A Cocksure Slant

Blues For A Loathsome Princess.

In 45 minutes, Gretchen had to be at work.  Usually by this time, she was what one could easily refer to as “bright-eyed and bushy-tailed.”  But today, she couldn’t move.  It was if someone had sucked the marrow of life from her.

So, she lay, motionless.

Suddenly, she realized she had 15 minutes to be to work.  She sat up, and laughed about a lame joke she made in her head about everyone having their 15 minutes.  Maybe today wouldn’t be so bad after all.  Really though, there was no truth behind that.  It was going to be just as bad as every day had been since she moved here, and since he was gone.

Everyone was gone.

She was the last of her kind.  Gretchen was alone in the world.  But then, so are the consequences of one who continuously turns their back.

Best Of 2009, Part One.

My taste in music is not perfect. Nor is yours or anyone elses. We like different shit, and for different reasons. So as I write this list and you read it, keep in mind this is not to rub any sort of elitism in your face whatsoever.
Simply put, these are records I have dug on this year, and the reasons I do said digging. Agree or disagree, it doesn’t matter, I like them, so there. Got that out of the way? All good? Alright, let’s get to the list…

Mastodon - ‘Crack The Skye’ Not only one of my favorite metal records of the year, but probably of all time. If ‘Blood Mountain’ was amazing, ‘Crack’ is untouchable. Fifty minutes of fluff-free genius. It can jump from metal to prog to jazz-like time signatures without a blink of an eye. Mastodon have been one of the most important metal bands to arise in the last 10 years or so, and this record drives the point home with a nail between your eyes. Ranked #1 this year for me overall, as I played, and continue to, the shit out of it.

Flight Of The Conchords - ‘I Told You I Was Freaky’ It’s probably hard for most to justify a “comedy-music” record as one of the years best releases. I get it, but if you fall into that category, get over yourself. The Conchords could have easily been written off as a one-trick pony with their 2008 release that coincided with their HBO series, but ‘I Told You I Was Freaky’ proves they have more than just jokes in their songs. Razor-sharp wit combined with beats that bump and ballads that could bring tears to your eyes makes this record something to listen to over and over again. As a bonus, these guys could give up the comedy side, and STILL put out some great fucking music. Lady Gaga might be everyone’s favorite dance-floor diva this year, but “Too Many Dicks” makes her look like a zero.

David Bazan - ‘Curse Your Branches’ As someone that was a big fan (still am) of Pedro The Lion, this record was great on many levels. For one, the lyrics deal with Bazan’s abandonment of his faith, which was what Pedro was largely centered around. Secondly, this record sounds like the Pedro record he was always on the verge of making, but just falling short of doing every time. The result? Some of the catchiest pop music written in recent memory. “Please, Baby, Please” is a clear standout for me as to why this record is so good, as I could throw this track on, get in my car and drive until I run out of gasoline. That isn’t to say that the rest of the record doesn’t stand up well, because every track is great. It truly warrants many replays, which can be rare these days.

Vic Chesnutt - ‘At The Cut’/’Skitter On Take-Off’ In the last two years, Vic Chesnutt has released three albums. Two were recorded with members of Godspeed You Black Emperor, and the other with Jonathan Richman. The two GYBE-related records have had similar feels, though I would argue ‘At The Cut is the stand-out of the two. It crawls along from beginning to end like a death-march written for the end of days, but with a smile on the narrator’s face. It’s dark, yet hopeful, and musically dense like syrup.
‘Skitter’ on the other hand, is stripped down to it’s purest form possible. With little more heard the entire record than just Vic and his guitar, it’s an exercise in polar opposites as far as two releases could come. The songs on ‘Skitter are beautiful, heartbreaking and funny all at once. I couldn’t just go with one or the other, they belong together, and should be listened to one after another.

Girls - ‘Album’ The perfect soundtrack for the end of the summer. Love songs about boys and girls that drift between Elvis Costello and the Beach Boys. Smarmy yet sincere lyrics that fill you with dread and hopefulness at the same time. ‘Album’ makes me dance sing and swoon. I dare you to listen to “Lauren Marie” and not want to make-out at sunset next to a fire. One of the years most pleasant surprises by far.

Mark Mallman - ‘Invincible Criminal’ Now, since you know me, you might think it’s hard for me to be impartial about Mallman’s releases anymore. Not true. Mark has been so consistent album after album that I’m just always waiting for him to fall flat. So was the case with ‘Invincible Criminal.’ I had heard the title track, thought it was good enough, but was a little worried about the rest. Fast forward a couple of weeks and an advance of the record from Mark. I wound up sitting up until three in the morning with it on repeat. How does this guy keep getting better and better? Not a bad song on the record, which once again proves to me why he is my favorite local musician. Criminally underrated, Mallman deserves to be a superstar for ‘Invincible.’
Not only is it the party record of the year, but Mallman really pulls punches with the slower stuff as well, which I’ve always thought was a strong-point for him, even though he may disagree. Just listen to “Don’t Spill The Bottle” flowing into “Mercy Calls.” He takes you from a full-on sing-along to one of the most tender, beautiful songs in his vast cannon of work. Congrats again, Mark. You’ve really outdone yourself this time.

So obviously I have a lot more records for this list, this is just the beginning. I just want to be kind in the amount of reading I put anyone through in one sitting. Part two to come tomorrow.

Rollie's.

It finally happened. Tonight, at Rollie’s. With my good friend Jeff at my side, I met Allie face to face.
For those of you that don’t know, we started talking almost a month ago via Match.com. Yes, I realize that dating websites usually stink of desperation, and you would be right to think that. But for whatever reason, we started talking because of Match.com, and it continued from there.
We started to call and text each other back and forth. I just started to expect phone calls at 11pm from her when she got off work. She would, (and does, and will always) tease me about being a hipster. Now from anyone else, that would annoy the shit out of me. But with Allie, it makes me laugh. Most importantly laugh at myself.
What can I say?
For the first time in a very long while, I really want something to work between myself and someone else. Sure, I tried a good long while with Gina, but anyone that knows me knew that was doomed from the start.
With Allie, I can feel something good when I get close to her. Sure, I’m being a sap, but fuck it. I feel far more confident than I have in a very long time with another girl.
Long story long, I am more than happy that I stepped outside my bubble. If I had not spent an evening with a gaggle of rednecks and a shitty country cover band, I would not feel this way. I would still be questioning my feelings in private.
But now. Now I know there may be a chance for something good, and something real. I mean, who wouldn’t fall for a girl that makes jokes about anal?

(one sidenote:  My heart hasn’t raced like this, well, maybe ever.  I was goddamn nervous going in, and as the night went on, I was only more nervous because I kept feeling more and more for her…)

An Examination Of Eternal Damnation, or, "Help! I'm Trapped In A Wal-Mart!"

Tonight, for reasons unknown and unexplainable, I found myself drawn to going to Wal-Mart.

To clear things up, I never go to Wal-Mart. There is never a reason under the sun I need to be near a Wal-Mart.  In fact, I hate Wal-mart.  But, I could not help myself at this particular time.  It was as if it was calling to me.  It’s awful, incandescent lights were speaking to me, and I needed to hear what they said.

As I entered the parking lot and (finally) found a spot to park in, I made my way toward the entrance.  Upon walking in, something was immediately wrong.  There was not a greeter this evening.  I could probably count the times I’ve set foot into a Wal-Mart on both hands, but there has always been a greeter.  Choosing to ignore this, I started my trek through this great mecca of empty consumerism.

As I still had no idea as to why I was there, I just started to wander, much like a prophet lost in the desert.  The first thing I encountered was a giant display for a new Michael Jackson cd.  There were easily enough copies of it for everyone in the store, though no one seemed to care.  About twenty feet away from this display, I noticed the women’s department had a bevy of t-shirts adorning the same picture from the Michael Jackson display.  Easily a great idea of cross-marketing if I’ve ever seen one!

While this was all fine and good to witness, it did not avert my attention to the number of quite obvious meth addicts roaming around in giant, fuzzy boots.  Every girl seemed to be wearing them, (sans the Somalian children that were simply destroying the pay phones.)  It seemed that the farther I wandered into the “Mart,” I just saw more and more fuzzy boots, accompanied by scabby faces and a noticeable twitch.

Taking this all in was quite an experience, and I could still not put my finger as to why I was here.  But none of this prepared me for an unearthly smell that seemed to slap me in the face.  At first, I could not place it.  It was, at the same time, both familiar and foreign.  Then it came to me

Energy drinks.

It seemed that the air was permeated with this scent.  I started to run, wanting nothing more than to escape this stench, but it was at every corner I turned.  From the neglected pet section, to the overbearing gun department and through the clothing, it was everywhere.

At this point, I had had enough.  There was no more of this world that I could take.  I made a mad dash for the exit and into the parking lot.  Except, when I got to the parking lot, it was as if my vehicle had disappeared.  It was nowhere to be found.  “Fuck it,” I thought to myself.  I would rather go on foot and escape this all to live another day.  Yet, the further and further I ran, I could not find the street.

I could see the Asian nail salon, the Cub Foods, everything.  But it was all just out of reach.  Madness was starting to set it.  I needed help, and quick if I were to escape this fate.

Back into the store was the only logical next step.  I started screaming for help, but it was as if no one heard me over the chatter of people comparing this sea of useless products.  I screamed louder, but the Brittney Spears version of “I Love Rock And Roll” was just getting louder and louder, and I could not project my voice loud enough to defeat it.

I fell to my knees.  Was this my eterpped nity?  Was this all there was left to know?  Trapped in a Wal-Mart with nothing to live off of but Sam’s Club cola and Hostess cupcakes?

NO.

My determination became animalistic.  I was now going to be in control of my destiny, I would make it out of this place, dead or alive.

I fled to the parking lot once more, and decided the only way to find my car was to set off the car alarm.

Success!

The lights started to flash and the horn bleat loudly.  I ran with the wind in my face, tasting salvation with every inch that my drew closer to my car.  Finally, I entered the vehicle, started the engine.  The music came through the speakers at a volume that sent my heart racing.  All I had to do was back out and I was on my way.

Unfortunately, this never happened.  An endless stream of cars, pedestrians and shopping cart attendants started to parade behind me.

I do not know for sure how many hours it has been now, but it is safe to say at this point, that I will not be leaving.  I supposed I will, eventually be forced to re-enter the store for the pure sake of nourishment.

Though I may never make it out of Wal-Mart alive, I refuse to die alone in my car on a stomach only filled with tears.

Now That's What I Call An IdeaThought!

In the newest issue of Relevant magazine, (or, as I like to call it MODERN MANS GREATEST GIFT TO HISTORY,) there was a very typical “back to school” article.  Now, nothing about the article itself caught my attention, it was the list that followed called “Still Bored?”

You can find that list here, as I would rather not retype it all.  And while, of course, I give a hearty hats-off to my favorite staffers out there, (what’s up, my reles!) I do believe that they may have missed a few not-so-obvious choices to alleviate boredom.

So, as a devout (no pun intended!) reader of Relevant, I find it my duty to list additional ways to cure the boredom that ails you.  With that, I present…

STILL STILL BORED?

Have a wild goose chase with a real wild goose.

Fight the elderly in a no-holds-barred death match.

Start a foundation that directs all of it’s donations into your bank account.

Destroy an ant colony with your genitals.

Paint a portrait of a dead relative, and then mail it to their children.

Put socks on your hands and call yourself “foothands” until someone injures you.

Drink an entire bottle of vodka until you vomit.

Train for a marathon, and then sleep through it.

Learn to play an instrument that was designed to annoy.

Light yourself on fire.

Raise funds to start a record label entirely comprised of shitty bands you discovered on myspace. (note: this may have already been done by myspace.)

Nail a crucifix on your neighbor’s car.

Cry.

Text the lyrics of a Lady Gaga song to all your friends and see which one tags you first for being gay.

Make your own pornography.

Go to your local Wal-Mart and question the staff about their concerns about the way they’re treated. (this one is fun, because they’ll just blankly stare at you until they pull out a revolver and turn it upon themselves.)

Round up your hippie friends and try and get a legitimate answer as to why they enjoy the music they do.

Shave somewhere new.

And lastly…  Adopt a native Israeli child, name it Lil’ Adolph Hitler, take pictures of it with a cute little mustache and send it to the parents with the caption “GOTCHA!”

Look. We Shouldn't Have To Keep Going Over This. I'm Not Stoned.

I swear, I’m really not.

I know, I know.  I always look like I am.  But I swear to you, not stoned.

Sure, I might have some of the same characteristics of someone who is stoned, but that’s just shitty genes and unlucky heredity.  I might be a bit overweight, rarely open my eyes beyond the level of slightly awake, but there are reasons for those.

For one, I’m fucking lazy, alright?  Exercise isn’t something I get into, which relates to me just not giving a shit about how I look most of the time.  Plus, I love eating.  Who doesn’t love to eat?  Terrorists, that’s who!  If you don’t love eating, you might as well shit on an eagle and burn a flag.

Another characteristic I have is that my eyes are never fully open.  Well, sorry!  It’s usually because I don’t get overly excited about too much shit anymore.  There are instances where I might light up if I hear a new record I’m fond of, or if I see a midget, but otherwise, I stay pretty low key.

(as a sidenote:  What is with the people that are constantly excited over everything?  Why is every little thing they experience a fucking miracle?  Have they been living so sheltered that when something as mundane as them getting a text message is like the second coming of Christ?  Sorry, let’s get on with it…)

Now, to my pot smoking friends out there, let me just apologize.  You’re not all like this, in fact, some of you are quite productive, and to you I say, well done.  In fact, a lot of you tend to be pretty successful!  You work, raise families, you Git R Done! (whoops…)

But let’s come to face facts here.  How many stoners do you know that, well, constantly fucking stink?  A LOT, that’s how many.  They constantly reek, of either marijuana, body odor or scalp.  SCALP.  The single most disgusting fucking smell on the planet.  If you are one of the said stoners that constantly stink of scalp, I would rather you piss yourself when you’re in my company so I don’t have to smell your fucking scalp.  Can’t afford the shampoo?  Fine.  I’ll budget myself to get some for you.

One thing I can be very proud of is that I don’t share with most stoners is their shitty taste in music.  It’s always awful jam-bands, ICP-related shit, or awful metal, (again, I have friends that break out of that mold, and remind me to give you a hug the next time I see you, because you’re not an idiot!)

What is it about pot that makes you listen to this shit?  A lot of these people are older-ish, and they’re still listening to this music that is nothing short of juvenile and pointless at best.

The whole jam-band part of it is a mystery to me.  When I actually did smoke, (guilty!) I usually wanted to listen to Elliott Smith or Fugazi, which is of course, ironic.  Never once did I suddenly get the hankerin’ to throw on some Phish and nod along like a moron, (this also goes for Widespread Panic, String Cheese, all of that shit.  Awful.)

I also totally fail to “get” the whole Insane Clown Posse, Juggalo shit that goes along with smoking pot.  It’s always these fucking guys and girls that still dress like an eighth grade reject that smell of McDonald’s and of course, weed.  There’s a guy that shops at the store that is easily in his late 30’s, with purple hair and, worst of all, A FUCKING DAUGHTER, that dresses in all ICP shit.  And in case you were wondering, yes, sometimes he is in full make-up.  ICP make-up, when you’re almost forty!

Are you getting all of this?

Then there’s the shitty metal dudes that I encounter reeking of pot.  Most of these dudes never buy any worthwhile metal, it’s always the shit that is, again, geared toward kids in their early teens, looking to rebel against whatever menial white-trash upbringing they had.  And that, yes, I can understand.  It’s moronic, but, I get it.  Everyone goes through a personality crisis when they’re young.  Some of us just come out of it better.

But when an adult male in their 50’s approaches you in a Korn t-shirt, with their hair pulled back in a ponytail, with the receding hairline, and they smell of pot, well, something done gone wrong along the line somewhere.

Again, I’m very happy to not fall into any of these people.  Otherwise, I would have had a bullet in my head many a year ago.

So once again.  Thank you for the constant taunts, accusations and outright annoyances about me being high.  But, just to clarify once again.  I don’t smoke pot.  And I’m not stoned…

…I’m probably just drunk.

A Quick Memo To Daniel Kaproth Of Years Past.

Hey, buddy!  Do you recognize me?  No?  It’s me, you!

I know, it’s probably a bit tough, well with the hair I’ve lost and the weight I’ve gained.  But, rest assured, it’s me/you.

Well now, where to start?  First off, stop going to the bar every night and stopping at Coborn’s on the way home.  Trust me, you are going to be just fine without that bag of chili-cheese Fritos or pint of ice cream that you’re going to down after a night of heavy drinking and depression.  See what I look like now?  Yeah, that’s the result, so maybe you want to knock that shit off.

Also, stop dressing like such a dick.  Really.  No one is going to give a shit about Belle & Sebastian by the time you see you of the future, so knock it off.  Really, what are you thinking?  You don’t really like most of the music you’re into, so stop listening to that shit as well.  I’m not telling you to stop listening to music altogether, but really, there is shit out there SOO much cooler than what you’re into right now.  It’s a phase, so please, break it NOW.

Oh, man, I almost forgot.  That girl you met at the bar tonight, and you got her number?  THROW IT AWAY.  I know, depression and loneliness has always been a problem, but trust me, she is only going to add to it.

Now, give it a few years of banging your head against the wall, trying to find your way, but you will.  You’ll find a group of friends that you love dearly, but also cause a lot of stress.  But, you will grow out of it for the better.  Oh, and you’re going to date a girl for a good, long while that means the world to you.  But, because I hadn’t warned you about what a fuck-up you can be, you’re going to screw it up.  Yep, that’s right!  All because of your paranoia and unwillingness to just trust someone!

Give it a few years, though.  You wind up becoming friends again, and realize that everything worked out for the best.  Yeah, it’s the first time you’re able to put the past aside and still care about someone, so way to go there!

What else?  Hmm…

RIGHT.  How could I forget?  Our late twenties are kind of a bad time for us.  We are still free-floating, fucking up left and right.  Our 30th birthday is spent alone at home.  You are going to be longing for something better, but you’re too drunk and stupid to figure out what.

Did I mention you will have two, TWO cats?  No?  Well, you/we will.  It’s kind of pointless for me to explain why it winds up that way, but let’s just say it all works out for the best.

Well, I think I’ve given you enough to go on for now.  Good luck, let’s make a few changes so I don’t wind up QUITE the way I am now.

Oh, one last thing.  If you encounter any married women, just avoid them.  I mean, you can befriend them, but anything else, trust me, they are nothing but trouble.  Also, when you have a job offer put in front of you from a major retailer, just take it.  It might help us along the way.

Now go back to listening to Of Montreal, you sad fuck!

Hey Everyone! Free Cupcakes And Pussy!

Religion.  For better or worse, everyone has their own take on it.  I’m no exception.  In fact, I’m pretty outspoken about my stance on it.

I was raised Catholic from the time I was born until I was confirmed in the Catholic church.  The next day I let my parents know that I did, in fact, not believe in what I had taken part in.  As far back as I can remember, I never had the fear of God that most are raised with, or have instilled in them.  I just didn’t buy it.

Why would an all-knowing being subject people to such nonsense?

There are distinct memories that I have from being a young child, sitting in church, and the only thing I could truly pray for was sweet and forgiving death.  None of it seemed real.  People wearing costumes that, somehow, gave them a greater knowledge than everyone else.  How could a child buy into that?  Actually, scratch that last line.  That is the perfect person to try and convince that any of that was real.  The only thing even more concerning to me at this age, is that there are adults that believe in any of it.

I’ve thought this way for most of my life.  When I was around sixteen or seventeen, I decided that I should do a little searching to see if I was wrong.  I took up reading the Bible, reading the Torah and the Qur’an.  One after another, they all seemed more and more ridiculous than the previous.  The different absurdist rules that each religion was subjected to made no sense to me.

I mean, really, come on.  You cannot eat certain types of meat at certain times, or at all?  No sex?  Those are the big ones to me, but think of everything else you’re not allowed to do!

All of it seemed very archaic to me.  So I decided to focus on Buddhism.  Again, I could find nothing of use out of this either.  Finding salvation through the nature of reality?  WHAT?  No, not for me, not at all.

I knew of the words “Agnostic” and “Atheist” but was unsure of them.  They needed to be studied more.  Well, as it all turned out, Atheism was the way to go for me.  It made the most sense.  A complete lack of belief in deities.  That was me.

Now, trust me.  Living in a predominantly “Christian” nation, it is not always the easiest to take this stance.  You will always having people saying shit like, “God bless you!”  or “I’ll be praying for you!”  You know what?  I don’t want you praying for me, AT ALL.

If I thought, even in the least, that prayer had any power whatsoever, I would have been a much different person.  But the truth of the matter is, I find that prayer is nothing more than a great distraction from dealing with reality.  In the greater sense of it all, it does nothing more than to help the individual performing the prayer.  Great.  If that’s all it is good for, I may as well stare into a mirror and tell myself I’m the king of Jupiter.  See my point here?

Short of Jesus or God themselves appearing on Earth and slapping me in the face with their dicks, I will always be an Atheist.  I will always take the stand point that we, as a people, are wasting far too much time every year, month, week, day, minute and second, on something that will not help us in our reality.

What, and please, tell me what, is the point of attempting to do good for the “afterlife?”  We are all going to die one day.  It could be as soon as I finish this sentence, or it could be twenty years from now.  But, we will not escape it.  So, what proof do you have that all of this time you spend living, and praying to the unknown, will actually pay itself forward one day?

You, simply, do not.  Nor will you ever.  Death will always equate death.

Live life while you can.  Because after it’s out of your grasp, it’s just that.  It is finite.  You will not be able to change it, and neither will an imaginary being that you commit so much of your time to.

A Very Tenacious Rant.

Once in awhile, usually when I’m drunk, (not this time!) I feel like opening up to people.  Let them know about what probably makes me tick, or in the very least be such a difficult shit.  Well, for anyone that reads whatever it is I’m always babbling on about, tonight is your night.

First off.  Why am I always so difficult?  Well, really, I’m not.  I love to pretend I’m far more difficult than I probably am, though, beyond a shadow of a doubt, I can be very difficult.  I started to be an ass a quite a young age, out of necessity, really.

See, I grew up fat.  Not just a bit of a chubs, but a big ol’ pile of fat kid, complete with only sweatpants and shoes that could slip on, because I was too fat to tie my own fucking shoes.  Needless to say, growing up in such a fashion can condition you to be defensive, and be able to defend yourself instead of running away crying, (I did plenty of that as well, trust me.)  But for the most part, I became very good at picking out others’ weaknesses.  I was pretty sharp when I was young, so it was always easy to pick up on other kids’ stupidity.  I can still do it to this day, and choose to out of pure entertainment now.

Relationships?  Sure, I can fuck those up like nobodies business!

I’ve had a few long-term relationships, with a lot of short-lived disasters in-between.  This one is a two-parter.  One part being very simple, growing up an only child in a household with two parents that were at each others throats on a daily basis.  I’ve never made any qualm about how this has, in the long run, affected my ability to give of myself completely to a significant other.  So, that’s the easy one.

The second part, well, that’s where things get a bit screwy.  Some of you know of this part already, and to those that do, hats off, you made my short-list of people I can trust.  To those that don’t, here goes nothing.

When I was about six years old, I was sexually abused and assaulted by my sitter at the time and her siblings.  I will spare everyone the details, because really, no one needs to know that level of it, but let’s just say that it was very unpleasant, to say the least.  It was nothing that a child of that age needed to experience, or should ever have to experience.  And I am sure of it, to this day, that it plays a huge role, either subconsciously or on the surface, on my inability to have a stable relationship.

Additionally, I am not going to put all the blame on either of the above.  We all make our own decisions and how to deal with individual situations, but nonetheless, I am sure that there are still issues pertaining to both of them that I will be working through forever, for better or worse.

Which all brings me to why I obsess over music.

I found a very happy form of escapism in music at a very young age.  Be it from the radio, or digging through my parents records buried away in our basement.  From the Beatles to the Stones to the Kinks, to a slew of random 45’s and classic country records, I took it all in.

Right around the time I was diagnosed with diabetes, (when I was seven,) I started to really take refuge within music.  It was pretty much all I cared about.  A neighbor’s brother introduced me to a lot of metal that I am still appreciative of to this day.  I also got heavily into early rap and hip-hop.  By the time I hit middle school, I was getting into stuff I was hearing on KVSC.

By sixth grade, it was all over.  School seemed unimportant, and questionable at best.  This isn’t to say I didn’t love to read, because I did and still do, but it wasn’t books that they were giving us or teaching us in school.  Burroughs and Kerouac were of great interest.  Record labels like Sub Pop and K were far more interesting than what I was discovering out of mainstream radio.  120 Minutes was a late-night, weekend mainstay.

When I got into high school, it was pretty much hopeless.  Music was all I cared about, for better or worse.  I went through my phases of shit like anyone else, but what I loved, I loved, and that was it.  I was reading a lot of books, a lot of stuff being passed onto me by the older kids I knew.

After all that, college just seemed uninteresting to me.  I still loved to learn, and still do, but I could not see myself sitting in numerous classrooms for another four years to achieve a degree for something I didn’t really believe in.

So here I sit, at thirty, working at the same job I’ve had for almost 11 years.  Still listening to more music than I know what to do with.  Still reading at least a book a week.  Living alone with two cats that I love more than I’ve been capable of loving any person.

Who knows where I’ll go from here in life.  And really, who cares.

I don’t like plans, they never work.  Whatever happens, happens.  Nothing profound, but it’s a nice simple truth that I try to live by.  Now, if you’ll excuse me, after spilling all this out, I need to take a crap.

XO

Daniel Robin Kaproth

It's Been A Hard Day's Hype.

Today is 9/9/09.  Depending on who you are, this either meant you were stupid enough to believe that the world was going to end, or you were jazzed about something Beatles-related.

If you fall into the first category, let me apologize.  We’re all still alive.  Looks like you will have to wait until 2012, or whenever people think the world is going to end next.

Now, if you fall into the Beatles category, we can at least talk, (let me preface this by saying that this is not me Beatles-bashing, it’s too easy.)  Depending on how taken you are with the Fab Four, you either went with the stereo or mono box-set, a handful of the individual albums, and/or Beatles Rock Band.  If you did everything, god bless, you have problems.

So.  How did the remasters treat anyone out there?  Were your ears ripped off and reattached with new sensibility?  No?  That’s kind of what I thought.  I have now, listened to a great portion of all the stereo remasters, and I cannot tell a difference between these and the original cds that came out how many years back, which leads me to this.

Why is any of this necessary?  Is the importance placed on the Beatles over the years still relevant?

These are questions that may be tough to tackle, but from what I could tell after working all day, my immediate answer would be “no.”  And maybe not even that simple of a no, more along the lines of, “no.  God no.  What, are you shitting me?”

The youngest person to even bother picking up any of the reissues to look at today was at least 35.  Still to young to be part of the original invasion, but old enough to grow up when the memories were still good and fresh about the beloved lads from Liverpool.

The boomers on the other hand, were at least a tad more interested, but not much more.  Instead of a steady sales of any of the product, the day was much more filled with regaling of memories of what the Beatles and their music meant to them personally, which was nothing short of expected to me.

By now I’m sure you’re thinking that all this is just to discredit the Beatles’ importance on popular music.  And again, I reassure you, it is not.  I get it, trust me.

I grew up hearing people ramble on and on about why the Beatles are, and will continue to be important through the ages as far as music is concerned.  I have heard the stories, and will continue to hear them, about where everyone was the first time they heard them.  Saw their “wild style.”  Their reaction to when the Beatles started to get “weird” and experimental.  And again, I get it.  When I was young and heard them for the first time, it was like nothing I had heard, nothing at all.  But as I sit here writing this on the verge of 30, I have listened to more music than most people can comprehend.  And while I can say I still enjoy parts of the Beatles catalog, there is also a lot of it that I am very easily bored by.

I find myself looking to a lot of the grimier bands from the same time.  Bands that barely made it out of the garage.  Maybe made a record, (or two if they were lucky,) and going nuts for it.  That to me, was the real revolution.

In case you’re wondering, I do realize that this is all coming across as very self-important and opinionated.  Sorry, I’m an asshole, I know.

My point to all of this is, simply this:  The Beatles were a musical and cultural phenomenon that the world had never seen the likes of at the time, save for Elvis or Bob Dylan.  But, maybe it’s time to focus on the countless thralls of incredible music that is still being produced rather than keep getting misty-eyed about the “good ol’ days.”  In the end, that might help us all deal with reality just a little better.

(and since I didn’t get one F-word in, fuck Sgt. Peppers.  Overrated record.  There, I said it.)