From the Vault

If you've spent any time reading this blog you already know that my writing comes in fits and starts. At times I'm prolific. At others, writing isn't even considered. More often though, I think of ideas I'd love to put to paper, but don't. So, in an effort to bridge the gap, I'm back with Writings from the Vault. What follows are a few things I put together a while back in varying states of completeness.

Dianetics Jacket

It was one of those silky-looking jackets that you’d expect to have a Chicago Bears logo on the back, or something like that. Even so, it would have been exceedingly tacky and would be owned by muscle-car drivers alone. More commonly, such a jacket would be adorned by a US Marines insignia, or even the logo of the owner’s favorite dojo. But in this case, it simply said, “Dianetics”, writ large in red across the back. There was no explanation, no context, and no slogan to accompany the term displayed on the back of the black jacket. So, I guess this begs more than a few questions. Not least of these questions is WHERE ON EARTH DID THIS MAN ACQUIRE SUCH AN ODDITY?!! Is this the sort of thing given out at your standard scientology meetings? Is there a catalog? If so, could we expect to find a similar “piece” in “TomKat’s” proverbial closet? Or would they have a more elaborate Orange County version, replete with diamond studs upon fine Chinese silk? I can’t decide which is more impressive. I’m sure future generations will view each with equal curiosity, as I do. Yet another question is, when this man put that coat on this morning, what was going through his head? I don’t say this in the obvious pop-culture sense, but with complete honestly. Was this man a) thinking perhaps “my brash support for my much-maligned faith will provide others with the courage to follow in my footsteps, b) “damn I look good in shiny black clothing”, or c) “I’m cold and I need a jacket.” If I weren’t so scared of people who think they are aliens living within some human host, I may have asked him. Then again, maybe its best that I keep my distance from alien parasites.

Film in Flight

How blatantly inconsiderate is it for the airline industry to ruin the whole medium of film by playing movies during flights? No, I’m not referring to the watered-down mainstream nature of their selections (though that is consistently frustrating. Ever flown internationally, where “Home Alone 3” is the only apparent stimuli to be experienced inside this metal box at 30,000 feet?) No, instead I’m talking about the whole practice of playing films silently. The airline is effectively giving you two options, a) Pay some nominal amount to view the selected feature under the worst movie-going conditions imaginable, or b) Have that film ruined for you forever by displaying the movie pictures, sans sound, ending and all. Perhaps it would be bearable if they offered a third option of a Delta brand THC tablet to accompany the flick. At least then you would have the opportunity to create your own uniquely inventive dialogue, replete with non-label specific soundtrack. In the absence of what would be “option C” the airlines exhibit the same inconsiderate nature as Marie Antoinette and the producers of Home Alone 3. If only my airline served cake.

Southern Comfort

Everyone in the South is fat. No, this isn’t an original thought and I’m sure you’ve all heard it before, but its nonetheless true. It almost seems to be a self-reinforcing system, where the inhabitants of this area are so desensitized to obesity that they are destined to resemble it. On the face of the choices it’s a far more enjoyable than the alternative... restraint. Of course we’d all choose indulgence without consequence, which is effectively how we make choices when you consider the lack of foresight attached to any decision whatsoever in this country. To further belabor this point, that the sheer number of obese people seen day in and day out desensitize Southerners, notice that this phenomenon crosses all traditional borders of our societal boulebez. White Southerners, fat. Black Southerners, obese. Poor Southerners, sweaty fat, yet in some instances linked by marriage to nearly anorexic tank-top enthusiasts. Rich Southerners, stately fat. Truly, the only two characteristics that link Southerners is their latitude and their apparent comfort with being fat. Oh yeah, and their accents.

Music Insecurity (part of this story was adapted into Insecurity at the Disco)

Insecurity seems to be at the root of a great deal of human behavior. What we buy, what we say, and the quality of our hand towels are all manifestations of our own insecurities one way or another. This fact is not new, and I suppose it dates back to the inception of self-awareness. However, the artifacts of this insecurity have a tendency to evolve over time (as I’m only 28, this assertion could be completely baseless). That being said, I can’t think of a more acute demonstration of individual insecurity than the music collections of me and my contemporaries. Think of it. What could be more terrifying than providing a stranger with unfettered access to your music collection? What would this stranger think of the innocent mistakes of my youth? Could I explain my ownership of a Vanessa Williams CD before my audience began to daydream as to the nature of the heads in my refrigerator, or on the possibility that I live in a house adorned with Trapper Keepers? In such cases a simple, “I thought she was hot” is your only shot. Attempting a nuanced argument on how the woman introduced you to the concept of M.I.L.F would simply take too long and perhaps scare your acquaintance into a prejudicial 911 call. To avoid such calamities, we often take great pains to cleanse that portion of our music collections that are not meant for public consumption. Away goes that first Destiny’s Child album, Cooley High Harmony, and every Christmas album you’ve ever purchased. If that were the end of the revision of your public taste, it could be credibly argued that this corner of self demonstrated human insecurity was no worse an example than say the number of “show pillows” owned in the average American household. But, the show must go on in order to paint a proper version of ourselves to others. Enter the entire genre of alt-anything. By definition its different, yet based on an established and widely accepted body of work. Christ, now that I think of it, the existence of alt genres more aptly defines our society than anything else on this planet that readily comes to mind. Its like a person who can’t swim standing in the 4-5 foot area of the pool all day. We all long to be viewed as risk-takers without actually having to take a risk, like James Dean with an air bag. Don’t let this straightforward explanation fool you into thinking accomplishing the look of a thoughtful music collection is easy. Its not. Just the opposite, its intensely difficult, as each of us are hip to the same idea and working tirelessly towards the same end. Not only carefully choosing music in our public collection, but laying thinly veiled hints at the iceberg of music knowledge that must lay just beneath the surface. Just like anything we hold out to be worthwhile, it must be exclusionary, resulting in only those in the highest percentile ever achieving the desired recognition, “Man, you really have great taste in music. Will you burn me a CD someday?”.

Addendum

How has the age of digital music made this exercise at once made this exercise more easy and more difficult.

• Easier - “I must have gotten a mislabeled track from Napster.”
• Easier - How digital file storage make hidden wings of your music collection simpler.
• Harder - Widely available access to playlists created by those who actually DO have good taste in music.
• Harder - Everyone has a slew of alt band tracks, so now the music actually has to be good to score points.

Harder - The sheer size of music collections makes only a random sampling possible for those holding the role of judge, jury and social executioner. As a result, the collection must be equally varied and consistent