72 Degrees In The Head, All The Time

This is a topic I've been thinking about for quite some time, and just got reminded of it the other day while working at my lowly "paying the bills" job. I tend to get rather frustrated and angry at small things pretty often, and during a typical peak dinner rush at the restaurant, I quickly got pushed into one of my predictable "hate everything and everyone" moments.


This actually does not bother me much (the fact that I'm in that mood. . . I know, strange) as often times I can use that mode to come up with some pretty witty, and vehement things to say, or stories to write down later. What DOES piss me off (besides getting pissed off in the first place) is when someone tries to calm me down, or tell me that I should not feel that way because [insert ridiculous optimistic bullshit reason here].

When someone tries to do that I can't tell you how much that makes me want to rip off their genitals. It literally increases my negative mood by a factor of 10, easily. How dare you try and tell me what things should and should not affect me and how I should or should not respond to them.

But what this really gets me thinking about (after I am no longer filled with pure buttery rage), is the perspective of the person thinking I should not be feeling such and such way. Whether it's anger, stress, or depression, supposedly I'm not supposed to feel that way. Were you aware of that?

If you talk to most people, or (*gulp*) watch TeeVee, you'll notice a common notion: all people are supposed to be happy all the time! Seriously, who doesn't encourage you to look on the bright side of things, or tell you not to feel bad about something, or not to get upset about things? They all do, and I'm fucking sick of it. Allow me to explain. Seriously, allow me to explain, you're pissing me off.

Since the moment I hit puberty (<-- heh heh, puberty), I've been a very emotionally affected person. I'm not sure if I would go all the way to "bipolar", but I regularly hit some pretty low lows, but not so much of the highest highs (which I guess would rule out manic depression). Still, my emotional self has had a strong grip on me, and even more so in the last five-ish years. Depression, and long bouts of it, are quite common for me, with my amazing counter-balance being indifference, or dare I say the rare, and sought after "meh". (That, to me, is wonderful).

I'm sure a few of you may be already saying, "that doesn't sound very good."

Well, sure. On the surface using traditional social values and a short-term generation-X inspired dualistic approach, it does seem that way. Try looking at it in a non-obvious way for a moment please.

It's as if most people think that feeling anything below happy is unnatural and therefore bad. Since when did we get this foolish and deluded notion that we are supposed to be happy all of the time? Well, there are some interesting theories that go back to the turn of the century. No, the other century.

In the early 1900s, life was a bit more challenging than we have it today, and regular people did not have the impression that they needed to be constantly happy. (Don't believe me? Go back in time and ask them). Most people only purchased what they needed, and what was absolutely necessary (like building the eiffel tower, which serves its much needed purpose as a . . . let's get back to the story). However, Freud was just beginning to publish papers on human psyche and emotion, which caught the eye of advertisers, marketing firms and businesses. Suddenly there was a new technique to get people to buy your products, especially those products that were not a necessity: appeal to their emotional desires (which by now you've guessed includes the Jane Fonda Workout on Betamax, and a liberal dose of double penetrations).

By targeting how a product could make their clients feel, they opened up an entire new era in social economics by creating the first generation of consumers. Look how this shiny pocket watch makes you feel better about yourself, due to your inadequate genitals! Look at this new Model T automobile that will make you feel like a free, and successful person, despite your inadequate genitals! This new makeup, clothing, beverage will . . . . blah blah blah feel. . . . blah blah blah genitals. You get the idea (you're inadequate).

Fast forward to today's TeeVee ads, and you'll see the same notions, now on steroids (which I can sell you if you are feeling inadequate). Every commercial shows you how happy the people are now that they are using the product. Always smiling and laughing, it almost does not matter what the product does, as long as you can feel the way those actors are pretending to feel for money. Right?

I swear, people feel that they are literally entitled, nay, they deserve to be happy, as if it were a given. Happiness has permeated our culture and spread through each new generation as an expectation. Now we have a whole mess of young adults who think that every time they feel depressed or upset, something is wrong with them. This results in everyone taking medication, seeking psychotherapy or purchasing a sports car to cure their phantom non-happiness, which we need to continually have, if you have not picked that up yet.

Back to me (finally! I was getting pissed). Dealing with as much depression as I do, I've come to see that it's not a black and white situation. Though the feelings may not be fun to deal with in the interim, they can become a catalyst for positive long term change and growth. In fact, often it is only through the most awful experiences and feelings that I have been able to see something significant about myself that needed to improve or be destroyed by fudge (see the blog 2008: The Worst Year Of My Life).

By avoiding painful experiences, you are potentially avoiding crucial life lessons. . .about. . .life (duh). By being afraid of depression and pain you run the risk of being extremely dull and uninteresting. Yes, I am making the outright claim right here that pain makes people interesting.



This connects perfectly (it does, I said it, and it's my blog) to my recent post entitled "Leave Your Honesty At The Door", where I mentioned people's reactions to saying that I was mediocre. Mediocre is not bad, people. It is like luke warm, it just is. It consists of neither good nor bad, which really is a decent place to be, and in mind mind, is sort of the emotional default position.

Being depressed happens. Being angry is normal. You're never going to feel great all of the time, because that is an unrealistic, and unnatural state to be in constantly. Even if you did, you would never experience the balance that comes from living all aspects of human emotion, which in turn givs each emotion more value. I actually feel that I experience more of life by being so susceptible to strange emotions, and that therefore makes the 'happy' (that's a stretch for me) moment so much more memorable and worthwhile. Plus, if you really were always happy, and something positive happened, where would you go from there? Stupid-happy? Moronically-happy? Super-retard-idiot-happy?

I'm going to go sulk now.


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Technorati Tags: depression happy happiness humor sarcasm therapy social psychology

Run-In With The Beautiful People

Just recently at my restaurant I had a run-in with the beautiful people, leaving me doubting myself, and feeling a bit depressed for a good portion of the day. Put on your reading glasses, straighten your double-breasted suit, and join me for a rip-roaring romp through a psychological self-evaluation! Pass the popcorn!


It started when a very attractive, and fashionably hip young woman walked into my establishment (I say "my" as if I own the place, when in fact I am just peon working as a cupcake). She quickly caught my eye, as they do, with her long dark hair, near perfect, though most likely artificially enhanced body, and her stylistic mix up upscale meets edgy rocker look.

I smiled and tried to act no different then if I were just greeting two decrepit old people with walkers that had no sense of humor (I greet them more then I care to mention. Shit! I mentioned it!) Right off the bat, I expected the typical attitude from the "I know I'm attractive and therefore I don't have to be civil or kind" prejudgement of the girl, but instead she surprised me by being quite cordial, and friendly. She mentioned that she was waiting for one more person ( I naturally hoped it was not a guy), and she said she would wait for them to arrive. (Yes I understand that "them" usually mean plural, and is not used to denote an individual. Eat me.)

No sooner had she finished her sentence, when a tall, marble-sculpted young black man came walking through the door and gave the girl a hug. I was instantly disappointed (though for the record, I can't think of a time when I'm not), and instantly switched my background thoughts to a new tactic: find a reason to hate them.

He was clad in the male version of her manner of dress: upscale and hip, yet with the edgy rocker cool guy vibe. I waited for him to open his mouth and speak like an over-privilaged douche bag, or an ignorant dick wad (the only two choices, obviously). But, to my personal shock, he was well spoken, just like the girl, made good eye contact, smiled, and was even making friendly light jokes.

Now I was really upset. But in a strange new way.

My attempts to quickly write off these two stereotypical ideologies of the human species, as assholes and idiots, had suddenly backfired on me, and I was left feeling confused about my always trustworthy Bag O' Common Generalizations. That bag had rarely, if ever, failed me, and I figured my observational powers were becoming quite honed these days. So much for that. Good thing I purchased the extended warranty.

I also realized, mid-event, that this urgent need for me to find something to hate about them seemed to stem from my own insecurities. Yes, even in the midst of frustration, confusion and some other word that seems relevant here, I still manage to go into psycho-self-analyzation mode. (What can I say, that's just how my brain works). Within a few seconds I already began thinking that It was as if my self-image (which, if you know me, is always super positive and wonderful. . . . . . . . . . . . *cough*. . . . . . .) was being threatened by people straight out of a modeling magazine for the genetically gifted (as opposed to the opposite).

Now, I've really never been the person to chock up a lot of who I am to a delusion of my so-called "chiseled good looks", (of which I have none just to be clear), but it still did not help the ol' self esteem in the slightest.

I sat the two of them on the patio, and went back to my standing (of which I had a lot to catch up on from the other day). Here I stood in thought, slipping into the detrimental "compare and contrast" and beginning to feel stupid for feeling stupid.

Looking over toward one of the servers, I noticed that she also pointed out the couple (most likely for the near fictional male) to another female coworker, for the obvious reason of sheer attractiveness.

The more I shot glances their way, the more I realized that yet another element made things emotionally complicated for me about the situation: the girl very much resembled an ex-girlfriend. This "recent" relationship line of contemplation still won't leave me, and to be reminded of it in such a way that I can picture this girl as my ex-girlfirend, smiling, and enjoying herself with Ridiculously Attractive Man, felt like driving a serrated, rusty steak knife into my emotional psyche, and then rubbing owl turds into the wound. And by that I mean that I was dancing an enchanting Irish Jig.

In order for coincidence to order itself in such a way to make me that much more aware of the situation, two more super-sculpted über-hipters walked in and joined them at their increasingly sexy patio table. Instinctually I wanted to grab some velvet rope and section the table off with a sign reading, "Sexy Only".

If you've read any of my past blogs, you may know that I'm very keen on intelligence and personality being the most important factors in a worthy human being. I also would like to think that this mantra would stand tall in the face of adversity, being able to acknowledge the fact that these people were indeed overly beautified on the outside, but finding some vestige of solace in the development of my own mind, talents, and self-awareness.

No such luck for me. At that moment, and for a good while after that encounter with the pinnacles of biological development, I threw away my championing of intellect, wit, humor, and creativity. In one fell swoop all of my core values were rendered meaningless.

The mere observation of this fact added more depression on top of the previous frustration/confusion/self-image combo from earlier.

Who hasn't longed to be the one who is so insanely gorgeous, that everyone's heads can't help but follow you as you walk through a room? That everyone of the opposite (or same if you prefer) sex, has no interest in anyone but you, as you are all that is beautiful, all that is desirable, pure, unfiltered, walking talking sex.

Well, I'm not that person, and never have been. Save for a strange moment in my freshmen year of high school as the new guy, where a handful of little girls were reported to have a school girl crush on me (so I heard), I experienced nothing resembling being the beautiful one. I usually feel that I go unnoticed in most social settings, and I attract no special attention due to my appearance (especially now that I have short hair and don't wear crazy clothes around everywhere, in a silly youthful cry to be noticed). Although as I write this, I'm thinking that this might be purposefully designed as a way to blend in and escape. But what am I escaping from? Myself? Interesting. . .

Another blog. Moving on.

What I really want to hammer home, is how something as simple as a group of physically attractive people could cause such an internal conflict and disruption for me both mentally and emotionally, that I temporarily doubt my own hard fought and won convictions of who I am and what I value.

If I assume that a great many people would be attracted to these people (just me assuming), then why am I focusing so much of my time and energy on bettering myself in these esoteric philosophical bullshit ways? Who else besides me cares about the core content that I do? The emphasis on knowledge and understanding of the self and others? The importance of art, creativity and expression? Although I realize that these thoughts are, for the most part, unfounded, it didn't stop them from residing in my brain for a quick vacation.

In the end, I still value all of the concepts of existence that I have worked long and hard on, as well as those I've journeyed through personal pain and strife to discover. And I'm not sure if I was able to really learn something profound from the experience beyond the realization of how fragile my self-image and emotions can be over something that is, in reality, completely trivial. I guess I have a lot of work still ahead of me.


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Technorati Tags: beauty beautiful superficial personality insecurity social psychology self+doubt

The Lust Complex

How many males do you know that would be pissed off that a young woman would have the audacity to call him late at night for sex? Besides myself of course. . .

I've always had trouble separating love and lust into two distinct things. Since as far back as I can remember, which for the record is at least last tuesday (impressed much?), I've always seen these aspects as two sides of the same coin. If I'm romantically interested in someone, then most likely I'm also sexually interested in them.

Another factor that. . . well. . . factors into the equation, is that, for me, in order to be romantically interested in a young lady (or a really, really old one), I have to be, first and foremost, intellectually stimulated. And no, that does not mean rubbing your naughty bits on my brain.

As you can plainly (you need to add fresh fruit) see, with this multi step process, it would make some sense that it is very challenging for me to go from A to F (wink wink wink wink wink wink wink wink wink wink wink) in a single bound.

If you've ever talked to someone before (if you have not, it's overrated), you might come across some similar perspectives on topics of sex, dating and relationships, most of which have nothing to do with my multi-tiered approach laid out above.

A friend of mine epitomizes this perfectly. He has absolutely no problem distinguishing between lust and love. And he has proved that fact more than almost anyone I've ever met. Trust me, I've been kept awake at night  many times by him proving that point.

And that is by no means the odd example. When talking to other, more (not to sound insulting) typical males, I hear very similar conversation topics, and views expressed. Who would "do" what girl, stories of them "doing" one or more girls (and of course, moving on right away to prove their detachment and personal prowess), and more of the like.

I specifically overheard one "gentleman" say, "What I wouldn't give to sleep with her", after a young lady and her friend sat down for lunch. Being more outspoken these days, I quietly told him, "You have no idea what her personality is like, for all you know she could be an awful human being". He looked at me like I was his church-going mother. "I don't give a shit", he replied. "Look at her. I wouldn't be with her for her personality".

Right. Because that would be stupid. Thank god everything we are as human beings is only on the outside!

So as you can see so far, I'm a bit at odds with the majority of males I've met, overheard or observed, in fact, that even holds true for many of the females I've known. This naturally presents complications for me in my . . .  what do you call it? . . .  social life. Being someone that craves intellectual stimulation first and foremost really does not bode well for the traditional dating circuit. Don't get me wrong, (oh shit, am I too late?) physicality is still quite essential to attraction, but after that initial attraction, I tend to dismiss women rather quickly, the very moment I realize that they cannot provide the strong personality, wit, humor, life and self perspective, creativity, and more that I now understand I need. In essence, they no longer appear attractive.

You want a personal story don't you? All right, all right.

I dated a girl on and off a few years ago. After not being in communication for a while we decided to meet up, grab a drink and catch each other up on what we've been doing. Mind you, this was not intended to be an actual date (at least for me), just someone from my past to hang out with and talk to. The conversation went quite well, due to the fact she brought out the side of herself that uses her brain, as opposed to her overtly sexual side, which as mentioned above, is a good thing for me. We said goodbye and went our separate ways (by Journey) and I thought that if things stayed that way, I might eventually be interested again.

I'm sure you guessed that did not happen. Well, next time we met up, she had already been at a party with some friends . . . a party with (get this) alcohol!! Who throws those kinds of parties? By the time she arrived, she was a bit tipsy, and proved it by not being able to focus on the conversation at hand, and continually interrupting me by being overly flirty and sexual.

Now, I'm sure that many of you, at this point, are thinking, ". . . .and? What's wrong with that? If an attractive woman wants to sleep with you, what is there to argue about?"

Let me try. As stated before, in order for me to be sexually turned on, I need to be romantically interested, and to be romantically interested, I need to be intellectually stimulated. That's just the way I'm wired.

What makes the situation humorous in hindsight, is the sort of role reversal taking place. I'm the one who wants to just talk, and she's the one pushing for sex. I'm assuming that is not typical, which is why it makes me smile.

Well, I can't tell you how fast I got irritated with her stupid behavior. Acting like a drunk personified libido, is not my cup of anything, let alone tea, and I directly let her know, and fairly coldly.

"You're really pissing me off right now," I told her point blank. "If this is how you're going to act I'm just going to go home."

She apologized, and tried to concentrate, barely accomplishing the "try". After a few more minutes I was done with the situation and ended the meeting. She even recalled out loud several times that she knew I needed to be intellectually interested (it's not like I did not tell her), and said that she was sorry that she was drunk and not fulfilling that for me.

Now we tie the whole story together with the intro. Ready? I'll start out by saying that I made a mistake last year with her that led me to understand that I don't want to be a "booty call". And it's important for you to understand that she knows this about me as well.

A week or so later I get a phone call at about two in the morning. I was already asleep, and basically slept through the call (basically, meaning I did). In the morning I checked my messages and lo and behold it was her, drunk, right after the bars and clubs closed. I wonder what she could possibly be calling about in that state? Could it be that she wants to debate the existence of a "soul", or talk about how badass Pro Tools 8 is?

Yes!

I mean NO!!

What else would it be? As I opened this story, I was genuinely pissed. Pissed because she should have known better. Pissed because she did know better. Pissed because the idea of doing what she did, drunk or not, showed disrespect to her "understanding" of me. Pissed because we had just talked about this no less than a week before, emphasizing my personal distaste for that type of behavior.

Having a perspective on sexuality like this only makes things all the more complex and difficult to find others that share and value the same things. You could view me as old-fashioned if you want, but if the new fashion consists of continual random sexual escapades devoid of genuine human value, interest, emotion, and depth, you can feel free to call me an "old stick in the mud". (who rarely puts his stick in the 'mud')

Enjoy reading this blog? Please favorite, rate or bookmark this page, and most of all comment with your personal stories, observations, or violent objections.

Technorati Tags: romance relationships sex personal social psychology philosophy humor humour

My Target Demographic (apparently)

I found this kind of funny. As you know I have ads on my page, some from coming from Google. What Google is supposed to do is search through the content on my page and pull up relevant ads to fit the potential demographic. For instance, if I wrote about cars, it might see that key word and put up ads for an auto parts store, or car magazine, or if I wrote about feces, it would most likely display ads for Taco bell and Focus On The Family. You get the deal.


For the most part thus far, I tend to write about social observations, philosophy and relationships (and other sillier things). So when I was updating my page and came across this ad, I was a bit confused:







Either Google Ads hasn't really parsed my content, or they know something about the people coming to this site that I don't.

I would never think that the majority of people reading my page are svelte size zeros, nor does it matter, but I doubt you will be clicking on this really attractive, appetizing ad for cellulite reduction.

Maybe I just don't know who I'm catering to.

The Internet Comes To You (Sexually)

In the course of working on this new blog page, which you see here, (I’ll wait while you look at it. . . . . . . .) I've been doing quite a bit of research on internet technologies and promotion.

Why do you care about that?

Because I’ve learned some nice tricks that will help ease your inter-nard browsing experience, while simultaneously benefiting lil' ol' me.


I should say that if you are already proficient in, and understand RSS and Feed Readers, then this blog may be of no interest to you (except for the comments in parenthesis). If what I just said was the same as saying “&*@^&)__#†¥ø∑øµπ∑µ” then this Bud’s for you.

If you’re like me (I envy you), then you have multiple websites you visit daily. Be it local and world news sites, the latest reviews and updates on new products and technology, blogs from friends (*ahem*) and other sites dealing with your hobbies and interests. The annoying part is that you have to manually check each site individually to see if there are any new updates, and with 20 plus sites, each with many articles, that gets retard-oid (Not retard OLD. "OID". Not to be confused with OYD, which is like a jewish robot). Am I right people? Can I get one of those witnesses that people seem to ask for all the time?

Well, what if instead of going out to look for information and entertainment, the internet came to you?

(I feel like I’m on an infomercial now)

That’s what the whole RSS dealy-bob is all about. I’m sure you’ve seen the little orange square that has radio waves emanating out, yes? That’s the RSS feed (which stands for Really Simple Syndication, or Rhetorical Salivating Sandals, both are widely accepted). It allows you to read the contents of that feed in a Feed Reader (makes sense so far) or in the browser itself (which usually looks like an ugly blue and white screen, so don’t do it that way).

Check out the video below for a quick explanation of RSS:



Not too shabby eh?

Now we move onto the Feed Reader part. This is the hub where you receive all of the updates from all of those ridiculous sites you like to go to (by the way, I highly disapprove of your interests and so does the Lord).

Some readers are separate applications you install on your computer and some are online based, meaning you can bookmark your reader page, and it stores all the sites you subscribe to (remember those stupid ones) and brings you continual updates for everything right when it happens.

Below is a two part tutorial on using the reader I’ve been using from Google. Can you guess what the program is called? It’s from Google. . . . and it’s a reader. What is it? That’s right, “Plmunteenarionchlink”.

I recommend watching both videos as Ed (the guy) explains some really great tips to make the experience easier and faster (and easier) (too).





If you decided to actually make it through those, you may see how convenient and organized it can make things for you.

Obviously you can always click the little right facing arrow in a circle (or the blue title or the article) to go directly to the web page version to view the entire article (if they only include part, as some do), to see media and images, and of course, (and this one involves my site so pay attention please) to leave comments on blogs.  ---------------- *stares intensely*

WARNING: Although this saves me time in searching for information online, it’s actually pretty addicting to find new sites with RSS feeds and add them to your reader, thereby giving you too many things to read all day long. But the eventual upside is that by reading so much new information so rapidly, your brain will freakishly increase in size, and you will attain an understanding of everything that ever was, is, and will be. Give it about two weeks.

Hopefully you enjoyed this look at technology and it’s wondrous benefits. I’ll keep you posted with anything else that may be of interest to me, that helps you help me. To check out Google Reader go here: http://www.google.com/reader

Enjoy reading this blog? Please favorite, rate or bookmark this page, and most of all comment with your personal stories, observations, or violent objections.

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Technorati Tags: rss feed reader google web 2.0 humor homour sarcasm technology internet

Leave Your Honesty At The Door

"Hey, how are you doing?"

Don't Think. What was the first response that came into your head?

If you said anything remotely close to "fine", without really thinking about it, you're probably in line with most of us who have stopped treating such a greeting as a legitimate inquiry. In fact, if you'll observe how people use it in most everyday scenarios, you'll see that this question is not even a question. The person asking this question, for the most part, is not interested in your well being physically, emotionally or mentally. It has become, over time, just a greeting. A simple acknowledgment of your presence. It is now the equivalent of nodding to signify that the person saw you.


Think of the last time you were at any type of social gathering. What is the common etiquette for behavior when greeting several people in quick succession?

You walk into the room and greet the first person you see with a "Hi, how are you doing?" But you see someone right next to that person that you also know. Do you wait to hear the first person's response to your truly meaningful question? Or do you immediately shake the next person's hand and give them a similarly empty, "Hey, how's it going?" I'm putting my money on door number two here.

If we don't really care to hear the answer, why ask the question? Because it is not a question.

So really, if you think about it, this back and forth has no really value or depth for either person beyond a substitute for "Hello", "Hi". The person asking the question is not really interested in any serious explanation of where you are in your life, and how that may be affecting you on multiple levels, and the person responding to the question is usually not being honest, or really thinking about the question in the first place, generally spouting out something along the lines of "fine", "Alright", "not bad", "pretty good", and "can't complain". It's almost like a knee-jerk reaction.

Why do we find ourselves using such similar answers to this "question", when it is not always true that we are "pretty good" or "just fine"? My observations lead me to a few conclusions, some of which you've no doubt come to already.

The first, and easiest of these, is that during the evolution of this back and forth, we've learned, even if only subconsciously, that this is indeed no different then a short courtesy nod. It usually brings us no benefit to be thoughtful about this question, and give an open and thorough dissertation of how we came to our current state of being, if the person who asked you this insincere question has already put their attention elsewhere, and in fact, is most likely not very interested in getting a thoughtful reply.

The second reason deals with our fear of direct honesty. Yes, we all have some of it, even you. We fear expressing ourselves in a way that may make us feel or look vulnerable and flawed. We seek approval in the eyes of others, and it is for these reasons we are often quite weary of being upfront and honest, especially when the truth is not very pleasant. So in a back and forth rhetorical "dialog", it is easier to just depend on preset phrases, rather then open up emotionally and possibly make the situation awkward for those involved.

We seem to unconsciously agree on certain social standards and practices, and if you have ever tested this topic yourself, you may have noticed that some people (not all) will actually look surprised that you had something real to say to the statement. This tells me that most people are not prepared for a real conversation, therefore shame on you for putting them on the spot by making them think about what you said, and then "forcing" them to come up with something relevant to say. . . on their own!! *gasp!*

There are, of course, situations with close friends and family that the question has genuine purpose. You might even be interested in hearing the person's reply. (How kind of you!). But that is not the subject of this essay.

The phenomenon at hand has been very noticeable for me in the past, and again recently during my previous stint working the door for a downtown nightclub, and now working occasionally at the Soiled Dove Underground. Different patrons, same behavior (at least in this regard).

Going through a long line of people, checking IDs and/or taking tickets, I tend to say a lot of, and hear a lot of the aforementioned pseudo question. As I listed above, you rarely get someone straying from the unsaid script of how two strangers interact without divulging anything too personal. And it was in this onslaught of people, saying the same things person after person, night after night, that I got a bit irritated with the lack of exchange and decided to change things up a bit.

While still working at the clubs, I decided to have what little fun I could and play with people by simply seeing how (or if) anyone reacted to slightly vulnerable honesty, but spoken in the same tone and manner as you would by saying "doing fine". During my experiment, I was in the midst of some emotional turmoil dealing with my then relationship which was beginning to see some downs among the ups, which helped in the genuineness of my honesty.

This time, when the first patron walked in and acknowledged my presence with a question by saying, "Hey Niko, how's it going?" I replied calmly with:

"Shitty".

They took a moment, and did a double take. There was a wonderful pause where I could actually see the person being thrown off of the typical script, forcing them into the frightening world of spontaneous conversation that requires one to think.

"Um. . . what? . . . shitty? . . . . seriously? . . . I uh. . . Why?"

To me the rest of the dialog was irrelevant, all I wanted was to shake some people out of the expected exchange of a non-question, and pointless answer. I really had no desire to elaborate on my "shittiness".

These days at the Dove, I can achieve a similar effect by expressing how I am by responding, "Mediocre". Which for the most part is true. I also enjoy making things more uncomfortable and unexpected by going off on long diatribes on the factors leading me to whatever current state I may be in, of course making it a point to be as personal as possible. This last part works best if people first inquire into why you are in such a state. It actually puts a smile on my face watching people react to something they are not used to, namely, openly honest conversations about emotional and personal situations with total strangers. It's really fun.

I've even been thanked from time to time for my honesty, which as demonstrated, seems to be quite rare.

The point of this is not that everyone needs to be blunt and emotionally vulnerable all the time, although I do feel that it is healthy and personally beneficial to learn this skill (yes, honesty is a skill, which needs to be practiced and honed over time). If anything, I just like to make people aware of little things within our culture or human behavior that we may take for granted.

Crazy Drummer Guy And Vegan UnGuitarist

I have to be honest and say that this story is a lot more fun when you hear it in person, as I can do a mean impression of the main character that just makes the whole story sparkle with gay little gems. Sequins, if you will. But since you and I never speak, at least face to face, I'll have to pull out my big box o' colorful adjectives and try to recreate the majesty via the printed word.

This fun little tale harkens back to circa 2002/2003. I had just finished my first album, Sweet Painful Reality, and I was desperately trying to find some musicians to help me perform the material live (spoiler alert: it never happened). Since Tommy [Drinnen of the band Urizen] had moved to Texas, I was now sans guitar player, and VERY sans everything else.

On a random occasion, I happened to bump into a slight acquaintance from high school named, uncommonly, Jon (by the way this is not John Taylor who has been my guitarist for the last several years). This Jon, unlike many Jons, was a rather noticeable fellow, who, if memory serves, (and mine just busses), used to dress in a late 1970s era heroin-esque London punk vibe, complete with ripped clash t-shirts and a multi-colored mohawk. We had exchanged a few words about bands during a shared art class, something about Danzig I think, but beyond that, I hardly knew him.

Fast forward to the present (the past), with Jon and I and our chance meeting at the coffee shop where he worked. We talked a bit about what we've both been up to, as is the case in standard chit chat etiquette. (As a side note, I really despise small talk). He mentioned that he now listened to black metal and also played guitar. I, being selfish by nature and needing a guitarist, perked up and began to ask him about his guitar abilities, basically spouting out a list of techniques and styles I wanted in a player, and asking him if he would be interested in auditioning for me. He then played his over-confidence card, reminding me that "dude, I can play black metal, I know what I'm doing!" This sounded great to me, as someone who could play something like that would, in my mind, have no problem with the guitar parts on my album.

At this stage in my listening adventures, I was just starting to get into some black metal. Mostly Cradle Of Filth, Old Man's Child and Dimmu Borgir. Although these are not flashy bands from a virtuoso point of view, they still had some decent players. If I were more aware then, I would have realized that there are many levels of skill within these sub genres, not all of them requiring amazing dexterity, or basic music knowledge. But oh, I would soon find that out. I left the meeting feeling optimistic, and looked forward to meeting up again.

On a random day (pick one) I arrived at Jon's apartment complex with my then bassist and eventual temporary guitarist Ty. As soon as we pulled up we noticed that Jon was standing with what appeared to be a mass of sweat, hair and alcohol. The mass came toward us, clutching a Milwaukee's Best beer can and introduced itself as Angelo. This gentleman was, by the looks of it, quite a bit older then Ty, Jon or myself, with vacant looking cracked-out eyes, an old stained band t-shirt, not to mention the "stuck in the 80s" acid washed jeans and white sneakers. His long, unkempt dirty-blond hair seemed to signify him as a friend for Ty and I, as we both had longish hair at the time. He was loud, overly talkative, and above all, irritating. All of this and we had not even walked up to Jon's apartment yet.

As we neared where Jon was standing, he gave us a subtle, furrowed glance, which to me gave the impression that he was also not too happy about the presence of this brute. We all walked up the stairs and entered Jon's place. . .including the loud obnoxious lummox. During the short trip, he told me many times how he is a drummer, and he and Jon were going to start some sort of music project and how he wanted to audition for me, once we had met with Jon. Again, yes I did need a drummer, but even if this guy was the next Mike Portnoy, I would have to kill him.

Once inside Jon regaled us with a quick conversation about his veganism, probably brought on by our comments on how he looked like he had the body of a recovering chemo patient. Then we went to his bedroom (sounds like a good set up for something doesn't it?), I popped in the CD of SPR and proceeded to give him a short tour through the songs/moods or the record. TY and I sat on the bed while Jon and the Crazy Drummer Guy (CDG) sat on the floor in front of the speakers.

I was mostly interested in what Jon's impressions would be, as I was going to audition him later, but I kept getting distracted by the actions of CDG. Crazy Drummer Guy sat there on the floor, staring so intently at the stereo as the music played, it seemed as if his laser eyes would burn a hole through the speakers. Between his fingers he held a cigarette, upon which he would take occasional, intense drags from, all the while staring, almost angrily, straight ahead barely flinching. It was only a few moments later that I noticed his cigarette was not lit.

CDG turned his head to me not resetting his drug-induced hate stare. I thought for sure this guy must really not like my music. He took another strong drag from his unlit cigarette, paused dramatically and spoke to me.

"Do you like. . . . . thrive on the blackness?" he said to me with intensity, and apparently complete seriousness.

I stared blankly at him for a moment, then over at Ty, who had heard the whole thing, then over at Jon, who looked confused and shrugged, then back at Crazy Drummer Guy. I feared that the wrong answer would send him into a murderous rage, as I could easily envision him leaping at me if I laughed at him.

". . . not really. . ." I answered hesitantly. "Let's just keep listening to the CD, ok?"

Strangely, he seemed to be easily satisfied with my barely answer, immediately nodded, and went back to staring, seemingly with rage, at the stereo again. I breathed a quiet sigh of relief at not having the shit beat out of me by an aging cracked-out loser. We listened to parts of a few more songs, and Jon expressed his approval of the music so far, and I thanked him. Seeing this an another opportunity to be part of the group, CDG decided to add his two cents to the conversation.

"Yeah this stuff is pretty cool I guess. . ." he said as he raised the unlit cigarette to his lips and held it there.

I nodded with a subtle condescending sarcasm. "Thanks man."

He then listened intently for a moment (yes, more intently then before), and decided to share yet another observational gem.

"This music makes me think of a demon sitting on a pile of bones." He then turned to me for approval.

My eyes flew wide open at the seemingly ridiculous comment, and I had to use all of my self control to not start laughing out loud, possibly ending my life.

All I could do was look away and nod. "Cool man. I'm not really sure it's that type of music though. . . ." I braced myself for an attack.

Again, he nodded quickly and turned back to the music. (Now this comment is even more hilarious if you are familiar with the style of music on my first album, which could, in no way, be represented by demons sitting on bones.)

Soon CDG began plugging himself as an awesome drummer again, and forcefully asking me if I wanted to do an audition with him. . . right now! I skirted around the issue for a bit, using lines like "we're just here to work with Jon today", or "we have to go after this", but he only became more and more combative about this supposed audition.

"C'mon man, I just live around the corner, I could play for you right now. I can totally play this stuff man! Are we going to do this or not?!"

He then added, "Let me just call my mom and see if I can play drums for a few minutes". He picked up the phone and began dialing.

We all looked at each other again in complete disbelief about what was happening. Wasn't this guy in his late 30s or early 40s? He has his drums at his mom's house? Does he live there too? This guy was getting better and better by the second.

"C'mon mom! I just need to play for like 15 minutes! . . . . It's for an audition for a band mom! . . . C'mon! Just a few minutes!" he said into the phone.

With that, he hung up the receiver and forced his wants on me again. "So are we going to do this?!" I could sense genuine frustration this time. Not wanting to be confrontational, all I could think of was a weak, untruthful way of pussyfooting around it. "Not today man. We have to audition some more people after this and we still need to hear Jon."

With that, he huffed and puffed for a minute, and finally walked out the door.

After some recapping, and laughing at CDG's expense, we regrouped and focused on the real task at hand: Jon's audition. He plugged in his guitar and amp, and I got out the tablature for all of the songs. I pop down a TAB for the song In The Twilight, since it is an easy place to start. I explain the song a bit and then have him basically "go at it".

What I notice right off the bat, is that he seems to be having a lot of trouble with understanding, reading, and then properly playing any of it, even a simple palm muted 5th chord. Of course, this raises an eyebrow right away, as any young guitarist raised on the typical fare of Metallica, Megadeth, Slayer, and Pantera would play this whether or not I had it written in the TABs, it's just that natural and instinctive for them. So as I tried to let him correct himself over time, I realized that my hopes were in vain as things got progressively worse and worse. Not only was he barely playing - at best slopping through - what is supposed to be a really tightly played staccato rhythm as lagato diarrhea , but here I was, I piano/keyboard player telling him how to do it. He's the fucking guitarist. Not me.

Eventually, when it started to become a bit too pathetic, Ty grabbed the guitar and showed him what it was supposed to sound like. This must have been pretty humiliating for Jon, and I could sense the feeling from him. He then asked Ty to show him how to do a palm mute, as if he had never done one in his life. This from the guy who claimed to play a lot of black metal. Isn't this one of the first things any "rock" guitarist learns how to do?

For those of you who know the music and guitar parts from Sweet Painful Reality, you'll know that it's not very technically demanding. A lot of palm muted chugging parts mixed with some fingered riffs, and the odd lead. It's not baby guitar 101, but it's also something you would have figured most guitarists would not have that much trouble with.

Trying to give him another chance, I put down another, even simpler song, but quickly gave up given this pathetic display of guitar farting which was even less then amateur. Absolutely depressing and embarrassing for both of us. I could tell that he felt increasingly more insecure about his playing with each new note, constantly apologizing for every mistake, as he could sense my obviously disappointment. I do feel sorry for him, even though he was the one who bragged to me about his skills. This might be a good time to check out my essay on Self Perception.

At last I stopped him and shook my head with disapproval. "I thought you said you could play a bunch of black metal stuff?" I asked him, through an odd combination of accusation and sensitivity. Jon looked sheepish and defensive not really knowing what to say about his performance.

"I do," He started. "I just never played this kind of stuff much. I don't know man. Sorry."

I stared quietly at him for a moment and then asked him to play me some of the "black metal stuff" he had just days ago claimed such confidence in.

What followed put everything into perspective for me. Jon began playing open power chords with a hap hazard, sloppy "anything goes" strumming style borrowed directly from typical unpolished punk music. I guess this was what he called "black metal". It all connected then and there. His "transition" from punk to metal was obviously an easy one, as it required not much learning of new techniques. Even punk has the occasional palm muted riff, doesn't it?

We left the audition with a modicum of disappointment, but weeks worth of stories and quotes. I decided after that to make Ty my guitarist, since he could actually play the material.

As a short, and semi-funny addendum to this story, I actually ended up auditioning CDG a year later, when he contacted me via email. As soon as I met up with him, he looked familiar, but I could not place him for a while. He was sober this time, and he indeed played over at his mom's house. What still strikes me is that he seemed to have no recollection of me, nor the music the second time, not that I tried to remind him. Weird fucking guy, but damn memorable.


If you enjoyed this story, check out the Ty-penned tale entitled, "The Adventures Of Crack Guy And Neanderthal".