Cacophony

Yesterday was a bum day, well almost. It started with me feeling like vegging out on the couch watching movies. I spoke to Jyg for a little while before watching Garden Party – a must, by the way. After watching that, I started watching Mad Max, but then remembered to call Jyg because she wanted to go buy her new TV at Wal-Mart. The thing didn’t weight that much, so I agreed to go with her and get it. It was on sale, but still cost her $500. We went back to her place and I set it up because that’s what I’m good for and I remembered, while attempting to attach the stand to the flat panel, why I hate RCA products so much – they don’t just put the instructions for the product you just bought, but all the instructions for all the similar products. So there was about three different TV sets in that booklet and I gave up on attempting to figure it out through book and just did what I do best, figure it out on my own. That worked faster.

Afterward, we dropped by my place really quickly because I needed to take a pain killer and we went to comic book store that opened in Edinburg perhaps a year or two ago – Cyber Comics, I believe it’s called. Reason being, I was feeling quite nerdy and I wanted to buy the Kevin Smith Batman comic – Batman: Cacophony. Of course, I love Batman and I love Kevin Smith so the two only made sense, right? I haven’t bought an actual comic book from an actual comic book store since I was just out of high school. It was strange, but I liked the set up. I asked the clerks if there were any left and there was quite a few. I just bought the one, which they were surprised, but I told them if I looked around, I’d wind up spending more than I had originally planned because they had a dollar comic section and I know I’ll find a lot that I’d be interested in.

I liked the place and as I was leaving I told them I’d be seeing them next month when the second issue hit, and I will because the place seems a little more friendly than Myth Adventures in McAllen. Not to attack Myth, because they’re still one of the greatest comic stores in the Valley, but these people actually made conversation with me while checking to see if they had any in stock. Treated like a fellow comic book reader than just a customer from the street.

I paid for the comic and left with Jyg who called this mission a nerd mission. We went to McDonalds because the pain killer makes me queasy if I don’t eat something with it and it’d only been 15 minutes so I ordered a cheeseburger and we waited for both our meals. While doing so, Jyg noticed some lady just putting her drink on Jyg’s car. The lady who was with her and the one who decided to use the car as her personal cup holder, kept staring at something inside, or at least I thought they were staring at something inside. Leaving my comic book in their view, I began to wonder why they were taking so much interest in Batman. When we got back to the car, I noticed that there was a wing sticking out from the hood and a little bird had met its maker. We couldn’t come up with reasons why it would be stuck in the corner of the hood, but what really puzzled us is why the lady, after knowing there was a dead bird on the hood of the car, would put her soda there.

After arriving home, my mother pulled the thing out and we noticed that it’d been there for some time as the bird had decomposed. The mystery of the suicidal bird is still open. And Batman: Cacophony, despite the what the naysayers say, is totally worth it.

Early morning reading and writing

I woke up early this morning because I’ve been fighting a fever since mid week last week and all weekend long. Finally I get some good news as my temperature only read 97.9 F this morning and I sighed in relief, but this doesn’t get me from calling a doctor or mean that the bug is officially gone. I’m gonna take it slow from now on.

So I started the day by concluding an article from Esquire that I started reading last night before the medicine kicked in and I drifted into a blissful sleep. On a side note, before I get into it, I received my November issue late because I had to resubscribe but under another name – still my name, by the way – because my real name’s subscription had expired and they sent me a re-subscription under my nickname rather than the one I’ve been using for a year. Why? I don’t know. But it got me a deal, so what the hell? Anyway, because I got the November issue late, I missed out on a lot of things that I wish I hadn’t. Like, for instance, finding out that Halle Berry is the sexist woman alive before the other readers (as most subscribers get their issues slightly ahead of the newsstand buyers). But really, I could care less about the Women We Love columns because most of them I can’t downright stand – no I am not a homosexual, if you were a devout reader of my blog, you would have read that post.

Like with my occasional Playboy, Esquire is solely for the articles. I kid you not, I’m just that nerdy. However, people believe me more when I say that of Esquire, but not so much when I say that for Playboy. I don’t know why though, if you’ve seen one fake blonde, plastic based woman, then you’ve pretty much seen them all. Anyway, I digress.

In the November issue of Esquire, there’s an article by A.J. Jacobs that I think my intelligent friends need to read because it’s rather interesting how our brains apparently work. This explains so much about us as humans and why a great percentage of us are completely ignorant and are willing to believe in such trivial of things. I have to say that must’ve been the most interesting thing I’ve ever read in Esquire, fiction or non-fiction (fiction, by the way, was the sole reason I started to subscribe to Esquire and why I read an occasional Playboy, though I do only buy an issue when it contains an article that is relevant to me).

Another zinger in the November issue that got me was the Stephen Marche column, and I’ve discussed one by him a while back, “A Thousand Words About Our Culture.” This month’s was on loyalty, which, as I was reading it, suddenly invoked the PUMAs as they were so quick to betray their own beliefs because of some over blown conspiracy theory.

It’s just now coming to my attention that I no longer read the magazine solely for fiction. After a while, I grew addicted to Chuck Klosterman’s column, Stacey Grenrock Woods’s witty sex advice column, and now the articles are becoming more socially relevant to me. This is beginning to scare me greatly. Has the guy who first went by the pseudonym Poet Demas finally realize that perhaps he’s growing up?

Well, it’s a about fucking time.

“Why you think the net was born?” (Avenue Q)

There’s a lot of debate again in various blogs about internet porn. I’m not sure if that debate ever really died down, but there’s a lot of hate going around by people who think porn is a danger to our society. And that last sentence is going to drive a lot of people to probably comment (if they read it) on how it is the seed that causes rape, that distorts real relationships and so on and so forth. I have to, however, disagree greatly because what they’re saying is what someone else said in the past and they’re just repeating like parrots on the shoulder of their one-eyed master (trust, I meant no pun by this, although, it would be something I would say).

So, is pornography a danger to our society? Unless porn is out there holding guns to the backs of rapists forcing them to submit women and take them any which way, the answer is a flat out no. Does rape exploit women? Again, unless producers are holding guns and making women take it every which way, the answer once again is no. Does it distort the minds of young Americans about sex? That’s a gray area. A lot of people like to blame the mass media for our problems. School shooting? Let’s blame Marilyn Manson and a few movies. Girl gets raped? Oh, that must be the influence of pornographic movies. But what about priests molesting altar boys? What then do we blame? The only thing they touch, theoretically, is the Bible. Does the Bible practice underage sex? (Please, don’t answer that.)

You can’t go around telling the government to remove sex from the internet because your children well get to it. The government isn’t your babysitter. It isn’t an entity that is supposed to wipe clean your house of filth. That is your responsibility. If you don’t want your child watching porn online, then take the measures yourself. Buy some parental control software to hinder this from happening. That’s way simpler than whining online, signing petitions. Or you could do the old fashion thing, oh I don’t, be a parent for a change.

All these people come around and they want someone else to raise their kids. They don’t want their kids to learn about safe sex in school, yet don’t bother to sit down with them and tell them it’s better to wait than to jump the gun. This isn’t the 50’s, by the way. Sex is everywhere and if you prevent your child from learning the precautions, you’ll wind up like Sarah Palin and nobody wants to wind up like Sarah Palin – she’s a fucking moron!

But I digress.

My mother said something to another parent, or perhaps my aunt or some relative about my choice in music. My mother used to buy me Marilyn Manson, Nine Inch Nails, Korn, pretty much anything with a parental advisory sticker on the jewel case. When asked why she allowed me to listen to such filth, she simply said, “If I don’t, he’ll just get it somewhere else.” This left me with very little to rebel against. Now, I’m not saying you should just let you whatever-teen year old kid look at smut online; I’m just saying, you should put down the work responsibilities and be a parent once in a while.

My mother also once told me that a person who doesn’t have time to do a hobby – she said garden as we were talking about a mother of one of my relationships – then you’re spending too much time working. My mother is far from a lax person. She’s worker and I wonder why it is that didn’t rub off on me. She works hard and works long hours, but she always finds to do things she loves to do. And one of those things was being my mother. She didn’t look to the government to raise me and what I can and cannot watch, she did it herself. Call her old fashion (she’s been a mother since the 70’s), but she was far better a parent than the ones who whine about internet porn (which she’s against, but doesn’t think it should be removed).

And gray area, in which distorts the values of adult relationships, is what most people like to fling at others who support pornography. If you cannot tell the difference between reality and fantasy, then you have serious issues to look into. It’s unhealthy and has nothing to do with porn itself. Seriously, there are people who commit suicide because a WoW character was killed off. There are people who go to shopping malls and for no apparent reason, start shooting it up. There was even one guy who had a car chase because he loved video game. That is unhealthy. It has nothing to do with parenting or viewing things; it has to do with how one’s mind works.

Now I’m not saying pornography is healthy. It is, in small doses. There’s a whole theory behind addiction that Marilyn Manson (yes, I’m using him) wrote in his book. If you’re using drugs (cos that’s what he wrote) and you’re paying for them, guess what! you’re addict. Chuck Klosterman said something about drug addiction and CD jewel cases. If there is ever a chance that you simply don’t care about which CD case you grab to snort coke, then you’re addict. I think the same rules apply with pornography. If you’re willing to buy it rather than just get off on some porn website that holds free videos, or getting off to really fucked up porn, then I’m sorry, you, sir or ma’am, are an addict and should seek help.

It’s possible to get addicted to several things. Porn is not just the ugly head that rears into our lives. There’s other addictions. Some of them are perfectly legal, such alcohol and cigarettes. Those cause way more harm than pornography does to our society. I have an addiction to books. It’s harmless, the only thing that suffers is my bank account. I also have an addiction to caffiene. It only harms my body. I’ve heard people who have addictions to masturbation and don’t use porn. There are a lot of things that cause addictions and problems in our society – are you going to outlaw all of them? Good luck.

We live in a land where people are free, just as long as they don’t hurt anyone, involve a child in it, or a beast, to do what they want. That’s the joy. That’s the pride. We can take safety of knowing we can look online and see several naked women or men doing things we only fantasize about. And that’s the key world. It’s fantasy. Again, not saying it might not cause a problem, but just as long as you can avoid getting hit by a fucking car, you can avoid getting addicted. Small doses, remember?

So let’s go over this, shall we? People should stop looking at the government to do their parenting. Parents should parent, end of story. Now, I know for a fact that some kids, teens, are looking at porn. Get parental software. However, like dear old mother knew, your kid will gain somehow. And this is where being a parent pays off. Talk to you kids about sex. Talk to them soon. Tell them the difference between fantasy and reality. Tell them how porn isn’t made for them. Tell them and set boundaries.

Again, be a parent for a change.

On Growing Up

If all you’re seeing is your lies
You had your chance, but now you’ve blown it.
You want this world so you can own it
I am the keeper of the songs of everyone

Look into the sun and see your soul is dying
Used to feel the faith, but now you’re tired of trying
Should have left alone what you have stolen from everyone

How are you feeling?
You seem a little sick to me

I read a piece in Esquire by Stephen Marche entitled “Can We Stop Acting So Childish?” I have a subscription (big surprised, hu?) so I’m not sure if it’s on newstands or not, but go pick up the issue and read the piece if it’s not online. I think the person on the cover is Tom Brady (missing Brady Bunch brother? I have no idea who he is or why we should stop hating him). But the piece really got to me when I read it yesterday (this post was supposed to be written afterward, but it was The Professor’s birthday and Jyg and I were invited to to the gala). I ponder most of it on the drive over there and even more so when I showed Jyg where I spent the earlier parts of my life. Donna’s changed so much and looks almost inhabitable at night. I’m sure my grandmother would have hated the changes down and perhaps may have succumbed to defeat and moved in with us if she hadn’t passed eleven years ago.

I’m twenty-five-years-old. I don’t drive because of this fear that I can’t even explain most of the time. I still live at home with my mother because of this deep seeding guilt of leaving my mother in a state of depression. My relationships are less than perfect. I close myself off emotionally from people I love. I sit at home and write porn for money. I read books to escape my mundane life. I graduated from college but haven’t used my degree in any real work. I am the epitome of manchild, am I not? That’s the topic of Marche’s piece in the collum “A Thousand Words About Our Culture.”

As a country, we seemingly, but possibly unwittingly, gratify the adult-child. He starts his piece with the fact that the beloved children’s book, but possibly well hated (even though it hasn’t been released) film adapation, Where the Wild Things Are. I loved the book as child, and I’m pretty darn sure that I would still love it if I had the book to read to my nieces and nephew. And while little can be said about the book, what Marche points out is what seems to plague us to this day – it’s about a child realizing that it’s time to grow up. The only problem is, we don’t realize that anymore.

The source of the new ubiquity of the child-adult centaur may be the extended adolescence in which we all find ourselves. If you believe the conservative commentators, every urban American under the age of 40 rides a skateboard to work, and the criteria that once defined adulthood – giving up bands, getting a steady job, normal sex – no longer apply. Hipster parents are the new children raising children: Put the kid down for a nap, check the BlackBerry to see if the Shanghai office has sent the proofs, then take the videocam into the bedroom, and afterward maybe listen to Vampire Weekend with a joint while playing Halo 3 together. That’s the new happy marriage, the new happy adulthood: the desires of adolescence empowered by money and confidence.

And while I find myself at the crossroads a lot lately, I’m beginning to notice that I recognized the terrain. That tree over there, it’s awfully familiar. It’s almost like I have  been here before. Only I haven’t been here before because in order to be able to say, “I’ve been here before,” I would have to actually leave this place and walk as far away from it until I loop back and find myself at the crossroads again. I never leave. I say that I will, but I never leave. Forever to be stuck in the middle until someone takes my hand and leads me away from it like they did when I was a child.

The other day I was mistaken for a 40-year-old man because I hang out with a 40-year-old man. That sort of logic didn’t work when I was sixteen, so why is it that sixteen-year-olds see me as old now? That’s right, because I’m no longer sixteen, I’m nine years old than them. I’m almost a decade older. When did that happen? I admit, I was never hip. I was never cool. I wasn’t “down” with the in crowd in high school. I didn’t sell drugs or have sex with multiple partners – fuck, I still don’t sell drugs or have sex with multiple partners. I didn’t go to the movies and watch stupid movies and than chuckle about them with the guys in the changing rooms, interchanging scenes from the movie with how big this one girl’s tits are. I was mature, wasn’t I? Didn’t I take things seriously – sure, maybe not school, but that’s because I knew the stuff already, I didn’t need to learn it. I never studied, managed high grades in the classes that I actually liked. So what happened? Wasn’t I supposed to be the promised child? Instead, I’ve become the Prodigal Son who refuses to come home and see the error of my way.

Why do I find it so hard to choose a path, be it the right path or the reckless path, and find my way back? Perhaps then, the tree will have changed and an median would have been set.

whisper now
and tell me how you’ll watch me
and tell me somehow i’m gonna be alright