So I've got this story of a friend of mine. It's a story I've told many, many a time but never to such a potentially large audience, and well...it must be. I have this friend I lived with for a while, the General. The General and I had been friends for years and spent a lot of time together, so the inevitableness of our living together had been a long time coming. We had a nice house, inherited by his grandmother, who chainsmoked Winston's on the couch and drank coffee mugs full of bourbon that she'd refer to as 'Jesus Juice'. She died in that house not a year after moving in, and well, General and I were not ones to be choosy at the time, so we took over her lease. Eventually we had to take on roommates to pay the most basic of bills. We ended up with the General's distant cousins who turned out to be Neo-Nazi's (nice people if not misguided...and stupid as fuck), and eventually a serial fast food employee who turned out to have an extensive collection of child pornography. He hid it in a closet by the front door and one of us found it by accident one night. I'll tell you what, the Neo-Nazi beat that dirty bastard half to death before he wiggled free and ran off into the snowy winter night in just a t-shirt and boxers. He was arrested the next day on multiple felony accounts. An interesting house is what I'm telling you, and I don't think I have any arguments. Eh?
So at this particular time, I believe it was just the General and I living in this house. It was located on the outer edge of a cul-de-sac, with a spacious backyard area that led into the front yards of the other houses. One night, myself and Nobody were out at a house party, and I get a phone call. We go outside because it's loud and whoever is on the other line keeps asking me a question I can't make out. We go the driveway and I hear "This is the sherriff's department...is this J?" I look over at Nobody nervously, I fucking hate cops, bad experiences and whatnot, and I know the General has been known to call me J. "Yes, and what, may I ask, is this regarding?" I say, suddenly feeling the need to sound as classy and professional as possible at 2:30am. The female police deputy on the line proceeds to ask me if I know a General (she called him by his Christian name), I tentatively answer yes. She tells me I was first in his call log and he is causing a scene and could I come try and calm him down before things got violent.
Now let me preface this. Don't worry, it'll be quick. A few hours earlier, for reasons at this point not even the General knows, he said 'fuck off' to Nobody and I, packed a backpack full of liquor bottles, and disappeared out the back door. We didn't see him for a couple hours, he liked to take walks, we figured he'd make it to a park or a bench and sleep it off, end up back home the next morning. You have to understand, this just isn't strange. Sometimes the world reaches a point where a man must pack a NorthFace bag full of liquor bottles and storm off into the night. It's stupid, it's dramatic, yet sometimes we need to do it. But shit, he took a lot of fucking booze this time.
Back to the present, I ask the cop more about what's going. She tells me (seriously) that they have the General CORNERED against a fence and porch, and are contemplating tazing him. Apparently he had been wandering through a neighborhood singing and ranting at the top of his lungs until the police were called. Upon their arrival the General refused to give them identification of any kind or be touched, announcing only his first name and that he was sixteen years old (he was twenty-two at the time). He had become verbally abusive to the officers, refusing to divulge any further information, especially where he lived. We got directions from the officer and as we get closer I get a bad/funny feeling in my stomach. Her directions take us to a cul de sac. The one behind my house. The General had set up his very own Alamo on the neighbors porch (they weren't home) less then fifty feet from our back deck. You should have seen the commanding officer's face when he was informed that their crazy guy lived in the house directly behind him. I thought his face was going to melt off his skull. I watched as the General threw 'smooth' game at the female officers, and swore filthy slurs upon the male cops, the highest ranking officer being the cop who patrolled our high school. He'd known the General in school, and was the only current reason he hadn't been tazed and arrested already. Eventually after threatening to attack an officer with his own, then trying to but instead tripping and falling down the porch steps, they restrained him on the concrete. He was promptly handcuffed and thrown in the back of a squad car. I should mention that Nobody and I didn't just do sit there silently during the course of these events. The police allowed us to approach and plead with the General, trying to talk him out of this obviously futile campaign, trying to stress the seriousness of his situation. He would have none of it. The powerful mixture of whiskey and vodka and rum swirling around his bloodstream had formed together to make him invincible.
It was only after the police had him cuffed and in the back of the squad car that the tough guy facade dropped for a few minutes, as the General swore he was sorry and it'd never happen again and could they please not take him to jail? Then, when the officer from high school intervenes, the General takes it upon himself to use this act of good will from the cops to his advantage(?), and proceeds to resist upon being led into the house. The guy in charge must've felt sorry for him, or was just bored, or just didn't care, but it took four officers to wrestle him into our house, down the hallway (he scratched at the walls and doorways) and into his room and onto his bed. There they smacked him around a little bit while Nobody and I looked on, and then they tried to get him to accept his violations, his tickets. But the General was asleep. The officer got mad, smacked him around some more, demanded he respond to him. The only response he got was from the sandman, and the loud snores of the General, and after a couple more hits to the torso, he angrily stuffed the tickets in the General's pocket and they all walked out the room. However as they left, Nobody and I looked back to see the General, his eyes barely open, hands raised, giving the double middle finger to the cops backs as the walked from the room, grinning ear to ear like a diabolical creature of mischief. Faking it the whole time of course, and he's lucky as hell they didn't turn around or see him. Shit. The rest of the night involved Nobody and I babysitting the General (on police orders) so he wouldn't leave the house or cause anymore trouble. At one point I left him alone for ten minutes with Nobody to smoke a cig and get some quiet. Moments later there he comes, the General, stumbling out the house and down the front path, off on some cosmic mission. Slipped right past that piece of shit Nobody. I ushered him back into the house at which point he almost broke my arm slamming it in the front door cause I wouldn't own up to being the 'prophecy'. We got him back into bed, and he eventually passed out, mumbling and kicking out at the world.
Next day I'm eating a bowl of cereal on the couch and there he comes, out of his bedroom, the hungover and shabby ass General. He's exceedingly confused because not only does he feel like hell and have no idea how he got home or what he did, he has a thousand dollars in violations tucked in his shirt pocket. I could only shrug, laugh, and go back to my cartoons. I'll tell him all about it later.
Wednesday, July 27, 2011
Monday, July 25, 2011
Palace Love Letters
I fucking love my roommates, and yes, this entire post is going to be about them and us and our house and how things like that make me happy. I've got mad love for all my friends, and I have several who would make and have made great roommates, but right now, I can't imagine having a better living situation with better people then I do now. We've got a little bit of everything here, a wonderful harmonious amalgamation of personalities and character traits.
I've got my buddy G Money. This is a kid I've known since he was stumbling around behind his older brother while we went out and did whatever it was that thirteen year old boys did. We never really become friends, became close, until just last summer. I was living underneath Mr. Haze and his lady at the time, in a place lovingly dubbed the cave. I resided there with E Rock, and life was good. We spent our days playing wallball, smoking, drinking, playing video games. Video games. Thats how it started. I was at the cave one day with the General and G came knocking at the door. You see, he and Texas lived just two blocks down in their own place. Being in such close proximity and sharing all the same interests, these were the times of free love, sex, drugs, rock and roll, the times that birthed the W5. However I digress. G knocked and then walked in the back door without waiting for a response, this was standard, we would have become annoyed had he just stood out there knocking like an asshole. So he came in, and ended up hanging for a few hours, smoking and playing a snowmobile game on our playstation. It was the first time I'd just solo (for the most part) kicked it and shot the shit with G Moneys. I quickly realized this was an important guy to have on your side, he already was of course, being a fixture of our friend group, but it was then that I knew we shared an innate weirdness, something a little crazy and more then a little gonzo, but that we would get along swimmingly. During that summer I became closer with all those guys, we had a lot of fun, and we were a lot of fun. Our houses were revolving doors of people stopping by for a beer, a bong hit, a casual conversation. Then came the winter. G, Mr. Haze, E Rock and I all packed up shop and bolted for Colorado. Over the next six months G and I spent a lot of time together. The way the living situation worked out we had seven people in a 3 bedroom condo, and him and I ended up in the loft. It was great, because it afforded us by far the most amount of room space, but at the same time, the loft was directly above the kitchen and living room, and was cordoned off by tapestries, which aren't exactly soundproof. So yeah, space, but also anytime anybody spoke in the entire fucking house we could hear every word. We were in on every whispered conversation, every secret passed when someone thought no one was listening, we heard it all. Late in the winter we both lost our jobs, him to a broken down car, me to bankruptcy. We spent almost every day together til he left early for Bend, just the two of us, no jobs, nothing to do but get high and play video games and talk about weird shit. A lot of bonding and such. That sealed it, the winter in Colorado cemented the relationship I have with G Money, the little brother I never got to have, my peer, somebody I respect and I know has my back no matter what happens ever. Our minds communicate in some way that if anybody else experienced it, their head would probably melt. Or explode. G and I run along the same janky fucked up wavelength, and we're riding it till we die. I always have him to talk to about shit though, no matter what it is. It's a good feeling.
Then there's Mr. Haze. I've known this curly haired fool since we were in middle school. He used to hang out at my house with his giant curly white boy fro and his Chumbawamba t-shirt, you know the one, with the smiling baby. We didn't spend a lot of time together back then, started hanging out more in high school, cruising the parkway in our shitty cars, me rocking the '79 Volvo and him in his jeep, doing ninety, dogging each others bumpers. Stupid shit, kid shit, the kind of stuff you do when you are sixteen and just given a license to drive. After high school we went our separate ways for a while, hanging out once every so often, but then I moved to LA and didn't see anybody for over two years. Came back and within a couple months had been re-inducted into this group of friends that hung out where Haze lived, over on 4th street. I spent almost every day there, it would've been three summers ago. I'm sure I became a pest at some point, but with the amount of people coming in and out of there, crashing on couches and floors and porches, at least I wasn't alone. Even then, with me there all the time, hanging around Haze and our group of friends, it wasn't really till last summer and then Colorado that everything kind of came together. We've always enjoyed each others company, but we have this rapport that was never fully formed until now. I'm not saying there were any bad elements in our Colorado house, because there weren't, I had exceptional roommates, but I came out the other side with a very tangible and noticeable upgrade in my friendship with some people. Haze is one of the nicest people I've ever met, which often nicely counteracts my predilection towards being a prick, and he's not afraid to step in and tell me I'm being an ass, even though he knows he'll probably only get a 'fuck off' for his troubles. Most of the time he's our level head (although this is most certainly not a full time job for him), he keeps G and I out of trouble as best he can, he backs us when he needs to, and defends us when we need it. He's a standup guy, and we'd all be a little better off if we were a little more like Mr. Haze in some respect. I look up to him, I'm fascinated by him, and I'm consistently curious to see what he'll do next.
You see, this tripod, this trilogy of awesome-ness, this trifecta of triumph, it's the penultimate living situation. I'm in a nice cozy house. I'm a couple minute walk/bike ride to work or downtown, I've got a front porch I spend most of my afternoons on, keeping an eye on my street. I also live with two of my closest friends in the world. People that couldn't be more different from each other when you analyze them individually, but we are all the same where it counts. We have loyalty, we have respect, and we have each other when we fall short in any arena. My favorite times this summer has been when it's just been us, at our house, usually kicking back on the porch, beers in our coozies, cigs in our mouths, good music blasting out our front windows. These are good times, and they need to be remembered and immortalized, for they will fall away just like everything does. I'm not saying it'll never be as good as it is now, cause it sure as hell better be, but it'll never be the same. This house and these people I'm living with, it's lightening in a bottle, it's a flash in a pan, I'm sure as fuck going to enjoy the ride.
For the next nine months, the Weirdie Palace reigns. 512OG.
I've got my buddy G Money. This is a kid I've known since he was stumbling around behind his older brother while we went out and did whatever it was that thirteen year old boys did. We never really become friends, became close, until just last summer. I was living underneath Mr. Haze and his lady at the time, in a place lovingly dubbed the cave. I resided there with E Rock, and life was good. We spent our days playing wallball, smoking, drinking, playing video games. Video games. Thats how it started. I was at the cave one day with the General and G came knocking at the door. You see, he and Texas lived just two blocks down in their own place. Being in such close proximity and sharing all the same interests, these were the times of free love, sex, drugs, rock and roll, the times that birthed the W5. However I digress. G knocked and then walked in the back door without waiting for a response, this was standard, we would have become annoyed had he just stood out there knocking like an asshole. So he came in, and ended up hanging for a few hours, smoking and playing a snowmobile game on our playstation. It was the first time I'd just solo (for the most part) kicked it and shot the shit with G Moneys. I quickly realized this was an important guy to have on your side, he already was of course, being a fixture of our friend group, but it was then that I knew we shared an innate weirdness, something a little crazy and more then a little gonzo, but that we would get along swimmingly. During that summer I became closer with all those guys, we had a lot of fun, and we were a lot of fun. Our houses were revolving doors of people stopping by for a beer, a bong hit, a casual conversation. Then came the winter. G, Mr. Haze, E Rock and I all packed up shop and bolted for Colorado. Over the next six months G and I spent a lot of time together. The way the living situation worked out we had seven people in a 3 bedroom condo, and him and I ended up in the loft. It was great, because it afforded us by far the most amount of room space, but at the same time, the loft was directly above the kitchen and living room, and was cordoned off by tapestries, which aren't exactly soundproof. So yeah, space, but also anytime anybody spoke in the entire fucking house we could hear every word. We were in on every whispered conversation, every secret passed when someone thought no one was listening, we heard it all. Late in the winter we both lost our jobs, him to a broken down car, me to bankruptcy. We spent almost every day together til he left early for Bend, just the two of us, no jobs, nothing to do but get high and play video games and talk about weird shit. A lot of bonding and such. That sealed it, the winter in Colorado cemented the relationship I have with G Money, the little brother I never got to have, my peer, somebody I respect and I know has my back no matter what happens ever. Our minds communicate in some way that if anybody else experienced it, their head would probably melt. Or explode. G and I run along the same janky fucked up wavelength, and we're riding it till we die. I always have him to talk to about shit though, no matter what it is. It's a good feeling.
Then there's Mr. Haze. I've known this curly haired fool since we were in middle school. He used to hang out at my house with his giant curly white boy fro and his Chumbawamba t-shirt, you know the one, with the smiling baby. We didn't spend a lot of time together back then, started hanging out more in high school, cruising the parkway in our shitty cars, me rocking the '79 Volvo and him in his jeep, doing ninety, dogging each others bumpers. Stupid shit, kid shit, the kind of stuff you do when you are sixteen and just given a license to drive. After high school we went our separate ways for a while, hanging out once every so often, but then I moved to LA and didn't see anybody for over two years. Came back and within a couple months had been re-inducted into this group of friends that hung out where Haze lived, over on 4th street. I spent almost every day there, it would've been three summers ago. I'm sure I became a pest at some point, but with the amount of people coming in and out of there, crashing on couches and floors and porches, at least I wasn't alone. Even then, with me there all the time, hanging around Haze and our group of friends, it wasn't really till last summer and then Colorado that everything kind of came together. We've always enjoyed each others company, but we have this rapport that was never fully formed until now. I'm not saying there were any bad elements in our Colorado house, because there weren't, I had exceptional roommates, but I came out the other side with a very tangible and noticeable upgrade in my friendship with some people. Haze is one of the nicest people I've ever met, which often nicely counteracts my predilection towards being a prick, and he's not afraid to step in and tell me I'm being an ass, even though he knows he'll probably only get a 'fuck off' for his troubles. Most of the time he's our level head (although this is most certainly not a full time job for him), he keeps G and I out of trouble as best he can, he backs us when he needs to, and defends us when we need it. He's a standup guy, and we'd all be a little better off if we were a little more like Mr. Haze in some respect. I look up to him, I'm fascinated by him, and I'm consistently curious to see what he'll do next.
You see, this tripod, this trilogy of awesome-ness, this trifecta of triumph, it's the penultimate living situation. I'm in a nice cozy house. I'm a couple minute walk/bike ride to work or downtown, I've got a front porch I spend most of my afternoons on, keeping an eye on my street. I also live with two of my closest friends in the world. People that couldn't be more different from each other when you analyze them individually, but we are all the same where it counts. We have loyalty, we have respect, and we have each other when we fall short in any arena. My favorite times this summer has been when it's just been us, at our house, usually kicking back on the porch, beers in our coozies, cigs in our mouths, good music blasting out our front windows. These are good times, and they need to be remembered and immortalized, for they will fall away just like everything does. I'm not saying it'll never be as good as it is now, cause it sure as hell better be, but it'll never be the same. This house and these people I'm living with, it's lightening in a bottle, it's a flash in a pan, I'm sure as fuck going to enjoy the ride.
For the next nine months, the Weirdie Palace reigns. 512OG.
Thursday, July 21, 2011
Appetizer
It's funny, 1 month and a day ago I posted saying that it had been a month since I posted. I also believe I touched on the subject of how this is unacceptable, and blogs or writing endeavors must be maintained weekly if not daily. If I did not touch on said subjects, consider them touched. I have been without Internet this past month, and yes, it has been difficult. My phone in this day and age can do most of what my laptop can do, but there is no comfortable way to do things like upload pieces or write anything. Into a new house now, cozy little three bedroom with two of my Colorado roommates. Everything seems to be working out great, we're three pretty clean chill guys so it's a nice place to be. A lot of music, movies, smoking, drinking, hanging out on the porch. Garrett and I work a lot of mornings and get off around 3 or 4pm, which is when whichever of us is off first picks up a sixer of shitty tall boys. We sit out on the front porch and lawn, drink beers, smoke cigs, say fuck shirts, and generally mean mug anybody going by who looks like they got an ego on 'em. There's some type of mentality to establish myself (ourselves to an extent) in the neighborhood. We want to be friendly, our neighbors all seem cool and like stable put together laid back people, which is nice and fits in well with our aesthetic. Don't have much else to say at this point, and honestly, this post exists solely to exist. The WiFi just got installed today, I've got a fully functional system again, and I'm still here. I know, empty promises, but I'll make it rain with delicious literary treats for your eyes and mind grapes just keep paying attention. W5.
Monday, June 20, 2011
Status Updated
Sweet baby back bitch. It's been one month to the day since I last put up anything on here. I do have reasons though, valid ones. My laptop crashed out on me and quit charging, so I had to run it to Portland and then leave it there for a couple weeks. Only took a couple days and $10 bucks for them to fix the battery and replace the outer case (and somehow reattach my "I SKI LOVELAND" sticker), but I couldn't make it back to Ptown to pick it up. Had to wait on my sister's friend to make a delivery (thanks Sarah), got it back today, and here we are.
Been busy-ish the last couple weeks, putting in time looking for houses and apartments with Mr. Hayes and Mr. Gentry. Got a job at The Pretty Pussycat and been working there 3-5 days a week. It's been a pretty chill job so far, I've had experience working at sex shops before, but this one is tame compared to my last, more lingerie/headshop then porn and vibrators, although we do have some of that as well. The shop is nice and clean, and the clientele is a noticeable step up from 'ol Pleasure World, and I've got some seemingly cool coworkers, so it should work out nicely for the time being. Better then slaving under the corporate bullshit of somewhere like Borders thats for damn sure. It's strange, we've only been back from Colorado for a little over a month now, and yet it already seems like a dream. Thinking back to that condo, my mostly wonderful roommates, and the world-class skiing that was ten minutes in any direction, I miss it. Near the end of our winter, all I could think about was getting the fuck out of CO and back to Bend, now that I'm back I don't really want to be here either. It's a conundrum. I've got a good base of friends and people who love and respect me here, but the real pleasures and encounters are fleeting, and nothing gold can stay. Everything and everyone leaves sometime, and it's usually earlier then we want.
Helicopter school starts up in the fall, and as it gets closer I go back and forth on my commitment to it, swinging like an indecisive pendulum. It'd be something amazing, challenging, and in the end, rewarding both personally and monetarily. It also means I'd be in Bend for at least a year or two, longer if I'm working and putting myself through as I'd probably have to. I don't know yet that I want to make that decision, but at the same time, I'm 25 years old, I can't keep working for minimum wage and living paycheck to paycheck. It's getting to the point where its time to do SOMETHING, something permanent and that opens up a new world of opportunities. Right now I'm a high school grad with 'some' college under my belt and a rogues gallery of middling jobs that make up a fairly lackluster resume. I'm getting older and I'm starting to feel the pressure to 'do something' with my life more and more. I know, I'm still young, I could still wait around, travel some more, get on with 'real life' in a couple years, but I don't know that I want to put it off anymore. I want some real money, a real job I can go to where I see new things and go new places and don't hate being at work, but love it because I'm piloting expensive and incredible machines through the air on a daily basis.
So yeah. I've got many more entries partially finished, entries with points and reasons for existing and such, but I felt that a quick update on my life and status was warranted, and last I checked this was Sixth Stories, so I do what I want!
In closing I just want to put out a special shout out to my close friend and inspiration for flying helicopters, Matty Brantner. His older brother passed away two days ago, and it's been a really difficult time obviously. If you believe in God, send him some prayers, if you don't, think some positive thoughts. He's a solid guy and his family has been sucker punched by this tragedy. Wishing you well Matty and family, words don't do your loss justice, but nonetheless, I'm so sorry.
Back in the next couple of days with some more entries, they'll be coming in on the regular now that my laptop is back, so keep tuning in and reading. You know you want to.
Been busy-ish the last couple weeks, putting in time looking for houses and apartments with Mr. Hayes and Mr. Gentry. Got a job at The Pretty Pussycat and been working there 3-5 days a week. It's been a pretty chill job so far, I've had experience working at sex shops before, but this one is tame compared to my last, more lingerie/headshop then porn and vibrators, although we do have some of that as well. The shop is nice and clean, and the clientele is a noticeable step up from 'ol Pleasure World, and I've got some seemingly cool coworkers, so it should work out nicely for the time being. Better then slaving under the corporate bullshit of somewhere like Borders thats for damn sure. It's strange, we've only been back from Colorado for a little over a month now, and yet it already seems like a dream. Thinking back to that condo, my mostly wonderful roommates, and the world-class skiing that was ten minutes in any direction, I miss it. Near the end of our winter, all I could think about was getting the fuck out of CO and back to Bend, now that I'm back I don't really want to be here either. It's a conundrum. I've got a good base of friends and people who love and respect me here, but the real pleasures and encounters are fleeting, and nothing gold can stay. Everything and everyone leaves sometime, and it's usually earlier then we want.
Helicopter school starts up in the fall, and as it gets closer I go back and forth on my commitment to it, swinging like an indecisive pendulum. It'd be something amazing, challenging, and in the end, rewarding both personally and monetarily. It also means I'd be in Bend for at least a year or two, longer if I'm working and putting myself through as I'd probably have to. I don't know yet that I want to make that decision, but at the same time, I'm 25 years old, I can't keep working for minimum wage and living paycheck to paycheck. It's getting to the point where its time to do SOMETHING, something permanent and that opens up a new world of opportunities. Right now I'm a high school grad with 'some' college under my belt and a rogues gallery of middling jobs that make up a fairly lackluster resume. I'm getting older and I'm starting to feel the pressure to 'do something' with my life more and more. I know, I'm still young, I could still wait around, travel some more, get on with 'real life' in a couple years, but I don't know that I want to put it off anymore. I want some real money, a real job I can go to where I see new things and go new places and don't hate being at work, but love it because I'm piloting expensive and incredible machines through the air on a daily basis.
So yeah. I've got many more entries partially finished, entries with points and reasons for existing and such, but I felt that a quick update on my life and status was warranted, and last I checked this was Sixth Stories, so I do what I want!
In closing I just want to put out a special shout out to my close friend and inspiration for flying helicopters, Matty Brantner. His older brother passed away two days ago, and it's been a really difficult time obviously. If you believe in God, send him some prayers, if you don't, think some positive thoughts. He's a solid guy and his family has been sucker punched by this tragedy. Wishing you well Matty and family, words don't do your loss justice, but nonetheless, I'm so sorry.
Back in the next couple of days with some more entries, they'll be coming in on the regular now that my laptop is back, so keep tuning in and reading. You know you want to.
Friday, May 20, 2011
Carter V. Carter
Today I had came across a blog my sister had, past tense as it hasn’t been updated since 2008. The last entry posted was entitled ‘Blaxploitation: A Black and White Issue?’, which immediately piqued my interest. Primarily as a film geek, and having been a clerk at an independent video store, films like “Foxy Brown”, “Shaft”, “Superfly”, and “Cleopatra Jones” were staples in my movie diet. So as I read down and see that my sister has been assigned to write a paper on “the media’s portrayal of individuals of a specific identity”, and has chosen “Friday” as her example I was needless to say very excited.
My sister is most often an intelligent and thoughtful writer, but oh dear Lord did she miss the mark on this one (just from my point of view, but when am I wrong, winning, duh). Badly enough that I felt compelled, nay, obligated to offer up a response. I will quote her liberally, but if you would like to read her piece now, you may find it HERE.
First off, I absolutely believe that "Friday" is a pinnacle of stoner films, the urban ghetto comedy that every film remotely like it after would have to measure itself by. Not only was "Friday" a funny fuckin movie that's endlessly quotable ("I'm gonna get you hiiiiiiiiigh today, cause it's Friday, you ain't got no job, and you ain't got shit to do!"), it was also an arguably intelligent movie. I know, that wasn't the first thing I got out of it either, but it's there. Friday was written by two people who literally grew up in the ghetto, and directed by a man who three years after "Friday" became the first black director to helm a film with a budget of $50 million dollars (so says wikipedia). The story and characters presented in "Friday" are both slapstick caricatures and true to life representations by people who have been there and lived it and now choose to laugh about it.
Now on to a back and forth from Erin's theories and my responses. She states that the producers (among them Ice Cube) "played into some of America's skewed misconceptions about the central and peripheral elements of black life." Ok, no, and what? You mean that by viewing this movie I'm going to, as a dumb average 'merican, think that all black people do is sit on their porches, smoke joints, and ride around on bikes in slippers stealing people's stuff? To open, aside from the crime, all that sounds AWESOME. But really, if you've ever had that thought then either you've seen "Friday", or you've seen ANY black comedian or comedy from the last 30 years. Racial stereotypes are everywhere, and that doesn't mean they should be ignored. They should be laughed at, turned on their head, made into something that is entertainment, not racism. If it is then Chris Rock, Dave Chappelle, Richord Pryor, Eddie Murphy, and ten billion other black comedians are racist and guilty of perpetuating stereotypes. Acknowledging a stereotype, making it into something funny if you can, that isn't same as perpetuation.
"If an understanding of black culture was derived from 'Friday', dysfunction would serve as its singular definition." I BEG TO DIFFER M'LADY. Friday treats it's main characters with a degree of respect and dignity even while making them the objects of jokes or humorous situations. There are two parents living in the house, both employed and seemingly happily married after an assumed 20+ years. There is stress placed on the main character to go out and find work by his father, seeming that the value of independence and self-sustaining are held high in the family. In Erin's article, the issue of unemployment being a prevalent issue seems erroneous to me, being as it's actually portrayed in an arguably realistic manner. The main character lost his job because someone was stealing from the company and on the security cameras it 'looked like him from behind', both a way to get the story of two slackers with nothing to do today going and possibly also a comment on 'all black people look alike'? Kudos Mr. Cube, well tread material but funny nonetheless ("How you get fired on your day OFF?!"). Nearly every adult in the film goes to or comes from work at some point, and the secondary main character does have a job, it's just that he's a pot dealer. Trust me though, that's a JOB, and it does involve work.
In this film, "poverty becomes a laughable condition, marijuana an instrument of relational bonding, and crime an effort to pass a lazy afternoon", according to Erin. Well, the poverty in such areas is portrayed accurately, and of course it becomes laughable you are watching a comedy, you want serious Ice Cube go watch "Boyz In The Hood". Marijuana an instrument of relational bonding? NO! That can't be! Wait no, I was thinking of something else that isn't awesome and doesn't make you want to eat sandwiches and kool-aid with your friends. Marijuana, just like alcohol or any other inhibition killer, is absolutely and nearly by definition a bonding instrument. As far as crime being an effort to pass time, that's not true. It's Deebo who is running around committing crimes, and its Deebo who forces Smokey to burglarize Stanley's house by threat of shiv. Everywhere you go there is going to be some kind of criminal element present, so including this in the film is obvious and unthreatening in any way. Deebo, this film's antagonist, is eventually knocked out cold by Craig, who decides to defend himself and his neighborhood with his fists despite having a gun in hand and facing a much larger opponent.
Erin finishes out by saying "Despite any redeeming qualities, 'Friday' undermines the efforts of thousands throughout history who have worked hard to build understanding and erase structural inequalities...Funny, yes. Inappropriate? Absolutely." First off, undermining thousands throughout history? Really? That statement is so overly dramatic and reaching I threw up in my mouth a little bit. "Friday" has enriched the millions who've seen it and enjoyed it, found it funny, still rewatch it and quote it to their friends on the regular. It's nothing deep, it's not trying to be, it isn't interested in addressing these social issues and stereotypes, just acknowledging their presence and hopefully get a few well earned laughs out of them. This isn't rocket science, but neither is it stupid, lazy, or race regressing comedy. So Erin. Funny, yes. Inappropriate? Yes. Everything it's supposed to be and even a little bit more? ABSOLUTELY.
Erin, you've been served. I also do take into account that it's been three years since you wrote that, and perhaps your feelings have changed. In any case, I've got two copies of "Friday" and you're welcome to borrow either if you want to reassess. Love ya kid.
My sister is most often an intelligent and thoughtful writer, but oh dear Lord did she miss the mark on this one (just from my point of view, but when am I wrong, winning, duh). Badly enough that I felt compelled, nay, obligated to offer up a response. I will quote her liberally, but if you would like to read her piece now, you may find it HERE.
First off, I absolutely believe that "Friday" is a pinnacle of stoner films, the urban ghetto comedy that every film remotely like it after would have to measure itself by. Not only was "Friday" a funny fuckin movie that's endlessly quotable ("I'm gonna get you hiiiiiiiiigh today, cause it's Friday, you ain't got no job, and you ain't got shit to do!"), it was also an arguably intelligent movie. I know, that wasn't the first thing I got out of it either, but it's there. Friday was written by two people who literally grew up in the ghetto, and directed by a man who three years after "Friday" became the first black director to helm a film with a budget of $50 million dollars (so says wikipedia). The story and characters presented in "Friday" are both slapstick caricatures and true to life representations by people who have been there and lived it and now choose to laugh about it.
Now on to a back and forth from Erin's theories and my responses. She states that the producers (among them Ice Cube) "played into some of America's skewed misconceptions about the central and peripheral elements of black life." Ok, no, and what? You mean that by viewing this movie I'm going to, as a dumb average 'merican, think that all black people do is sit on their porches, smoke joints, and ride around on bikes in slippers stealing people's stuff? To open, aside from the crime, all that sounds AWESOME. But really, if you've ever had that thought then either you've seen "Friday", or you've seen ANY black comedian or comedy from the last 30 years. Racial stereotypes are everywhere, and that doesn't mean they should be ignored. They should be laughed at, turned on their head, made into something that is entertainment, not racism. If it is then Chris Rock, Dave Chappelle, Richord Pryor, Eddie Murphy, and ten billion other black comedians are racist and guilty of perpetuating stereotypes. Acknowledging a stereotype, making it into something funny if you can, that isn't same as perpetuation.
"If an understanding of black culture was derived from 'Friday', dysfunction would serve as its singular definition." I BEG TO DIFFER M'LADY. Friday treats it's main characters with a degree of respect and dignity even while making them the objects of jokes or humorous situations. There are two parents living in the house, both employed and seemingly happily married after an assumed 20+ years. There is stress placed on the main character to go out and find work by his father, seeming that the value of independence and self-sustaining are held high in the family. In Erin's article, the issue of unemployment being a prevalent issue seems erroneous to me, being as it's actually portrayed in an arguably realistic manner. The main character lost his job because someone was stealing from the company and on the security cameras it 'looked like him from behind', both a way to get the story of two slackers with nothing to do today going and possibly also a comment on 'all black people look alike'? Kudos Mr. Cube, well tread material but funny nonetheless ("How you get fired on your day OFF?!"). Nearly every adult in the film goes to or comes from work at some point, and the secondary main character does have a job, it's just that he's a pot dealer. Trust me though, that's a JOB, and it does involve work.
In this film, "poverty becomes a laughable condition, marijuana an instrument of relational bonding, and crime an effort to pass a lazy afternoon", according to Erin. Well, the poverty in such areas is portrayed accurately, and of course it becomes laughable you are watching a comedy, you want serious Ice Cube go watch "Boyz In The Hood". Marijuana an instrument of relational bonding? NO! That can't be! Wait no, I was thinking of something else that isn't awesome and doesn't make you want to eat sandwiches and kool-aid with your friends. Marijuana, just like alcohol or any other inhibition killer, is absolutely and nearly by definition a bonding instrument. As far as crime being an effort to pass time, that's not true. It's Deebo who is running around committing crimes, and its Deebo who forces Smokey to burglarize Stanley's house by threat of shiv. Everywhere you go there is going to be some kind of criminal element present, so including this in the film is obvious and unthreatening in any way. Deebo, this film's antagonist, is eventually knocked out cold by Craig, who decides to defend himself and his neighborhood with his fists despite having a gun in hand and facing a much larger opponent.
Erin finishes out by saying "Despite any redeeming qualities, 'Friday' undermines the efforts of thousands throughout history who have worked hard to build understanding and erase structural inequalities...Funny, yes. Inappropriate? Absolutely." First off, undermining thousands throughout history? Really? That statement is so overly dramatic and reaching I threw up in my mouth a little bit. "Friday" has enriched the millions who've seen it and enjoyed it, found it funny, still rewatch it and quote it to their friends on the regular. It's nothing deep, it's not trying to be, it isn't interested in addressing these social issues and stereotypes, just acknowledging their presence and hopefully get a few well earned laughs out of them. This isn't rocket science, but neither is it stupid, lazy, or race regressing comedy. So Erin. Funny, yes. Inappropriate? Yes. Everything it's supposed to be and even a little bit more? ABSOLUTELY.
Erin, you've been served. I also do take into account that it's been three years since you wrote that, and perhaps your feelings have changed. In any case, I've got two copies of "Friday" and you're welcome to borrow either if you want to reassess. Love ya kid.
Monday, May 9, 2011
Let's Talk About Sex
SEXUALITY. It's something oft discussed by me, specifically when I get drunk, or when people start talking about orientations both homo and hetero. You see my friends, I don't believe in 'straight' and neither do I believe in 'gay'. Not in the way you don't believe in say, unicorns or the Bible or whatever, but in the way the words are defined. It's always seemed to me that sexuality is a sliding scale from individual to individual, and the reason this isn't widely accepted or talked about comes from people not wanting to admit that they are anything but one hundred percent straight or gay (usually the straight ones). It's easiest to explain if you drag out the ol' 1-10 scale.
We'll go ahead and make 1 the baseline for heterosexuality. You are a 1 if you have never had even the slightest childhood inclination towards a member of the same sex. You are emotionally and sexually turned off by the sight or thought of any sort of intimate interaction with the same sex. You are a shining pinnacle of heterosexuality, always have been, and always will be. Most males you explain this to will inevitably try and immediately establish their position as a 1, and most of them would probably be at least a number or two low. Now we have 10. At a 10 you were gay at birth, born in a shower of glitter and sparkles, coming into this world at the same time you came out, proud as hell. Pretty much take the stipulations laid out for being a 1, reverse them completely, apply, and you have your 10's.
Where most people go wrong is not admitting to the existence of the other 8 numbers, ironic because whether you admit it or not, it's probably where you belong. We are human beings, we are extremely sexual in nature, and for most people that sexuality does not apply solely to one single sex, all the time, every second of every day. Be it a fantasy, a dream, your daily life, or a drunken moment, nearly everyone has had some sort of same sex experience (or opposite sex for those on the other side of the fence). The shitty thing is the stigma that still hangs over such things. I'm not going to use this (right now) as a platform for homosexual rights and acceptance, but I think it's time we all quit being embarrassed about who we are, what we think, and what we do in our own homes and most importantly in our own heads. We need to start by breaking down this wall of it being socially acceptable and even encouraged (usually by men) for women to experiment with each other while no one questions that ultimately they are 'straight'. It's a dirty double standard that we continue to perpetuate. Men constantly talk up and encourage this behavior among women, but would be ever so quick to pull out 'fag' or 'queer' or at the least get visibly uncomfortable if the same situation arose with two men instead. Even women who are professed bisexuals, that is still unfortunately often easier to deal with then being an experimental or bisexual man, because of the still ongoing prejudices, irrational fears, and mixed feelings about gay men. I also don't mean to belittle or disparage any and all homophobic vitriol that gets aimed at lesbians and female bisexuals at all, I mean only that it's often less widely acceptable and understood from a man to man point of view, be that right or wrong. I think that's stupid and ignorant. I'll be the first to admit that I've had a physical encounter with a member of the same sex. I'd also be the first to point out that I'm not gay, I'm not even bisexual. I love women, top to bottom, every inch of them. I don't feel that way about men, but I'm not necessarily turned off by them either. I'm able to appreciate a good looking guy just like I'd appreciate a good looking girl, I'm just 99% of the time not at all attracted to the guy in the same way I would be the girl. That puts me somewhere around a 3 probably, a place where I can appreciate the aesthetic appeal of somebody of the same sex, where if the inhibitions were low, the alcohol was flowing, the situation was perfect and everybody was on the same page, it could go further. It probably won't, but who am I to rule out that possibility. That would just be robbing myself of a potentially good time.
So I guess the general point I'm trying to make here is that people need to be more open and honest about themselves and their sexuality. I'm not saying you have to open yourself up to the same sex/opposite sex depending on your orientation, but only that we start to acknowledge that sexuality, like much else in life, is rarely a black or white issue. There is plenty of room for grey, and whether or not you can admit it to yourself, grey is probably the world you wake up in every day. Everyday I wake up hoping for a world where sexual orientation is not how you are defined, where there isn't anything that you should feel embarrassed or ashamed of. Where we just enjoy being people and humans and sexual beings in any way shape or form we feel is right for us. Obvious exceptions being made for child molestation, bestiality, necrophilia, ect ect. The kind of shit that not just the straights or the gays but evvvvvverybody knows is fucked up. In the meantime, lets just try and be who we are, lets come to terms with the fact that we probably aren't 1's and 10's, but somewhere in between, and that's ok. You don't have to talk about it, or announce it, or write long blog entries about it, but admit at least to yourself that it probably isn't a cut and dried matter, that you are or have the potential to be a much more sexually open being then you know or admit. I promise you it's freeing and liberating to be able to say to people that you have no sexual prejudices or hang-ups, that you are just you, unique and comfortable in your own skin. Straight people, embrace that 2-4 spread, it's ok, you can still be a heterosexual in life and in your actions, gay people I don't have to say this to as much, but some of you are as set in your ways and scared of compromise as much as us. For those of you that aren't already, jump into those 7-9 spots, you can still rock a rainbow tee and raise that fist in pride, but come on, throw back a few drinks and you aren't hitting on your straight friends girl? Just a little bit in good fun? I've seeeeeeeeen it. Being in the grey doesn't mean you can't be a hetero or a homo. You can, it's absolutely true that most people have a distinct predilection towards one sex above the other, but I think you sell yourself short when you completely shut down and ignore a part of you no matter how small, that's just a little bit different.
I have the balls to post this here in an open forum for anybody and everybody to read. All you need to do is find your own number, admit it to yourself, and be okay with it. Good luck.
We'll go ahead and make 1 the baseline for heterosexuality. You are a 1 if you have never had even the slightest childhood inclination towards a member of the same sex. You are emotionally and sexually turned off by the sight or thought of any sort of intimate interaction with the same sex. You are a shining pinnacle of heterosexuality, always have been, and always will be. Most males you explain this to will inevitably try and immediately establish their position as a 1, and most of them would probably be at least a number or two low. Now we have 10. At a 10 you were gay at birth, born in a shower of glitter and sparkles, coming into this world at the same time you came out, proud as hell. Pretty much take the stipulations laid out for being a 1, reverse them completely, apply, and you have your 10's.
Where most people go wrong is not admitting to the existence of the other 8 numbers, ironic because whether you admit it or not, it's probably where you belong. We are human beings, we are extremely sexual in nature, and for most people that sexuality does not apply solely to one single sex, all the time, every second of every day. Be it a fantasy, a dream, your daily life, or a drunken moment, nearly everyone has had some sort of same sex experience (or opposite sex for those on the other side of the fence). The shitty thing is the stigma that still hangs over such things. I'm not going to use this (right now) as a platform for homosexual rights and acceptance, but I think it's time we all quit being embarrassed about who we are, what we think, and what we do in our own homes and most importantly in our own heads. We need to start by breaking down this wall of it being socially acceptable and even encouraged (usually by men) for women to experiment with each other while no one questions that ultimately they are 'straight'. It's a dirty double standard that we continue to perpetuate. Men constantly talk up and encourage this behavior among women, but would be ever so quick to pull out 'fag' or 'queer' or at the least get visibly uncomfortable if the same situation arose with two men instead. Even women who are professed bisexuals, that is still unfortunately often easier to deal with then being an experimental or bisexual man, because of the still ongoing prejudices, irrational fears, and mixed feelings about gay men. I also don't mean to belittle or disparage any and all homophobic vitriol that gets aimed at lesbians and female bisexuals at all, I mean only that it's often less widely acceptable and understood from a man to man point of view, be that right or wrong. I think that's stupid and ignorant. I'll be the first to admit that I've had a physical encounter with a member of the same sex. I'd also be the first to point out that I'm not gay, I'm not even bisexual. I love women, top to bottom, every inch of them. I don't feel that way about men, but I'm not necessarily turned off by them either. I'm able to appreciate a good looking guy just like I'd appreciate a good looking girl, I'm just 99% of the time not at all attracted to the guy in the same way I would be the girl. That puts me somewhere around a 3 probably, a place where I can appreciate the aesthetic appeal of somebody of the same sex, where if the inhibitions were low, the alcohol was flowing, the situation was perfect and everybody was on the same page, it could go further. It probably won't, but who am I to rule out that possibility. That would just be robbing myself of a potentially good time.
So I guess the general point I'm trying to make here is that people need to be more open and honest about themselves and their sexuality. I'm not saying you have to open yourself up to the same sex/opposite sex depending on your orientation, but only that we start to acknowledge that sexuality, like much else in life, is rarely a black or white issue. There is plenty of room for grey, and whether or not you can admit it to yourself, grey is probably the world you wake up in every day. Everyday I wake up hoping for a world where sexual orientation is not how you are defined, where there isn't anything that you should feel embarrassed or ashamed of. Where we just enjoy being people and humans and sexual beings in any way shape or form we feel is right for us. Obvious exceptions being made for child molestation, bestiality, necrophilia, ect ect. The kind of shit that not just the straights or the gays but evvvvvverybody knows is fucked up. In the meantime, lets just try and be who we are, lets come to terms with the fact that we probably aren't 1's and 10's, but somewhere in between, and that's ok. You don't have to talk about it, or announce it, or write long blog entries about it, but admit at least to yourself that it probably isn't a cut and dried matter, that you are or have the potential to be a much more sexually open being then you know or admit. I promise you it's freeing and liberating to be able to say to people that you have no sexual prejudices or hang-ups, that you are just you, unique and comfortable in your own skin. Straight people, embrace that 2-4 spread, it's ok, you can still be a heterosexual in life and in your actions, gay people I don't have to say this to as much, but some of you are as set in your ways and scared of compromise as much as us. For those of you that aren't already, jump into those 7-9 spots, you can still rock a rainbow tee and raise that fist in pride, but come on, throw back a few drinks and you aren't hitting on your straight friends girl? Just a little bit in good fun? I've seeeeeeeeen it. Being in the grey doesn't mean you can't be a hetero or a homo. You can, it's absolutely true that most people have a distinct predilection towards one sex above the other, but I think you sell yourself short when you completely shut down and ignore a part of you no matter how small, that's just a little bit different.
I have the balls to post this here in an open forum for anybody and everybody to read. All you need to do is find your own number, admit it to yourself, and be okay with it. Good luck.
Friday, May 6, 2011
Tupperware Bank Accounts
Been a while since I posted, my apologies for the slacking. Technically I wasn't, as I've been busy preparing for and subsequently making the move from Colorado back to Oregon and the West Coast. Took us four days to get here, made it a pretty leisurely voyage. Stopped in Arches National Park, which after very little consideration it was decided should be named Giant Rocks That Look Like Dicks National park. I mean once you see one, they just all become dicks. Seriously, go there, google some photos, whatever, it's insane. Some of those motherfuckers look they were carved by Druids or aliens or some shit to look like massive phalluses (phalli?), no stretch of the imagination required. What are you going to do. In our case it was take a bunch of forced perspective pictures of us doing obscene things to some strangely and hilariously shaped rock formations as tourists walked by and looked on. This of course just made us laugh even harder, literally doubling over laughing with these world class sights and miracles of nature all around us.
Sometimes we may be a bunch of guys in our mid twenties acting like we're twelve, but goddamn if my friends and I don't enjoy the hell out of life whenever and however we can. I hope I never lose that, I hope we never lose it, and most of all, I hope I never lose them. Some friends you have and they come and go, just passing through your life for a while, making it better, changing it or shaping it in even the smallest way. Some friends stick around, are forever, are family and not just in a jokey metaphor but real family, the kind of people you know will be there your whole life. I feel like at this stage in my existence I have a few of those people, guys and girls who have run the gauntlet, been there for years, seen me through a lot of hard times, never turned away. We've spent years at a time apart some of us, but when we get back together it just flows, we've all got love for one another and it shows through the bullshit and the drama that comes with simply coexisting alongside your fellow man.
To close it out this post has served mostly as a quick vent, a release, an update cum love letter to my friends. I'd like to put up some more detailed pieces on Colorado and the winter we had once I've had a little more time to reflect upon it. It requires more thought then just banging out something in ten minutes because I haven't posted in a while and I don't want to lose whatever 12 people are actually reading this. I just wanted to get something up so this blog, this thing, can keep going, moving forward, hopefully at some point growing and evolving into something of substance and consistency. We'll see.
It's good to be back in Bend, it's strange and a little surreal, work is hard to find but I'm staying optimistic, looking forward to whatever this summer and the future have to bring. I'm ready!
Sometimes we may be a bunch of guys in our mid twenties acting like we're twelve, but goddamn if my friends and I don't enjoy the hell out of life whenever and however we can. I hope I never lose that, I hope we never lose it, and most of all, I hope I never lose them. Some friends you have and they come and go, just passing through your life for a while, making it better, changing it or shaping it in even the smallest way. Some friends stick around, are forever, are family and not just in a jokey metaphor but real family, the kind of people you know will be there your whole life. I feel like at this stage in my existence I have a few of those people, guys and girls who have run the gauntlet, been there for years, seen me through a lot of hard times, never turned away. We've spent years at a time apart some of us, but when we get back together it just flows, we've all got love for one another and it shows through the bullshit and the drama that comes with simply coexisting alongside your fellow man.
To close it out this post has served mostly as a quick vent, a release, an update cum love letter to my friends. I'd like to put up some more detailed pieces on Colorado and the winter we had once I've had a little more time to reflect upon it. It requires more thought then just banging out something in ten minutes because I haven't posted in a while and I don't want to lose whatever 12 people are actually reading this. I just wanted to get something up so this blog, this thing, can keep going, moving forward, hopefully at some point growing and evolving into something of substance and consistency. We'll see.
It's good to be back in Bend, it's strange and a little surreal, work is hard to find but I'm staying optimistic, looking forward to whatever this summer and the future have to bring. I'm ready!
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