Have I mentioned I hate hippies?
May. 8th, 2005 01:57 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
pseydtonneNormally I don't like to make such a blanket statement as the above title but I gotta. Hippies can harsh my mellow like you wouldn't believe. It's frustrating. How can people born to be stoned make me angry even when I am stoned and should thus be in tune with them? (Quick funny thought vaguely related to this is the second from the bottom in Rowland's diary.)
I went to the second Afroskull show in as many days. They opened for a Grateful Dead cover band tonight. I must emphasize this is not a Dead Kennedys cover band and not even a Dead Milkmen cover band. Nope, it's the band that invented the 17-year-long song (that's what the Onion siad and I believe 'em).The club was in Teaneck, New Jersey. If you're not familiar with said suburb of New York City, you take the GW and then take 80 for less than a mile and then take route 4 (which is a lot like the upper, non-95 section of 128 with a lot of abrupt off- and on-ramps) until the rhododendrons choke you and bam the hippies will flock across the street from a bank. It's a nice suburb but it's full of married middle managers that send their wives ahead of them into the bar.
You know what's worse than going to a bar? Going to a sausage party disguised as a bar. Everyone in this place was either hitched or goateed. None had a desire to flirt because they weren't married in Somerville. I was in the mood to cruise. If the music weren't so damn good I would've left that buzzkill a lot earlier.
All the couples were getting on my nerves. I kept thinking back to when I was one of those couples and I tried not to rub it in anyone's face. Then again, no couple means to rub it in -- they're just being themselves. They don't have to be themselves alone and those of us that hate being alone resent it but we try not to say as such. Yes, this is what was running through my head.
Then I got to sinking into my chair. In fact, I was getting close to whipping out a book but I didn't want to be rude. Maybe a faux pas would've been better than a smoldering loathing.
I went back to standing at the merch table with my friend G. This guy in a bowler hat and white boy dreads comes up. His voice sounds cogent but his brain cannot hold up its end of the charade. He may have once had enough brain cells to pass for a toll booth attendant but that time was leaving him. He stares at the merch (the regular CD, the live show made only of Black Sabbath covers, the tees and the mailing list signup sheet. He starts asking questions and I make the mistake of engaging him in hopes of selling some merch for my buddy.
He cannot wrap his head around a concept long enough to finish it. Even simple concepts such as "you liked the band, right? Why not shell out the five bucks for a disc?" Think of that Kids in the Hall sketch where the vacuum salesman is blowing it with the man with no attention span. "Ya got me... ya lost me." He got hung up on the idea of Ozzy Osbourne being weird. (Scudder, if you're reading this: I AM NOT MAKING ANY OF THIS UP!) The biggest idea blowing his mind is that the funk-jazz band he just saw could also do Sabbath covers.
Remind me: what year are we in again? 2... double zero... five. Right. Okay. So having grown up on the first four Black Sabbath albums, Funkadelic and the Blue Note catalogue is somehow impossible. Do these kids live in a world without music, without rhythm, or without taste?
I was trying way to hard to get this kid to see the emotion of at least signing up for the mailing list. Finally he just says "peace, man" and leaves.
Yes, really.
That's it. It's official. I no longer have a damn thing in common with these fuckin' fake hobos nor any sympathy for the parents that don't cut 'em off. I am officially a geek.
How did it come to this? How did I come to resent people I don't know? How can I temper my ire? I know hippies that don't piss me off. However, all of them have lives. Many that's it.
Maybe seeing ten guys in the nouveau hippy outfit doing that brainless air drum and lap-hand dribble they same way they did more than a decade ago when I was in college and these kids were in grade school.
Why recreate something dead? Why not do something new? Oh wait, cuz it may involve an effort.
Gah.
Then we got into a debate about electronic toll booth tags on the way home. The arguments blew my mind: "they use it to send you speeding tickets", "some toll booth worker loses a job".
I've had Fast Lane since 2001, used it enough last year to qualify for the tax rebate, and never got a bleedin' ticket. In fact, I've only heard of extreme examples of the use of E-ZPass records to nail someone for a crime and rarely for speeding. In fact, the only way handing out a speeding ticket deters speeding is when the driver gets the ticket right away -- the other drivers see the victim and slow down. Also, the attempts to mail people tickets back in the late Eighties led to no improvement about speeding. Oh sure, the state liked the free money but they made more money sending cops out to hand out the tickets because cops can add in stuff like "expired registration", "DWI", and "fuckin' gotta Hoover those floor mats, lad". So they pull folks over. You rub a dog's nose in its shit right away before the dog has no idea why you're whining about some shit you found. Primary enforcement, if you will.
Oh, and "toll booth operator" is a lousy job. "Database administrator for E-ZPass" is a better-paying, seated job. Using electronic toll tags cuts down on pollution, expedites travel and gets you discounts. 75ยข for the Allston tolls instead of a buck? Hells yeah!
Yeah, that was just the whiny fit I needed. I was not the only person in the car hating hippies because I was the instigator. I think sleep may finally arrive for me. To sum it all up: I resent certain people and I've clumped them. I keep thinking someone is filimg a bad TV show when this happens. I am a geek and I need someone to dig that.
-I wish I had some Devo on my iPod
I went to the second Afroskull show in as many days. They opened for a Grateful Dead cover band tonight. I must emphasize this is not a Dead Kennedys cover band and not even a Dead Milkmen cover band. Nope, it's the band that invented the 17-year-long song (that's what the Onion siad and I believe 'em).The club was in Teaneck, New Jersey. If you're not familiar with said suburb of New York City, you take the GW and then take 80 for less than a mile and then take route 4 (which is a lot like the upper, non-95 section of 128 with a lot of abrupt off- and on-ramps) until the rhododendrons choke you and bam the hippies will flock across the street from a bank. It's a nice suburb but it's full of married middle managers that send their wives ahead of them into the bar.
You know what's worse than going to a bar? Going to a sausage party disguised as a bar. Everyone in this place was either hitched or goateed. None had a desire to flirt because they weren't married in Somerville. I was in the mood to cruise. If the music weren't so damn good I would've left that buzzkill a lot earlier.
All the couples were getting on my nerves. I kept thinking back to when I was one of those couples and I tried not to rub it in anyone's face. Then again, no couple means to rub it in -- they're just being themselves. They don't have to be themselves alone and those of us that hate being alone resent it but we try not to say as such. Yes, this is what was running through my head.
Then I got to sinking into my chair. In fact, I was getting close to whipping out a book but I didn't want to be rude. Maybe a faux pas would've been better than a smoldering loathing.
I went back to standing at the merch table with my friend G. This guy in a bowler hat and white boy dreads comes up. His voice sounds cogent but his brain cannot hold up its end of the charade. He may have once had enough brain cells to pass for a toll booth attendant but that time was leaving him. He stares at the merch (the regular CD, the live show made only of Black Sabbath covers, the tees and the mailing list signup sheet. He starts asking questions and I make the mistake of engaging him in hopes of selling some merch for my buddy.
He cannot wrap his head around a concept long enough to finish it. Even simple concepts such as "you liked the band, right? Why not shell out the five bucks for a disc?" Think of that Kids in the Hall sketch where the vacuum salesman is blowing it with the man with no attention span. "Ya got me... ya lost me." He got hung up on the idea of Ozzy Osbourne being weird. (Scudder, if you're reading this: I AM NOT MAKING ANY OF THIS UP!) The biggest idea blowing his mind is that the funk-jazz band he just saw could also do Sabbath covers.
Remind me: what year are we in again? 2... double zero... five. Right. Okay. So having grown up on the first four Black Sabbath albums, Funkadelic and the Blue Note catalogue is somehow impossible. Do these kids live in a world without music, without rhythm, or without taste?
I was trying way to hard to get this kid to see the emotion of at least signing up for the mailing list. Finally he just says "peace, man" and leaves.
Yes, really.
That's it. It's official. I no longer have a damn thing in common with these fuckin' fake hobos nor any sympathy for the parents that don't cut 'em off. I am officially a geek.
How did it come to this? How did I come to resent people I don't know? How can I temper my ire? I know hippies that don't piss me off. However, all of them have lives. Many that's it.
Maybe seeing ten guys in the nouveau hippy outfit doing that brainless air drum and lap-hand dribble they same way they did more than a decade ago when I was in college and these kids were in grade school.
Why recreate something dead? Why not do something new? Oh wait, cuz it may involve an effort.
Gah.
Then we got into a debate about electronic toll booth tags on the way home. The arguments blew my mind: "they use it to send you speeding tickets", "some toll booth worker loses a job".
I've had Fast Lane since 2001, used it enough last year to qualify for the tax rebate, and never got a bleedin' ticket. In fact, I've only heard of extreme examples of the use of E-ZPass records to nail someone for a crime and rarely for speeding. In fact, the only way handing out a speeding ticket deters speeding is when the driver gets the ticket right away -- the other drivers see the victim and slow down. Also, the attempts to mail people tickets back in the late Eighties led to no improvement about speeding. Oh sure, the state liked the free money but they made more money sending cops out to hand out the tickets because cops can add in stuff like "expired registration", "DWI", and "fuckin' gotta Hoover those floor mats, lad". So they pull folks over. You rub a dog's nose in its shit right away before the dog has no idea why you're whining about some shit you found. Primary enforcement, if you will.
Oh, and "toll booth operator" is a lousy job. "Database administrator for E-ZPass" is a better-paying, seated job. Using electronic toll tags cuts down on pollution, expedites travel and gets you discounts. 75ยข for the Allston tolls instead of a buck? Hells yeah!
Yeah, that was just the whiny fit I needed. I was not the only person in the car hating hippies because I was the instigator. I think sleep may finally arrive for me. To sum it all up: I resent certain people and I've clumped them. I keep thinking someone is filimg a bad TV show when this happens. I am a geek and I need someone to dig that.
-I wish I had some Devo on my iPod
