How quickly a serious conversation can devolve

This is a conversation. It may or may not include this author. There are no identifiers as to whether or not this was one person having a conversation with himself or whether it's multiple people. It may or may not be real; OK, so it's real.

work to live, don't live to work
honestly I'm contemplating getting a shit job.
but agree
Yeap.
you meet those people who came out of college and like...in a few years worked at like 4 million different, random jobs
and they seem like they're having a pretty good time
Getting attached to shit is pretty unhealthy
Unless is it super awesome.
especially females. and coffee makers
YEAH.
Unless they have super awesome mouth jibbers
actually even then. ..
nvm
hahaha
yeah, even then. they'll suck your heart out with those mouth jibbers
They'll suck so hard ...
heart right out hahaha
Out of your dick, which hurts even MORE
true story.
hurts on a lot of levels

More Place

London

Red, gray, soaked, sneering city, you are

Little but the past. Different from my

Shoddy imitation, you grasp

Onto real churches, real cemeteries—

Not my cardboard country, you

Are stone.

Wicklow, Dublin

I see Wicklow sporting a spotted sky,

But still brightened to the utmost.

We glow, taking in light,

And yet roaming shadows haunt, blocking

The first god, the first beginning,

The source of all, and thus the source of joy.

True, they haunt fast as a restless

Dark spotlight.

Sometimes they drench, yes. Certainly,

Puddles lie here always. But trust

That they travel on, never clouding

For too long those who are bogged down.

The Jazz Bar, Edinburgh

That music touches

As few do. I watch sound

And I hear color, but mostly

I sway with eased eyes.

He kisses and caresses the golden swan.

He makes gold,

And red,

And hazy blue.

He strangles, frantic, wild

Still. I sway—"what?"—

And I lose it. He plays

On without me.

Valentine's Day as a little kid

I don't really think much of Valentine's Day. I probably should. This is because I've never have a significant other during this time of the year, and that's because any semi-formal relationship I've been in has not lasted very long.

So that just means that one special day I don't get to spend with a special lady is just like every other day, which is sort of depressing but not as depressing as -- I think -- how much girls are depressed when they're single on Valentine's Day.

As an aside, I have personal evidence of this. A little over a year ago, a coworker was heavily creeping on me to the point that everyone in the office would just watch and laugh as said coworker -- an innocent and socially-awkward one at that -- would attempt to butt into every single one of my conversations, whether it be about masturbation, pop culture, etc. She even stole some other person's headphones to give to me as a gift. After V-Day, the advances stopped. Ironically enough, this person went on to make a blog about men creeping on her. As an anthropology minor, I'd like to add that studying crazy people can tell you a lot about a given culture, and that's why this example lends credence to how seriously chicks take Valentine's Day.

So my participation in Valentine's Day mostly comes from experience as an elementary school kid, the day where you bring candy and cards to share with everyone in your class. That means, right now at 22 years old, my concept of Valentine's Day is still one of a really awkward, though exciting day in which I get a shitton of candy.

Here are my four rules for how to handle Valentine's Day as a kid.

1. Always get the best fucking candy. You know you hated the kids that'd give you those NECCO Sweethearts. You ate them because you liked chewing on shit, just like how you now like to smoke because you always need something to fiddle with. Simply put, that shit's not very good, and the person who gave them to you isn't really thinking of others. That means they're assholes.

So how do you one-up fucking chalk candy hearts? Buy something really awesome. My go-to? Riesens. They are dark chocolate, very chewy and different than any other candy. Addictive and sweet, they're also handy for pulling those baby teeth out of your gums. Even if you'd been screwing around with it the past two weeks, it's coming out.

2. Switch up your card swag. Again, putting thought (at least, the veiled illusion of it) can go a long way. In the end, Valentine's Day as a kid is showing the entire class how awesome you are, and what better way to show Sally and Billy that you're a better person than Ted than to make it appear that you gave Sally and Billy personalized cards?

Grocery stores sell said cards, so make sure you go with variety packs. When the little shitlings are talking behind everyone else's backs about what cards were cool, they very well might notice that the cards you gave them were different. That goes a long way. Better yet, write individuals sentences on each cards. For example:

(to a girl you like) "Sally, I hope you don't choose me as your target in Lava Monster tag next time out on the playground. I definitely got tired quickly when you tagged me on Tuesday, but it was a lot of fun. Hope your Valentine's Day is a good one. <3 Kevin"

(to your best friend) "Billy, I'm going to kick you in the balls when you're not looking. Hope your Valentine's Day is a good one. <3 Kevin"

(to the kid you don't like) "Ted, if you trade me back my Alakazam for a the Metapod you swindled me for, I won't tell your girlfriend that you like buttholes. Hope your Valentine's Day is a good one. <3 Kevin"

3. Buy Valentine's Day gifts for everyone, but don't. This is all about strategy. You know the rule. You must give everyone a gift. But if you don't like some kids in your class, you have to find a clever way to avoid making their day. Of course, this is inevitable.

This can be done several ways. Buy different types of candies. I know in Rule 1 I said buy the best, but you can create a social hierarchy of who is awesome and who sucks in class by getting three different types.

For example, go with Riesens for 1) all your friends, 2) the people that while not jealous of, you'd like to have social capital invested in them, 3) people you have crushes on. Then, get something less classy but still pretty good for all the people you're neutral about. Three Musketeers, anyone? For the few children who you absolutely despise because they are smelly, dumbheads, or smelly dumbheads, well, pretend you got cough drops mixed up with actual candy.

Or, give them NECCO Sweethearts.

4. Don't forget the teacher, duh. You want to get fucked with grades? Forget to give the teacher a V-Day card and see how critically she grades your paper mache volcano. As an adult, I guarantee that teachers wholeheartedly enjoy the kids that are cute enough to bribe them. And if the teach likes you, guaranteed your classmates will be jealous, making you that much better than them.

I guess this is why I say I'm sorry

I wrote this and then came up with the title. Italicized comments are 'post-title'.

Sometimes I say I hate hypocrites.

But then I realize that I hate people who say they hate things.

So I'm probably am a hypocrite.

This explains why I hate myself.

Also, I shouldn't hate myself.

And I recognize that I shouldn't hate myself.

But sometimes I still hate myself.

(This is fucking self-indulgent. I try not to be self-indulgent. It's annoying. Sorry.)

But maybe hypocrisy is inevitable.

And if something is inevitable, then it seems kind of silly to "hate" it.

So I shouldn't hate.

But hating something inevitable is only silly if you think that it's not silly to hate something that isn't inevitable.

So the above assumes "hate" can be justified if it leads to productive things.

But it's not so clear that hate is ever productive.

Also, there's a good chance that hate is inevitable.

So it isn't the case that I shouldn't hate.

This seems to mean the same thing as "it's okay to hate".

So the statement that "it's okay to hate" can be justified solely on the stated fact that I hate things; that some instance of hate exists.

But this stands in opposition to the idea that normative judgments are distinct from descriptive statements.

(That's a douchey turn to jargon. Sorry.)

It also doesn't make sense.

Life is mired in incomprehensible ethical shit.

Q.E.D.

(Abridged Proof: Children die from leukemia / Life is mired in incomprehensible ethical shit / Q.E.D)

FUCK. there was nothing to be demonstrated.

sorry.

(I hate that I say sorry so much. I'm sorry I say sorry so much. FUCK, again.)

Dichotomies are stupid and make people judge Lana Del Rey and Tim Tebow

I do realize that with this title, you might say I'm taking the firm stance that people are stupid, as are dualism/dichotomies/black vs. white.

I don't like any of these things, except you the individual and maybe one Lana Del Rey song. In saying this, I might have confused you to the point that you don't know what I like.

Me neither, and I think that's OK.

That said, the end of this piece will be slightly depressing, mostly negative and patronizing, but partially true.

I'm sure at one point in your life, you've liked more than one boy or one girl at one time. I bet at some time you've had to choose between living in one place or another, be it a simple decision like one between an apartment with a stellar shower versus one with a laundry room. Or a larger lifestyle query, like going to school in your hometown with friends instead of venturing off into an unknown place across the country. Twizzlers or Red Vines? Ultra thin lubed or weird bumpy alien condoms?

Maybe you've make drastic life choices. For example, I've gone against what I've referred to as "selling out" by working as a bartender, server or SEO marketer (the ping pong table in the kitchen didn't sell me on it, and I think it is for the best at this point), in order to chase a career in sports writing.

I want to do something I like, somewhere I like, with people I like. Those are too many variables, and they make black and white decisions dangerous. Everything in life is like this. Duh, you say, but it's important to realize that PEOPLE, society really, influence us to make these opinions without any room for stepping into a grey area.

Don't rule life on overly-simplistic reasoning that's based off what people might think about you, what pop culture says is cool, or what contrasting subcultures say isn't. I'm looking at you Wiz, telling me to live young, wild and free. But same to the Wall Street fucks from New Jersey. And that shitty musician who sat on some dirty hippy's floor with a keyboard, whining about how his parents hated him for TOURING IN VENUES SUCH AS THE MENTIONED GRIMY TUCSON BEDROOM.

There's always too much in play. George W. Bush once said that you're either with us or against us. Kanye West once told Taylor Swift (I'm paraphrasing, and technically making the assumption) that Beyonce's video was greater than (>>>). In America, we don't like commies, let alone socialists. Grey Goose is better than Smirnoff even though all vodka sucks, but we hate commies, and the commies drink the Smirnoff while 50 Cent drinks the Goose. Hating Lady Gaga means you're not down with homosexuals.

Progressively there, I am getting more ridiculous. But everything should be challenged.

Lana Del Rey should be challenged, and she's the perfect example of how such complicated things get twisted into dichotomies by PEOPLE (here's where everything in the title comes together) who promote said dichotomies to apparently produce a sense of individual worth with an illusion of having subculture/hate of mainstream culture/hipsterness/and most importantly, an avoidance of conformity.

Del Rey is a perfect example of how we choose between two things, and two things only. Like her or not.

As an aside, I could remind you that many singers have at least one very bad performance in their careers, whether they be Hoobastank, Mick Jagger, Lady Gaga, Madonna, Amy Winehouse, Lil Wayne, The Beatles, Creed, etc. These could be due to a number of problems, including but not exclusive to sickness, drunkenness, drugs, blows to the head, eating bats, flat-out craziness, broken hearts, surprise pregnancies and tornadoes. Maybe they have to take a major shit, I don't know.

We can bitch and moan about her fake indieness, her failed SNL performance.

Assuming that Wikipedia's write-up on the recently-famous pop singer is accurate, the quick run-down is that she was a Lizzy Grant, her given name, turned to Lana Del Rey. She had some album out as Lizzy Grant, and I heard it was something of a more poppy sound. But she changed her name to Lana Del Rey, got her lips all DSL'd up, and made some deep indie music and now is called a fake.

Billboard Magazine's feature on her said the same as Complex Magazine's. Both have made the case that Del Rey wiped off the manicured character she had going for something more real. True or false, everyone jumped on her for 1) a name change 2) Botox and 3) a switch in sound despite those things being part of the characters of nearly EVERY OTHER FUCKING MUSICIAN WHO IS FAMOUS.

But maybe, we can like that one song about being "Born To Die" because we can relate to the lyrics when we're sad and she has a pretty voice. We can also be like, "dude, I am down with beer and video games, but I never got so down at video games with a chick/dude, so I can't relate and this isn't as good of a song as Born To Die."

The same goes for athletes like Tim Tebow. It's the white quarterback, who against stereotypes doesn't throw the ball well and doesn't allegedly rape chicks in bathrooms a la Ben Roethlisberger. Because we like that he likes God, or because we don't like that he likes God, we must make a decision as to whether we like him or not based on how much we hear about him (thanks ESPN).

Perhaps we can consider Tebow as a half-way decent football player, though his terrible numbers despite his wins don't give him much promise. Yet, we can also say he's an admirable human being, standing up for the word of God and the pro-life movement that he believes in -- and that shouldn't be determined by whether we believe in God or pro-life ourselves.

Turn off the TV. Turn off the radio. No. Better yet, turn on a questioning self-defense. Listen to everything and question it.

Maybe it'll lead to something. Or you'll go crazy and post on Riposte-Modern.Blogspot.com.

Music And Change

Life's nostalgic value goes only as far as music. Maybe it's because my memory fails me by the minute, by the year. But there's a reason I will consider the person crazy the moment I learn they don't like music.

Very few things can do what music can -- other than video recordings of the past. Sport can have a way of defining eras within a lifetime. Not even for me, a sportswriter, does sport represent moments, feelings and defining moments as does music. I don't know personally where I was at as a human being when I reminisce about the Arizona Cardinals' Super Bowl run (I was bedridden after having and adventurous night of lemon cake, Hyper Crush, etc.). Or the Diamondbacks' World Series victory (crying). Or any painful Suns' losses (throwing drunken tantrums on the floor).

Seriously, none of those things are that bad. By personally, I mean emotionally in a static sense, not a by-the-minute one.

Like sport, fashion defines decades and eras, not moments. Tell me if you remember if you even remember if you were wearing Thursday shirt, Friday shirt, jeans, shorts or wife beaters at significant moments of your life. Let me know if you remember what you were wearing under your graduation gown after you finished high school, or what you undressed from that time you hooked up with what's her face. I don't. It was probably Abercrombie or Hot Topic, but that's a guess based on percentages.

It's incredible what song means.

Akon reminds me of high school drives with a girl I had a thing for. Rihanna and Jay-Z reminds me of when I got pissed off at her.

Eminem perpetually reminds me of not caring about either of the previous items. Eminem also reminds me a lot of summer in Tucson -- swimming pools, online poker and pretending nothing could touch me. I like Eminem a lot though, so it goes without saying that it depends on what Eminem piece we're talking about.

Hyper Crush reminds me of falling in false love, climbing on top of a motor home five times in one night, and eating lemon cake and taking a ride home in a truck bed.

Radiohead reminds me of sleep. It reminds me of being a musician myself and using creativity to express emotion. It's one of the few things I can listen to when I'm alone, wanting to fully break down every chord, every tiny bit of alteration within a systematic and similar repetition of song.

Andrew W.K. reminds me of pseudo-promises, pseudo-ideals and tattoos. It's a philosophy I continue to ride. Though it appears to be an act, hey, you can't win them all.

Matisyahu reminds me of returning from Los Angeles from a trip with Red Bull.

Explosions in the Sky reminds me of the best concert ever. System of a Down reminds me of junior high (and New Mexico, though that will be overlooked).

N.E.R.D reminds me of New York City special treatment.

Squeeze reminds me of cigarettes and mediocrity.

Music evokes periods of life. It can bring back memories that have to do with me. Sport and fashion only go so far. They each have an important piece within relevant culture, for sure, but music, man, has a way of digging out thoughts and emotions that otherwise would be lost in the depths of mental building blocks we encounter as we age.

What Kind of Cow is Mickey Mouse?

“Disneyland – An American Tradition.” I saw numerous bodies sporting these shirts when I visited Disneyland with Allison a few weekends ago. I am not quite sure what it means for Disneyland to be an American tradition (what about Disneyworld and what about the Disney theme park in Japan?). But I know that the fact that people buy it means that the Disneyland experience must be contemplated, however amateurishly. This was my first time at Disneyland. I warn you that I am an iconoclast and typically resist the objects of popular devotion in America.

I had fun at Disneyland. I think rides are fun, and I especially appreciate when rides attempt to stimulate all of our senses. Pirates of the Caribbean was my favorite ride largely because I appreciated high speed puffs of air going over your head to simulate cannon balls flying between a coastal fortress and a galleon. The rides at Disneyland are not very thrilling, but they, unlike many ride parks, are devoted to having character. For those at Disneyland who have visited many times, the rides are like old friends. The excitement is in seeing what they have left behind and in what they have gained. I have always been impressed with the human ability to develop a long-term relationship with objects (especially outside of a consumerist framework, although more on this later). Disneyland for those who went to it as children is one of the best opportunities for self-reflection on the passing of time. Disneyland, like many people, has sought to conserve itself. Tomorrowland—built largely in the 1950s and 1960s—like the generations before us and ours, inevitably, cannot accept any new blueprints for the future. Tomorrowland, more than ToonTown, is a world of confusion. Visitors go there to wax nostalgic over a past vision of the future (which would be our present). I appreciate the conservation of a past future as an opportunity to reflect on the actual historical changes that have occurred. We don’t have our flying ships; space travel has become far more a thing of the past than a thing for the future. I am certainly down with getting rid of NASA.

The changes that our society has undergone in the past fifty years are more mundane and, as should be expected, based more on a practical consumerism than the clearly out-of-date American adventurism. Give us new ways to interface with the our technology so that we can ignore the world around us. Hemingway suggested that wealth dulls the senses and the appetite for adventure, despite the stereotypes about wealthy Americans traveling the world with their cosmopolitan mentalities. Maybe this is what happened to American greatness. We made too much money off of it. Disneyland is great too as an aspect of American greatness and ambition, but, like our broader society, beneath this veneer I often sensed nothing but money and a rotting infrastructure (seriously, check out this Wikipedia article on deaths at Disneyland.)

So what is it: is Disneyland a classic expression of American greatness, or a faceless money-making scheme that piggy-backs off the idea that a great man built a great pure park? Hm.

I resent that they do not sell alcohol at Disneyland. Do not assume that I can have fun in a child’s environment without reducing my mental capacity to that of a child. Nonetheless, I must admit that Disneyland was a negative experience only when I think about it. In its raw form, it was fun. Most of that is because of whom I was with, but also it was the small moments when I was away from the hordes and caught a glimpse of a different Disneyland. Primarily this was on the Disneyland train, and especially around the animatronic dinosaurs. Away from the crowds and screaming children, I looked with some degree of wonder at an attempt to re-create the deep past through the use of what was once futuristic technology, but now seems as outdated as the creatures themselves. I especially liked the dinosaur chewing on the seaweed because their mouths move in a funny horizontal motion.

Disneyland was probably the product of consumerism. The Disney “magic” is probably just a marketing gimmick. But the preservation of these stupid animatronic dinosaurs in the middle of what must be some extremely precious real estate can’t help but make me happy. They could be replaced with a Disneyland-Verizon hybrid booth or something equally nauseous. But they haven’t done that. One strike against the consumerism that always creates its own future without regard to the futures of our past? Maybe. But again, I also, in the rawest possible form, simply think that dinosaurs, especially those that have sideways chewing motions, are grand.