John Mayer and John Denver; two sides of death's coin.

A few more notes on that open - mike night I attended this weekend.  Two of the performers played music that ought not be played, written, or spoken of for the betterment of society.  John Mayer and John Denver.  Where do I start with these two crotch goblins.  John Denver: a sedated, complacent, cornball, singing about the monotonous hard-on he has for rural America.  Country roads take you home?  Mountain Mamma?  West - fucking - Virginia?  What the fuck does that even mean?  He represents everything that I loath and hate about the baby boomers, or rather what they've all become.  George Carlin said it best in his Back in Town album: "a whiny , narcissistic, self-indulgent people with a simple philosophy: "Gimme that its mine!" "  John Denver is the movie sound track for the ex-hippie turned entrepreneur; the ones that work as foreman at the Navy ship yard on the week days and take nature hike on the weekends.  Safe, unchallenging, unimaginative, boring, filled to the fucking brim with cliches.  This is his legacy.  Because this asshole had "Rocky mountain high," my entire childhood was subjected to hearing the fallout from my parents nostalgic longing for theirs, via John Denver mix tapes.
     John Mayer.  So this it, huh?  This is the best we have to offer?  A gap commercial.  Music you hear while having dental work performed? Yes, he's good looking (hell I'de fuck him) but that doesn't excuse him for polluting the collective unconscious with his ring tones.  John Mayer's music can only be described as white noise; sounds that you hear everywhere and that are so common they've integrated themselves into the background.  "Fathers be good to your daughters?"  How in the fuck did this boring cornball sentimentality make its way into the national airwaves?  Everything that Bill Hicks said about Rick Astely you can immediately cross apply to John Mayer.  And he's a stand up comedian.  Trust me, you have nothing funnier than your music.

Fiances are much cooler than wives

Referred to my girlfriend as my finance today without her consent or knowledge thereof.  Fiances are dynamic and exciting.  Its about movement really.  My girlfriend is a kick ass fiance, throwing elbows and gouging eyes.  Always on the go, as they say.  She's in the land of Thai as we speak kicking several varieties of ass,  and getting bit by exotic bugs on the ass to boot.  Marriage seems wierd to me.  Something about the whole settling down and getting morbidly obese before dieing on the toilet of a heart attack and being found 6 hours later by the meals - on - wheels lady who usually stays and chats it up but realized something didn't seem right and walked into the house to see why her favorite senior citizens - whom are usually so gracious and inviting - arne't answering the door...thing.

Going from CD's to an ipod feels kind of like atheism

Let me plow through that shitty title real quick.  Its something I was thinking about on my way here (coffee shop...alright Starbucks).  We don't really have any need for them now and maybe we haven't for a while.  I remember in the mid 90's when a giant volume of CD's meant something.  You know the people who would craft wooden shelves just to display their collection like an amateur library in their basement.  The CD itself was just a medium but I remember thinking it as a physical analogue for the music itself which made it tangible and less abstract.  I remember the CD itself kind of justified the purchase (almost 20 bucks per CD pre 2000.  Adjust for inflation and you can see how that would ruin a kids day).  You pay out the ass but at least you accumulated material for it and you could tell yourself that you were building a library, one that could be archived as a historic collection in the Smithsonian.  But the music is everywhere now and the awkward disks that hold  small amounts of it are redundant and unnecessary.  Its really just sound after all, not material or anything tangible.  Large spaces are open in our rooms and basements that we have to fill with something else.

early thirties and other cliches

The worst thing about aging is everything that happens when you age...slowly (or rapidly) more and more I resemble the people I despised growing up, with their crinkled foreheads and thinning hair.  That is me now-I'm that fucking guy.  It all comes together rather quickly as you get older.  Before, older people were like different species barely resembling my own. I am the missing link, the transitional form from meaningless childhood to boring old age.  To make things even worse I've been cast out of religion's little mind matrix.  No solace in myth anymore just infinite unconscious lies ahead.  Its smothering to think about death but I won't have lungs to feel it or a mind to perceive it.  Infinite expansion competes against the infinitesimal contraction...something has to converge.  Multiplying infinity by zero is not unfamiliar to those trained in physics and math.  Picture a rectangle of width a and height 1/a as shown below in the shity diagram I uploaded.  The area A is simply the width W multiplied by the height H.

We simply substitute 1/a for H and a for W respectively, and let the algebra do the rest.  A = (a)*(1/a).  "The area is just one" says the hypothetical antagonist in my head.  Perhaps, but what happens when a approaches zero?   We can't divide by zero, nor can we really multiply by infinity because thats the realm of the undefined.  The best we can do is examine what happens when a gets very small.  We know the answer to that: a gets very small and (1/a) blows up.  The closer we get to zero the closer our simple formula for area becomes the anomalous expression A = infinity*zero.  As we approach death we approach zero conscious (whatever that means) and events after that expand out to infinity.  We can continue this overextended metaphor/analogy and say that its symmetrical with our birth.  In this light, humans are spikes of consciousness infinite in their reach but infinitesimal in duration.  

Suck on this blog

My first blog and as usual I'm way behind the tide of time on this one.  This blog is here merely to contribute to the white noise which makes up most of the internet.  Every once in a while a distinctive spike stands out above the hum of ascii characters and advertising buttons.  This is not one of those spikes.  So why do it?  Why ask "why do it?" when you are the only one asking or the only one who cares to ask.  Well, I'm glad you asked.  I have nothing else to do.  I can slowly stroll towards death quiet and dignified or I can flail about with these sentences.  This is the only reason.  Anyway, there is nothing else to do that is pointless.
   As I type I'm at a coffee shop listening to Death Cab for Cutie's Photo Booth album which the girl behind the counter has put on.  She started with Plans which was the beginning of the end for me.  Its that whole time passing thing.  Death Cab has been reabsorbed into the collective conscience of music lovers, no longer a distinctive presence.  But, I remember when they were and there are many who don't...It's like joining some exclusive club, paying expensive dues, and suddenly a school bus pulls up in front full of the unwashed masses.  Your standing there in your club jacket whit an expensive cigar, meanwhile the mob is tearing the furniture, flooding the bathrooms, and shiting in the punch bowl.  If I can hop metaphores for a second:  finding a good band to follow is a lot like the plot of every zombie movie. Your're running around a postapocalyptic landscape looking for refuge.  No matter how good of a hiding place you find, no matter how well protected your fortress may seem, the zombie horde always finds you and devours everything that is good and pure.  The end for now.