Hipster Films must stop!

Between 500 Days of Summer and Paper Heart, I have officially grown a massive hatred of hipster movies. If I see any more handicams, sixties retro, chuck taylors, michael cera, sweater vests, long sleeve shirts over short sleeve shirts over long sleeve shirts or indy rock soundtracks I am going to puke. If I had known Garden State would have caused such an onslaught of crap, I would have gone back in time to snipe Zach Braff and save the world the heartache of all the talented filmmakers being homogenized into, at best, what a great salmon dinner tastes like when it repeats on you.

A message to all of those out there who think that sadness makes your film great: you're a fucking asshole. If you write a movie about not actually falling in love with the same mechanical schema as regular romantic movies then all you do is dissapoint. People don't watch movies to be disapointed they watch them to escape. Escape from the banal existence where people don't get the one they love, where they don't get their dreams, where they aren't able to pull it out and make the impossible possible. There's plenty of that in the real world, stop fucking putting it into my movies where I go to get away from all the bullshit. Movies should be an inspiration. 500 Days of Summer is obviously a movie that tells itself that its ok to have 2 hours of sad painful horribleness as long as you have a 30 second snippet of faith renewal, well guess what, it doesn't take the math classes you hipsters loathe to figure out that the time doesn't equate. You still feel like shit after and your movie is still pointless as fuck.

Enough.

Finally! Rap endorses drunk driving!

For years Rap music has been the apex of both coolness and criminal activity in modern society. Although it began in the humble slums as a unified symbol of the black will to be more educated and stand by one another, ala KRS-One; CL Smooth, EPMD etc. Rap quickly devolved into what was more prevalent in the poor neighborhoods of America: crime. No one chooses to live in a ghetto unless they've already been convinced that it's their home. Certainly no one with money would live in a ghetto unless they were getting it illegally or they loved the place. Rap started with love and has been leaning more and more towards the illegal ever since the early nineties, "Fuck the police!" anyone?

What I find more interesting is that they just seemed to jump straight to murdering felons from near saints. Finally, modern rap is taking a turn towards the moderate: the party animal. Rappers chose to talk about respecting their women and then jumped straight to rape and buying women's attention while still severely disrespecting them. Now, rappers are talking about getting girls drunk, smoking weed, driving nice cars, and now finally with Kid Cudi, there is a song that talks about drinking and driving, the crime most white people do.

Enjoy:

Music Makes me believe in God

Music makes me believe in God. Some sports teams transcend their competition by way of the inspiration of one player who just alters your idea of what’s possible. Jimi Hendrix, Thelonius Monk, Stevie Ray Vaughn, these are all the Michael Jordan’s of their bands. The band exists as a competitive entity as a result of the singular effort and talent of the one individual. Although this music frequently amazes me and inspires me to what could be construed as a higher level of consciousness, the music that makes me believe in god juxtaposes the jarring rhythms of the street with a confluence of mind, body, spirit, instrument, and audience in a way that confounds the reaches of all logic and science.

When you see the Avett Brothers emotional effusions sprout from the porch-strummed banjo picking ensemble, or John Lee Hooker’s Hobo Blues rock up from the seat of your pants like you were sitting on the tracks of an impending train, you feel the hand of god reach down and infuse the inanimate in a way that only something supernatural could. Dictionary.com defines faith as “belief that is not based on proof.” The best bands exhibit their faith in one another every night; playing every song with a new soul-infused faith: faith that their bandmates will fill the silence with a beautiful solo, faith that they won’t mispluck or crack their voice at the wrong moment, faith that everyone will “get it.” The greatest moments of any band create a third entity, the song, an entity that does not exist in any of the musicians individually but intimately flows between them all simultaneously like one heart pumping the blood of every member.

Blake, as well as many others during the early romantic period, argued that man was created in the image of god not by his literal appearance but because god infused man with the ability to create, the ability to mimic gods greatest achievements, his greatest creations. The best band mixes music like a recipe in which the chefs are held at gunpoint for all misappropriations, all miscues, ruin the entire recipe, starving the audience from the soul feeding bread that they came to enjoy in unison. The best concert creates an invisible entity that everyone can see; the feelings, the ups and the downs that the band creates, the crescendos and valleys sway the heads of onlookers, homogenized by the power of the music.

The equal dispersion of talent across a band allows the listener to take responsibility for the feelings they share with the other listeners. The struggle of man is to fend off loneliness by communicating and the good band provides a forum for all to communicate simultaneously without speaking a word. The mere acknowledgement of the music allows one to recognize in another that which aches in him or herself. God, for me, never posed atop a cloud flinging lightning bolts on sinners and dividing humanity into the hell-bound and the heaven driven. God is the eventual breakdown of the mental barriers that make people think that they are unlike one another. God is the beauty of the conjoined efforts of humanity, and music presents the disease for God’s cure. When music itches, we all scratch and the unified scratching helps us to realize that we all have itches, we all hunger, we all thirst, we all need, and we’ll all die, but somehow humanity, as a whole, trudges on towards a greatness—a greatness that is irrefutably evident in the efforts of melding musicians.

Impolite Politics: Why Obama never had a chance

Edmund Burke wrote “Reflections on the Revolution in France,” while the bloody revolution that decapitated the monarchy in France usurped the king and queen, subsequently ending the line of succession at the gallows. The resounding influence of this revolution was heard worldwide as the progression of the French monarchy could so easily be reflected back on the possible progression of an English, or any other, hierarchy. Burke’s concern largely stemmed from the posterity that such a system of inheritance maintains. He writes “All the pleasing illusions, which made power gentle, and obedience liberal, which harmonized the different shades of life, and which, by a bland assimilation, incorporated into politics the sentiments which beautify and soften private society, are to be dissolved by this new conquering empire of light and reason.” He continues “On the scheme of this barbarous philosophy, which is the offspring of cold hearts and muddy understandings…laws are to be supported only by their own terrors…On the principles of this mechanic philosophy, our institutions can never be embodied, if I may use the expression, in persons; so as to create in us love, veneration, admiration, or attachment.” He concludes that without the precept of the monarchy, “Kings will be tyrants from policy when subjects are rebels from principle.”

Our current political climate suffers the worst from the exact sort of horrors that Burke describes. The American democracy, supposedly driven by reason, is being helmed by a mass of uneducated barbarous miscreants who only look to politics as a means to justify their own personal failings. Each of the last three presidents has had their party wither under their “reign.” Bill Clinton, although winning his second term, had the congress switch to a republican majority; George W. Bush suffered the same fate; and it appears that President Obama will fall in line. Merely by nature of possessing power, our politicians fall out of favor.

The divisive nature of our current politics allows for nothing but a stalemate. At least Burke’s “Kings” could resort to tyrannical behavior to affect change when necessary but our figureheads flounder in the quagmires of stalemate, incessantly achieving nothing in the face of the moderation that is being called for in every possible political arena. The influence granted by money on our politics has driven down our quality of life to such an extent that people are no longer being educated. In the current recession, most are opting out of the absurdly expensive but worthwhile private post-secondary institutions and instead veering towards practical community college degrees in which they hone trades but never consider what it means to be an American, what it means to be free. A democracy in which the public is poorly educated is a democracy manipulated by the highest bidder. When a “maverick” and a woman who’s now “Going Rogue,” almost thrust their cowboy image onto America enough to gain the majority of their favor to man the most prestigious and powerful post in American politics, we know that Americans are resorting to vote with their hearts rather than their heads, and, unfortunately, it is their mouths that will suffer the most as a result.

Now, wisely, we have a president who promoted an image of change and hope for his entire campaign. The one word, change, is all that was needed to sell the American people on a young fresh senator from Chicago, allowing him to prevail over any number of candidates steeped in decades of experience. Obama understood that his greatest advantage is that he had not been in the government long enough to have to compromise on anything and so he appeared stronger than the other candidates, more pure. The nature of current politics is comprised of nothing other than compromise. It was not an advantage that Obama possessed by not having compromised, it was a naiveté.

Surprised at every turn, the nation now turns on the man for having to compromise in the face of the fierce ignorant fear-driven moderation that blasts back at him for every idea he may support. And, what is worse, because he lacks the prestige and pomp that a more experienced candidate may have had, the office he presides over is defamed and cheapened. During his own address to congress, who should revere the man as their commander in chief, members called out absurd accusations or completely ignored him on the basis of their politics. Politics do not excuse a lack of civility; but rather, vindicate those who wish to act with a similar lack of civility elsewhere. If the president does not deserve respect in the chambers of congress, then why should a student respect his teacher? Why should a criminal respect his judge? Why should anyone respect a rule that only serves to hinder their own selfish will? Also, within the same year, the president had an address that he wished to be broadcast in all public schools which received pushback to which he immediately acquiesced. His weakness allowing the idea to pervade that, even while already having achieved the presidency of the United States, our leader is merely a leader of a political party and should be deterred by all those who favor a different political philosophy.

The controlled information being provided our youth will merely continue this sort of divisiveness. While our educational system drowns in debt and cutbacks, attempting to fight a war on ignorance with one hand and a butter knife, our military budget continues to explode to allow our continued presence in a war against an idea: terrorism. While our youth, who never had the chance to learn why they fight, die by the droves, they fight an enemy that hates us in a jealous rage largely for the gluttonous ignorance that we revel in. The American “obesity epidemic” rages on while they starve and we meet their hungry mouths with bullets and hand grenades. We uprooted the Taliban in the early 2000’s to put the country into the hands of the greatest heroine dealers the world has ever seen, spending billions upon billions of dollars, hundreds of lives all on a country that had a GDP at the time of approximately 40 million dollars. That coupled with the war with Iraq played into the rebellious political pundits as an obvious gambit for oil. I fear that even that corrupt vision was giving too much credit to those in power. In reality, the gambit was for the minds and attention of the ignorant masses and it worked masterfully. The population suddenly bled red, white, and blue; and yearned for blood in the face of our most catastrophic loss on our own soil, the September 11 attacks while all those who contradicted were pegged with almost the same sort of treasonous “terrorist” rhetoric that met the communists during the red scare.

This ignorant nationalism, so shamelessly harnessed by the previous administration, is a tactic that Obama is unwilling to soil his hands with now that he has taken office. On the campaign trail he unyieldingly tapped into the fervor that the nation explodes with at the mention of its achievements, its greatness; the fervor that allows only pride as the humility of the individual is dissipated over the entire country the same way that the responsibility to help an innocent person being murdered is dissolved across an on-looking crowd. The ideas he molded with clouds during his campaign could never be shaped with the clay of real legislation, not because they did not hold merit, but because the politicians strive to take every bit of credit that they can muster, regardless of their involvement or commitment to the ideas at hand, and avoid blame like the black plague that the H1N1 virus is threatened to become. It is no fault of Obama’s ideas, but practically speaking, those ideas never had a chance unless he was willing to sully his hands in the dirt of modern politics. He needs to heap thick helpings of blame with his presidential butter knife across the entirety of congress, as their inability to take even the remotest of chances will kill our nation the same way that a person will die if he does not risk the bacteria from the food he puts in his mouth. He needs to trap them in their failure so the country can see their inefficacy for what it is, a big room full of pigs too busy reveling in the loot from their lobbyists to risk getting anything done, especially anything that could hurt the companies those lobbyists represent.

Our foolish reverence of the major corporation as a job creating structure will suffocate our nation from any sort of international competition. It is the entrepreneur willing to risk a small business on a new idea that allows our economy to thrive on innovative new technologies, improvements on every day life, the building of wealth with those who do not possess it. The small businesses have no chance in the current economic climate though. Wal-Mart has been given free reign to saunter into any town, open up several stores to give people jobs, kill all the local businesses and then shut down most of those stores; effectively sucking the soul out of entire regions. Microsoft and Apple have created a false dichotomy over all computer software between PC and Mac that rivals the false dichotomy between our two political parties. Other options are out there, we’re just not allowing for them to exist. Consider these other false dichotomies that allow for duopoly over entire segments of our economy: Pepsi or Coke, Amd or Intel (which was just Intel until Amd successfully sued Intel recently over their predatory and unfair practices) and that’s for the parts that are lucky enough to have two options. Look at sports, there’s one football league, one baseball league, one basketball league, one hockey league and one soccer league in America. In Europe there are competing soccer leagues all over the continent, competition increasing the level of play and making the global events all the more exciting.

When one has a foreseeable influence on the company for whom they work, they are always more productive employees. Major corporations, on the other hand, are the only place where people feel comfortable as they provide security that small business cannot. They provide insurance benefits at a cheaper cost, retirement benefits, paid time off, all of which are amenities that every American deserves but only those granted positions at huge institutions actually receive. A generation of brilliant thinkers, having been trained to pursue a “safe” option for their careers, subsequently entered the fields of finance and business. The raising of the business world’s IQ has brought all of the innovation that should have gone to curing cancer and interplanetary space travel has, instead, allowed these corporations to brilliantly circumvent all the pre-existing laws regarding monopolies and fair trade resulting in a slew of banks and companies that are “too big to fail.” Ironically, the bubble has burst on these companies and their imminent failure has prompted our government to dole out more money at one time then ever in the history of our country, merely to prop up the sagging deflated carcass of the bubble that was our dysfunctional economy.

Now the brilliant youth of the boomerang generation, previously harnessed for shadows and facades of success in business, are unemployed and living back with mom and dad. A gross failure by the standards of the explosive growth of the 1990’s and even the mid 2000’s, the boomerang generation faces some difficult choices. They have experienced first hand the suffering from being laid off on a whim by a giant monolithic corporation that never really cared about them; yet the public image in America is that the only “safe” job is with one of those giant monolithic corporations that so quickly threw them out with the bathwater in the first place. The dismay they face causes many to go back to school--cheap schools: community colleges are being flooded as a result.

My hope is that the boomerang generation, when they come out of the shock of the economic meltdown, look to each other to create new innovative companies out of mom and dad’s basement, new companies where their friends can get jobs and help them to create an overall, community-invested, caring and prosperous nation again. I hope that they return to school for liberal arts, to remind them of why each person deserves respect and to prove Burke wrong when he says about the democratic revolutionary of the 1790’s that “Their liberty is not liberal. Their science is presumptuous ignorance. Their humanity is savage and brutal.” Hopefully, a growth of education in the liberal arts will allow us to prove that we have progressed beyond the fears of more than 200 years ago to a new era of polite democracy where atheists can be trusted without the ethical backing of a religious schema, where academics can be trusted for their intelligence, where politicians can be trusted to do what is best for the country rather than their party, where liberty can return to being liberal. Burke claimed that “there ought to be a system of manners in every nation which a well formed mind would be disposed to relish. To make us love our country, our country ought to be lovely.” I hope that from the ruins of these card-house companies we can build a lovely country that returns to form, rising above the cold unfeeling tentacles of capitalist greed to see the humanity that we should all be truly striving to achieve. Obama possesses the capability to solicit that kind of humanity from us in American politics but we have to be willing to buy it first, we have to trust him.

Black Socrates-Cornell West

He speaks buttery effusions and flicks biscuits of artery clogging wisdom to constipate your bitter self with the cholesterol of self-respect. His gap-toothed whistle and long scraggly beard belie his evangelist disposition and the sincere empathetic feelings he has for his earthy brethren still toiling in the muck of poverty. Every time he speaks it's as though an epiphany explodes from his tongue by a god-driven lightning bolt. He's "blessed," as he says, with many well-wishers and perhaps even more neigh-sayers and yet his constant response is to thank them for their, at times horrifyingly offensive, inquiry or insult. In his effort to walk in the path of Jesus, he takes on one of jesus's most astonishing gifts given all of his other strengths--his humility.
"I am but a speck in a long standing tradition," he said while on the NPR radio program "On Point," and his words echoed back to the man who constantly reminded all of Greece that he knew nothing and yet the muses chose him as the smartest man in the world--Socrates. Socrates did not need language, philosophy or anything in his life that would serve to exclude people. He used his skills to include people and lead them to the truth. Cornell West has devoted himself to a similar practice. Just as Socrates never ran from an intellectual debate from any of the greatest minds of his time as he had the self-confidence to know that if he could be proven wrong then there is no greater result. If proven wrong, he would be closer to the truth than he was before. Cornell West plows his thoughts into some of the greatest academic institutions of this or any era with the unyielding passion of a spartan spear.
He claims to be a bluesman by vocation, canvassing the cob-webbed crevasses of his soul to claim a vision of modern truth that all can latch on to and recognize as somehow part of their own humanity, despite, and perhaps better for, the imperfections that may arise in his philosophy. If nothing else, the world a hundred years from now will look across the timeline of american civilization and see a post buried deep deep into the very foundation of american progress with "Cornell West RIP" written on it. As his work, more than near any single man of our time, reaches through to the most gangster of poor black youths and the most elite of waspy ivy league intellectuals and wrenches us by the neck to push us in front of the mirror and see: see just how far we have miraculously managed to progress in this country, and how dauntingly far we still have to go.

Purely Positive Music Review: Avett Brothers

Like a breeze coursing through a dog's teeth in an open window, the avett brothers warm the skin, the soul and the palms of your hands. Their music draws crowds as varied and unforeseeable as possibly imaginable: a five year old girl could scramble between the feet of a big bearded biker and they'd happily commingle while mouthing lyrics like prayers. The Avett's authentic confederate beards and southern style evokes a time long past while their unique blend of banjo, strings, and simultaneous drum stomps show us where music is probably headed. Scott Avett plays the banjo, sings and marches out beats on the kick drum while Seth Avett sings, plays guitar and beats the high hat and occassionally plays keys or full drums...lazy bastards. Meanwhile, they harmonize Scott's middle range bellow with Seth's higher more frenetic voice as successfully as the jets that take off and fly around an aircraft carrier on a naval strike.

In an era of contrived musical mediocrity rated by how homogenized it can become, the Avett's defy critics, radio stations, and experts alike by maintaining their roots and the love for their heritage and their people shines through their melodies like the greek revivalist architecture spotted across the states oldest cities. Up until recently, they had been on Ramseur records with their manager Dolphus Ramseur who does not believe in written contracts, and "signed" the Avett's with a handshake. Under this record label their previous release, despite having little to no marketing involved other than their live performances, still managed to reach number 82 on the billboard charts. Since then, they have been signed by Columbia records and their latest album, I and Love and You, produced by Rick Rubin, promises to have the marketing kindling necessary to burn across radio stations and ipods all across the country. Eagerly, I await their next local concert stop to the Raleigh area as the experience promises not only to be a measure of melodic inspiration mixed with honest beautiful song writing, but also a moment in which I can really feel like I belong in this city as their fans are as warm and embracing as their music.

Modern Racism

Modern racism is striking in it's subtlety. One sees the injustices but the people held down are so frequently asphyxiated by such invisible chains that they don't know how to express the inequity. This failure is common place in the black community. Everyone can see that the worst neighborhoods in American cities are littered with minorities, predominantly black and Hispanic. There aren't any lynchings taking place to promote this segregation. The schools take anybody that lives in those neighborhoods--black or white. So why is it that these segregations still exist naturally?

The capitalist mindset tells the ignorant and unexposed to attribute these problems to a failure on behalf of these ethnic communities. Look at 50 cent, Michael Jordan and Chris Rock after all, they're ethnic and they're millionaires. The modern racist manages to maintain his views not by action but by the opposite, inaction in the face of inefficacy in the government, insensitivity in society, and ignorance on the part of the "haves" against the "have nots."

The most clear example of the aforementioned mindset being the response to Hurricane Katrina, or more aptly put, the lack there-of. The previous administration's deplorable behavior and the lack of outrage that came as a result is the most representative piece of racism ever exhibited by this nation: worse than slavery, worse than the lynchings, worse than all before because they had no excuse. People weren't already ignoring millions of impoverished people in 2006 as a matter of policy, and people weren't already killing blacks outright to further their own absurdest views. We stopped those actions and had been promoting an American image of a people that "knew better," already, which is obviously not the case.

Is it any wonder that a justice system that provides two options, Guilty or not, is so easily manipulated for the sake of racism? As if any situation is as straightforward as guilty or innocent. Then, the equally inappropriate response to a guilty verdict manipulated out of a "jury of our peers" who are obviously readily manipulated by a high paid lawyer or a district attorney in the face of a poorly paid overworked public defender is to distribute any number of years in prison, as if some different amount of years in prison is the only difference between a murderer, and a rapist, a pedophile, a shoplifter, and a junkie. Clearly jail must be a miraculous place considering it's ability to rehabilitate any and all criminals with just a difference in amount of time served. Guess how many of each race are in prison? The numbers overwhelmingly side toward the black and Hispanic, surprising I'm sure.

The saddest part of all of this is that the leader's intending to vanquish this ignorance from our society are left with so little recourse with their own people. Al Sharpton and Jesse Jackson have to reach an audience that doesn't understand the complexity of the blight that they are facing because the education necessary to do so has been taken from them. Any education system that allows the taxes of the people living in that community to fund the schools will inevitably lead to inequality, but furthermore, opportunity. Every school should share funding from a central federal pool otherwise inequality in information, the most powerful tool any human can possess, will wipe freedom from the board of possibilities that America aspires to as readily as a subtle unequal grading process can stave off a black child's chances at college while his white counterpart prevails.

America provokes the mind with it's claim to be the "land of opportunity," which, to be honest, it rightfully lives up to. The question then becomes, what is that opportunity? The opportunity to manipulate and steal from your neighbors? The opportunity to stab your brother in the back for the sake of your mother's inheritance? The opportunity to be racist by evading the taxes needed to fund the programs that will raise a people to have an opportunity to compete on an even playing field? Yes, the opportunity for success ekes it's way into the mix like the dash of salt that makes the dough rise properly after all the other ingredients, but a dash is not enough. I wish for America to finally reckon this ugly idea that opportunity, that the dash of salt, is what's worth holding on to, and finally realize that we, together, as a democracy, can change from the "land of opportunity," to the "land of brotherhood," to the land of helping thy neighbor, to the land of beauty.

The greatest tragedy a human being can face is the unnecessary separation from other human beings by arbitrary walls created by self-consciousness and ignorance. The greatness of humanity is our ability to communicate and exist as a whole, committing vows of assurance to one another, expanding on each other's ideas and merely being a helping hand when one's own is broken. The pursuit of capitalist freedom will never allow for this opportunity and, one way or another, racism will prevail until we change this system. I hope we find the strength to be honest with one another enough to one day give up our personal belongings for the sake of our collective excellence.

I believe in America because the policies that shape our government and our society are intentionally left malleable to the ideas of our revolutionaries. It doesn't have to be a violent uproar for improvements to take place, unlike most of the world. Unfortunately, our society has made some bad choices for a long time. Considering how much sanctity we place on the financially viable, it's a wonder that finance is never taught in public schools, but if we really wanted everyone to succeed, that probably wouldn't be necessary anyway. I just hope that when the leader comes along that's capable of drawing the greater good out of the souls of Americans, I'm still alive to see it as I dream about it and always will.

Purely Positive Film Review: Waltz With Bashir

I can think of few feats more astonishing for a modern motion picture than consistent apathy felt towards all of the main characters throughout the entirety of the movie only to end with a contradictory single-tear streaming down my gritty, unshaven face, yet Waltz with Bashir masterfully achieved this very goal. The movie follows Ari Follman's journey into his own shell-shock ridden psyche as he pieces together the horrid past that he had so effectively walled off from the forefront of his mind. The format is a sort of stylish animation set over real people that allows the author to float in and out of dream sequences and memories in a seemless pattern that would otherwise be impossible without Michael Bay level funding. Being, as a good american, that I am totally ignorant about the wars that he was depicting, I had little context for the conflicts and didn't really care for Ari and yet, the violence mixed with the veracity of the film struck me like running through a thick layer of fog at full speed only to quickly find a brick wall with your nose. The traumatic finish of the film left me feeling like I too was now suffering from post-traumatic stress disorder, which is not exactly what one hopes for in an entertainment experience. That being said, I vowed to read not only websites but whole books on the conflict upon my finishing the movie. Hardened in my resolve, I immediately did nothing and forgot about the movie altogether until I saw that I was intending to write this review. That particular goal of the film having failed, at least I did come away from the movie, and still feel, traumatized by the event of the movie much in the same way that the director must have felt traumatized by the events he so desparately wanted to remember. That kind of empathy is rarely seen, and although not enjoyable for me, at least I now share Ari's pain--jerk.

Parting Ways

"Oh Honey," Jennie said as she tried, futilely, to de-poof my already far too inflated hair.

"Come on, it's fine. I am just parting it now." I replied, confident that my answer was enough to inspire her confidence as I'd been using my hand to sway my hair to the left for all of a few hours already.

"I know. Well, I will say this, once you get a haircut you will look very distinguished."

"uhh.....Thanks." I couldn't help but reply with my sails efficiently deflated. I thought I already looked distinguished, yet apparently, I need to look like I have my shit together to look distinguished yet I could've sworn I am easily distinguishable and a large part of that is because of my ridiculous hair but that's beside the point.

I have something of a fetish for puns. I am also planning on moving out of the state within the next month and a half or so. Given those two facts, there is nothing more appropriate I could think of than parting (as I am parting the state) my hair to the left (as I will soon have left). This pun seems to have been lost on most...well everyone.

I suppose that, were I to be honest with myself, which I try to do sparingly, I would also have to admit that the whole parting my hair thing is just a commitment that I have finally decided to cave to. Barbers always ask me when I'm getting my haircut, "so which way do you part your hair?" to which I respond, "I don't," and that's followed by a long silence and they just say out loud without allowing me to refute them, not that I would, "oh, you must comb it straight." As if the mere thought of not ever doing anything to your hair was just ridiculous.

Anyways, I realized recently that not committing to a part in my hair doesn't make me cool or outside the system, it just makes my hair really messy. The bigger point being that the barber's are correct, not parting your hair doesn't mean that you aren't parting your hair, you're just not participating in that decision. I feel like this metaphor has unfortunately extended to a great deal of my life and, for once, I am finally ready to change things. For that, my girlfriend Jennie deserves a great deal of credit, as only a woman can verify for you exactly how foolish your self-delusions have become like they're just walking talking versions of those mirrors in dressing rooms that make everyone look horrible and start a diet.

Today, while walking home from work a homeless man that was perched in an abandoned doorway to a storefront that's long been vacant remarked to me in passing, "you're exactly on time," which obviously startled me and I had to redouble for a moment to hear what he had to say. He continued, "you know how I can tell--you're gait." I realized after this comment that I had been swinging my arms with the carefree-ness of a school-boy free for the summer and walking with the speed of someone who knows all the answers to the test their anxiously about to begin. My future's very wide open and this change is presenting opportunities for me to pounce on that future like a sumo on a hot dog. Apparently, I am showing that optimism in my very gait.

My love for Boston will always draw me back here with an infinite irrational affinity like a hospital bedfellow feels for the man who’s shared his pain for months on end or a brother in arms who traded bullet-dodging duties in the trenches of a hell I hope I’ll never know. I have felt so much pain and done so much growth in New England, Boston in particular, that the scars I carry in the deep parts of my psyche, the scars that shape my mind like the hammered punctures to a grand sculpture, will always point my origins to here.

Now, I hope to carry those lessons with me to broaden my horizons in an effort to become a true cosmopolitan citizen of the entire country if not the entire world. The part in my hair is a symbol of my willingness to accept the idea that I am a part of the system of capitalism in this country no matter how much I may dislike it. I am a part of this society as much as I may be critical of it. To think that one could do nothing to work within this system is like standing at bat in a baseball game and choosing to never swing in protest of the faults in the game, but that just means you're guaranteed to strike out. If I must be a part of this fault-ridden, possibly innately evil, game then the least I can do is play it to the best of my ability, and fucking play it to win: perhaps in the hope that I'll get good enough at it that I can change it, or if nothing else, good enough at it that I can find a way not to have to play it any more.

Boston gave me the gift of that realization. Now, I have chosen to part ways for a more friction-free lifestyle in a climate that actually has four seasons rather than two seasons: winter and baseball season. Boston will always play an integral part in my memories and now I have the rest of my life to figure out what parts I have left.

Empathy for the Devil

The easiest practice of the human being is to prove his difference from other human beings. Ask anybody on the street, "hey, can you think of a way that you could hurt yourself, like physically?" and I am positive that everyone has an answer. Now ask them the opposite, "hey, can you think of a single way you could help yourself? physically or otherwise?" At that, people are more apprehensive. The risk of failure exists when one extends themselves in that way. As if to say that one's effort to help someone else is only effective if it's a sensationalized warning to caution one from some danger, but few people have any advice on how to achieve a happy life.
For me, this essential weakness drove a wedge into my skull from a very young age. It's part of what made me rebel from all of the catholic guilt I initially felt with religion. I don't need to be told how I could hurt myself, I have that part down. I need to know how to get above zero, how to actually improve on myself, how to be happy, rather than how to avoid sadness. This pursuit led me to one final arena in which few people can refute the following necessary action: to relate to other human beings in an effort to prove their belonging. Loneliness is the true culprit of most depression and horrible feelings. So, how does one combat loneliness? Make friends? No. Friends are cool, and they help, but there's a whole lot more people out there then you can ever be friends with. So, how can one find a way to relate to everyone simultaneously? Extend the branch of yourself and it's non-judgmental shade to all of the people that exist in this world as best you can. Meaning, more specifically, stop judging people.
Those who hate you, those who you hate, those who you can't stand to even look at...are you. Essentially, you bear the same human burden of existing until you die. You bear the burden of requiring food and nourishment, both of the soul, mind and body, to continue that existence. The best interest of the individual is the unique pursuit of each of us and I feel confident that we're all acting in what we believe to be our best interest, no matter how much I may need to remind myself of that on a regular basis. The disregard of a pedestrian as he lackadaisically meanders into oncoming traffic on his cell phone has to do with his own self-involvement and callousness: a trait that is sadly revered in the capitalist democracy. Other first-world countries, primarily lead by the cynical french, tend to criticize this trait of americans with all of our sue-proof redundant warnings like, "careful, this escalator will escalate at a manageable speed," or "this hot coffee is extremely hot and may hurt your mouth as hot coffee is hotter than you can comfortably contend with," but these warnings are merely a semblance of the freedom that is engendered by the american spirit. We don't want people to not have the ability to burn the shit out of their mouths, we just want to give them a heads up. Most singular traits can be explained in a similar manner such as the french propensity for smoking, which really is just plain cool and you're denying it if you think otherwise.
My brother was severely hurt this evening by a young lady who had no intention of doing so. He felt unsure and didn't pursue his own goals to the extent that he felt most comfortable and was burned for allowing her the comfort of pursuing his goals for him. He was severely hurt in much the same way that I'd let myself be hurt for years on end, and still occassionally allow myself to get hurt. He got hurt by trying to being too sensitive in a callous world, feeling misplaced and alone as the only injured soul by this callous facade that we all create. The pain's real though, the pain is more real than I'd like to admit and that's precisely the point.
Nobody admits that their in pain any more. Nobody admits that they can't do something. Nobody admits that they don't want to do anything. Nobody admits that they are merely human when it is the most obvious truth that we all share. As much as I am assured of my inability to percieve the greater universe or understand the theory of relativity or any other incapacity that I am mostly unwilling but probably just unable to wrap my brain around, that incapacity is what links me to all of the world. There are six billion people that are unable to wrap their minds around it all. This is the fault of the human condition--its finite nature. Sherlock Holmes once told a man that he couldn't remember his name because he may forget one of the thirty eight varieties of cigar ash that allow him to solve a case and the warehouse of his mind is just too full. The warehouses of our souls are overflowing by nature, spilling the wreckage onto our hearts in a moment of vulnerable fulfillment or raw unadulterated failure. Those should be the most treasured moments of our lives. Those are the moments that prove we're not alone. Those moments mean you are alive in a way that only god could prove for you. Those moments don't make you like me, you don't waste your time with sympathy in those futile seconds, you are me in those moments, as you have been all along.

Purely Positive Film Review-Star Trek

The opportunities for excellence in film are rare. Star Trek took nearly all of the opportunities available. The cliche background story that is world renowned for drawing legions of nerdy cave-dwelling fans into the open in their most ornate garb would not initially lead one to believe that coolness would ever be related to Star Trek. Frankly, coollness sounds like the opposite of Star Trek. Yet, there I was, kinda thinking that I wanted to be Captain Kirk and/or Spock. Only a powerful summer blockbuster film can manipulate a cliche like that. I even dare to say that this movie ranks in the echelons of other summer blockbuster greats as Independence Day and Jurassic Park. Really. Start to finish, constant action, and action I actually give a shit about. Not like so many modern movies where they skip that whole part where you actually grow to like the characters before tossing them towards the perilous brink of disaster, this movie manages to do both simultaneously. Now, I am not, by any means, attempting to indicate that this movie had the heavy cannon fodder for deep intellectual stimulus nor did I really want it to. On the other hand, movies are our culture's most effective means of escape without using drugs and for the time the lights were down in that theater, I was on romulon and concerned solely with the status of Kirk's ranking on the Enterprise--meanwhile my bills, career, and all else was beamed to a distant galaxy. When the lights arose, I felt as satisfied on unhealthy smut as at the end of a chinese food buffet, except, unlike the buffet, I couldn't wait for next time.

Sights and Sounds-New Music breathes a New Life

Saturday night, I chose to stumble into the wilderness that is downtown Salem, ma and meandered into the Gulu Gulu cafe for an evening libation with low expectations on the entertainment as I frequent the establishment and am equally frequently disappointed by melancholy, morose guitarists who creepily weep their hearts out about masturbation or crack addiction or something else that makes a room full of waspy white people uncomfortable. Instead, I was met with an earful of melodic pleasure rarely met in any venue. This little dude with a flannel, flappy long hair shaped by the way he pushes it behind his ear and sideburns down to his jaw was spraying this powerful, hip, yet pleasantly unjarring music with only an absurdly long and lanky drummer on a snare. Being instantly turned into a fanboy, my girlfriend and I bought his cd for five bucks (which we elected to mark up from his offered three dollar price tag) as he shyly looked up at me through his glare-smoked glasses and limply shook our hands. We looked them (and by them I came to realize I mean him as it's really just one dude) up online (Lonesome red is his name) and then proceeded to follow them into their following gig in cambridge for a full set on Sunday. Being pretty much the only fans there, it felt like a show just for us. People pay hundreds upon hundreds to have their favorite guitarists and singer/songwriters play for them from hundreds of yards away on screens and I paid nothing to have this dude serenade my girlfriend and I for two straight hours. A big deserved high five goes to happenstance on that one--well played fate, well played. He was good enough that, I would dare to say, he renewed my faith in rock and roll to inspire that rebellious urge to tell my work to go fuck themselves and, subsequently, I felt the necessity for me to stay at the bar until nearly 1am just to hear the end of his set...on a work night!! Finding a gem like that in a shitty little cambridge dive or a semi-pretentious cafe in Salem, well, that's like finding filet mignon in your steak bomb--unexpected, possibly undeserved, but delicious nonetheless.

Writing on the Wall: "People was here"

"People was here."

Ya know, I get a shitload of flack for thinking that global warming is not that big a deal. I mean honestly, a lot of that, is just fatalism directed towards the human race. I mean it's ridiculous to think that we'll last forever just because we've got a few more advanced technological innovations than fire and butt scratching. People aren't any happier than animals and isn't that the ultimate bar by which we rate proper existence. We also haven't managed to figure out how to curb our constant expansion from taking over more and more of the world to the point that we're now concerned that the we'll over run the entire thing either with our waste or with our physical presence. Regardless, people are by no means above the finite nature of all things. Perhaps another species will come along, maybe everything will explode. Maybe the sun will shoot off an arbitrary radioactive ray or some other celestial object will catastrophically obliterate our planet. No matter what though, it makes little sense to concern ourselves with it. Al Gore will lead you to believe that it's the human experience that's suddenly causing a gigantic rock, a planet in fact, to alter the course of it's preset natural rhythmic alternation of temperatures rather than say, nature, but I think that's a political agenda like anything else. Frankly, I also love to litter. Sue me.

Arbitrary Astrology

Given that astrologers are subject to less rigorous verification than even weathermen which is an impressive feat, yet still are consulted for every day matters. I thought it necessary to give myself the same credit to predict the future for no other reason than my own arrogance. Rather than put the signs and then describe your horoscopes though, this week I am going to put street signs and let you know what astrological signs I will totally randomly attribute those...well, attributes to.

Stop SIGN: Capricorn.
Really capricorn, it's about time you put the brakes on. I think you've been overdoing it for months now and we're all starting to feel a bit on edge every time you come around. If you don't feel that, then you're probably just not aware of how others feel about you, in which case I hope I've given you enough of a complex that you'll continue to return here for advice.

Yield sign: Aries, Taurus.
You may have been feeling some tension lately dear, wonderful, friendly, aries and taurus people. As, you excellent, magnanimous, beautiful people, may not always see eye to eye with co-workers. Don't worry though, you're sexy, luscious, satisfying selves can always come back here to find out when and where you should cross the line

U-Turn sign: Virgo.
Today nobody loves you because I said so. Sorry, go back where you came from. Here you're not welcome.

"Road Ahead subject to significant delays from 6 to 9pm due to construction" flashing sign: Gemini.
You two-faced motherfucker. If you really believe that people aren't on to you and your lies then you're kidding no one but yourself. Cut the shit and fess up. You did it. It's ok, your mother might still love you.....here's hoping.

Truck Detour ahead Sign: Aquarius
Being the water bearer, you're probably a little bloated. Time to lay off the lays and trade the couch potato routine for carrots and a good jog as you've become just too heavy for the road ahead. Just cause you wear a breezy blouse doesn't mean people aren't noticing. Tightening your economic belt is not the same as letting it get tight. Do something with yourself. Oh and this could also mean that you're just the debby downer of the group as that would also make you too heavy in a hippie "that's heavy man" kinda way. Regardless, lighten up.

School Zone, speed limit 15 mph sign: Libra.
You being the balancer of all of our lives really just work to dissolve any sort of fun that any one's having. God, get off everyone's back. Work hard play hard, or just do one, it's fine either way. Don't judge me.

Eden Next right: Sagittarius.
You're a fucking archer. That's just wicked cool. You toss arrows in to the air and, with reckless abandon, fuck people's shit up. I admire you and think that you are cool. Today at least you are the winner dear sagittarius and I will talk to you as if that's your name because that's what astrologer's do. Dear good loving wonderful heart-warming pleasant Sagittarius, I hope the day showers sunshine the way you shower arrows on an unwitting legion of foes. Good day.

Purely positive film review: Terminator Salvation

I came into ( BOOOMMMM!!!)this movie a bit skeptical about ( BOOOM!!!!!!) what they would have to do to keep my attention ( BOOMM!!!!!!!) now that they've had so many (BOOMM!!!!!!!) of these movies and really, you can only do so much ( BOOMM!!!!!!!) against a robot in a fist fight. (BOOMM!!!!) Yet, they managed to keep my attention somehow. ( BOOMM!!!!!!) Christian Bale's a series reviver after( BOOMMM!!!!!) all, given his batman success. The cameo at the end was cute (BOOMM!!!!!) but really cute isn't what you expect in this series. ( BOOMM!!!!!) I expect depressing fatalism and crazy robots ( BOOMM!!!!) Although my girlfriend found this about as exciting, (BOOMM!!!!) as trying to sleep while on a drive through the forests of maine in a school bus, (BOOM!!!), somehow i think I'll still remember it. Even if my eardrums can't forgive me. KABOOMM!!!!!!!