Entitlement

So I don't know exactly how I want to structure this, but I think I'll start off with a bit of personal information, much like my last post.

I don't care much for smoking cigarettes. I've always been passionately, but quietly, against smoking cigarettes. I have my very thought-out rationality for thinking like that, but we'll leave that out. I have best friends that smoke cigarettes, and the most I would ever consider doing is making jokingly snide remarks about their imminent death. I'm not going to tell somebody what they should or should not do, partly because I know fully well that others would view me as a hypocrite, but also in part because I know fully well that I do a vast amount of "things" myself that would intrude on others' beliefs. People are meant to live their own lives and see things how they want to see them, and if they want to make change, they will ask for it or talk about it with whomever they feel comfortable with. Until then, people should keep their personal matters to themselves, partly out of respect, but mostly because we should all be a little more defensive of our rationality being challenged.

If you were to ask anybody you know that smokes cigarettes to explain their rationality of why they started, I'm willing to guess that most of them couldn't tell you since it was so long ago, or a simple "because." They just didn't have a reason for starting it. It's something that just happened, and they now do it. No thinking in between.

I let people smoke cigarettes in my car. I let people smoke cigarettes around me. In fact, I think the smell of a freshly opened pack of cigarettes smells delicious. Then again, I also think gasoline smells delicious, but NONETHELESS, I really don't blame anybody for picking up smoking if they said, "it seemed enticing to the senses." I've never smoked a cigarette in my life, but from what I've discerned, yeah...cigarettes do appease the senses and offer comfort. In fact AGAIN, I don't doubt that I would have smoked cigarettes myself if the situations in my life hadn't come around to make me think otherwise. I just had my own experience, and I fought through that experience myself.

If somebody were even to ask me to lend them a lighter so they could spark up a cigarette, I wouldn't hesitate. Perhaps I am technically "aiding" them in their endeavor to smoke cigarettes, but it's a common thing, a lighter is. The person is going to smoke that cigarette whether or not I give them a lighter. So let's all be friends here, yeah? The thing is, the only thing I really refuse to do is go up to a gas station and buy cigarettes for people. There's something about the monetary exchange that is so enabling for us to make things easier on ourselves. We are able to attain things without much questioning: where did this product come from? How was it made? What does it do that could hurt or help me? We don't need to ask those questions in most monetary exchanges, because the relationship between consumer and seller goes without question just as well. The seller gives you their product, you take it because you obviously want it, and that's it. You are gone, and mean nothing to them. It just happened "because it did," much like a lot of economics function.

Yes, I do buy all of my stuff from distributors that don't give a rat's ass about me. Here's where my hypocrisy shows through in one area. But I suppose I don't really feel any particular way about that stuff I buy. For cigarettes, I do have particular feelings so it's a completely different story. Thus, I don't feel like contributing to the notion of "just because" if I were to buy somebody cigarettes. Let alone the fact that I hear it enough from smokers when they warn, "Don't ever start! Smoking's horrible!", if they want to make the struggle to attain their "just because," I'll have them make that struggle by themselves.

However, inversely, here's where shit gets interesting. I have a friend who made a mistake. He accidentally got a girl pregnant, and neither of them want the kid - for now, at least. The pregnant girl already has one child, and despite that both of the parents are willing and wanting to get an abortion as soon as possible, it goes without saying that a female is free to change her mind with such matters. The only problem with "willing and wanting as soon as possible" is that my friend cannot accrue the necessary money until the thirteenth of October, and then after that, they have to worry about scheduling an appointment. To make a safe estimate, by the time the abortion can happen, the baby will probably be about three months along. Therefore, I don't blame my friend for being a little antsy, and wanting the procedure done as soon as possible. As the pregnant girl stated, the baby would have fingers and a heartbeat by then.

Tomorrow, which is Friday, the first of October, my friend said there is an available spot for this girl to go in and get an abortion. Obviously, not being the close to the thirteenth, my friend won't have the money. Knowing that I have a dependable portion of my own money stashed away, I jumped in and offered. I am paying for a large portion of my friend's abortion. Essentially, I am providing, for my friend, the abortion.

Now, I know there's a sea of pro-life people out there that find those words up there absolutely appalling. I'm sure there are people out there that would cringe in delight over the thought of taking me up by the ropes, cutting my windpipe open with a rusty pair of scissors, and railing my ass to pieces with dozens of expensive vacuum cleaner accessories as I squeak my way into atonement. Now, I don't think I see it as THAT bad when people smoke cigarettes. A far cry. But if you take my perspective of cigarettes and apply it to somebody who disagrees with abortion, it would be just like if I gave a person money to go buy cigarettes themselves. "I wasn't the final link in the chain, from cigarette distributor to cigarette consumer, so therefore, I wouldn't be guilty. I just gave him the money and he was free to spend it on whatever he wanted. I just happened to know he was one cigarette away from needing a new box. That's all."

And in fact, I won't be there on Friday if and when the abortion happens. I will be riding along to Chicago to see some of my friends. Would it be any different if I were asked to stay in the clinic with them while it happened? I answer you: no. Would it be any different if that money were given to me, and I was the one performing the abortion, and giving a product to this pregnant girl, which are my services? I answer you: maybe. I don't honestly know if I could ever gather up the heart to perform abortions myself. Perhaps my whole beliefs about abortion are all bent to hell from displacement and disposition. But I'll tell you this: I think I would be more emotionally bothered if I were to puff on a cigarette for my very first time tomorrow than I know I will be while riding, happily, I might add, on that train tomorrow to Chicago.

Yes, a potential life is ending because of me. And yes, in many ways, I should probably flat out tell my friend, "You're a fucking idiot. Either you wait until you have enough money yourself, or suffer the consequences." This is the second time he's made this mistake, after all. And I mean, that would adhere to my previous remarks about wanting people to fight through situations like this for themselves, wouldn't it? That whole "no interference" thing I was talking about? He didn't even think about asking me for any money. I offered that on my own whim, with no instigation but my own will.

Everything that happened to create this death-row baby was done from "just because." There was alcohol involved, and as controversial of an element that alcohol can be in figuring out motivation (drunk words are sober thoughts, they say), these two parents don't love each other. Their act was simply out of lust. Lust and bad or misdirected decisions. They don't want to be together at all. Their families hate each other, she already has one child, she currently has a boyfriend, and he doesn't want any children at all. I'm not joking when I say that my friend and I pretty much have a pact going between us to go get our balls snipped when we're 25. He does not want this kid.

When a child grows older, they begin to observe and analyze things a lot more carefully. They ask questions. "What was this put here for?" "Why do those things do that?" And that other one, which any adult even has no idea the answer to, "Why am I here?" Some people decide to tell their kids the straight-forward truth to answers. Some people decide to fudge up some things to defend the "innocent little ears" until an appropriate age is reached. Regardless of tact, I think common sense points toward "just because" as a horrible answer to an inquisitive child.

There is nothing saying you can't build a life around "just because." After all, I think we are all products of a huge "just because." We live in its threads, and accept a lot more things than we think without question. Some of us might understand this, and some of us might not, but depending on our specific characteristics, humans adapt to each other and adapt to the ideas or questions that are better left unspoken. When people are called out on a "just because" with no defensive answer in mind, they are caught in extreme discomfort.

It's a rather dismal thought indeed to think of everything as a "just because," and what kid wants to hear that? I sure didn't like learning that all humans die when I was a kid. It's better off to hold tight and wait until you have a well thought-out, defensive answer if a child asks, "Why am I here?" Because in the moment when that child asks you, you're trapped. Comically, you can imagine the scenario: "Wait a minute, is that my car alarm? Gotta' go check!" *darts out the front door, leaving other parent and child alone* But even then, what of the innumerable cigarette butts scattered upon the earth? Although you don't need to deal with them yourself, something else, some other force, must take care of them. You can't just drop a child like you can drop a cigarette after it is born.

Maybe my life is a hypocritical swirl in the abyss of "just because" I find myself surrounded in, but I sure as hell don't wish for my friend's life to be overcome with the pain of forcefully pushing himself through boundaries in desperate search for answers and for a solution. If he does that, he could very well miss the mark completely. He needs to fight through it for himself, but I don't think many people see that common statement for what it really is: everybody needs just a little help.

Tomorrow, I'm killing a baby.

Life ^ (-1)

So here's a segment of some semi-personal information from my life that I find pretty humorous:

I have an ex-step-dad. His name is Frank. He divorced my mom in 2006 because of slight marital complications, but mostly because he couldn't tolerate living under the same roof as me. I was largely the reason they got divorced. Frank stepped into my life when I was about three or four, with a few people in my family claiming that "he was more of a father to you than your own." I tend to disagree with this.

After the divorce, my mom and Frank remained the closest of friends, and now you could find them acting in much the same way they would before 2006. Yes, I'm saying that four years after the divorce, my mom and ex-step-dad are practically in love again. And although he isn't such an intolerable person now that him and I aren't residing in close proximity to each other (he currently resides in an apartment complex well beyond my school district), my experience with him from about 1994 - 2006 was absolute hell. Perhaps I was just being a child in a few instances, perhaps not. That doesn't matter. The bitter truth is, no matter how much effort we both contributed to make amends, we always loathed the presence of each other.

Frank has a friend named Ron who lives in Florida. Ron is very wealthy, and often, he likes to accomplish his good deed of the year by flying Frank down to Florida. Frank wasn't ever wealthy himself, being on disability for the greater portion of my memory with him, so the opportunity for him to take vacations were few and far between. He pretty much had "up north" (his parents owned a cabin near Lincoln Lake that he often enjoyed retreating to when he was too pissed off and wanted to fish) or Florida. Those were the two biggest reasons Frank would ever leave the house for more than a half-day, since he didn't have a job.

Thus, when these vacation opportunities arose for him, my mind went into party-mode. The amount of happiness and relief I felt with him being gone and out of my hair for any small amount of time, leaving me free to play my video games and watch TV unburdened, to stay up well past my established bed time (when I knew I was old enough to disregard it), and to speak my mind how I saw things was tenfold the relief of answering the last question of the last exam of your last college school year. I absolutely loved it when he was gone.

So NOW, in 2010, well beyond those moments in the past, I live alone with my mom in the same house that we moved into after the divorce. I love my mom, I really do, but if there's any one statement I can make about her at the top of my head: most annoying person ever. Perhaps that is just because I have to see her everyday at the same frequency I saw Frank, since she is also on disability. Perhaps not. But now, since Frank lives in his own apartment complex away from my house, my mom frequently goes over to his place, watches movies, eats dinner, and does whatever two divorced people in love with their divorcee do. Right about here is where people can and often do start cracking jokes, but they phase me none. At least it gets the woman out of my hair, and I have plenty of hair to get tangled up in.

So here's the funny part. My mom informed me yesterday that Frank is flying out to Florida this coming weekend to visit Ron and go to the racetrack. He will be gone the entire weekend. Thus, my mom asked, "do you have any clothes you need sewn up? Since Frank's going to be gone all weekend, I'm going to be stuck at the house with nothing to do." And right about here is the place where I would admit, if I firmly believed in the concept, that I'm going hell. Because as nice of a gesture that we can all see that as, I could only think, Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck. Why do you have to leeeeeeave, Frank?

Too damn variant. Damn you, life. Once again...

Sorry About The News; I'll Take The Shoes

If anybody were to use death as a symbolic representation of "bad," polarized as a negative factor of existence, I would scoff. Death can't be coined as good or bad anymore because, at least with my experience of human thought, there are far too many stipulations tied to the whole idea of death. Quite obviously, good or bad is relative. Take any one death, under any given scenario, and you will have infinite outlets of perception tied to it that render the effort of such analysis completely obsolete. We are trained to believe humans' instinctual gravitation toward survival as solid proof that death is bad. But what of the suicide victim who wishes to die? What of the miserable mother-in-law who fades away in her emphysemic bed while the ridiculed son-in-law sits close by? Will her suffering yield ample atonement? "The only good cat's a dead cat," they sometimes say. What if she has assets?

Our minds are also tossed around between sharp divides of expected mannerisms and reactions to death. Some people believe that mourning is a sacred process of getting over it. Some people settle for the "you should be happy because he's in a better place" approach. Regardless of how you act, it all reflects your personal opinions of that particular death.

But symbols aren't meant for encompassing personal opinions. Symbols are meant to generalize an idea that is applicable for all cases. Like in mathematics, which revolves around a slew of symbols, for something to be valid and true, it must be true for all cases. So essentially, do our thoughts and feelings, which we express in the most animated displays of gestures, symbols, and actions, all equate to some mathematical value that identifies how consistent each of us individual people are with defining our beliefs?

For instance, last night at midnight, one of my best friends (Zach) who now lives in Chicago and who I have been referring to in the last couple posts about Chicago, randomly called me up and said, "What are you doing tonight and only tonight? I'm in town because I have to attend a funeral tomorrow." Bam. Just like that, my sentiments of my last Friday-post were appeased. Zach's great uncle died so he had to attend a funeral in Michigan, which allowed him to show up in town. I was more than overjoyed about this. I stayed up with him and my friend Ethan until 4:30 in the morning when I had to be up by about 8:30. It was, to say the least, a really good thing.

So, essentially, what I'm saying is that I'm partially happy Zach's great uncle died. Yeah, I'm not happy that another soul who meant something important to people passed away, but the effect of it, which caused Zach's presence in Caledonia, was more than satisfying for me. But trying to analyze how my joy is caused more because of the "secondary" effects versus "direct" effects of the indident, in my opinion, is pointless. A death happened, and I feel a certain way about it. One way only. Yes, in that emotion that I am feeling can be a great blend of various thoughts, opinions, and emotions that makes it seem like I feel many ways at once. But truly, when I say "Zach's great uncle died," I feel ONE way about it. And in my personalized situation, the consistency of that feeling is much more happiness than dread.

So let's let the "death equation" be y = ax + b, where y is my emotional value, with positive numbers being "good" or happy, and negative numbers being "bad" or distraught. If we let a = my proximity to the deceased, x = my current emotional disposition, and b = how long I've known ther person...you get what I'm saying (hopefully).

Things are just too variant. I sure hope I didn't make myself sound like a complete idiot by writing this stuff.

Signals From West

So one of my dear Chicago friends, as mentioned in the previous entry, sent me a pretty great text today.

Emily: Oh god, so im on the bus and we were at a red light and some older guy in the car next to us was totally jacking off.

Me: Could you see his penis?

Emily: No his shirt was over it. Still gross though he was probably in his 40s or 50s and overweight. Just a typical, unhygenic old guy.


NOW IS THAT INSPIRATION OR WHAT?!
Seriously, if I went around town and saw shit like that, I would be like, "Whatttttttttttttttttt, I have GOT to write about this." Damn Chicago. You've done it now.

Chicago

I would very much enjoy a trip to Chicago so I can visit some of my best friends soon. Partly because I'm exhilarated to ride a train again, since I haven't done so in so many years.

FUN FACT: I've never stepped foot on an airplane.

Damn you college and your impeding work load. Oh well. Perhaps some better ideas will come after the weekend...

Prose 2, No Juxt.

So last night, I went to the Ladies Literary Club, sponsored by Calvin College, to see a band I've been a fan of for several years now: Midlake. If you're interested in what they sound like, all I can do is apply typical genres and hope that generalizes them well enough, although a severe disservice I feel that would ultimately be. They've changed so much over the years, sprouting as "low-fi psychedelic electronica" (Wikipedia, but my honest discernment), then reaching into the indie/classical groove, and finally, as the band themselves claimed during a group discussion after the show, "British-influenced folk." Any genre application would just dilute their identity, which, amongst their three albums, has morphed into an earthly blend of self-realization. In coordination with this self-realization, their change has marked a great stride of maturity.

A maturity that I do believe the better lot of people should pick up on. What do I mean by this? Well, to start, when I got to the show, I was a bit late and arrived just in time for an older man in navy blue slacks and a button up shirt, tucked in, to walk upon the stage and introduce Midlake. Beforehand, he took the time to express to the audience the absolute necessity of buying music. He didn't directly say "don't download music illegally," but being an institute sponsored by Calvin College, predominantly Christian-oriented, this staff worker was obviously making said statement to the crowd. He poured his two cents of emotion into that little one-minute blurb about how music is art (duh) and how music can only thrive at its best when people legitimately pay for their music, their merchandise, and thier concert tickets; their "product," a term this man was not shy to use. Now, immediately after saying this, as if to cover up for something, he follwed up that statement along the lines of: "It's not commercial. It's just how good souls support art."

But tell me: is an organized system of "concert etiquette" really a good way to dance around commercialism? Don't expect to understand that statement just yet. I'm getting to it. What I mean is...after the show, when I mentioned previously that Midlake partook in a conversation with the crowd, the man in slacks specifically asked the bands, "what do you think makes a good audience?" And in my head, all I could say is who the fuck cares? Yes, there are certain boundaries easily surpassed that would make an audience "bad" if they, say, booed the hell out of the band or were throwing items on stage. But until those ridiculous boundaries are crossed, why would it matter? By expecting an audience to act in a particular manner, which is to buy the music, buy the merchandise, buy the tickets, "be a good audience" to the performers, it's not like you aren't subjecting them to the elements of commercialism anyways. Commercialism is all about making profit, and that profit implicitly depends on peoples' adherence to a particular order of business which will benefit that commercialist origin. Adherence is success.

It's not like I'm saying bands don't deserve money. I don't even want to get started on a debate over quality versus popularity and such, but despite how much a band may stay underground or whore themselves out to the radio, if one single person on the planet enjoys their music, then sure, let's give them a bit of money. But me? I don't really believe in total adherence. Any CD I have on my iPod, I've downloaded and not paid for it. There. I said it. But the catch is, take a look at this following, exhaustive list:


22-20s
311
AFI (x2)
The Agony Scene
A Life Once Lost (x2)
Alesana (x8)
Alexisonfire (x2)
AM Taxi
Angelic Vomit (Now "Decompose My Darling Daughter")
Angels And Airwaves
Animosity
Anthony Green
Armor For Sleep
As I Lay Dying
As Tall As Lions
At The Throne Of Judgement
Atreyu (x4)
August Burns Red
Avenged Sevenfold (x2)
Baptized In Blood
BearVsShark
Before Their Eyes (x2)
Behold The Man
Beneath The Massacre
Between The Buried And Me
Billy Talent (x2)
The Black Dahlia Murder
Black Label Society
Black Tide
Blessed By A Broken Heart
Blessthefall (x2)
Blink 182
Bloc Party!!!
Born Of Osiris
Born Ruffians (x2)
Brighten
Bring Me The Horizon
Bullet For My Valentine
The Burial
Cancer Bats (x2)
Carawae
Cattle Decapitation
Chance Jones
The Chariot (x2)
Chester French
Chiodos (x7)
The Christmas Lights
Circa Survive (x2)
Coal Black Horse
Cold War Kids
The Color Of Violence
The Crowned Virgin
Cynic
Damiera
Dance Gavin Dance
Daughters
A Day To Remember
The Dear Hunter
Death By Dancing
Death Cab For Cutie
Despot
The Devil Wears Prada (x5)
Devin Townsend Project
The Dillinger Escape Plan
Disturbed
Doctor! Doctor!
Downtown Brown
Dragonforce
Drive-By
Drop Dead, Gorgeous (x3)
Dwarf Corpse
Dying Fetus
Ed Gein
Eli
Emarosa
Emmure
Emonday
Empty Orchestra
Ensiferum
Envy on the Coast
Escape The Fate (x3)
Evergreen Terrace (x2)
Every Time I Die (x3)
The Fall Of Troy (x3)
Fall Out Boy
Fear Before (The March Of Flames) (x4)
Finch
Folly
For All We Know
Four Year Strong (x2)
Foxy Shazam (x2)
FRANZ FERDINAND!!!!!!!!!!!!
The Fray
From First To Last (x3)
Gallows
Genghis Tron
Gojira
Good Old War (x2)
Greeley Estates
The Groodies
The Handshake Murders
Haste The Day (x4)
Hatebreed
Hawthorne Heights
Heavy Heavy Low Low
Hella
Holy Fuck
The Honorary Title
Horse The Band
Hot Hot Heat
The Human Abstract
Humataria
The Hush Sound (x2)
I Decay
Idiot Pilot
If He Dies He Dies
It Dies Today (x2)
I Set My Friends On Fire
iwrestledabearonce
Job For A Cowboy (x2)
Kaddisfly
Killswitch Engage
Kiros
Knife Crazy
Kottonmouth Kings
Lacuna Coil (x3)
La Dispute (x3)
Lamb Of God
Lightspeed Champion
Light This City
LoveHateHero
Lydia
Machinehead
Mae (x2)
Man At Arms
Man Man
Manna & Quail
The Mars Volta
Mayday Parade
Meg and Dia
Memphis May Fire
Mental Infestation
Mia Dusa
Midlake
Misery Index
Misery Signals
Mobile
Mod Sun
Modest Mouse
Mose Giganticus
Motion City Soundtrack
Mute Math
My Children My Bride
Necrophagist
Norma Jean (x2)
The Number Twelve Looks Like You (x3)
Of Choir And Chaos
Of Mice And Men (x2)
The Offbeats
Oh, August!
OkGo
Olympia
On The Front
Once Was Lost
Origin
Ouch! Me Arse
Our Innocence Lost
Panic At The Disco (x2)
Parkway Drive (x2)
Phantom Planet
Pierce The Veil (x3)
Poison The Well
Ports Of Aidia
Portugal The Man
Powerspace
Premonitions Of War
The Pretty Reckless
Protest The Hero
Ra Ra Riot
Ratatat
The Reason
The Red Jumpsuit Apparatus
The Reverend Peyton's Big Damn Band
Rewards
Rise Into Ruin
Rogers Met An Iranian
Rogue Wave
Russian Circles
Saosin (x2)
Scale The Summit
Scarlet Grey
Scary Kids Scaring Kids (x4)
See You Next Tuesday (x2)
Senses Fail (x2)
The Silent Years
Silverstein
A Skylit Drive (x3)
Sky Eats Airplane (x2)
The Sleeping
The Spill Canvas
SMP
So Many Dynamos
So They Say
Stick To Your Guns
Stolen Babies
Suicide Silence (x2)
Sweet Dreams For Alice
System Of A Down (x2)
Tera Melos (x2)
Therefore I Am
These Dying Words
Think About Life
Thursday
Tickle Me Pink
Tokyo Police Club
Trivium
Tub Ring
Twin Atlantic
Underoath
The Used
View From Ida (x2)
Vinacious
Walls of Jericho
We Are Scientists
We Came As Romans
We Shot The Moon
Whitechapel
William Control
Winds Of Plague
Winter Sets Fire
The Yellow Sign



That there list is a complete account of every band I've ever seen live in my life. You can't take a look at that and say my soul is completely black, for I clearly have given my fair share of money to a great deal of bands. And, as I take this statement from a close friend of mine, it's not like bands make the greatest portion of thier profit from CD sales. Despite the fact that the CD is giving you the most direct contact with what that band represents, the record labels those bands are on get more money from the CD sales than the bands do. I've bought my concert tickets, and I sure as hell have bought my fair share of merchandise too. You expect me to be perfect and get all three? If so...well...okay. There are probably a lot of people out there that religiously follow said practices.

But I'm not afraid to say I have numerous flaws, or at least perceptible setbacks that infringe upon many other peoples' lifestyles or ideals. Downloading music is one of them. However, every piece of art has flaws too. For instance, the final band I saw, called Rogue Wave, was an alright sounding band. I've never listened to them before, but I think when glancing about the LLC last night at all the various faces, (I wasn't analyzing them, I was just looking for people I knew. Get off my back!) I saw PLENTY of dismal-looking faces, either caught up in their own thoughts or maybe so engaged in the music that their countentences moved none. They were just there, watching the band, hanging out and being an audience. But personally, what I associate with an audience that REALLY likes a show is people singing, dancing, doing whatever they please, so long as it shows emotion.

AND GUESS WHAT THE FUCK HAPPENED? The final song came around, and everybody stood up for it. People were five times more active then than the rest of the songs. And then? Well, after Rogue Wave announced their last song and exited the stage, the crowd began to pound their feet as a stage worker brought out some additional equipment, not to start taking down the set, but to do the obvious: make sure the stage was ready for them to come out and do their encore song.

Oh shit. Did I just use the word "obvious?" Well, it has pretty much become that way with every show I see now. I don't think there have been more than ten shows in all of those that you see above that have gone without a final, encore song from the headlining band. But isn't an encore reserved for an audience that legitimately enjoyed the music, and also for a band that rightfully earned that honor to come out and play one more song? Personally, what I think an encore entails, as equally as an appreciative audience, is a band who engages with the audience, and engages with them well. And it's not to say that Rogue Wave didn't do a good job or that they are a bad band, but they only got the crowd to stand up on their last song. To me, that just doesn't seem like it needs an encore. I don't know what portion of the audience was doing it because they liked the energy, what portion of the audience was doing it because they liked the band, or what portion of the audience was doing it because everybody else was doing it. I'll admit: I stood up when everybody else stood up for not wanting to look like an oddball out, but I didn't romp for any encore. It just didn't seem suiting, but what do you think happened?

The band came out and played an encore song. Straight forward. But did they come out looking surprised? Did they come out and start talking on the microphone and say, "Golly gee, what song should we play now?" No. They came out with a song in mind, and their confident gant gave that all away. I think it's pretty ridiculous that bands need to expect an encore song now if they are headlining a show. Some people just might not fully understand this rant I've just unleashed until they've gone to enough shows as I have, but encores are all planned now. And NOT ONCE - for if this didn't happen, encores wouldn't happen - did the audience get an encore without pleading for it, be it with stomps or the typical chant: "ONE MORE SONG!" Over and over again, they say it.

I have to say, with the extensive list of bands I've provided, the aforementioned statistics of encores sounds pretty successful right about now. The crowd expects it. The band expects it. The band procures it. The audience receives it. The encore finishes, the band gets off stage, the audience leaves, and it's all done. That moment is thus gone, all except for the memory it makes. But people can remember their broken computers and crashed-up cars they scrapped ten years ago just as well as an encore, if not better. The encore has just become a commodity, a commercial.

People need to give themselves enough freedom to fail, and stop expecting so much perfection. We should all look toward advancement in a mature way. That doens't mean "growing up." Fuck it. Be a baffoon for the rest of your life. This world needs more goofy people. But do try to advance yourself beyond expectancies, and fail a little bit.

PROSE THAT, PROBRO

Juxta-prose

So I'm rather amused at how tangible the business aspect of video games have become these days. What I mean by this is how each of the big video game consoles: PS3, Xbox 360, and Wii, are all trying to have the upper hand in the market (less Wii than the rest) by releasing exclusive hardware (and often software) in order to attract a larger audience. My main example is with the new motion-sensing hardware/game peripherals being released for the PS3 and Xbox 360 in order to compete with the Wii. The Wii was the first console to release a controller that was primarily motion-sensing in order to facilitate more family-oriented gaming, which worked surprisingly well.

Well, the developers of the PS3 and Xbox 360 caught wind of the great success Nintendo had with the Wii because of this attraction to such a wide audience (as the PS3 and Xbox 360 are moreso aimed at "core" gamers), and consequently will be releasing very soon the Playstation Move and Kinect, each a respective product of Sony and Microsoft, each utilizing this motion-sensing addition to video games. It sucks that as I get older and understand the real reason why most companies exists, which is to make money, I can feel that imposing on my personal enjoyment of some product that company releases. Now, when I go out and buy things, I have this guilty, faceless feeling that I'm just another number on their business charts, and helping them out in some great battle that I don't even wish to take sides on. Although I inevitably and consciously submitted to that when I bought my PS3, I just want to "have stuff" to "have fun." No mucky, in-between battling of "who gets how much money" and "now that I have this product, I'm forever in their open doorway to advertisement and money ploys."

However, this is indeed modernity. There's really nothing we can purchase with currency that will redeem us from that trap. It's just who we are as people who use money as a way of acquiring things. And truthfully, it sucks that I can't write every bit of this out how it feels in my head. Partly because I don't have enough information or proper terminology to make myself sound knowledgeable, and partly because I just don't have the time to do so. I have quite a great amount of assignments to finish, and damnit, when I'm done doing those assignments, I want to relax and let my presence exude away from the rest of society. Enjoy the "shit I have" without always being part of some fucking ploy, just because I own something. That bothers me, and puts me in a state of unrest. Even when I die, I won't escape it, because my corpse will probably be lying within some casket bought from some fucking company.

Or will it? Screw it, if I can, I'm having my body incinerated. Put me through your company-owned conveyor belt crisper, and when my clump of ashes comes out on the other side, I don't give a hoot what you do with me, so long as it's a part of nature. You can toss me down some stupid hill I've never looked at in my life and think nothing of it after that. I don't care, as long as it's not inside some company-owned urn or trashcan. Not like my ashes going in a trashcan would bother me or anything, since I suppose it would all end up outside and in some heap of other garbage at SOME point. But the idea of putting my remains in some company-owned receptacle kills me to think about. Hardy har pun bunz.

But really, will we ever be free of this infinite participation or influence on somebody or something else? Even if it's just the memory of us, after we're just ash? I truly, honestly, no-holds-barred detest the nature of human life because of this. Nothing ever ends. Oh geez, was I just blogging a while ago about how being forgotten bothers me? What a shame. I guess my hypocrisy shines through YET AGAIN. Or perhaps bipolar?

ANYWHO, check this out! A discgolf game made for the Playstation Move!
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6JUyNAXz7V4

JUXTA-PROSE

New Singers

So there tends to be a lot of shifting around with lead singers in the repertoire of bands I hold close to the beater. It has happened so much that the initial shock is all but nullified now, since I do believe I've seen some rather drastic changes made in the past few years. Of the lot, Chiodos is one of the more prominent examples. Craig Owens, in my opinion, slaughtered what it meant to be a member of Chiodos. Perhaps it was his nature that did this, or perhaps it was an unattributable draft of fate. Regardless, most people that listen/listened to Chiodos over the years (and I'll be quite frank - that demographic is/was a LOT of teenage girls) only knew the likes of Craig Owens. They associated him as the very face of the band, which isn't too far fetched of a connotation. I mean, as an avid listener of music, the only part of the music I can really partake in (if I choose) is with the lyrics. Well, I suppose you could memorize the guitar portions or any other instrumental aspect, and try to mimic that with your voice or hitting/tapping random shit (of which I esteem a particular Joe Hill for doing), but that's a rarity to pull off without external revulsion. Thus, I, and anybody who listens to music, would very likely make a first impression of a band from their singer.

But you know those people who tend to abstractly listen to music, and generally care for the music BECAUSE they know the words to the songs? Fairweather listeners, who don't take an extra few to let the meanings of the words actually sink in? I'm not saying anything bad about those people. Shit, I'm a culprit in my youth. I go back to the birth of my interest in music: 90's radio rock/alternative, and really pay attention to the words, and I'm often very happy I didn't take the time to indulge in the meanings. For if I did, with the kind of mind I do now, my musical interest could've been a stray bullet without anything but gravity to stop it. I could've hated half the music I now adore because of nostalgia, but that is probably just my writer's mindset seeping in.

But seriously, I think half of what it means to like a band is to actually engage yourself in learning more about them, what they play, why they play it, and how it's represented. You can take that in any form, with mine being partly the lyrical representation, partly the memorial value the band holds. But if you don't look at a band in any way other than a catchy tune that you can sing to, it seems like a little bit of the music's value is lost. HOWEVER, I entirely admit that in the past, and even now, I'm sure there a couple examples where I'm guilty beyond all measures. And since there's so much discrepancy to the quality of music in regards to good sound versus good meaning and mainstream, money-making infatuation versus underground, independent vigor, all hopes of finding distinction are purely lost. It's a big circle-jerk of genre battles. Quite obviously, as the/my answer has already been restated thousands of times: music is just what you make it.

Swinging back to my point of this? There are just a fuck ton of bands that have had a change of face over the years that it's entirely interesting to compare what they were "originally" to their new breed, especially with their writing. Chiodos, Dance Gavin Dance, The Human Abstract, Sky Eats Airplane, Hot Hot Heat, Blessthefall, Escape the Fate, Haste the Day, Saosin, Emarosa, From First to Last...they've all done it.

Go listen to Chiodos' new singer/material. It's not that bad at all (well, that all depends on your musical tastes.)

MEATLOAD

I wholly submit every nerve of my body to the aroma of a freshly cooked meat loaf. Take me, and do with me as you please, you fair fragrance, for you have treated me well. On a day like today, with classes and work from 8 - 5:45, commuting home, then taking care of yard work immediately after, you shed light while I am still working in the dark. To step in a home I've called my own for six years, settle down in a perfectly warmed, perfectly cleaned room, and have that scent seep into my living quarters is more than wondrous. It's phenomenal.

Too bad that comfort is sent directly from the evil FDA. Time to ingest some delicious hormones.

Memories Taped Together

When you never really had the chance to have bits and pieces of your life filmed due to your family never owning a tape recorder, it's really astonishing when you return to a pile of about twenty five or thirty VHS tapes such as mine that were all used to record some of my favorite moments on television. It's a pretty vogue argument by now that television holds a negative placement in most childrens' lives, but I will still defend it up and down as a piece of memory-making beauty that doesn't kill the minds of kids like it's so accused of doing. In my mind, television is no worse than music in many ways. Especially when you consider the existence of severely polarized "uber mainstream" content, the stuff that's made for the "mass mind." Nonetheless, going back on an old stack of VHS tapes is like watching your interests and life unfold in a nonphysical representation. Instead of seeing yourself, you see your interests manifest as yourself and unlock memories that were all but lost to the depths.

I don't think TV is all that bad...

It's All A Blank

My list of tentative shows/bands to see in the near future:

• As I Lay Dying/All That Remains/Unearth/Carnifex - Tuesday, September 21st @ The Orbit Room in Grand Rapids
• Midlake - Wednesday, September 22nd @ Ladies Literacy Club in Grand Rapids
•  La Dispute/Native - Friday, October 8th @ Ladies Literacy Club in Grand Rapids
• Bring Me The Horizon/August Burns Red/Emarosa - Wednesday, October 13th @ The Crofoot in Pontiac
• The Dandy Warhols - Saturday, October 30th @ The Vic Theatre in Chicago
• Atreyu/Chiodos/Blessthefall - Wednesday, November 17th @ St. Andrews Hall in Detroit
• Circa Survive/Dredg - Saturday, November 20th @ St. Andrews Hall in Detroit

And counting...

Of Discing and Diligence

Awexome. Accomplishments of the day: worked for four and a half hours, made plenty of new friends, went discing and hung out with a friend not seen in a while, helped some hitchhikers who also happened to be my friends, drove around plenty, ate homemade waffles for dinner, finished an entire paper in one day, and skateboarded.

How fulfilling of a day.

*Sigh* Yet another journal-esque entry, from me to you.

For Your Enjoyment

A little tired after putting the effort in the last few blogs. However, those blogs have truly enlightened me to the fact that a writer's real work starts off with not knowing the end means. If you give yourself too narrow of a mindset while writing, by actively starting and thinking, "THIS is what I'm going to write about, and I MUST do it at once, and it's going to be PERFECT," you're going to lose half of the enjoyment. You just need to start, and not worry about a finish.

I kind of wish more people would throw that information around in this world. Except people who rule countries and such. That would be a very bad idea.

BUT, that's an entirely different realm. So for now, have a minute or two with my favorite skater, Chris Haslam:


http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=35L3wxLiNOE

A Hysterectomy Directed Me

I want to know what my generation is going to be portrayed as in the text books to come. And more so, I want to know: did the preceding generations before me feel just as title-less as I feel about my generation? I know that great feats are happening before me: a war in Iraq, black president, shit like that. And I know that great eras have already passed before my eyes: the exquisite bliss of the infallible 90's, a new millennium, the great technological advancement, shit like that. But when you read about all of those things in textbooks, usually the breed having a gorepit orgy in classrooms, most of that information is fluffed with information about civilization and the like. The things generalized "societies," and all of the different levels and strands of people involved in those "societies," "do" on a daily basis. Some sort of summation of lifestyles and the like.

For instance, in the Gothic era, despite that we as Americans have tarnished the connotation of what it means to be Gothic with images of eyeliner, sissy whip poodads, and any other derogatory idea (unless, of course, you belong to that group), oh the god damn well. At least they have some sort of dignified image/idea that a great mass of people share. Or you could go the more serious route and actually understand what being Gothic implies. Regardless, that era has garnered a future-accepted set of qualities. But when all of that stuff was actually happening, when a Goth was really hanging around being a Goth in Europe, doing Goth deeds like eating Goth granola, I can't suspect that any Goth going even slightly against the Gothy grain would feel that historical surge that, "HEY! You guys! We're Goths! You know what that means?! We're going to be remembered!" I mean, I personally feel that's why they had religion, and had it they did as they bashed it into peoples' souls. They had NO idea what the fuck was going on in the future. Could they really be so assured that their legacy would live on? I know damn well some of the Goths probably thought so, but human thought can only take you so far. Their god was in charge of their permanence. Not them.

Are people really going to look back on our generation, and I'll narrow "our generation" down so much as to regard specifically my fellow American (harchy har har!) college-mates, and see some great legacy worth talking about? Perhaps our shared ideas or experiences may move on, such as what we've all accomplished in college, but will our individuality and what each and every one of us refer to as important in our lives really carry on throughout the night? If history repeats itself, you sure as hell don't hear about what Filgor Flem of 1800 enjoyed doing after his Goth convention. And you sure as hell probably won't hear about what Murray Albatross of 2010 enjoyed doing after controlling time.

That's my best friend. His name's Murray Albatross. His adorning of the Sacred Watch clearly indicates he controls time. I like this picture quite a bit. It kind of makes his skin look very very nice. He likes the beach, and I do too.

*INSERT HACKSAW MCGRAW*

IT DOESN'T MATTER WHAT WE LIKE. Nor did it matter what most of the Goths liked. Unless they wrote stuff. Or somehow created pictures. Thus, I say with a deep-seated intensity, with all of the fire and brimstone within me (go Typhlosion!), artists will be the ones to carry on any legacies. Artists; not presidents, kings, diplomats...none of them. In the true sake of memories as we know them now, you have pictures, books, orators, and sound. Creation is what carries on any legacies, not rulership.

So, unfortunately, despite the displeasure of those hallow text books still gorphing in the classrooms, any man or woman who wrote them created something. I guess you can just refer to the textbook writers as the "modern trash artists" (I kid, I kid! Don't lynch me). But they wrote it. And somebody took the pictures in the book. And if they didn't do it, "they" who is the expanse of humanity, and if I didn't do it, it's like none of us would've ever been born.

Like we wouldn't have ever been born at all.

Write. Take pictures. Speak. Draw. Think. Expand. Create. Please.

Rise of the Frog King

And although I'd like to think that any animal a hundredth the size of a lawn mower, refusing to move at the sound of blasting blades inches away, deserves to die from stupidity, who am I to deem it stupid or a pointless life?

Who knows...perhaps they have the power too. Everybody should stop mowing the lawn.

Pinching Brain Coins

There's this longstanding humorous thought/idea that I've preserved with one of my best friends that rationalizes the existence of "memory inflation." Very similar to the way the value of currency bomb-dropped during the historical inflation, it seems all too likely that at some point, if some chaotic thread of chance permitted it, the memory that we use to store information on hard drives in all their suits a' color (laptops, iPods, phones, game consoles, etc.) could very well go into a similar inflationary cycle, where massive amounts of disc storage are worth virtually nothing. I'm no economist, and I do believe that was my least favorite class in college so far, so this could all be flawed logic. But when I examine all of the gadgets I'm exposed to on a daily basis, I see higher and higher storage amounts that are selling for a portion of what that same storage amount cost even a year ago. My strongest example of that is with iPods. I do believe that the only model of iPod classics for sale now are the 120 GB model, which sells at a flat rate of $300. Before, they used to offer 80 GB models for $300 and 120 GB for $400 (I think), and now it's all just the same 120 GB for everybody. I'll take the same concept and apply it to external hard drives too. It just seems like the storage space goes up and up as our technology advances.

Could it be possible that memory storage could become too plentiful, and eventually lead to such disarray experienced during inflation? Or am I just an idiot that doesn't care to factor in the million other variables in this formula?

Skating-Induced Sneezes

Can't get enough skateboarding to fill in the gaps. I spent a good chunk of my Wednesday afternoon of freedom tucked away in a computer lab, checking out scholarly databases and accruing scholarly sources for scholarly research like a diligent, school-abiding twat. I got done around 5:45, and opportunity struck the combo in a game of Bop-It. I took one step outside and the tendons in my feet were reverberating with the shock of a tribal drum beat all to hell for the calling of slabbed wood. I had to go to the skate park on this wondrous fall day. I like skateboarding a bit much. I love skateboarding.

So much that I can also accept the existence of kids half my age that are nearly equivalent, if not "better" than I am as far as trick performance goes. Not like I'm advertising myself as anything close to "good," a quality that I believe only the truly interested can sense, but after pouring myself into skating for a good five years or so, it's pretty interesting to see kids who are twice the age as the amount of time I've spent skating, who can take a board nearly three-fourths their size, and bust phat ass crooks and plop down fakie heels like it's worth half their time. Seriously, I'm not complaining one bit about them because the more power little kids have, the funnier things get anyways.

But to reflect on a logical aspect of it, I was at work several weeks ago during the first week of classes, and was sent to fix a media cart in a classroom. I had about ten minutes to spare before the next class started in the room, and I happened to slowly discern with the steady seepage of students through the "point of no return"-they-taught-you-about-in-driver's-training worth of a door to education, that I was in the delicate embrace of a German class. No problems here then. I tested out of all of my language classes. Thus, no hauntingly monotonous flashbacks/wickedly drug-induced aftertrip brain-distillation (it's all the same, I can only presume) to make me stab myself in the face while on the clock. Nevertheless, my task continued well after the class started, and while I waited around for a simple phone call, I let opportunity pull the Bop-It combo once more, and turned work into the only free class I will probably ever get at Aquinas.

And you know what? I probably learned more in that class during those five minutes than I learned that entire week. I learned how to say all of the months in German, and also learned that little kids are more apt to become fluent in several languages because the muscles in the human mouth grow in age to accommodate the language they speak. Thus, adults have a harder time learning different languages, whilst children can become masterful powerhouses of language fluency. That is precisely why these little kids are so good at skateboarding.

Little kids have power. I have power too, but not as much as they do. I started skateboarding when I was in high school. They started skating while in elementary school. Soon, I will break down, and breaking down I will do well before them. The physical energy in me to continue skating will most likely escape me at some point, despite my far fetched statements of aspiring to be a 90 year-old skateboarder. I will inevitably break down to half of my stature, half of my fortitude. I will feel the grenades of age ease into my spinal sockets and casually explode, shredding and fragmenting the discs in my back. And unfortunately, the skateboard company Almost didn't construct me with their specialized pressure discs, meant to divert pressure and prevent snapping of the wooden spine. I will fall apart, but at least I'll have a stone heart. My body may break, but the power in me will never fade. The discs in my back will disappear in clouds of dust, but in those parched fumes of dried marrow lingers the cocaine fog that, when mixed with liquid faith, glues the passion to the core of my heart.

And those kids? The same will happen to them. But the part that matters is that at one point, we all felt the power. We weren't constructed by Almost, but we were all made by BlackLabel, Habitat, Chocolate, Almost, Supra, Rodney Mullen, Krux, Reds, Chris Haslam...by those names, we were given a home, and in that home, we've all found solitude, a final construct that we can all be comfortable in, to worship in. They made us who we are, and they fostered the love that empowers us all to be equal with each other.

Because you see, despite the differences and the playful grudge I hold against longboarders (if you're going to do it, do it right!), whatever you do, whether it's on a six-foot or three-foot board, goofy or regular, good or not, when you've stepped on, you've accepted it in your heart, just as "we" all have. We all love each other, and the love is present whether we are alone or in a pack. That's the grandeur of it all: it lets you worship in whatever manner you desire. If you wish to do it alone, you may do so. If you wish to find the power in numbers, you may also do so. Personally, I like the alone part. I love the alone part. Being alone puts me at rest, at ease, where I have nothing to prove, I have no debt to anybody except myself that I'll not be at fault for the cracks in my "skate-home." My home will stand beyond my body, and the only person who can hold those rigormortified pieces of wood in place after I am dust is my own will. Nobody else.

And that's precisely why I chose to go to the skate park alone today. But even though I went alone and spoke to nobody, that one kid who I KNOW was younger than me, who I KNOW had more "skill" than I - we shared a love. We shared a love for our similar homes.

And the best thing is? Our kids are getting more powerful. We are growing faster, our houses are now sturdier and our nourishment expanded, and we are gaining experience at younger ages. And unlike the filthy food companies that inject their harvest with noxious hormones, we inject ours with love. Pure, manufactured love. This is who we are, and this is our religion.

So today, when I went to the skate park and spent two hours there attempting to "land tricks" (that simpleton lingo is so brutal to the ears) but learned nothing new, it may have appeared as if I came out of the experience with nothing but scuffs, scrapes, and wasted endeavors. But I had more than that. I had the dust on my fingers.

Brisk Olfing

First off, I would just like to know here: am I the only student at Aquinas who really skateboards? I'm not talking about the likes of longboarding and anything related to. I'm speaking of the real deal shit here, like ollies and kickflips. Fun things. Because I've yet to meet anybody who seems entirely devoted to doing it as much as I am. Regardless, if you wayward soul happen to read this, make yourself known to me. Let's skate it up.
Anywards, I'm pretty sure next year will be the year for discing (discgolfing) my ass off and getting myself into some tourneys. I'm so bummed the end of discing looms in the near future. Faggin' snow. I'll power through it and survive though, and by next year, I hope to feel at my best. But before that happens, one last hurrah, eh? I'm thinking playing one-hundred holes straight will be on my near agenda...

Ween!

Not sure if we're required to do a blog post on this illustrious Labor Day...I just beat Uncharted 2 for the PS3. That was my great accomplishment of the day. Video games are great, and so is Naughty Dog. Now time for Skate 3!

Sustenance

It has never really surfaced in my mind, until recently, of how easy it probably is to make a living for oneself. Despite how hard it could be to initiate a compliant system of business, once you sit down in a room and look around at all of the "shit" before you that can be done, that other people don't want to do, and with full utilization of your own skills and abilities, the list grows rapidly. I think the most prominent example I can offer at this point are the various ads for "odd-jobs" you can find on Craigslist. As for me, I currently have a couple computers sitting around in my room waiting to be fixed, since people of course know me as the "ITS dude." If I wanted to, I could  put an ad on Craigslist and charge people about $20 to install operating systems or something of that nature. Really simple things that other people just don't want to do, or don't know enough to do it themselves, that I could just pick up and do for money. It would be wondrous to see that escalate, to have that as my life story. None of this, "Yeah, I got my MFA at age 24, went on to become an executive so-and-so...real successful stuff." Not saying that's bad, or far from my sights. I want an MFA in writing. But instead of adhering to a normal route of self-fulfillment, it'd be wicked to take on the random nature of odd-jobs as my way of living. No more nine-to-five stuff.

Captain Scrunch

I hope that someday, when I have to be old, I'm not an idiot. I hope I won't survey kids a fifth of my age amidst their lollygagging, whilst making merry in the dumbest of humor as I once did, and think for one instance that I'm above myself to see the purity in unbothered, pointless, shits-and-giggles living. I hope that when it becomes impossible for me to see the point of a pin with the holiest of contact lenses, I'll at least see big white blocks sitting on poles aside the road, assume they still say 55 in this era, and actually go that speed, if not more. I hope that when I'm old, regardless of my physical fortitude, I won't allow medicines to be my ultimate pacifier against inevitability. I hope when I'm old, if I don't have to worry about said physical fortitude, I will make every breath of life a step closer toward establishing an impermeable love and satisfaction for skateboarding, discgolfing, standing on my hands, climbing on top of things, and whatever other interest could slice off a chunk of my mind for pie and dry ice cream fries. I hope that when I'm old, I will have a stone heart.

Thank you very much, old smiling couple that wave to me in their portable sunroom thing, every day upon entrance of my neighborhood. And you too, Mr. Probably-In-His-50's-Old-Man that asked to play ahead of my group in a round of discgolf, and consequently ran the hole. Not walked.

Identity Crisis

So yesterday, I was doing homework in the student computer lab across the hall from ITS. Just for informational purposes, so that nobody is missing anything here, I have been an employee in ITS for the last two years of my life. People have accustomed themselves to coining me as "the ITS dude," since by now, I've worked on such a grand amount of student computers that I'm sure my face is semi well-known across campus. Not only that, but I suppose I don't necessarily strike people at a first glance as a "techie" of any sort, what with my long hair and casual nuances that deviate from the "techie" stereotype.

This leads me to the point of my story. As I was homeworking, a couple girls walked in and clamored in protest about their upright negligence to follow the "no food or drink in the lab" rule. It went somewhat along the lines of, "No food or drink. Yeahhhh right. I'm not following that at all." Since I assume these girls were freshman (as it would seem rather unlikely for any student well acquainted with Aquinas College to acknowledge such implicitness), I also assume they had no idea who I was. Technically (hardy har har, a pun!), if I wanted to, I could've done a little bit of voice-raising and tossing shit toward the ceiling, reprimanding these students and enforcing rules that probably should've been enforced anyways. I decided not to, not for the sake of my own reputation or anything, but just out of the sheer peculiarity of the correlation to the "Pearls Before Breakfast" article we read in Journalism class not long ago. For a little bit, I could feel the congruence between Mr. Joshua Bell and I...