Happy Birthday Mother of Mine.
What ever happened to the news guys? Okay, I concede that you’re not allowed to look the way I do and use those words in that order. Supreme lack of balding and lawn territoriality. But that being said, when the fuck did the news go from “extree extree read all about it man lands on Moon and what not.” To, “share it share it! tweet all about it! Bieber has nudes or whatever. Here’s a bunch moms that are super upset. or something. Whatever. Further apathetic remark.” Isn’t the news supposed to be meaningful? You know, where you put the important things.
And don’t tell me I have Golden Age Syndrome, looking back on the olden days and giving them a polish they never had. I know back then sucked. The US and other governments were lying just as much as they are now, they were just caught less because there was no internet to play intermediary. I get it. But what I don’t seem to grasp is when exactly the media stopped being an unbiassed watchdog of government bullshittery and started being the thing that tells me when Kanye and Tay Swift are speaking to each other again. It seems as if it’s not a Kardashian, Cancer or Road-side bombs, i’m not going to hear about it.
I consider all celebrities Kardashians at this point, and despite that reeking of a biting nihilism, i’m sure if any of them heard that they would think it’s just dandy. Whatever sells more purses right? Or sex tapes? Oh no, the sex tapes we’re to sell the purses. Now that’s a viral marketing campaign. And on the Cancer and Ride-side bombs i’ll say this. I find it despicable that a well chisled man or woman can look a camera in the lens and say :
“Well there’s a new type of cancer, it’s twice as deadly, and you can’t do anything about it.”
”Don’t worry, when we cut to commercial you’ll see someone who looks just like me, hawking ProLexaTram. It’ll make you twice as happy, and there is nothing you can do about it!”
But no, I am not so jaded as to think the mention of dead soldiers is for primarily for commercial potentiality. Ratings? More plausible, war coverage is what puts asses in seats (With television switched to your station.) There is this perturbing commerciality aspect to news that never quite sits right with me. Like they’re only telling you the truth if and when the peer group deems its selling power.
I’m an intelligent person, smart, level headed, generally well adjusted and yet my conscious decision making process at times is that of a pubescent troglodyte, and I have little control over these things. Its like i’m a high level video game character in an insanely arbitrary reality being piloted by the shittiest player imaginable. A lackadaisical twelve year old with just enough willpower to play this game constantly but not enough to effect meaningful change within it. Given a veritable sandbox of infinite possibilities, he makes choices like “Attempt to get a job when only when you’re on the brink of homelessness, oh won’t that be fun.” or “Forget your bike keys and be forced to find interesting and creative places to shove your only means of free transportation that isn’t literally attached to your body, so it isn’t stolen by homeless vagabonds who will sell it for blue meth or cheap churros.” We’re all like sims, you have to admit that and the god who lords over my save file has played quite a few idilic, peaceful games already and just wants to light shit on fire in this iteration. For instance giving me the gift of the gab in any situation that doesn’t matter and yet when I attempt to vocalize to any meaningful female in my life, he throws metaphorical bicycle spokes at my trains of thought, watching them derail with the same kind of sick glee i’m sure the Nazis felt, when Britain sent them a letter asking them to “please don’t invade, colon, every civilized country“. These are the thoughts that plague me constantly.
It seems, for better or worst, I’ve been dragged kicking and screaming into the world of blogging. I have too much writing that I can’t do in my stand-up act for many reasons, (such as they need re-writing or they aren’t funny,) And I figure I’ll shove them here. But be sure not to let the previous parentheses entrenched statement disparage your opinion of future works, as I love them dearly. Kind of like an alpa male father loves his performance arts son. They’re not perfect, but I made them, so fuck it right? Speaking of digging myself into holes, the stress from school as bedridden me with procrastanagerium, which I swear to you is as debilitating as it is fictions.
Expect two posts a week, of some writing or video nature. My audience is approximately fifteen, so I may integrate Facebook or Youtube or whore myself on Pinterest to facilitate my need for attention. Also, you could help by reblogging, or liking, or telling me how is you actually gain an audience of more then fifteen, or something. I’m assuming tags have something to do with it. Seriously, i’m going to talk to someone about this, because I have no goddamn idea. And because now i’m rambling, i’m going to sign off.
See you later existence,
Okay, see you later existence sounds far too much like a suicide note sign off. So i’m going to retry.
Too my fellow denizens of the digital divide, I would like to bid you adieu.
I have been Alex Smith.
How i’m worried that TV might convince my girlfriend to break up with me. (Title brought to you by On The Nose lmt.)
I started watching Glee again in its most recent season. I watched in the first season pleasantly caught off guard by how funny the show was. Quite well tailored for a tenth grade drama kid with a well rooted depression and enough insecurity to bring any building he’s in below code. The one thing I knew was acting and being funny, good enough for me. I later dropped off after every former insult spouting cheerleader turned manic depressive soccer mom hopped on board seeing how the adorkable kids at McKinley High speak to their inner under dog. The mixture between the soccer mom hypocrisy and the tedious, heavy handed gay storyline were enough to make me loose my appetite for the show. And because I have this nagging feeling that comes off as homophobic, it wasn’t because I was particularly uncomfortable, it was because two thirds of every show were so laser focused on that one issue it quickly lost its novelty.
I watched intermittently in the last season and a half, hearing that now, half the cast has graduated from well, the set. This piqued my interest enough for me to watch how they would deal with that, after all I had just graduated my high school into an artsy based performance program. I found myself surprised when they started dealing with the issue of long distance relationships. It struck a cord in me, my girlfriend a few hours away, I wanted to see how the writers would tackle the subject. The first episodes were incredibly optimistic, the type of short sighted heart warming story that I expect from shows like Glee. Rachel’s anxious and high-strung, skype-ing is hawrd*, the gay couple was interesting and the entire show tasted of chicken noodle soup for the soul. I think “I should tell Jessie to watch this, perhaps she already does but based on what i’ve seen it might lift the damp outlook she has on our relationship.” Smiles all around. Now, cut to the most recent episode, titled “Break Up." Uh oh. I have deja-view to horrible twists of such classics as Bambi and The Happening*. By the end of this episode i’m thinking of the possible ways I can keep my girlfriend from ever watching Glee again; Cheating, Sadness, Emotional Detachment, The Phrase "I Can’t Do This, at Least Not Now.", Tears, Well Edited Musical Numbers Involving A COPIOUS AMOUNT OF RUNNING AWAY, EVEN MORE SADNESS (Enough To Warrant The Capitalization of Every Other Word in This Sentence) and COLDPLAY, OH THE COLDPLAY*…
* -Sarchasm. (If you took me seriously, you’ve fallen in.)
Completely unedited, with all the rambly nonsense (in?)properly intact.
Song of the Day
In The Aeroplane Over The Sea by Neutral Milk Hotel
And nearly six hours of solid writing. Charlie Sheen can find a spacious hole to die in.
Song of the Day
Starálfur by Sigur Rós