have yet to discuss, but that still pops up, is desensitization to it. This current population, possibly more so than ever or any before it, has become so used to failure, error, and even epic disaster (inherent in the many horrific memes currently prolifertaing on YTMND and the like) that we expect it, and possibly even delight in and expect it. Reports of a possible suicide on campus lately were greeted by my classmates with sardonic derision and caustic mockery. Have we fallen that far as a nation? Could we possibly be removed that far from each other that pain, suffering, and excruciating anonymity mean nothing to one another anymore?

It’s funny; the media sends us this wishy-washy, squeaky-clean image and then turns around and feeds our appetite for lurid voyeurism with tabloids of celebrities flippin out at the paparazzi, sensationalistic stories about homicide and robbery, and promotion of endeavors like the UFC and WWE. They scapegoat video games and point the finger at movies like Cannibal Holocaust but after Katrina, what was all over the news?

Looting, rape, and setting fires, that’s what. The networks passed over us stranded survivors in knee-deep water to instead spread false and erroneous rumors about cops being shot at, people’s brains splattering all over the concrete, and whatnot. These morbid details, for better or for worse, get ratings. And we, as spectators to this hyperreality, are all responsible for this rising tide, as well victims of a base and crass society.

At the same time, thanatos has always been with us. Since the beginning of human history, we’ve been injuring, maiming, burning, and even outright snuffing one another out. The medieval period is rife with doctors draining all the blood out of a person to supposedly “cure the devil out of them”. The Greek and Roman empires, long held as paragons of intellectual pinnacles for civilization, are notorious for the Coliseum, where prisoners swould scrap to the death in front of a crowd for the public’s amusement. Ya know, even the Bible records Cain and Abel’s infamous squabble.

So, maybe the answer isn’t so simple. Violence is by no means a pleasant or even desireable quality, but it’s one that’s there to stay and that we have to live with. Why else would movies like A Clockwork Orange or Natural Born Killers even be made? The screenwriters didn’t make this stuff up out of thin air or pull it out their ass. As chilling as these sociopathic protagonists may be, remember there are probably far worse lechers out there in the world, living right next door to you or hanging out down the block.

Let me leave you with a little something:

Hey, all, I’m now also writing for examiner.com as the New Orleans Celebrity Headline Examiner: http://www.examiner.com/x-26614-New-Orleans-Celebrity-Headlines-Examiner

 Click away, o’ yee faithful.

Randy Orton has, arguably, emerged as one of the more interesting and fresh characters in the WWE landscape. His detractors say he is boring and has a monotone delivery (both in the ring and on the mic), but I have to disagree a bit. I think it’s more the fault of the booking team and their irregular interpretation of his character.

Nonetheless, Orton is a throwback to the heels of old. He is conniving, selfish, vicious, and a borderline sociopath. He is obviously using Legacy to better his own career and has kicked countless people in the head, with little signs of remorse or concern. Funny, this heel gimmick that is just cool enough to get cheered by the fans reminds me of another young take-no-prisoners competitor….

It’s interesting to note the evolution (no pun intended) of Orton’s career so far. When he first debuted on Smackdown waaaay back in 2002 or so, he was potrayed as a plucky young blue chipper. Soon his character morphed into an arrogant pretty boy. He had a head full of hair, doused in mousse, rock-solid abs, and was a cocky legend killer.

Now he’s done a complete 180. No longer is he the GQ model or innocent young pup of old, but a cold and calculating Machiavellian villian, decked out in sleeve tattoos and a shaved head. He’s gained the nickname of “The Viper”, the first of many parallels between him and Steve Austin.

Both started out their careers as pretty boys (believe it or not, ol’ Austin used to have a full head of luscious blond hair). Both used a variation of the Ace Cutter later into their careers. Both have seen a gradual ascent from the mid-card to the main event.

However, there are some obvious differences between the two. Stone Cold suffered a devastated neck injury as teh result of a botched move in a match between Owen Hart, which affected his career devastatingly. He transitioned to a wild brawling style. Oddly enough, despite being immobilized, he was noted for his manic energy and fisticuffs style.

Randy Orton, meanwhile, has narrowed down his style to develop a slow pace. The crossbodies off the top rope are gone; in their place are chinlocks and a slow pace to the ring. Whereas the nickname “The Rattlesnake” gives off connotations of an unpredictable individual ready to strike at any moment, “The Viper” says he’s a slithering, shady wrestler always plotting his next move.

Regardless, it’s getting hard to note some of the cheers cropping up for Randy Orton. This is probably due to his longstanding feud with his peennial rival, John Cena. John Cena is promoted endlessly as the happy-go-lucky, squaky-clean babyface. He is the perfect, all-American, constantly smiling poster boy for the WWE. The fans have voiced their opinion and let Vince know they are somewhat exhausted with this one-dimensional superhero.

No matter what Orton’s methods may entail, you have to respect his dedication and passion (in kayfabe) towards retaining the title. He may run away from fights at times, but in the ring he somehow always manages to come away with a pinfall. He’s rather honest in interviews about his lack of scruples and works hard to keep Cody Rhodes and Ted Dibiase on track. In many regards, he’s like a modern-day antihero, and almost an echo of the old Attitude style.

Many experts and afficionadios have decided that, without question, the Invasion was one of the worst storylines to arise in recent wrestling history. For those unaware, the “Invasion” occured when Vince McMahon purchased the rights to WCW. Of course, many were chomping at the bit to see WCW and the then-WWF face off. Initiallt they did, running in on random matches and proceeding to start an inter-promotional war.

It was a dream feud many wrestling fans had been salivitating over. The thought of the two biggest wrestling companies facing off was quite possibly more then the mind could fathom.  But, like all fantasies (Brock vs. Goldberg), it couldn’t possibly live up to the hype. What happened paled in comparison to what could have been.

I will grant that it was something of a flop and porrly executed. Yet—and this is a big yet—there were shining bright spots. For ne, what’s lost in all the hoopla regarding this dark period surrounding wrestling is the gradual push, rise, and ascent of Kurt Angle to the true main event.

Kurt Angle, then a patriotic hero, Olympic veteran, and flag-bearer of the WWF, took on the leader of the Alliance, turncoat Stone Cold. What ensued was an epic battle between the two performers that brought out the best in each man. We really got the breadth and scope of Kurt’s talent and how he could be marketed as an uber-babyface.

For once, we got a clear view of just how great Kurt was and what an ensured future legend he could be. In Austin’s case, it showed that he still had it and could play a vicious heel that could truly make the fans forget the Steveweisers he shared with them and could really make them hate him.

In kayfabe senses, you could truly just feel the hatred the two man had for each other. As well, what goes ignored is that many other new stars got their (initial) push under the banner of the Alliance deal. RVD, Edge, hell, even Test, saw their star somewhat rise while competing in this time frame.

It also helped introduce many former WCW stars to a new audience. Of course, it’s silly to think WCW didn’t ahev a large fanbase and that people wee unaware of them. Now, competing in front of a larger audience and the #1 federation, guys like Booker T and DDP could get their name out there, however ill-fated their runs may have been.

Like I said, it had all the momentum in the world, but momentum won’t put asses in the seats. What I think happened is twofold; one, unfortunately they pulled the trigger on the WCW/ECW (which was a complete and uter mistake to pair those two up) vs. WWF feud at a time when the Attitude boom had just ended and so fewer fans were watching and the casual audience could care less.

Also, as has been brought up before, and as we can surely speculate, Vince was uncomfortable with many stars he didn’t create getting the upper hand. He just had to show Ted Turner and Eric Bischoff who was the better man, even it was in unscripted contests with guys he now had the contracts of. One’s ego became his own financial undoing. If he could have put aside his pride to focus on another one of his traits…..his greed….we all could have benfitted from this storyline.

Last but not least, what we saw was a company-wide storyline. While we as fans are used to individual feuds having little to no relevance on one another on a card, every so often it seems we’re bombarded with a knock-down, drag-out version of onscreen anarchy that threatens the very performer’s careers and well-beings. I’m talking about wars like NWO vs. WCW, New Blood vs. Millionaire’s Club, and the semi-current MEM vs. Frontline deal. I dunno why, but it excites me and gets me into the product when I see every single wrestler, from the lowliest curtain-jerker to the top main-eventer being affected by having to pick a side.

The Invasion, for all of its flaws, was one of the biggest money ideas ever. Second only to the NWO initially trying to take over WCW (another idea which eventually ran its course….when will comapnies learn to pull the plug when a gimmick has jumped the shark?), at first fans were stunned and angered to see people like Hugh Morrus and Lance Storm on their TV screen. The thought of ECW emerging as the dark horse third party only added fuel to the fire.

It occured to me the other day as I pulled up to a gas station and I fished one of the few dollar bills out my pitifully thin wallet, and turned off the car (effectively ending the stream of Pixies songs coming from my CD player), and glided across the pavement in my Vans, that I am a member of Generation Y.

Oh, trust me, it wasn’t an easy conclusion to come to. I used to lie to myself that I wasn’t some aggrevating douchebag. But, as I think back on it, I scream pretentious. I’ve watched weird underground arty films at friends’ houses. I’ve had discussions about indy music with some of the fellow twentysomethings in my class. And yes, it pains me to say it, I own a pair of crocs.

It goes without saying that this youth movement is one of the oddest ones to arise in recent memory. Not since the flappers who danced to jazz in the Roraing 20s have we seen such a curiously self-absorbed group of young adults who aspire to such artistic inclinations with no sense of meaning whatsoever. The parade of both men and women decked out in purple plaid, wayfarers that could take over the countenances of Mount Rushmore, and a copy of Che Guevera’s biography hanging oh-so-indiscriminately out of their bookbags is a sight to behold on college campuses nowadays.

Despite my smarky satire, I am helpless to overturn this tide, and humbly assert myself on my knees to give in o this tide. In my younger years, I had browsed through Hot Topic and proudly sported those baggy JNCO pants with a gazillion chains on them (great to annoy the ‘rents, but impractical otherwise). I was also a lot more idealistic and direct in expressing myself. Now I find myself hiding behind an ironic smirk, and catch myself listening to Poison the Well a bit more than I do Pantera.

It’s a hazy path to navigate, havng to learn of a million different non-commerical music genres: trip-hop, twee, melodic hardcore, post-rock, shoegazing, and other such silly and obscure styles that escape me at this moment. I’ve also become absorbed in Youtube and Facebook. What with its absurd non-sequitir mni-montages and the back-and-forth flow of messages exchanged, the computer has become the 2000s version of crack cocaine, addictive and hazardous for all bored teenagers who come into contact with it.

Back in the elder days there was at least some attempt at honest, sincere expression and revolt. I hate to seem like one of those arrogant baby boomers who proclaims “back in my day” (considering I was born in 1988), but it strikes me that previous subcultures had some sort of idelogy or focus in mind. The hippies were staunchly against contemporary suburban materialism and held to the values of peace and love. Punk rock saw this as false and hypocritical, and took a more active and radical stance on the government’s strangehold over our lives.

Goth came along and looked inward, while the other two slowly and quietly rode off into the sunset. The turning point seems to have been the rise of the Seattle sound. When Kurt and his flannel-wearing ilk stumbled along into the mainstream, we saw a different breed of disgruntled adolescence. They were pissed and annoyed, but also somewhat a navel-gazing bunch. Layne Staley and Chris Cornel realized how false this reality was, but almost seemed too helpless and paralyzed to really do anything about it. They seemed more concerned without getting kicked out of the house by their parents than the homeless people living in the street.

And so we come to the end of the cycle, the repulsive hipster. They sport stubble and slightly ragged clothes, but unlike the grunge rocker, they shower regularly. We have simultaneously managed to reappropriate every single style before us and rendered it null and meaningless. True expression is avoided; we instead communicate in saracstic asides and onloy hint at varying social and personal problems. Emo is the shining example of today’s attitude; there’s obvious inner turmoil brewing in there, but we cleverly dodge it by wearing tight shirts with graphic designs and smoking cigarettes against the wall at a local show (known as “the scene”).

I envy those who are cheesy and induge in it. So to those of you with a garden gnome or a singing bass tacked up on the wall….huzzah! Continue the good fight against snobby urban elitism! When I hang around my friends who unquestonably crank up Flyleaf or jam out to Theory of a Deadmna, they did it with an honest and unknowing naivete. They know nothing of “quality” or “taste”.

I recall last weekend I was at a festival with my family. My mom’s friend, a 50 year old woman who could best be described as “somewhat dorky”, was merrily swaying to a local cover band up on stage. Neer mind that she was completely uncoordinated and out of it (according to the current vernacular), she was enjoying herself and having the time of her life. Oh, the beauty in it, the sublime quality of a complete lack of coordination and coolness.

I confess all this but I’m stll fighting. Don’t worry….I haven’t headed too far into the land of obnoxiousness. I still bust out a few Linkin Park songs on my mixtapes, I have yet to acquire a true iPod, and I’ve never been spotted with my laptop in a public cafe. The days of Monster energy drinks are calling to me, but every so often I get “We’re an American Band” by Grand Funk Railroad stuck in my head.

I recall a few years ago when me and my ex-girlfriend were still dating. We had gotten on the topic of marriage. Being a stout commitment-phobe, I tried to back away from the conversation and admit my apprehension at discussing the topic when I was only 19 years old. However, she insisted on pressing the issue. A few monhs later, we had an unceremonious break-up. So much for women’s lib.

I’ve noticed a disturbing trend in today’s females. It seems, by and large, many of them accept without question a secondary role. The radical contingent that arose in the 1960s, which called for voting rights and more respect for what was stereotypically thought of “the weaker sex, has now died off a slow but sure death.

All the girls I see walking around today seem to have no appreciation or knowledge of their foremothers before them who fought so hard to be able to get a foot in the workplace or strike out on their own. Instead, I see them accept a sad fate of wearing revealing and suggesting clothes to attract some guy to support them. An alarming trend is arising in which this decade is seeing more co-dependent, psychologically unstable ladies turn to relationships, casual flirting, and empty sex because they come from broken homes and harbor low self-esteem.

It’s become sad to note the fatality of gender rights. Whereas in previous decades women fought tooth-and-nail to appear strong and achieve oppurtuniies previously only reserved for men, now many young woman happily accept stereotypical subservient role, often without any sort of question at all. After a while, it became depressing to note how fragile and dependent on this mytological idea of love being sold by TV and movies many of my sigficant others were. It got to the point where I’d had to ask myself, “What the hell is happening?”

Before you come along and think I’m demonizing any woman who gets married or is a housewife or who puts on lipstick before going out to a club, don’t get the wrong idea. Just because a woman takes on the burden of raising a kid doesn’t automatically make her a spineless weakling. I realize when you have kids, it is not only crucial but essential to raise them, and the natural maternal instinct takes over. A woman can obviously be a stay-at-home mom and still be a strong, independent spirit.

But the rate at which my young peers are hooking up and staying hitched is an alarming rate. Far from the image society has of us where all we do is party and fuck without consequence or intimacy, now it seems everyone I know wants to stay in a comitted, obsessive partership starting at age 10. For God’s sakes, we’re young adults! You have your whole life ahead of you! Would it kill you to have a little fun and explore the world first? This is teenage drama and the error of immature emotions taken to the extreme. When you get together at such a young and unsure age, it’s pund to fail, and that’s never good for both parties. It is a statistic that young marriages are more bond to fail than others.

What we have now is women are being raised unsure about themselves. They’re told that their bodies and sex appeal are all they truly have to offer. But after the tide of political correctness, it’s now a more subtle message. Instea of being more in-your-face about the appeal of the flesh, now we get more psychological manipulation. Think about the gentle romcoms that portray a hapless female business executive who, despite their professional success, are lacking in what really should make a person’s life: the comfort of a man’s touch.

It’s a dark day to see many women I know put up with abusive or neglient white-trash drug dealer boyfriends because “I really know him”. It’s heady times ahead when I see teenage girls drop out of high school or college because they’re pregnant and think having a baby will solve all of their existential dilemnas. And it’s almost a slap in the face to types like Gloria Steinem and Naomi Klein when women wihstand the 345th breakup between them and their bfs because it’s all they know.

America has really, truly, became a shell of its former self. What once started out as a promising and intelligent new, young country has now degenerated into a haven for antintellectualism, instant gratification, willful obscurantism, and violent jingoism.

A lot of those who label me as an “anti-American” don’t realize I value what this country used to be. Not to fall back into that old nostalgia routine, but this nation was built on some interesting and worthwhile principles. George Washington and Thomas Jefferson held in esteem intelligence, a healthy dose of skepticism (for you hayseeds out there yelling, “This country was founded on Christian ideals!”, many of our Founding Fathers were actually deists and were wary of the church), and eglitarian ideals based around equal rights for all and tolerance of opposing viewpoints.

It is inevitable that the fact that these men were slave owners will be brought to light, and I applaud that move. While I respect the focus of the Enlightment, in the end I find it slighly hypocritical. It’s always the betrayal of history to shove this idea of “rights for all men” when the movement was spearheaded by rich white European males. How can we view Benjamin Franklin as a forward-thinking radical when he and his buddies were already part of the upper-class to begin with? That’s the trick they get us with, ladies and gentlemen.

Nonetheless, this country was founded on idealism, and I will stick to such a path. You think the men who gave their blood to turn back the tide of colonial opression would stand for most of today’s politicians being spineless pussies who are in the pockets of many of today’s corporations and are too weak to do anything about it or even admit it? You think they’d stand for the fact that this world is getting polluted and the enviornment’s getting fucked up because we’re in love with Tupperware and have to drive the latest SUV? You think they’d be thrilled that more people probably vote for American Idol than they do for the presidential election?

A lot of these are side effects and sympoms of what I notice is the general dumbing down of America. It’s something I encountered even as a kid. When I’d ride the bus in the morning, the loudest and the goofiest youngster was teh most popular. It’s a mind baffling phenomenon. In today’s schools and youth cultures, smarts are regarded with suspicion and even shunned. To pick up a book and actually admit to enjoying it is akin to social suicide these days.

We send such a mixed message in our culture. It’s the safe and PC route to tell kids to stay in school, even though our history textbooks are eiher outdated or tell flat-out lies. We tell them to not drop out but MTV bombards the impressionable adolescent minds out there with music videos of rappers flashing dollar bills, decked out in tattoos, menacingly grinning at the camera as they brag about how guns and girls they have.

And that’s not even getting into the higher strands of academia. Teens and young adults flock to college campuses, in hopes of getting a better job. Once they graduate, they’re faced with a job market and life prospects that are grimmer than Lance Henriksen acting in Hamlet. Meanwhile, Kim Kardasian is stacked with paper for doing God knows what.

America has always had a strand of populist anti-authoritarianism. Look, I realize that, and it’s fine. In fact, I applaud it. Our unqiue strand of individualism and negative feelings about authority are wll-founded. At the same time, we need to use that little thing called a brain up in our heads.

Shit, do you realize how lucky you are to even be born? You, among all those little starnds of sperm, raced to the egg first. That tells yu something about your ingeniuty and will to survive. As human beings, we can interpret reality, are uniquely aware of our existance and our mortality, can communicate via verbal or written language, and are able to build monumental structures to ensure our self-preservation. In describing all this, you can understand my frustration in seeing most people blow their chance at life to get high on Vicodin, chase after nothing but sex, and idolize 50 Cent.

We have novelists and poets who craft beautiful lyrical passages outlining scoail circumstances, and we pass that up “cuz goshdang, that’s just too many words!” Yet we think nothing of shoving a Big Mac down our gullets, failing to realize the horrifyng ingredients or negative health implacatins of such a choice.

We started off as nation of alcoholics, if only by necessity (the beer back then was more healthy than the disease-contaminated water….remember that next time you look at the government diet chart). Damn has it gotten out of control. One word the American oublic may need to learn is MODERATION. Same thing with cigs. If you look at one you won’t immediately keel over as some extremist groups would like you to believe. Still, put down the f’n 5th packet and try to learn where Australia is on a goddamn map already. Geez.