It is not often that the world of corporate media offers anything up more than a week long series of talking heads and shiny happy people videos, but even the button up suit and tie crowd need to let loose of all that number crunching, online conferencing, and annual sales goals life in the business world can bring, so with all the resources of any billion dollar company why not go out and hire a world class music act to perform in the wonderful confines of an open bar convention ballroom in some mega Las Vegas strip hotel as the patrons wander amongst Gold Circle sales achievers and the eventual slippage of formerly discreet office romances that binging on a week of the "What Happens in Vegas, Stays in Vegas" mentality can facilitate. I must admit being able to work around rock and roll musicans has always been a soft spot, sort of an attempt to live that on stage lifestyle such types perform on a nightly basis. Music really seems to transcend all boundaries on whatever level one can imagine and even a fringe hack like myself can't resist getting all emotional when Mellancamp comes out on stage and kicks right off into "Check It Out", just being able to shoot camera gives me the chance to be a few feet from the band with no one around me dropping beers on my shirt or singing fucked up lyrics like a banshee on acid while wasted on Southern Comfort in a desperate effort to create some sort of the eternal bond as they put their arm around me to join them in a chorus of "Rock You Like a Hurricane".
The only other real annoyances while shooting bands of this stature can be the post beer brawl aftermath littered along the floor of a ballroom upon which I have found at times will cause me to go flying in a myraid of directions with gravity at the controls, the audiences tends to finds this humorous but can only offer me a sense of hostily and embarassment, speaking of such, the camera groupies are always a fun bunch. They tend to be late 30's to early 50's mostly female, but not always; I am merely a conduit in their eyes for them to get closer to the band. I remember shooting a Huey Lewis concert brimming with camera groupies who felt compelled to grab at me every chance they could, the type of shit guys pull on strippers, I have been reduced to nothing more than a neon thong wearing piece of meat by a bunch of middle aged horn dogs, thankfully Huey and his band members were all too willing to take them off my hands and back to his suite up in the Playboy Towers at the Palms Casino and Hotel.
Conventioneers always seem to be facinated on how someone like myself lucked into such a great lifestyle and can make a living from it. I just usually thank them for the complements but sometimes admirers have the need to offer me business cards with links for their own web based You Tube like video drivel to critique, well fine, give me the card, anything, another beer would be great as well. No one seems to have a problem with the crew getting loose during the performance either, the first few times I thought it was a setup, the fact the client insists on me partying was surprizing but after a few shows of the same manner, walking over to the open bar to request an unopened bottle of wine for the "client" wink, wink, feels no different than bumming drinks at the local bar, just something you develop like any other craft, the bar staff doesn't care, with case after case of booze, already paid for, putting it into play is like dealing cards at a poker table.
Caught awash in the hour long set of John Mellancamp remembering I actually have to be involved in the production of this live event and not become an entranced spectator, luckily being able to visually tell a story with a camera offers me a way to get further into the music as well as the event while performing, all those years of watching MTV rock concerts and other more well season camera operators than myself have given me an arsenal or visual pallete in which to draw from like a well, an artistic resevoir that can even have me shaking my head at times on how I pull off some shots. This camera eye, zooming into identities, facial expressions, and bad ass guitar solos has become some what of a voyuer which in a few respects defines my job in various capacities, when the crowd is paying more attention to the screens than the artists themselves, then maybe the crew has done too good of a job, but overall there is very little that can compare to the face to face interaction with a musician you respect or admire, fine enough to leave it at that, keep the fourth wall up. Mellancamp looked please to take that 6 figure payday to play for a crowd of pharmasudical sales people during the next hour, as he stood up there in his best motown, blues, and rock pose to give the crowd what they needed, an outlet from everyday life, still Mellancamp felt a bit mailed in, from the white ceramic Jesus statue sitting a guitar amp to unforeseen acoustic mini set placed abruptedly in the middle of a preceeding rocking twenty minutes of music. The schmaltz was out, get folky and a bit reminicant of the good old days, then take the check to the bank. The conventioneers were feeling it, mixed with some drinking and possibly a joint, everyone looked to be having fun, myself included a smile fixed upon my face, the guitarist started to laugh at my naive nature, like a kid at a concert, overwhelmed with the rock star fixation, the dream to be larger than life, cooler than everyone else, and fulfilling some poetic itch, all the literary text books in school failed to achieve. Soon enough though, Mellancamp was out of there, take the money and run, of course the band could have played longer, someone of his accomplishments, had another couple hours of material, yet he could smell the corporate rat and had endured as much of it as possible without breaking into some personal tirade against global business model, yet not everyone had the priviledge of existing their own personal fantasy, so those in the crowd who could not, shouted for an encore, but after 5 minutes went back to the bars for last call and more receptive pleasure seekers of the Las Vegas night.
Monday, January 31, 2011
SHOT Show
Guns, guns, guns, battle repetition awaiting orders in this stronghold of personal saviour should anyone in the next five days decide to embark on personal crusade against the soverign nation of the United States. Childhood feelings of waging war against friends in neighborhood canyons with no more than low grade BB guns could not compare to holding a semi automatic rifle in my hands. The only drawback was the lack of shooting ranges within the convention center itself in which to give some of these weapons a test drive, so I had to be satisfied in sodomizing my brain with high energy, violence, and explosion movie trailers of the mind starring myself with a stockade of guns assemble from the show floor. NRA banners, advertisements, and stickers adorned many of the booths through the expo, amendment rights, hobbyists, and backers of a lifestyle some might argue is intertwined into the very fabric of what it means to be an American in the first place. Granted, I am not what one would term as an outdoorsman or collector of firearms; thoughts of turning a gun on myself occasionally when depressed or on someone else when pissed off are often too common themes posing as solutions when the debt collector comes knocking or some asshole cuts me off on the freeway, otherwise there are not too many things more adrenaline fueled than emptying a clip from a machine gun; it invokes private thoughts of primitive kill lust described throughout the ages in various dramatic forms, thankfully most people can resist that impulse one can feel when pulling that trigger, however some people cannot, which does not mean an entire subgroup of enthusiasts should have to bare the weight of those containing questionable rationale integrity. Those with the disturbed sense of sociopathological nature could just as easy use a large vehicle, homemade explosives, or bare hands to accomplish their own self absorbed manical goals.
Right away, I can tell the outdoor trade is not an everyman type of endeavor even though on the surface it appears to advertise to the so called common man, if that kind of person really exists anymore. The over abundant amount of new technical equipment ranging from laser guided sight scopes to wireless high defenition video cameras smells of a hobby that has been compartmentalized to extract as much money out of its loyalist as possible. It is not enough to buy a high powered rifle that can hit a dime at a thousand yards but the assortment of a la carte items suggested by the wide collection of vendors who are hawking hand carved bird callers, sex animal scent, blow up doll deers that make life like noise, and blinds which are camoflauge hideouts to pass time while waiting for the bird migrations or unsuspecting game seems a bit self indulgent.
What is the point, thought it was to go out like De Niro in the Deer Hunter and pit the skills of man against nature, minus all these hi tech gadgets with GPS tracking systems, military grade night vision, and noise cancelling camouflage paddleboats. I understand there is a need by the sellers to offer the people what they want and some folks are completely content with having all the high end gear available at their disposal, but doesn't going after a buck with the arsenal and computing capacity of an aircraft carrier seem a bit overkill, maybe in a fantasy sort of way tracking game with a laptop, cameras, and laser guided telescopes supplants a need to live as if in a military war like setting, except the enemy can at best possibly gore you with its horns.
Talked with a bow hunter for a few minutes and right away could appreciate the stripped down nature of his experiences in tracking game which had a more organic feel consisting of such elements as analyizing footprints, trails, and developing a knowledge of the surrounding enviroment, watering holes, grazing meadows, and migration patterns. The amount of stealth, patience, and mental conviction necessary to bring forth all the appropriate conditions to even get close to a wild animal intrigued me. Tons of control, breath, body movement, and the bow itself really felt like something I could get into, a real challenge without having to blow some animal away with a bullet or buckshot that turns the meat into hamburger, either way people have their preferences, but the Indians couldn't win the wars with the bow so any discussions of what rules the day and personal choice can be acquired with the proper hunting permit.
Throughout the day of interview showfloor sellers, one of the producers on the show I was working for asked me if all this gun stuff made me uncomfortable, basically was I some lefty looney liberal who liked to bang the gong for human rights and gun control. What did it matter, I told him if I had guns, putting animals out of their misery would be low on my list, there are enough animals in the streets, in political offices, and the streets of Beverly Hills who need to be given the Island of Dr. Mareau treatment. Think the literary reference threw him off and the semi radical attitude of my answer may have brought out personal judgements as being another whack job like the gunman who took out all those people in Arizona, yet that character as much as an outcast in which he is being portrayed in the media just happen to murder children, middle class folk, and nearly a politican that kind routine will get you prime news coverage everytime, but gang bangers, transient hookers, and the random street harden runaway might lead to a legacy of unsolved murders at the hands of a serial killer, funny how things work in this society, but it is the one we have inherited and on good days does a pretty fine job, but on the bad ones, you get the Arizona mall massacre, just the kind of ammunition anti-gun groups cream their pants over.
Right away, I can tell the outdoor trade is not an everyman type of endeavor even though on the surface it appears to advertise to the so called common man, if that kind of person really exists anymore. The over abundant amount of new technical equipment ranging from laser guided sight scopes to wireless high defenition video cameras smells of a hobby that has been compartmentalized to extract as much money out of its loyalist as possible. It is not enough to buy a high powered rifle that can hit a dime at a thousand yards but the assortment of a la carte items suggested by the wide collection of vendors who are hawking hand carved bird callers, sex animal scent, blow up doll deers that make life like noise, and blinds which are camoflauge hideouts to pass time while waiting for the bird migrations or unsuspecting game seems a bit self indulgent.
What is the point, thought it was to go out like De Niro in the Deer Hunter and pit the skills of man against nature, minus all these hi tech gadgets with GPS tracking systems, military grade night vision, and noise cancelling camouflage paddleboats. I understand there is a need by the sellers to offer the people what they want and some folks are completely content with having all the high end gear available at their disposal, but doesn't going after a buck with the arsenal and computing capacity of an aircraft carrier seem a bit overkill, maybe in a fantasy sort of way tracking game with a laptop, cameras, and laser guided telescopes supplants a need to live as if in a military war like setting, except the enemy can at best possibly gore you with its horns.
Talked with a bow hunter for a few minutes and right away could appreciate the stripped down nature of his experiences in tracking game which had a more organic feel consisting of such elements as analyizing footprints, trails, and developing a knowledge of the surrounding enviroment, watering holes, grazing meadows, and migration patterns. The amount of stealth, patience, and mental conviction necessary to bring forth all the appropriate conditions to even get close to a wild animal intrigued me. Tons of control, breath, body movement, and the bow itself really felt like something I could get into, a real challenge without having to blow some animal away with a bullet or buckshot that turns the meat into hamburger, either way people have their preferences, but the Indians couldn't win the wars with the bow so any discussions of what rules the day and personal choice can be acquired with the proper hunting permit.
Throughout the day of interview showfloor sellers, one of the producers on the show I was working for asked me if all this gun stuff made me uncomfortable, basically was I some lefty looney liberal who liked to bang the gong for human rights and gun control. What did it matter, I told him if I had guns, putting animals out of their misery would be low on my list, there are enough animals in the streets, in political offices, and the streets of Beverly Hills who need to be given the Island of Dr. Mareau treatment. Think the literary reference threw him off and the semi radical attitude of my answer may have brought out personal judgements as being another whack job like the gunman who took out all those people in Arizona, yet that character as much as an outcast in which he is being portrayed in the media just happen to murder children, middle class folk, and nearly a politican that kind routine will get you prime news coverage everytime, but gang bangers, transient hookers, and the random street harden runaway might lead to a legacy of unsolved murders at the hands of a serial killer, funny how things work in this society, but it is the one we have inherited and on good days does a pretty fine job, but on the bad ones, you get the Arizona mall massacre, just the kind of ammunition anti-gun groups cream their pants over.
Saturday, January 29, 2011
St. Louis Plaza Security Detail
A security guard slowly trails a man wrapped in dirty bandages. Another potential confrontation with a street creature who is looking to make one of the hidden alcoves around the strip mall complex into his on the strip condo or high end outhouse, which around these cross streets directly across from the Stratosphere hotel can probably be considered an easy night, especially in a neighborhood known for its high concentration of hookers, dope dealers, and the predators who prey upon those people. On the other side of the plaza, two cop cars have small line of people handcuffed sitting on top of a small curb while looking for more charges to add to the ones that already have them in restraints in the first place, who knows could be gang related, turf related, money, hoes, drugs, or whatever. In either direction lies an array of wedding chappels and hourly motels. The north end of the strip is slow tonight, even for a friday, weather is too cold for most ladies to hit the street for any good reason, unless the rent is due and the few I have seen lately are all dolled up in fake furs, knee high leather boots and skin tight designer blue jeans. Affectionly known as the dawn patrol, these women roam the blocks near my condo with the only thing seperating us being a twelve foot high brick wall with sharp pointed metal arrows along the perimeter of the estates. Working the business schedule has me up at 6am where a few of the ladies are still milling about all too aware of the pending shift changes this time of morning; either going home or off to work who does not need a quick hummer to get the day off to a great start or proper closing.
Dressed in that store bought almost movie prop like clothing of black bomber jacket, polyester slacks, and a dark cap that says security, the light blue shirt, and navy blue tie, as the street lamps reflect off the semi polished surface of the security guard's black dress shoes. The man tails the bandaged urine bandit along the sidewalk until the semi conscious, unshaven, and weather beaten transient wanders off into the stealth sharpened teeth of a mouth that has devoured everyone who has every passed inside. The killers live on this street, no lights, the random patrol car, silhouetted shapes shift, moving between duplex housing and the few remaining trees that have not been given the ax. Teenage youth are going down to Clark County tonight, flashing lights, red and blue that set off a certain feelings inside my gut, evading the long arm of law, not too fortunate this time yet no sooner than the paddie wagon pulls out of the strip mall plaza, a fresh reinforcement of recruits make their way back onto the block, yo what's for sale, the grind is back on and soon enough with the warmer weather the ladies will return like the migrating birds from the south.
Dressed in that store bought almost movie prop like clothing of black bomber jacket, polyester slacks, and a dark cap that says security, the light blue shirt, and navy blue tie, as the street lamps reflect off the semi polished surface of the security guard's black dress shoes. The man tails the bandaged urine bandit along the sidewalk until the semi conscious, unshaven, and weather beaten transient wanders off into the stealth sharpened teeth of a mouth that has devoured everyone who has every passed inside. The killers live on this street, no lights, the random patrol car, silhouetted shapes shift, moving between duplex housing and the few remaining trees that have not been given the ax. Teenage youth are going down to Clark County tonight, flashing lights, red and blue that set off a certain feelings inside my gut, evading the long arm of law, not too fortunate this time yet no sooner than the paddie wagon pulls out of the strip mall plaza, a fresh reinforcement of recruits make their way back onto the block, yo what's for sale, the grind is back on and soon enough with the warmer weather the ladies will return like the migrating birds from the south.
Friday, January 28, 2011
Ft. Hood
Teenagers with machine guns in their arms, stop cars at a checkpoint with a calm nature that indicates a well trained condition, as if running through a series of mental prerequistes in order to evaluate the purpose of each automobile seeking permission to pass into the Army base at Ft. Hood. The armament is real, present, and potentially deadly, while the soliders addresses us after we show them our credentials as one would while sitting down with friends for beers. The excitement of a mixed martial arts show has obviously made the rounds throughout the base and anyone involved with the event has been given a temporary elevated status of cool that makes these soliders as overwhelmed with anticipation as the legions of loyal followers I have seen throughout the 10 years of working on this show. If there had not been an airfield nearby with a collection of military copters upon it, the base would have pretty much looked deserted, could have been due to the expansive nature of the military depot which is apparently the largest in the US, right smack in the middle of the country, quite a proper location to keep the big guns of world warfare at bay.
Maybe the rabbits or random coyote rules these small surrounding hills as the mile plus long landing strip appeared to be the only real kind of construction while small luxury jets ran in and out of the airbase with a casual nature of government business being conduct with the upmost discreet nature. As for the troops themselves, there was not too much interaction outside of the security team that had been placed around the hanger in which the event was to take place. It was only natural to strike up a conversation in the cold windy afternoon during lulls in downtime while they gave us the once over for proper credentials, life amongst the civilian crowd, things were casual, none of the color coded threat levels one might have expected according the various media outlets, just use your head and don't go out onto the airstrip unless you have a yearning to do some jail time.
The day of the show, the bus hauled in a thousand or so soliders who like kids at an amusement park took the time to search out various friends to play amongst the military choppers and tanks that had been assembled the previous night in order to sell the television on audience on the awe of multi-million dollar war machines. The production crew I work with took some of the afternoon to climb inside the tanks, take pictures in front of the helicopters and generally fall in line with the prevaling youthful nature permeating around the assualt vehicles. The tank gun continously gave me an errie sense of endangerment, the visualization of having one of these killing machines heading toward me felt like an expressway to death, just BOOM, then incineration, nothing, evaporated into fine dust. The production heads decided today would be the appropriate time to give away our so called Christmas present, which tends to be a jacket, sweat shirt, or other form of memorbilia personalize for the crew that did not bother me, up to the point where I really did not care for the token gratitude in the first place, why not just give me a raise instead.
The real problem arose when the production assistants began handing out the jackets in front of the troops, so now there three hundred soliders hitting me up for the jacket which really did not bother me because I planned on giving it away to one of them anyway, yet the atomsphere started to develop into a free for all mentality of personal selfishness. The constant requests continued throughout the three hour show and the only thing that would have been more intolerable might have been the 299 soliders who I couldn't offer a jacket hassling me the rest of the event about handing one out in the first place, so now no one is getting a jacket, sort of bummed me out, there had to be one or two of those people who wouls truly enjoy such a piece of memento from the fights, yet I could only imagine the battles that could break out from the one individual who would have to wear his or her uniform coat over the jacket in order to get it back somewhere secure. Soon enough though the show ended and the teenage battlions filed out in an orderly manner finishing off the remainder of their beers talking amongst each other.
Forgot about the bloodlust amongst the audience anytime one of the fighters took a beating, a sonic force of battle rage cutting through the hanger like a swift moving ax blade; there was a connection of one on one combat, beating ones way through life and death situations, as if just watching the contest themselves amounted to a form of therapy from the daily going ons around the base or even possibly out in the field in some far away land. Still, I could sense an empathy from the soliders with both fighters whether winner or loser, just the fact they got in there to test their skills in the first place was rewarded by an intense adrenaline fueled thunderous applause that truly only lulled during the intermissions between fights.
Time to pull the stakes up, fold up the tent, and get the performers off to the next event; it is the receding tide in the early morning from a chaotic night of cold weather winter stormy seas battering impassable towering rocky jagged cliffs. A hanger floor littered with thousands of empty plastic bottles, popcorn cups, and various advertisements, the residue, what it takes to get the job done, small piles of bloody towels, rubber surgerical gloves, obvious biohazards, no one cares, it all goes into the broom and eventually the trash. Looks like I am going to be here all night putting various techincal gear back in their proper locations, while occasionally staring off out toward the landing strip's flashing blue lights and the empty void of darkness off toward the horizon, the cold begins to creep into my body, have to keep moving, the jacket/gift did come in handy otherwise I might have really froze my ass off, a few hours of sleep then onto a series of flights in order to get back home in time for football which is the real priority.
Maybe the rabbits or random coyote rules these small surrounding hills as the mile plus long landing strip appeared to be the only real kind of construction while small luxury jets ran in and out of the airbase with a casual nature of government business being conduct with the upmost discreet nature. As for the troops themselves, there was not too much interaction outside of the security team that had been placed around the hanger in which the event was to take place. It was only natural to strike up a conversation in the cold windy afternoon during lulls in downtime while they gave us the once over for proper credentials, life amongst the civilian crowd, things were casual, none of the color coded threat levels one might have expected according the various media outlets, just use your head and don't go out onto the airstrip unless you have a yearning to do some jail time.
The day of the show, the bus hauled in a thousand or so soliders who like kids at an amusement park took the time to search out various friends to play amongst the military choppers and tanks that had been assembled the previous night in order to sell the television on audience on the awe of multi-million dollar war machines. The production crew I work with took some of the afternoon to climb inside the tanks, take pictures in front of the helicopters and generally fall in line with the prevaling youthful nature permeating around the assualt vehicles. The tank gun continously gave me an errie sense of endangerment, the visualization of having one of these killing machines heading toward me felt like an expressway to death, just BOOM, then incineration, nothing, evaporated into fine dust. The production heads decided today would be the appropriate time to give away our so called Christmas present, which tends to be a jacket, sweat shirt, or other form of memorbilia personalize for the crew that did not bother me, up to the point where I really did not care for the token gratitude in the first place, why not just give me a raise instead.
The real problem arose when the production assistants began handing out the jackets in front of the troops, so now there three hundred soliders hitting me up for the jacket which really did not bother me because I planned on giving it away to one of them anyway, yet the atomsphere started to develop into a free for all mentality of personal selfishness. The constant requests continued throughout the three hour show and the only thing that would have been more intolerable might have been the 299 soliders who I couldn't offer a jacket hassling me the rest of the event about handing one out in the first place, so now no one is getting a jacket, sort of bummed me out, there had to be one or two of those people who wouls truly enjoy such a piece of memento from the fights, yet I could only imagine the battles that could break out from the one individual who would have to wear his or her uniform coat over the jacket in order to get it back somewhere secure. Soon enough though the show ended and the teenage battlions filed out in an orderly manner finishing off the remainder of their beers talking amongst each other.
Forgot about the bloodlust amongst the audience anytime one of the fighters took a beating, a sonic force of battle rage cutting through the hanger like a swift moving ax blade; there was a connection of one on one combat, beating ones way through life and death situations, as if just watching the contest themselves amounted to a form of therapy from the daily going ons around the base or even possibly out in the field in some far away land. Still, I could sense an empathy from the soliders with both fighters whether winner or loser, just the fact they got in there to test their skills in the first place was rewarded by an intense adrenaline fueled thunderous applause that truly only lulled during the intermissions between fights.
Time to pull the stakes up, fold up the tent, and get the performers off to the next event; it is the receding tide in the early morning from a chaotic night of cold weather winter stormy seas battering impassable towering rocky jagged cliffs. A hanger floor littered with thousands of empty plastic bottles, popcorn cups, and various advertisements, the residue, what it takes to get the job done, small piles of bloody towels, rubber surgerical gloves, obvious biohazards, no one cares, it all goes into the broom and eventually the trash. Looks like I am going to be here all night putting various techincal gear back in their proper locations, while occasionally staring off out toward the landing strip's flashing blue lights and the empty void of darkness off toward the horizon, the cold begins to creep into my body, have to keep moving, the jacket/gift did come in handy otherwise I might have really froze my ass off, a few hours of sleep then onto a series of flights in order to get back home in time for football which is the real priority.
Periodic Growth
I seem to undergo various cycles of involvement and removal, either complete dedication to self indulgence or generating as much distance from the mechanism that faciliate the simplicity within which to find myself on the back end of 3 day fiestas. Shades of Charlie Sheen come to mind minus the bank account; a retraction into an otherwise state of absolute sobriety can make me a bit edgy especially when others around me are going head over heels in getting wasted. Am I that much of a drunk, a junkie, and freak that I have to battle myself when the thought of getting off work at 3am must be capped off with a binge drinking escapde down at one of the local bars. Do alcholics think this way, while caught in a strong parasitic undertow to create favorable conditions, made up stories, and irrational logic to get me in the car and off on some rollercoaster time warp bungee jump acid trip, it feels that way sometimes after a couple of weeks of such behavior and even more so at the moment while being sans the devil's elixer, dandruff, and agents of exessiveness who bend wills like magicians bend spoons. The adventures help the writing to some degree, whether as a puncuation mark on an assortment of spontaneous tricks conducted with very little consciousness and a waterfall of extravagant deviant demeanor or as a diving board into the afterlife; those times where the second by second, breath by breath, near mental collapse walk along the wire above the flames of hell have served to transform me into a mechanical beast on a personal odyessy through the strange times of living in the digital age.
Not sure how long this current phase shall last, the extra sleep, clarity, and focus start the mind moving in all sorts of directions in regards to getting the things accomplished that all the partying took precedence over in the first place. The definitve distraction as I like to call everything which keeps me from doing such tasks as writing this blog. Either drink or sleep, these two pillars of existence stand by my sides, avoid, why put anything down anymore, give up, stand aside, leave the real heavy thinking to people who are halfway to the grave from meth overkill and wikipedia media burden. Sitting in this chair at the moment feels like being in restraints, barstools are calling, anonymous women, and street grade narcotics, come on, get back in the game, don't fight your place amongst the washouts of the universe, join the 21st artists, immerse into tomorrow land, popcorn, cotton candy, and death defying exploration at every turn. Only chance is to remain stone cold in this unheated room, awiating a chance brought forth by facing a series of tasks to help define the romantic notions floating around in my brain for the last twenty years, sometimes the bullet makes sense, other times,the bottle and occasionally the word, enjoy.
Not sure how long this current phase shall last, the extra sleep, clarity, and focus start the mind moving in all sorts of directions in regards to getting the things accomplished that all the partying took precedence over in the first place. The definitve distraction as I like to call everything which keeps me from doing such tasks as writing this blog. Either drink or sleep, these two pillars of existence stand by my sides, avoid, why put anything down anymore, give up, stand aside, leave the real heavy thinking to people who are halfway to the grave from meth overkill and wikipedia media burden. Sitting in this chair at the moment feels like being in restraints, barstools are calling, anonymous women, and street grade narcotics, come on, get back in the game, don't fight your place amongst the washouts of the universe, join the 21st artists, immerse into tomorrow land, popcorn, cotton candy, and death defying exploration at every turn. Only chance is to remain stone cold in this unheated room, awiating a chance brought forth by facing a series of tasks to help define the romantic notions floating around in my brain for the last twenty years, sometimes the bullet makes sense, other times,the bottle and occasionally the word, enjoy.
Discarding the Future
Listening on a communications headset during the rehearsal of some corporate meeting within the metallic confines a mega complex of hotels along the Las Vegas Strip. After enduring a 15 minute discussion on the current state of the global warming, the two people striking up the conversation had come to a bit of a stalement in their attempts to convince the other person that their view was the more valid choice. By this point, I had already tuned out the conversation if for no other reason than I could just as easily entertain myself by checking in to the global social networking scene via my smartphone, no better way to whittle away the afternoon than scrolling through the hundred or so phrase like statements of various promotions, pet problems, and personal self esteem issues. The virtual psychatrist is in, sit down on the couch, let the session commence, while the digital masses proceed to unload all their issues on an otherwise sunny day in Las Vegas.
As I immerse a large amount of my lazy consciousness into the rants of the moment, the conversation on the headset takes a turn into the realm of one person stating how he is not really too concerned about what is going to happen in the next fifty years, because by that time he will be dead, as if to say why bother with a solution, just pull the trigger and let the next fool bare the weight. Such a mentality has put the planet in such the current situation of stagnation. People who throughout their lives had decidely continued to exist with their heads in the sand, stepping up to distraction after distraction, turning away from the people in foriegn lands protesting in the street because they cannot get enough bread to eat. Granted, it is a whole lot easier to live in the States, guarded by might, will, and two oceans, to not give a shit but rather chain ourselves down with a lot of useless goods, services, relationships, and store bought ideologies that in the long run neither serve our global interest or foster any desire to participate in political events throughout the global, isn't that why we have elected officials in the first place, to mediate all that political handwringing and so called goodwill, I just want to sit back and fade away on network cable tele-dramas, what's with all the negativity.
The post death state of mind is nothing new, yet as I get older, the opportunity to adopt such views becomes much more inticing, complacent attitudes are like familiar dance partners, the feet are on autopilot and with such an overwhelming menu of activities to divert one's mind from undertaking any particular interest in anything outside your front door; the willingness to keep abreast of things going on in Vegas, Nevada, the US, and the World can feel like trying to take a lawyer bar exam without ever taking any courses in the subject of law, some people can make that jump, very few, and from what I have seen, these types do not come to the forefront for either fear of personal safety or interest in the actions of rule by government institution. Either way, generations have been given soft cushion to exist than with no more requirements than to go to work, consume goods, and maintain a bubble of apathy in which to place oneself within, with these ideals achieved the order of fast food, pop culture, and internalize dream states shall be left undisturbed, so I will go back to my smartphone in order to text some junior high like punch lines to others who relish the prospect of pissing away another fifteen minutes, minus the fame.
As I immerse a large amount of my lazy consciousness into the rants of the moment, the conversation on the headset takes a turn into the realm of one person stating how he is not really too concerned about what is going to happen in the next fifty years, because by that time he will be dead, as if to say why bother with a solution, just pull the trigger and let the next fool bare the weight. Such a mentality has put the planet in such the current situation of stagnation. People who throughout their lives had decidely continued to exist with their heads in the sand, stepping up to distraction after distraction, turning away from the people in foriegn lands protesting in the street because they cannot get enough bread to eat. Granted, it is a whole lot easier to live in the States, guarded by might, will, and two oceans, to not give a shit but rather chain ourselves down with a lot of useless goods, services, relationships, and store bought ideologies that in the long run neither serve our global interest or foster any desire to participate in political events throughout the global, isn't that why we have elected officials in the first place, to mediate all that political handwringing and so called goodwill, I just want to sit back and fade away on network cable tele-dramas, what's with all the negativity.
The post death state of mind is nothing new, yet as I get older, the opportunity to adopt such views becomes much more inticing, complacent attitudes are like familiar dance partners, the feet are on autopilot and with such an overwhelming menu of activities to divert one's mind from undertaking any particular interest in anything outside your front door; the willingness to keep abreast of things going on in Vegas, Nevada, the US, and the World can feel like trying to take a lawyer bar exam without ever taking any courses in the subject of law, some people can make that jump, very few, and from what I have seen, these types do not come to the forefront for either fear of personal safety or interest in the actions of rule by government institution. Either way, generations have been given soft cushion to exist than with no more requirements than to go to work, consume goods, and maintain a bubble of apathy in which to place oneself within, with these ideals achieved the order of fast food, pop culture, and internalize dream states shall be left undisturbed, so I will go back to my smartphone in order to text some junior high like punch lines to others who relish the prospect of pissing away another fifteen minutes, minus the fame.
Saturday, January 15, 2011
Middle Life Crisis
Haven't meant too many people who really like sitting in the middle seat during a four flight, but with a sense of understanding as well as a bit of kindness everyone in the row tries to make the best of the situation, yet ocassionally there has to be a person striving towards becoming a cog in their corporation who is in the midst of an excessive string of motivational speaker readings who has gone on a total bender in the asserting of a private power dynamic. The description: semi balding, male, of medium height, who dresses in that bland nuetral tan slacks and light colored shirt, married, but to give the guy credit he had a goatee for that added creative streak. When I encounter people with such passion to make every little movement for space into a battle, sleep is the first counter on my part, rather just lean over on the guy with all my dead weight, what do I care at that point, good for a couple of hours, don't have to bother with being edged out off an arm rest which is usually relinquished with no problems, it does suck to sit in the middle seat, cramped between two other people, especially when they are the size of NFL starting offensive linemen, which happened to me some years back. The trio of us could have blocked for Manning, Brady, or whoever, I was expecting the plane to flip over while the effects of weekend of work/partying drove through my mind like slow forming cement in my viens. There was really no sitting, sort of just wedging inbetween a pair of enormous shoulder blades, but a mutual understanding had been achieved, the three of us laughed about it throughout the trip while sharing a few drinks, nothing a bit of conversation can't help, it really melts away the reality of being couped up in a metal tube for an extended period of time.
Still, no comraderie today, only a middle management flesh bot who was plagarizing Vince Lombardi quotes and Tony Robbins motifs for some future powerpoint presentation to his underlinks back in Illinois somewhere. Granted I slept through about half the flight, but for the other two hours this guy kept trying to wedge my arm further and further into my ribs, then the periodical standing up every fifteen minutes began, whether to grab materials for the overhead storage bins to frequent bathroom trips, this person was attempting to give me the ol stare down routine, which amounted to nothing more than watching a confused animal go through their series of physical routines to establish some sort of primitive territorial pissing which he himself could only make sense out of inside the airplane. All I could do was watch while hoping to gain a bit of humor from his antics. Mr. Middle Management did not let me down, in fact everytime the man walked out into the aisle his brain must have been processing other things, cause he would rise just as another passenger or stewardess would pass, creating a bottleneck in the aisle walkway, of course Mr. Middle stood their working on two levels of thought, one, dominance, two common courtesy, in the end number one, seized the day, only making the impass more drawn out than necessary.
Why not, humanity is here for my amusement, this has already been well established and over documented, today would be no different, this is compelling, exciting, and fun, watching Mr. Middle move through the steps of metamorphsis from the weak little catapiller to the empowered butterfly, where he happen to be stage wise at the time took a bit more observation to establish. After everyone returned to their seats, the battle of the arm rests continued, only to be nuetralized by the old leg touching leg tactic, skillfully employed but yours truly. If all else fails go for the homophobic angle, you might get in a fight, but most of the time, types like Mr. Middle will go into full retreat, his personal space had finally been violated, so I kept up the attack, just to let him know who is in control here, what did I care, this goof is nothing but a low grade psychological experiment, sleep would have been preferrable or writing, but watching this guy type up 20th century self empowerment phrases into powerpoint slides wants to make me see what he is really made of in the mind. But even this runs its course, just land the plane, there are more important things going down, like having a beer or watching sports or interacting with the general public. Finally, the plane lands and during the frey that exists inbetween deplaning Mr. Middle made a final move in the search for dominance asking me to get his bag from the overhead storage bin. I told him, "Get out of here." Some people have to go down with the ship, Mr. Middle was no different, just uncomfortable with his lot in life, like most people, but with very little talent, drive, and or character to change it.
Still, no comraderie today, only a middle management flesh bot who was plagarizing Vince Lombardi quotes and Tony Robbins motifs for some future powerpoint presentation to his underlinks back in Illinois somewhere. Granted I slept through about half the flight, but for the other two hours this guy kept trying to wedge my arm further and further into my ribs, then the periodical standing up every fifteen minutes began, whether to grab materials for the overhead storage bins to frequent bathroom trips, this person was attempting to give me the ol stare down routine, which amounted to nothing more than watching a confused animal go through their series of physical routines to establish some sort of primitive territorial pissing which he himself could only make sense out of inside the airplane. All I could do was watch while hoping to gain a bit of humor from his antics. Mr. Middle Management did not let me down, in fact everytime the man walked out into the aisle his brain must have been processing other things, cause he would rise just as another passenger or stewardess would pass, creating a bottleneck in the aisle walkway, of course Mr. Middle stood their working on two levels of thought, one, dominance, two common courtesy, in the end number one, seized the day, only making the impass more drawn out than necessary.
Why not, humanity is here for my amusement, this has already been well established and over documented, today would be no different, this is compelling, exciting, and fun, watching Mr. Middle move through the steps of metamorphsis from the weak little catapiller to the empowered butterfly, where he happen to be stage wise at the time took a bit more observation to establish. After everyone returned to their seats, the battle of the arm rests continued, only to be nuetralized by the old leg touching leg tactic, skillfully employed but yours truly. If all else fails go for the homophobic angle, you might get in a fight, but most of the time, types like Mr. Middle will go into full retreat, his personal space had finally been violated, so I kept up the attack, just to let him know who is in control here, what did I care, this goof is nothing but a low grade psychological experiment, sleep would have been preferrable or writing, but watching this guy type up 20th century self empowerment phrases into powerpoint slides wants to make me see what he is really made of in the mind. But even this runs its course, just land the plane, there are more important things going down, like having a beer or watching sports or interacting with the general public. Finally, the plane lands and during the frey that exists inbetween deplaning Mr. Middle made a final move in the search for dominance asking me to get his bag from the overhead storage bin. I told him, "Get out of here." Some people have to go down with the ship, Mr. Middle was no different, just uncomfortable with his lot in life, like most people, but with very little talent, drive, and or character to change it.
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