Hello all. So, it's not Sunday, it's actually past Sunday and there is no post for Sunday. There are three main reasons for this: I am lazy, I went to a rockin' concert on Sunday night (thereby taking up all my lovely Sunday-night blog time), and I GOT A JOB!!! No, I didn't work on Sunday (man Sunday is starting to sound like a fake word...), or the day before or the day after, but my mental preparation was in full effect and it's hard to find the time to blog when concentrating so seriously.
New things in my life:
1. Well, the job. I am now a Barista at Starbucks. No joke. I got a job in coffee...I got a job at a major corporation...and I got a job where I have to sell the crap out of stuff. Had my first shift today and I think it's going to be really fun. Seriously. But even more seriously, the money should start rolling in and maybe mayybe we'll find some independence sticking to me. Oh also, people at coffee shops do weird things and talk to strange people, they overhear tales of the world and can, like, talk about them and stuff. Hopefully some epic masterpieces will come of my 9-5.
2. The second new thing is music related. For those of you that don't know (most of you do, as you are in fact my family and close friends, and therefore know I have lots of awesome, read expensive, gear) I play music. And I have gear, and I like gear, and I go a little bonkers with gear when I get in one of those deeply satisfying obsessive phases of life. Well, I got a pedal board (look it up) and a new $300 effects pedal via craigslist trading (got to love the free market future) and am STOKED. Weird noises count for around 10 points in the game of life. (Cereal? Board-game? Vague wisdom? Who knows...)
Also in this vein, I am playing my first show with my band, Larusso. I haven't played a legit show in about 4 years, so this is pretty darn exciting for me. (Let me know if you want to come...)
3. I have decided to become a hobbyist, but need someone to teach me how to solder. This is new, very very new and I will be curious to see where it goes.
4. Finally, and this is more related to new thing number too, I have not been writing very much. In the literary sense, that is. I did just post clips from a short story, but I wrote that a while ago and needed to appease my eager contingent of young teenage girls in love in my blog. What I have been doing, in terms of creativity, is writing music. Songs, lyrics, chord progressions and funkadelic riffs. But not just writing, I am recording them. Which is a new phase for me-- trying to create something concrete in order to become immortal. (Classic Gilgamesh complex.) As I notice more about myself and the world while life slinks on by, as I watch my mind and body in action over vast periods of time, I realize that I am a very creative individual, but I have trouble burning more than one creative candle. So, right now, it's music. I hope to have some quality beats pretty soon. Ghetto blasta status.
So, I think that is all for now. It is hard to think of cool lessons in writing when I am not really writing. Maybe I'll post some lyrics or something. OH! I am also about to finish the book Empire Falls by Richard Russo. Look for a review...good good good.
p.s. I did not do a p.s last time!! I am sorry, I was very forgetful. I have a reputation to uphold. Trying trying. Sleep tight me hearties.
Tuesday, June 14, 2011
Sunday, June 5, 2011
Hear Me Roar
Blogees! I remembered about two hours ago the promise I made to myself and the internet to post at least once a week. A week has gone by, believe it or not. What did you do?
Anyway, I'm having trouble with topics and inspiration, so I've decided to post some fiction I am working on. Novel concept, right? (Novel, ha, get it??) Anyway I wrote this a while ago and edited it a little less than a while ago, and have dragged it up from the lengthy desktop folder entitled "Creative Writing." I hope you enjoy, and in case you are wondering about my awesome ending, there isn't an ending. It is ongoing, and I am literally leaving you where I have stopped. Let me know what you think!
(Also, it's untitled, so read this parenthesis as a title...)
My jeans are soaked to my thighs, this damn storm, let me tell you. In the early part of the century, back when men wore thick coats and bowler hats, long black garb that cloaked them in the color of death, real men, you might say, well in that part of the history of the world I survived a storm ten times this size, and my jeans, well...no, not my jeans because real men did not wear jeans back then, my pants, they were soaked, right to my thighs.
This was in the big city on the gold coast; San Francisco. It roared, oh boy did it. All curved cabs and ladies wearing gloves; even in the rain (torrential this time of year) they smoked cigarettes, inhaled it like they drank tobacco for breakfast. Top that off with vodka and orange juice, what you have there is one American way to start a day. This was pre Peace, pre Love, pre Haight and that damned Ashburry, two hooligans of grandeur proportions. Not to confuse the reader, I fell head-first through a cloud of acid rain just like the rest of you, but it was hard with this stiff hip, and all those boys wanted to do was run run run.
The city bumped and jived, a cesspool of sin and luxury, but fun, mind you. On this night, of the storm, that is, I was enjoying a whisky dry in a cozy little speakeasy. Easy jazz with chords of velvet; brass and stand-up, lover’s laments that made you want to curl up on Saturday and write lust letters to people you’ve never known. I could hear the wind beating drops against my sanctuary, my Mecca (pre-world knowledge of Mecca of course). There is nothing but the sound of a lightly brushed cymbal; a woman turning over in her sleep; the sky letting a feather fall silently. And that pianist! Such a virtuosity in his limbs, a lilt to his back. I remember his eyes closing as he played. All that, with those dim rouge lights, the small-talk of lovers, war and money (quality topics in any age I’ve found) on the tips of tongues. Lulled me, they did.
Anyway, that damned storm was so loud it clashed up against the sound of this aural phenomena, my song of songs, and drove me to a great fury.
I quickly became disgruntled, my inner peace shaken, and, anyway, my cup was empty. I nodded to the tender and he waved me off, looking neither distracted nor interested. I had been there some time, come to think of it, and when I stood the blood rushed to my head, making me waggle as I cleared a path towards the exit. Fur coats and lengthy umbrellas were crammed into the corner as people came in, and I grabbed my own parachute as I exited.
The wind hit me in the face, speckled me with drops of “light precipitation” as the news prints had read. Bullshit. These drops slicked my hair back for me, had me pumping the shaft of that umbrella like a flapper in the red-light. I routinely tried to light a cigarette, cursed when the wind blew it out, and decided to walk back to my apartment, just a few blocks towards the Bay.
Now, in 1922, a man walking down the street with a curve to his path was highly suspicious. The Noble Experiment was in effect, and us lab rats ran around licking the ethanol off every surface we could find. I was just shy of military legality (something everyone should aim for) and had been hammered well into the morning every night that month. All this while Johnny Law walked around this city like the damn gestapo (anachronistic, I know, but I was ready and able, not willing mind you, for that second attempt at world peace, and they were like the damn gestapo). Upending coffee mugs and the like. Then they had the audacity to “retain” what we were drinking and imbibe it themselves. The Station was rowdier than any bar in the city night after night.
Anyway, I'm having trouble with topics and inspiration, so I've decided to post some fiction I am working on. Novel concept, right? (Novel, ha, get it??) Anyway I wrote this a while ago and edited it a little less than a while ago, and have dragged it up from the lengthy desktop folder entitled "Creative Writing." I hope you enjoy, and in case you are wondering about my awesome ending, there isn't an ending. It is ongoing, and I am literally leaving you where I have stopped. Let me know what you think!
(Also, it's untitled, so read this parenthesis as a title...)
My jeans are soaked to my thighs, this damn storm, let me tell you. In the early part of the century, back when men wore thick coats and bowler hats, long black garb that cloaked them in the color of death, real men, you might say, well in that part of the history of the world I survived a storm ten times this size, and my jeans, well...no, not my jeans because real men did not wear jeans back then, my pants, they were soaked, right to my thighs.
This was in the big city on the gold coast; San Francisco. It roared, oh boy did it. All curved cabs and ladies wearing gloves; even in the rain (torrential this time of year) they smoked cigarettes, inhaled it like they drank tobacco for breakfast. Top that off with vodka and orange juice, what you have there is one American way to start a day. This was pre Peace, pre Love, pre Haight and that damned Ashburry, two hooligans of grandeur proportions. Not to confuse the reader, I fell head-first through a cloud of acid rain just like the rest of you, but it was hard with this stiff hip, and all those boys wanted to do was run run run.
The city bumped and jived, a cesspool of sin and luxury, but fun, mind you. On this night, of the storm, that is, I was enjoying a whisky dry in a cozy little speakeasy. Easy jazz with chords of velvet; brass and stand-up, lover’s laments that made you want to curl up on Saturday and write lust letters to people you’ve never known. I could hear the wind beating drops against my sanctuary, my Mecca (pre-world knowledge of Mecca of course). There is nothing but the sound of a lightly brushed cymbal; a woman turning over in her sleep; the sky letting a feather fall silently. And that pianist! Such a virtuosity in his limbs, a lilt to his back. I remember his eyes closing as he played. All that, with those dim rouge lights, the small-talk of lovers, war and money (quality topics in any age I’ve found) on the tips of tongues. Lulled me, they did.
Anyway, that damned storm was so loud it clashed up against the sound of this aural phenomena, my song of songs, and drove me to a great fury.
I quickly became disgruntled, my inner peace shaken, and, anyway, my cup was empty. I nodded to the tender and he waved me off, looking neither distracted nor interested. I had been there some time, come to think of it, and when I stood the blood rushed to my head, making me waggle as I cleared a path towards the exit. Fur coats and lengthy umbrellas were crammed into the corner as people came in, and I grabbed my own parachute as I exited.
The wind hit me in the face, speckled me with drops of “light precipitation” as the news prints had read. Bullshit. These drops slicked my hair back for me, had me pumping the shaft of that umbrella like a flapper in the red-light. I routinely tried to light a cigarette, cursed when the wind blew it out, and decided to walk back to my apartment, just a few blocks towards the Bay.
Now, in 1922, a man walking down the street with a curve to his path was highly suspicious. The Noble Experiment was in effect, and us lab rats ran around licking the ethanol off every surface we could find. I was just shy of military legality (something everyone should aim for) and had been hammered well into the morning every night that month. All this while Johnny Law walked around this city like the damn gestapo (anachronistic, I know, but I was ready and able, not willing mind you, for that second attempt at world peace, and they were like the damn gestapo). Upending coffee mugs and the like. Then they had the audacity to “retain” what we were drinking and imbibe it themselves. The Station was rowdier than any bar in the city night after night.
Monday, May 30, 2011
Sunday Funday
My dear people, this weekend has been one of serious and intense laziness. But before I go into the highly interesting details of all that: the food I ate today.
Firstly, half of a homemade chocolate-chip cookie. Excellent and cakey. Second, much later in the day and comprising of both my breakfast and lunch, an onion bagel with regular spread cream cheese and half an avocado. Pretty freaking delicious. Thirdly, a dinner of Farfalle pasta, grilled chicken, and pesto. All combined and lathered with healthy amounts of olive oil. Finger licking good. (Which is odd because we didn't eat it with our hands...)
Just trying to live up to my previous post.
So a week has gone by and I've thought of precisely one good topic to blog about, which I'm not actually going to do here. That idea was Oprah--her life, her legacy, her inexplicable ego and buildup of final shows, and the giant hole she is going to bury all her money in. I'll do that soon, after some extensive Wikipedia research.
For now, I think I am going to ease right back into this. I got a pretty radical sunburn on Friday and have since then commenced the lazing about. I am waiting to hear back from a job, and have taken the hopefully pleasant news of no more free time to heart, utilizing the last of my aimless hours watching Lost and strumming my acoustic. Now, don't get me wrong, this is not entirely different from what I have been doing all week, but somehow, in the sight of a possible new life, it seems all the more sacred and important now.
I will say this about Lost. Just finished it. The whole thing. And man am I a sucker. Loved it, hated it, whatever you feel about the legacy of Lost, you have to admit it was ballsy. To cover such universal and contemplative topics so openly, with the intention of subliminally inching the masses of America towards true realization of the meaning of existence, is quite something. Most may have missed these obvious motifs: good versus evil at the core does not work because human beings have free will; we all really need to let go; a fat man stranded on an island can retain his weight if motivated to do so; and we all have a choice.
Now, I realize I'm about a year off from all the hype that this show ended with. Oh well.
This is all for now, I am a little lost myself. Slowly heating up the fog that surrounds.
p.s. I have to wear glasses at night to read the computer screen these days. Old man come and take me away.
Firstly, half of a homemade chocolate-chip cookie. Excellent and cakey. Second, much later in the day and comprising of both my breakfast and lunch, an onion bagel with regular spread cream cheese and half an avocado. Pretty freaking delicious. Thirdly, a dinner of Farfalle pasta, grilled chicken, and pesto. All combined and lathered with healthy amounts of olive oil. Finger licking good. (Which is odd because we didn't eat it with our hands...)
Just trying to live up to my previous post.
So a week has gone by and I've thought of precisely one good topic to blog about, which I'm not actually going to do here. That idea was Oprah--her life, her legacy, her inexplicable ego and buildup of final shows, and the giant hole she is going to bury all her money in. I'll do that soon, after some extensive Wikipedia research.
For now, I think I am going to ease right back into this. I got a pretty radical sunburn on Friday and have since then commenced the lazing about. I am waiting to hear back from a job, and have taken the hopefully pleasant news of no more free time to heart, utilizing the last of my aimless hours watching Lost and strumming my acoustic. Now, don't get me wrong, this is not entirely different from what I have been doing all week, but somehow, in the sight of a possible new life, it seems all the more sacred and important now.
I will say this about Lost. Just finished it. The whole thing. And man am I a sucker. Loved it, hated it, whatever you feel about the legacy of Lost, you have to admit it was ballsy. To cover such universal and contemplative topics so openly, with the intention of subliminally inching the masses of America towards true realization of the meaning of existence, is quite something. Most may have missed these obvious motifs: good versus evil at the core does not work because human beings have free will; we all really need to let go; a fat man stranded on an island can retain his weight if motivated to do so; and we all have a choice.
Now, I realize I'm about a year off from all the hype that this show ended with. Oh well.
This is all for now, I am a little lost myself. Slowly heating up the fog that surrounds.
p.s. I have to wear glasses at night to read the computer screen these days. Old man come and take me away.
Monday, May 23, 2011
New Innovations
So, people, in continuing my blog-nation I have decided to amp it up just a little bit. I know I just vowed to beat the semi-dead horse back to life, but these changes are pertinent and will both of us happy. My previous post entitled "Innovations" contained both new ideas and a long, winding-road post about connectivity (illustrating one of those new ideas). It was boring, and a long time ago, a lot like George Bush's presidency. Zing. This will be snappy and hilarious.
Entroducing (yes that's a DJShadow reference) my New Innovations!
(NOTE: I actually wrote this some time ago, so some things are really new, while other things are more like, hey, brosef, check this out if you haven't...ok?)
--Firstly, book reviews. (Like this.) I do a lot of reading, and I think it is high time I wrote reviews. This helps me and you: it helps me because I will have a catalogue of book reviews in case some awesome company wants to hire me for just that; it helps you because, well, if you like my style and my taste, maybe you'll like the books I read too. Here's the catch: most people review books from a reader's standpoint, or for the mass populace; I am going to review it from a writer's standpoint, first and foremost. Other things will go in there, but these reviews will detail the style of writing, the prose and punctuation (not really but the alliteration is solid)- character theme plot and transitions. (You have examples in the two I have up. More to come.) Anyway, book reviews!! yay. (still yay.)
--Secondly, I am starting a quote of the day. This will be on my page somewhere when I can figure out how to have it come up alongside my main post (anyone want to help me with this?). Hopefully this will act quite like small pieces of chocolate or hard candy, whichever you prefer, and will either lift your day along or sympathize with the drag that life can be. Look for these quotes, they will be better than your fortune cookie formula, I promise. (Now I have tried for a couple weeks to figure this out, but seriously does anyone know how to do this? A bit of text alongside my latest post that can be changed and yet archived? Lemme know.)
Example quote:
"Since when did forgiveness become a better quality than loyalty."- Mad Men
--Thirdly, I am, in the coming days or weeks, going to start cataloguing my posts under different sub-headings. This will help newcomers find topics that are more interesting to themselves, as well as allow me to see what I write about more often. For instance, one category will be Book Reviews.
--Fourthly, I have updated the look of this blog. The text is now white and in a different font (for your reading pleasure). The title simply reads Unpublished, as I have actually stopped my longstanding contract as a construction overseer and am now just an unpublished writer. I would like to ad a by-line, a mini-what-is-the-what-is-this-blog-about, but can't seem to get it to line up right. Maybe a photoshop is in order. Help on that, too? Thanks? Thanks.
--Fifthly, I added a feature, much like that of my "p.s." in which all italicized parentheses, and the contents therein, unless otherwise specified, are editor's notes. This is to make sure I voice my edits, but also to hopefully greatly increase the humor and depth that this blog is so well known for.
--Sixthly (a word, for sure), there is no sixthly. These are all my additions. If you can think of anything you'd like to see, please call 1-800-HARGENSHNARGEN and a volunteer answering a phone I set up in Deleware will be with you. But really, if you think of things you'd like me to do (look at these for examples) just leave a comment. Keep in mind this is about writing, life, and the pursuit of inspiration.
Much love.
p.s. I'm really into 30 Rock at the moment. For like, the fourth time. Word.
Entroducing (yes that's a DJShadow reference) my New Innovations!
(NOTE: I actually wrote this some time ago, so some things are really new, while other things are more like, hey, brosef, check this out if you haven't...ok?)
--Firstly, book reviews. (Like this.) I do a lot of reading, and I think it is high time I wrote reviews. This helps me and you: it helps me because I will have a catalogue of book reviews in case some awesome company wants to hire me for just that; it helps you because, well, if you like my style and my taste, maybe you'll like the books I read too. Here's the catch: most people review books from a reader's standpoint, or for the mass populace; I am going to review it from a writer's standpoint, first and foremost. Other things will go in there, but these reviews will detail the style of writing, the prose and punctuation (not really but the alliteration is solid)- character theme plot and transitions. (You have examples in the two I have up. More to come.) Anyway, book reviews!! yay. (still yay.)
--Secondly, I am starting a quote of the day. This will be on my page somewhere when I can figure out how to have it come up alongside my main post (anyone want to help me with this?). Hopefully this will act quite like small pieces of chocolate or hard candy, whichever you prefer, and will either lift your day along or sympathize with the drag that life can be. Look for these quotes, they will be better than your fortune cookie formula, I promise. (Now I have tried for a couple weeks to figure this out, but seriously does anyone know how to do this? A bit of text alongside my latest post that can be changed and yet archived? Lemme know.)
Example quote:
"Since when did forgiveness become a better quality than loyalty."- Mad Men
--Thirdly, I am, in the coming days or weeks, going to start cataloguing my posts under different sub-headings. This will help newcomers find topics that are more interesting to themselves, as well as allow me to see what I write about more often. For instance, one category will be Book Reviews.
--Fourthly, I have updated the look of this blog. The text is now white and in a different font (for your reading pleasure). The title simply reads Unpublished, as I have actually stopped my longstanding contract as a construction overseer and am now just an unpublished writer. I would like to ad a by-line, a mini-what-is-the-what-is-this-blog-about, but can't seem to get it to line up right. Maybe a photoshop is in order. Help on that, too? Thanks? Thanks.
--Fifthly, I added a feature, much like that of my "p.s." in which all italicized parentheses, and the contents therein, unless otherwise specified, are editor's notes. This is to make sure I voice my edits, but also to hopefully greatly increase the humor and depth that this blog is so well known for.
--Sixthly (a word, for sure), there is no sixthly. These are all my additions. If you can think of anything you'd like to see, please call 1-800-HARGENSHNARGEN and a volunteer answering a phone I set up in Deleware will be with you. But really, if you think of things you'd like me to do (look at these for examples) just leave a comment. Keep in mind this is about writing, life, and the pursuit of inspiration.
Much love.
p.s. I'm really into 30 Rock at the moment. For like, the fourth time. Word.
The Times
So, awesome blogees, this is the first post of mine in a little over a month. I dropped out for a bit. Never did that in college...thought I'd give it a try while enrolled in blog-school. No, but really, I just haven't felt the urge to write. Part of this assignment was to train myself to write even when I don't feel the urge, so I guess I failed a bit on that account. More than a bit (Italics will now be code for my witty editing process), I failed hardcore. WRITE DAMNIT!
But, I am here to blog (is it a verb? To blog? To blaave?) that this is not over. My girlfriend said to me today or yesterday (the times, they blur so pearly pink these days), "you know, you are just about over the line." Meaning, unlike Johnny Cash who famously tried to walk the line, and who infamously fell on his ass (actually I don't remember the end of that movie...is he ok?), I am on the verge of no more blog. But before such a large scale (yes the internet will reel with loss) decision can be made, I wanted to test the waters again.
My original goal was about four posts a month, at minimum, once a week, with a real preference of twice a week. I was branching out with book reviews, comments on the times and the like, and just got, well, lazy. It's a serious flaw.
So I wanted to write and say that I am doing the once a week thing. I'll fret and worry and put it off so most likely there will be a new post every Sunday. (Which brings up the interesting point of how one gauges the beginning and end of a week with no work or schedule in sight) Hopefully it will be like school and I'll bust out gnarly epic posts with multiple interlocking thesi (plural words that end in i make my day!) and at least ten academic resources. Worst case scenario: you'll get a play by play of the foods I eat on Sundays. I'm looking forward to it. Are you?
p.s. I have had numerous complaints (which is really good because it means I have numerous readers) that the color scheme on this website will in fact make you legally blind. I am changing it. Peer pressure sucks. I like black on green!
But, I am here to blog (is it a verb? To blog? To blaave?) that this is not over. My girlfriend said to me today or yesterday (the times, they blur so pearly pink these days), "you know, you are just about over the line." Meaning, unlike Johnny Cash who famously tried to walk the line, and who infamously fell on his ass (actually I don't remember the end of that movie...is he ok?), I am on the verge of no more blog. But before such a large scale (yes the internet will reel with loss) decision can be made, I wanted to test the waters again.
My original goal was about four posts a month, at minimum, once a week, with a real preference of twice a week. I was branching out with book reviews, comments on the times and the like, and just got, well, lazy. It's a serious flaw.
So I wanted to write and say that I am doing the once a week thing. I'll fret and worry and put it off so most likely there will be a new post every Sunday. (Which brings up the interesting point of how one gauges the beginning and end of a week with no work or schedule in sight) Hopefully it will be like school and I'll bust out gnarly epic posts with multiple interlocking thesi (plural words that end in i make my day!) and at least ten academic resources. Worst case scenario: you'll get a play by play of the foods I eat on Sundays. I'm looking forward to it. Are you?
p.s. I have had numerous complaints (which is really good because it means I have numerous readers) that the color scheme on this website will in fact make you legally blind. I am changing it. Peer pressure sucks. I like black on green!
Wednesday, April 20, 2011
The American Dream-Part II
So, Part II is here. I left you with the lies we all tell, our half-white-truths that get us a couple grand closer to the richness each one of us deserves. This second post will cover a couple topics: the used car salesman, his comparative glory days during the recession, his death via Arthur Miller, etc; my own covering of the two cars that define America is today (hint, only one is American...); finally, the definition of the American Dream and how and why it currently resides in a small bunker 10 feet under the desert of Arizona.
A brief sidenote. The Toyota Matrix (the black beast of beauty I recently acquired) neither defines the American Dream nor stands out in any specific way, other than to incite this post. It is doing well. It now reps cat paws along the hood and a dust heart in the back window. I can also drive it through the ocean like a navy vehicle. Brief sidenote concludeth...
So, the used car salesman. Boy is he peachy. I'm sure now that some character at some point in something I write (yes, vagueness is the mother of some sort of invention...) will have this job title. My childhood memories of the used car salesman only point in one direction: The Simpsons. Our dear Gil Gunderson, the yellow (not asian) man with graying hair and a perpetually "fucked by fate" look on his face, is the image that comes to my mind. I think many of you know him. Maybe not consciously, maybe not even after this post, but you know him, deep in your core. As all Simpsons characters, he exemplifies his profession with simplicity and pain. Thus all mention of such a man, for me, have included those characteristics. Then I read Death of a Salesman (the previous A. Miller joke was not a one-off) and realized the writers of The Simpsons are geniuses! They got the point with a cartoon man that rubs his three-pencil-line brow as he whines...which is essentially what that play entails. I don't think Gil ever dies, but I could be wrong.
Now I said in the intro paragraph (notice that these are classic thesis based papers) that I would speak of the rise of the used car salesman during the recession. This view is based on absolutely no facts. I just would think, as logic obviously implies, that during a recession people are not buying cars, but, if they are, it would be a used car. So here is the salesman, real-life Gil, broke, per usual. Now even more so because his stock options in Pet Smart and American Airlines just plummeted. He comes to work, gets dirty looks as he walks to his corner office, the one that is missing a chair and doesn't actually have any walls, and he sees a line. These people, they can all only afford used cars. They are young couples trying to grab while the going is good, they are men in expensive suits they can no longer afford. They have come for his expertise. His passion for their hand-me-down needs. Ronald Reagan at its best. Gil's wife loses her job, which is a shame, but he can finally come home and say, honey, I sold some cars today. They hi-five and sit down to American Idol. This is my factless story about the rise of the used car salesman during our nation's biggest economic disaster since the Depression. Hope it holds up to all our concepts of a trying time in America's quest for the conquering of a Dream.
Now, all that was fictional. The distorted thoughts of my mind. My own real encounter with the used-car salesman was pretty much boring. One thoughtfully said as I drove a silver Matrix about 10 blocks, "If you buy the car I'll wash it for you." Thanks, man. The guy I did end up buying the car from was nice, small, and pretty quiet. He knew a lot about cars. Go figure.
-----
And now, for the current car that defines America. I have two. This is, of course, in honor of Hunter S. and his willful way of defining a generation. Car number 1: The Prius. Yeah, I said it. Car numer 2: The Lincoln Navigator. Now I'm going to do a bit of compare and contrast, a little this a little that, and show you why these two define American pretty completely.
The Prius is the hippest shit to his this country since the Beatles, which are, much like the Prius, NOT American. Toyota, Japan, made this car. It is small and futuristic looking, it can hold more than your average four door sedan, and, mostly importantly, it doesn't sound like a car. Oh it also is the gets pretty good gas mileage because of the innovative technology that introduced the "hybrid" as a popular and reasonable model of the new and future car. You all know this. What you don't realize, maybe, is that old people like Priui (plural Priuses), middle-aged people like Priui, college students like Priui, and kids like Priui. Also, celebrities like Priui. Everyone, in fact, digs this car and wants one. Every category I mentioned, most every person there, is a Democrat. This is the first big point. The liberal America likes and wants the Prius because of it's claim to energy efficiency, its apparent beneficial effects on the environment, and its snazzy technology dashboard thing.
But, BUT, this is definitive of an American that wishes for change, and does what someone else tells them to do to inact that change. The hybrid battery that Toyota puts in the Prius causes almost as much emissions as the life of driving a normal car, and it can't be destroyed easily. It is, yes, maybe more effecient than a normal car, but it's still a car. The middle east is still be screwed by us, and therefore pissed at the world, and therefore bombing stuff. The new Prius billboards read, in huge letters that dominate the land we live in, 50 MPG!!!!! Why don't they say, "STOP DRIVING SO MUCH, you are killing your world"? Just a thought. Lastly, the Prius doesn't sound like a car. The engine is quiet and appears dead when stopped. The interface is like an Enterprise Starship. There are no seats, just gravitron suspenders. The liberal mindset of America would seem to imply that we don't even want to be driving a car, we want to be involved in some sort of foux-automobile revolution that is fully supported by Al Gore. But remember, it is a car, it still takes a tank full of gas and implies that you need at least 50 miles of sturdy highway out there for you to enjoy it.
Now the Navigator. This is a cheap shot, Republicans (or non-Republican Navigator owners). Just a heads up. As I mentioned, I drove a silver Matrix that the salesman offered to wash if I bought. To get to this car, we took a Lincoln Navigator about ten blocks. I inquired. It gets 9 MPG, a truly revolutionary low number (low is good, right?) in today's world. It starts at about $42,000. They were selling it for $4000. Leave it to America to build something nobody wants to use anymore(except for Facebook I guess). But who bought it at that price, who shelled out almost 50 grand on a hulking 7 seater that will probably be used as a light military vehicle pretty soon if Obama doesn't figure out a way to ban them from this country? It is you, the American man that WILL NOT OWN a Prius. Damn foreign boxes of death. The Navigator had complimentary beer cozies. It had TV's in the back of seats because it turns out the wasteland beyond our windows (still the land of the free and brave) should really not be looked upon by innocents. It had a step-in platform and transformed into Optimus Prime if you clicked the big red LAUNCH pad on the ceiling. The hulking beast, a new nickname for the Republican party and it's mass of die-hard fans, is who buys this thing. Who shells out years and years of savings. Who gets another car, because they all have 5, in a couple years.
The Navigator is the simple American man. He does not want change. He wants to be big and slow. I mean, lets be honest, head on collision of Prius and Navigator? No contest.
And that's just it, America is a contest. One side wants innovation to the umpth degree and moves a little bit while the other doesn't want it and usually moves backward just to make a point. Our Dream is to be on one side of this equation, defined by arguably our greatest invention (internet has not quite proven itself to me yet). We are at odds, people. Our lives and cars and shows and attitudes illustrate it simply and eloquently. A love story with two a-sexual partner's and a serious communication problem.
Hunter S. defined a Dream with pain and a bad-ass car, a could have been almost maybe moment that lived up to at least the fever of passion and emotion. I don't see that here, in all of us. I see Congress stalling. I see an idea that has not been realized, has not connected to our bodily needs. I see our country failing to live up to it's own Dream, but trying, nontheless.
-------
A final part and piece, maybe a good larger topic at some point, but just a bit now. This turned a tad negative. I have some spite in me. I travelled around for a long time and saw that we are not all we claim to be, this big country with its greenbacks and commercials. I have faith in the world, but faith in America is hard to come by these days. I can't find our priests.
p.s. there is no bunker, there is no Arizonian conspiracy. The Dream is out there, walking around. Go find it.
A brief sidenote. The Toyota Matrix (the black beast of beauty I recently acquired) neither defines the American Dream nor stands out in any specific way, other than to incite this post. It is doing well. It now reps cat paws along the hood and a dust heart in the back window. I can also drive it through the ocean like a navy vehicle. Brief sidenote concludeth...
So, the used car salesman. Boy is he peachy. I'm sure now that some character at some point in something I write (yes, vagueness is the mother of some sort of invention...) will have this job title. My childhood memories of the used car salesman only point in one direction: The Simpsons. Our dear Gil Gunderson, the yellow (not asian) man with graying hair and a perpetually "fucked by fate" look on his face, is the image that comes to my mind. I think many of you know him. Maybe not consciously, maybe not even after this post, but you know him, deep in your core. As all Simpsons characters, he exemplifies his profession with simplicity and pain. Thus all mention of such a man, for me, have included those characteristics. Then I read Death of a Salesman (the previous A. Miller joke was not a one-off) and realized the writers of The Simpsons are geniuses! They got the point with a cartoon man that rubs his three-pencil-line brow as he whines...which is essentially what that play entails. I don't think Gil ever dies, but I could be wrong.
Now I said in the intro paragraph (notice that these are classic thesis based papers) that I would speak of the rise of the used car salesman during the recession. This view is based on absolutely no facts. I just would think, as logic obviously implies, that during a recession people are not buying cars, but, if they are, it would be a used car. So here is the salesman, real-life Gil, broke, per usual. Now even more so because his stock options in Pet Smart and American Airlines just plummeted. He comes to work, gets dirty looks as he walks to his corner office, the one that is missing a chair and doesn't actually have any walls, and he sees a line. These people, they can all only afford used cars. They are young couples trying to grab while the going is good, they are men in expensive suits they can no longer afford. They have come for his expertise. His passion for their hand-me-down needs. Ronald Reagan at its best. Gil's wife loses her job, which is a shame, but he can finally come home and say, honey, I sold some cars today. They hi-five and sit down to American Idol. This is my factless story about the rise of the used car salesman during our nation's biggest economic disaster since the Depression. Hope it holds up to all our concepts of a trying time in America's quest for the conquering of a Dream.
Now, all that was fictional. The distorted thoughts of my mind. My own real encounter with the used-car salesman was pretty much boring. One thoughtfully said as I drove a silver Matrix about 10 blocks, "If you buy the car I'll wash it for you." Thanks, man. The guy I did end up buying the car from was nice, small, and pretty quiet. He knew a lot about cars. Go figure.
-----
And now, for the current car that defines America. I have two. This is, of course, in honor of Hunter S. and his willful way of defining a generation. Car number 1: The Prius. Yeah, I said it. Car numer 2: The Lincoln Navigator. Now I'm going to do a bit of compare and contrast, a little this a little that, and show you why these two define American pretty completely.
The Prius is the hippest shit to his this country since the Beatles, which are, much like the Prius, NOT American. Toyota, Japan, made this car. It is small and futuristic looking, it can hold more than your average four door sedan, and, mostly importantly, it doesn't sound like a car. Oh it also is the gets pretty good gas mileage because of the innovative technology that introduced the "hybrid" as a popular and reasonable model of the new and future car. You all know this. What you don't realize, maybe, is that old people like Priui (plural Priuses), middle-aged people like Priui, college students like Priui, and kids like Priui. Also, celebrities like Priui. Everyone, in fact, digs this car and wants one. Every category I mentioned, most every person there, is a Democrat. This is the first big point. The liberal America likes and wants the Prius because of it's claim to energy efficiency, its apparent beneficial effects on the environment, and its snazzy technology dashboard thing.
But, BUT, this is definitive of an American that wishes for change, and does what someone else tells them to do to inact that change. The hybrid battery that Toyota puts in the Prius causes almost as much emissions as the life of driving a normal car, and it can't be destroyed easily. It is, yes, maybe more effecient than a normal car, but it's still a car. The middle east is still be screwed by us, and therefore pissed at the world, and therefore bombing stuff. The new Prius billboards read, in huge letters that dominate the land we live in, 50 MPG!!!!! Why don't they say, "STOP DRIVING SO MUCH, you are killing your world"? Just a thought. Lastly, the Prius doesn't sound like a car. The engine is quiet and appears dead when stopped. The interface is like an Enterprise Starship. There are no seats, just gravitron suspenders. The liberal mindset of America would seem to imply that we don't even want to be driving a car, we want to be involved in some sort of foux-automobile revolution that is fully supported by Al Gore. But remember, it is a car, it still takes a tank full of gas and implies that you need at least 50 miles of sturdy highway out there for you to enjoy it.
Now the Navigator. This is a cheap shot, Republicans (or non-Republican Navigator owners). Just a heads up. As I mentioned, I drove a silver Matrix that the salesman offered to wash if I bought. To get to this car, we took a Lincoln Navigator about ten blocks. I inquired. It gets 9 MPG, a truly revolutionary low number (low is good, right?) in today's world. It starts at about $42,000. They were selling it for $4000. Leave it to America to build something nobody wants to use anymore(except for Facebook I guess). But who bought it at that price, who shelled out almost 50 grand on a hulking 7 seater that will probably be used as a light military vehicle pretty soon if Obama doesn't figure out a way to ban them from this country? It is you, the American man that WILL NOT OWN a Prius. Damn foreign boxes of death. The Navigator had complimentary beer cozies. It had TV's in the back of seats because it turns out the wasteland beyond our windows (still the land of the free and brave) should really not be looked upon by innocents. It had a step-in platform and transformed into Optimus Prime if you clicked the big red LAUNCH pad on the ceiling. The hulking beast, a new nickname for the Republican party and it's mass of die-hard fans, is who buys this thing. Who shells out years and years of savings. Who gets another car, because they all have 5, in a couple years.
The Navigator is the simple American man. He does not want change. He wants to be big and slow. I mean, lets be honest, head on collision of Prius and Navigator? No contest.
And that's just it, America is a contest. One side wants innovation to the umpth degree and moves a little bit while the other doesn't want it and usually moves backward just to make a point. Our Dream is to be on one side of this equation, defined by arguably our greatest invention (internet has not quite proven itself to me yet). We are at odds, people. Our lives and cars and shows and attitudes illustrate it simply and eloquently. A love story with two a-sexual partner's and a serious communication problem.
Hunter S. defined a Dream with pain and a bad-ass car, a could have been almost maybe moment that lived up to at least the fever of passion and emotion. I don't see that here, in all of us. I see Congress stalling. I see an idea that has not been realized, has not connected to our bodily needs. I see our country failing to live up to it's own Dream, but trying, nontheless.
-------
A final part and piece, maybe a good larger topic at some point, but just a bit now. This turned a tad negative. I have some spite in me. I travelled around for a long time and saw that we are not all we claim to be, this big country with its greenbacks and commercials. I have faith in the world, but faith in America is hard to come by these days. I can't find our priests.
p.s. there is no bunker, there is no Arizonian conspiracy. The Dream is out there, walking around. Go find it.
Sunday, April 3, 2011
The American Dream- Part I
It was said by someone very dear to my heart and mind that you can't cover the American Dream in an un-American car. The American Dream is a noholdsbar grab on life, hands on the throat and groin, a steady sure climb to the top. This can't be said with a Nissan. It has to be a Cadillac. It has to be bold, it has to be manufactured right here, and it has to break down frequently. This person (Hunter S. Thompson) said something like this in his infamous book Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas (I can't find the exact quote on the great black void of the internet right now). No, this is not a book review, just some parallell lines to get my point rolling.
Bloggers, bloggees, people that don't want to be associated with the word blog, I bought a car! It's a cadillac. One of those new models with jet fuel and a paintball gun attached to the front bumper. I kid, I kid. It's a Toyota Matrix, hatchback, good gas mileage, black, nice and shapely. American Dream status? Dunno. I guess I wanted to do two things with this post, talk about cars and my experiences in searching for the right one, and also about the American Dream as a whole, from a writer's standpoint. Specifically from a "what would Hunter S. have to say about the nature of our nature" sort of thing.
So, first, the cars. It is tiring looking for a used car. There is a mindless numbing that accompanies the search, sort of like you are looking for lesser known lost treasure: the sacred rites of Roman Emperor Elagabalus or pottery sherd #1,229. Now I happen to think I found a pretty solid gold piece (being my car) but man, that search had me weary.
Some stories: I test drove a 2010 Honda Fit at the urging of my grandmother, Honda is known for safety after all, and found possibly the newest new (and used, mind you) car salesman the world may have ever known. My test drive was his first. He left turned me into rush hour at a large intersection in Oxnard (those that know this pain, please pray on my behalf) and I found out how it would feel to drive this car in bumper to bumper traffic. He proceeded to explain the features of the car by reciting the booklet they give to customers on all their knew cars. "It has windshield wipers. The seats fold down. The CR-Z is a lot cooler, probably." William, you dear, dear man. He was pretty great, actually. My first test drive did not involve the bone-chilling stareslashplea that most of these men give you as they ask you to sit in their office. Where else do guests get the comfier chair, with wheels and swivel option? You are sitting on a wooden stool, my man. Who has control here? As we sat down he simply said, "Now, because I have to, are you interested in buying this car?"
Twenty minutes later, same day, we pull into the lavish Toyota complex and are awarded the commendable help of Pontz, the maybe German maybe Swedish maybe Belgiumish(??) sales aficionado. Unlike our Honda helper, this man knew cars. On the scenic wind-driven 55mph drive up a back road he proceeded to wipe Honda's small industry like a bug against Toyota's arsenal of automobiles. The space of the Matrix (yes, the car I wanted but a year newer, test-driving for surety) is that of a giant crushing a bug. This man did not like bugs. Or, at least, was very serious about the Honda Fit being like a bug that needed killing. He had me pull an illegal u-turn to take the easy way back. "Feel the control," he said, "The radius of the wheel spinning the axels is most excellent." He smelled richly of cologne. "The car has interstellar options, it can dodge bullets, exactly like that man in the Matrix, and it gets a solid 32mpg on the highway." Half-truths. He asked near the end of the ride, in his vague-European accent, if I was interested in buying the car, if we could "make a deal," and when I said I wasn't actually going to buy a car today he said, "I will respect you, I do respect this." Before we left we had to sit in the comfy chairs and he had to check with his boss about three times without me ever issuing a price. He gave me a piece of paper with $23,000 as a possibility based on credit, and then asked me to choose a payment plan. His eyes gleamed. Pontz was a nice man, but a very serious car salesman.
What I have loved about all the car shopping is how the lies come dangling out, one little step at a time. We are creatures shadowed in our mistruths (feel the American Dream coming on, slowly, surely?) and it turns out that cars have secrets their owners want to hide. I almost bought a Volvo--super clean, leather interior, medium miles, work done at the dealer, upgraded Iphone thingamabobs, good good good. Took it into a mechanic who estimated about two grand of repairs, new fluids new this new that. I got a phone call from that guy who trailed on about a couple oil changes at the jiffy lube; bits of guilty truth leaking from sideways glances and lilting voice patterns. Some parts possibly replaced at Pepboys. Minor work. No, really, I just, listen, it's very clean. Or the ad that says "No accidents!" means no new doors, no engine rebuilding. But those are some pretty serious curb swipes, lady. Anyway, it was like that show Lie To Me, who could last the longest selling the least they wanted to about their hurt little vehicles. A game of wills.
----This post is getting too long, I will end it here, and post the second-half soon. It's the American Dream, after all, can't be covered in one go. Hope you guys enjoyed...stay tuned.----
p.s. some of that was fiction.
p.p.s thank you for reading! I hope the infrequency does not bother you. I will try and remedy that soon, my receptionist has been out with whooping cough all week.
Bloggers, bloggees, people that don't want to be associated with the word blog, I bought a car! It's a cadillac. One of those new models with jet fuel and a paintball gun attached to the front bumper. I kid, I kid. It's a Toyota Matrix, hatchback, good gas mileage, black, nice and shapely. American Dream status? Dunno. I guess I wanted to do two things with this post, talk about cars and my experiences in searching for the right one, and also about the American Dream as a whole, from a writer's standpoint. Specifically from a "what would Hunter S. have to say about the nature of our nature" sort of thing.
So, first, the cars. It is tiring looking for a used car. There is a mindless numbing that accompanies the search, sort of like you are looking for lesser known lost treasure: the sacred rites of Roman Emperor Elagabalus or pottery sherd #1,229. Now I happen to think I found a pretty solid gold piece (being my car) but man, that search had me weary.
Some stories: I test drove a 2010 Honda Fit at the urging of my grandmother, Honda is known for safety after all, and found possibly the newest new (and used, mind you) car salesman the world may have ever known. My test drive was his first. He left turned me into rush hour at a large intersection in Oxnard (those that know this pain, please pray on my behalf) and I found out how it would feel to drive this car in bumper to bumper traffic. He proceeded to explain the features of the car by reciting the booklet they give to customers on all their knew cars. "It has windshield wipers. The seats fold down. The CR-Z is a lot cooler, probably." William, you dear, dear man. He was pretty great, actually. My first test drive did not involve the bone-chilling stareslashplea that most of these men give you as they ask you to sit in their office. Where else do guests get the comfier chair, with wheels and swivel option? You are sitting on a wooden stool, my man. Who has control here? As we sat down he simply said, "Now, because I have to, are you interested in buying this car?"
Twenty minutes later, same day, we pull into the lavish Toyota complex and are awarded the commendable help of Pontz, the maybe German maybe Swedish maybe Belgiumish(??) sales aficionado. Unlike our Honda helper, this man knew cars. On the scenic wind-driven 55mph drive up a back road he proceeded to wipe Honda's small industry like a bug against Toyota's arsenal of automobiles. The space of the Matrix (yes, the car I wanted but a year newer, test-driving for surety) is that of a giant crushing a bug. This man did not like bugs. Or, at least, was very serious about the Honda Fit being like a bug that needed killing. He had me pull an illegal u-turn to take the easy way back. "Feel the control," he said, "The radius of the wheel spinning the axels is most excellent." He smelled richly of cologne. "The car has interstellar options, it can dodge bullets, exactly like that man in the Matrix, and it gets a solid 32mpg on the highway." Half-truths. He asked near the end of the ride, in his vague-European accent, if I was interested in buying the car, if we could "make a deal," and when I said I wasn't actually going to buy a car today he said, "I will respect you, I do respect this." Before we left we had to sit in the comfy chairs and he had to check with his boss about three times without me ever issuing a price. He gave me a piece of paper with $23,000 as a possibility based on credit, and then asked me to choose a payment plan. His eyes gleamed. Pontz was a nice man, but a very serious car salesman.
What I have loved about all the car shopping is how the lies come dangling out, one little step at a time. We are creatures shadowed in our mistruths (feel the American Dream coming on, slowly, surely?) and it turns out that cars have secrets their owners want to hide. I almost bought a Volvo--super clean, leather interior, medium miles, work done at the dealer, upgraded Iphone thingamabobs, good good good. Took it into a mechanic who estimated about two grand of repairs, new fluids new this new that. I got a phone call from that guy who trailed on about a couple oil changes at the jiffy lube; bits of guilty truth leaking from sideways glances and lilting voice patterns. Some parts possibly replaced at Pepboys. Minor work. No, really, I just, listen, it's very clean. Or the ad that says "No accidents!" means no new doors, no engine rebuilding. But those are some pretty serious curb swipes, lady. Anyway, it was like that show Lie To Me, who could last the longest selling the least they wanted to about their hurt little vehicles. A game of wills.
----This post is getting too long, I will end it here, and post the second-half soon. It's the American Dream, after all, can't be covered in one go. Hope you guys enjoyed...stay tuned.----
p.s. some of that was fiction.
p.p.s thank you for reading! I hope the infrequency does not bother you. I will try and remedy that soon, my receptionist has been out with whooping cough all week.
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