Hear Music

Since there is no set theme to the blog, I've decided to add music as another form of content.

I don't know if music sucks today, or if people simply lack the perspective to put music in its proper context.

On one hand you have people clamoring for the music of the 1970's. They wonder what happened. Like music should somehow be created in some sort of vacuum, with no evolution. If every album sounded like Dark Side of the Moon, that would be insanely boring.

On the other, there's those who listen to whatever is force fed to them. This is a good group to be in. They simply don't care enough to find something new or different. Top 40 is good enough. And in many ways, I'm jealous.

In the middle, you've got those that actively seek out music. Some of these people find great stuff. Some of them seem to value obscurity over quality.

But since this post is about music, not words, I'll leave it at that.

This was playing on a jukebox at a local hang out.

Love in the Digital Age

Humanity has come a long way. From the invention of the wheel, fire, and gunpowder, we have progressed to a point where you can buy anything from toothpaste to automobiles on the internet. If you are interested in learning how to skin a moose, there are plenty of videos on YouTube. This has me wondering why people are so taken back by the fact that you can find your life partner on the internet?

I don't think the act of finding someone online is what is actually frowned upon. The issue cuts much deeper. In fact, I would venture that the root of the problem begins with the Achilles heel of our society, small talk. We can't get away from it. Much like compromise, small talk is a situation in which no one really wins. Neither side wants any piece of the conversation, yet both sides are more engaged than they would in any organic conversation. There are certain conventions and customs that must not be broken.

Just for a moment imagine you've met someone online. Really, no one has to know this right? I mean, you're together, in person, not on the internet. Most importantly, you are happy. And you should be, you were compatible on 37 out 40 dimensions.

You now find yourself at a couples dinner party. You didn't want to go, but your friend insists. "Bring the new girlfriend", he says. "Oh, and you've really got to meet Ted and Sarah".

You should of guessed the night was off to a bad start right from the beginning. You ring the door bell and someone you presume to be Ted opens the door. Instantly you are put off by his grin and lack of footwear. Why the fuck is Ted barefoot at a dinner party? Now you are asked to take off your shoes. You wouldn't want to upset the feng shui of the apartment.

You're seated at a table that you can only assume with 97% certain was purchased at IKEA. The wine, Trader Joes. The roast looks like it was made by someone who watches Top Chef. No one that knows how to cook watches Top Chef.

You remember why you hate meeting new people.

"What did you study in school?"

"Do you enjoy what you do?"

"Have you seen the documentary about micro-loans in South East Asia?...Quite an industrious people they are... Yes, it's on PBS"

Nothing like bottled questions to liven up an evening. All smiles, no substance.

You smile and nod politely. In turn they inform you that everything you have told them was interesting.

"Really? Were you that intrigued by the fact I studied History in college?"

Truthfully, you would both much rather like to express that you spent 4 days a week inebriated, finding new ways to make Ramen. But this is small talk.

Small talk is a lot like Fight Club. And just like Fight Club, there are rules to small talk. Sadly, the first rule of small talk is not the same as the first rule of Fight Club. Small talk is very real. And you must remember the first rule, you can never tell the truth. Especially the whole truth.

And then it happens.

"So where did you meet?" inquires one of the guests.

It's out of your control. You are taken back. The jig is up. You get that familiar feeling you had as a child. The kind of feeling you get after your parents catch you lying.

You reply, "what do you mean?"

You know what's happening. But you don't want to upset the false sense of enjoyment that has been meticulously built through an hour of pointless banter and opining about the state of our nation's health care system.

"Come on, where did you guys meet?" adds another.

And here in lies the dilemma facing every eHarmony user on the planet. You're happy. Until the moment you are forced to unveil the shocking truth.

It's one of those moments you have prepared for all day. You know it was coming. You have some bullshit story about the dog park. Maybe the local Starbucks. Something.

You've recited it in your head. You are ready. You'd done the fire drill hundreds of times. But nothing compares to the real thing. The smoke, the heat.

Panic. The alarm was buzzing. You can't see more than 3 feet in front of you. You have to think fast. Social conventions depended on it.

And yet, all you mumble is, "online".

Better luck next time, stumble bum.

You broke the rules. You were honest during small talk.

Too honest.

Truly Religulous

I'm tired of hearing how our wasteful behavior could save a child in Africa. Well except for this case. Take Rwanda; a country made popular by their brutal use of machetes and Don Cheadle. Let us take a look at their GDP per capita. Hold on, I need to Google...ahh, $360. Now let me check the price of a pair of True Religion jeans: $312. Now including taxes, that is, if you live in California, and you're talking $350. Somehow this doesn't make sense.

Now I'm not saying that someone who spends $300+ on a pair of jeans would actually have the decency to send the money to someone in need, but you catch my drift. The gap between the West and the developing world is still staggering, and I feel this is one of those real world examples of just how disgusting it is.
What's more, none of these people can actually give you any real reason as to why they are paying this amount of money for what amounts to a pair of jeans. $50, ok. $100, and I might still see the light. But $300? Surely the quality can't be exponentially better? Can it?

Let's for a minute pretend you do get an answer. Invariably it goes one of two directions. First of all, someone will likely point to the wash and distressing. You know, each pair is extremely unique. But if you really think about it, the combinations aren't really that endless at all. Between, light, medium, dark, or black, there aren't many other choices. And just as there aren't really as many choices as we are lead to believe, there isn't really that much difference between them either. Save for the asshole who wears them.

Another "factor" in the high price of some denim is distressing. For anyone not familiar with clothing, keep in mind that distressing is a fancy way of saying, "I am paying a premium for something that is already broken". Apparently the time it takes to uniquely distress each garment allows the company to charge an excessive price.

Let's for a moment leave the vacuum that is designer denim and move into another arena, automobiles. Specifically automobile salesmen, clip on ties, and 10,000 mile warranties. All the good shit that comes with buying a new car. Oh and new car smell. How could I forget new car smell? Anyway, how would you react if you went to a dealership, saw a car you liked, but it was smashed and dented? Now consider your reaction when the salesperson told you that said vehicle would cost a premium because it was "distressed". I'll leave it at that.

A more informed consumer may remind you that the denim is of higher quality, and that is made in the USA, which actually would make sense in raising the price. That is if you actually believe that it is made by American union labor. I'd like to leave the denim vacuum once again in order to move to another seemingly unrelated field, agriculture.

Now besides being the greatest state in the Union, California also provides the rest of the country with delicious produce such as strawberries. These are grown and picked in the California. California is one of the fifty States. So by definition they are "products of the USA". This of course ignores the fact that these strawberries are picked by illegal laborers from Mexico, whose wage is so laughable they probably wish they were being paid in peanuts.

Now what makes you think that the manufacture of denim products in the USA is any different? For some reason I just don't see blue collar Americans performing sweat shop style labor, even if Jimmy Hoffa and the Unions' agreed to high wages and great benefits.

I'd like to leave with you some parting thoughts about all of this. First of all, I think it is important to keep in mind that this trend really began to take hold in Los Angeles. Knowing this has probably restored your faith in humanity and given much more sense to what would otherwise be a completely perplexing phenomenon. Then again, unchecked greed, unnecessary spending, and rampant materialism apply not only to LA, but America as a whole. But in this case, feel better about yourself and do what we do best, put the blame on someone else. Let's just leave it with LA.

And finally, the next time you are thinking about putting some jeans on your credit card instead of paying off your student loans, or buying groceries, or anything else that actually warrants $300 expenditure, remember that you can still get a good pair of Levi's for $40.