Two weeks ago I was skating the little ditch near my house — the one I’ve been skating since about 1978 – and I ate it. Rolling in, about halfway down the wall, I hit a little rock and got pitched.
So to the concrete I went. Both hands out in front, I naturally went to my leading side and slid to a stop. I got a little bit of a hipper, scraped my palms a bit, but got up and kept skating.
I’m 50. Yeah, I know I mention that a lot. I think it is often relevant. You see, I got up and kept skating. The slam pissed me off. I got back up, kicked that goddamn rock out of the ditch, rolled right back in, and skated for another hour. Most dudes my age can hardly get out of their chair. So that’s why I mention my age.
I’m not going to lie. I don’t like falling. I don’t like getting hurt any more than the next guy. If someone says “You know, I hate falling and I’m done with this” I totally understand. There have been plenty of times when I slammed harder than this and just packed it up for the day. Slams that just knocked the fight out of me and reminded me that gravity and the concrete are actually in control. Frankly, I’ve taken shots in the shin from my freestyle board that dropped me right then and there to the ground gasping for air. BUT — getting back up and continuing to skate two weeks ago was killer. I did, in fact, think about just leaving. But I didn’t. I got mad and kept skating.
After taking that slam, and surviving, the rest of the skating was better. All day it was better. For the rest of that ditch session I was looser and faster. At the parking garage where I sometimes go to street skate I skated better. Getting the shit knocked out of you, shaking it off, and continuing to skate can really put you in the right frame of mind and give you the right perspective. You fall, it hurts, you didn’t die, and you keep skating. Some slams are worse than others, but after many years, I’ve decided that if you can go on skating, you should.
You see, most normal humans live in mortal fear of getting hurt. They avoid injury even if it means avoiding fun too. This is natural. This is the survival/breeding instinct in action. Survive to live/breed/raise kids/grandchildren another day. Seek pleasure avoid pain. But that doesn’t mean it’s always the right course of action.
There seems to be very little in the basic survival programming about accomplishment. Sometimes you have to just say “fuck it” and keep doing the possibly injurious thing, because even that fall will lift you up in the end.
Age gives an the advantage of perspective on earlier years. Is it an advantage? Maybe. I guess. I’m sure that in future decades, should I be lucky enough to have a few more, I will think that as of today I didn’t know a damned thing. However, I think these dudes are a bit of an exception.
The guys in these pictures — they got it right.
Henry Rollins, Ian MacKaye, and Jello Biafra. (You can click on these images to go to their sources).
In my mind these guys are the Trinity of Punk Rock. When I want to listen to some punk, it’s going to usually involve Black Flag, Fugazi (or Minor Threat), and the Dead Kennedys.
But when I say they got it right I’m not talking about the music. I’m talking about everything else.
These are pretty much the three smart dudes from punk. They are the ones who have grown into intelligent, progressive, well-spoken adult human beings.
I am constantly amazed by how many people I know who “love” punk rock, and are skateboarders, grow up to adopt a repressive, conservative political and social ideology. I think part of this conundrum stems from the fact that punk (at least the kind from the 1980s) tends to be very aggressive music, and thus it attracts not only smart people but some fairly not-quite-as -smart people too. I’m sure a lot of young people are just trying to “find themselves” or enjoy being part of an outsider group, so they get into it. I’m sure this happened with my generation. My friend Bosco says young people are often just “trying on different uniforms.” Then they grow up and become their parents. Sometimes that’s a good thing. Sometimes not so much. Honestly, I have never “worn the uniform” of anything but a skateboarder. But as I’ve gotten older, and these guys have gotten older, I’ve come to appreciate them more and more.
I just find it fascinating because these three guys, while they have grown up and evolved and become more sophisticated in their thinking and more articulate in their communication, to me, seem like they kind of got it right in the first place.
Somehow, from a young age these guys had a clarity of thought that a lot of people just don’t have. Some people never get it. I think Henry probably had a rougher time with his youth, but he made it, and if you listen to his spoken word, he is right on target on almost everything.
As I got older, however, I “matured,” and my outlook on life became more pragmatic. I no longer grouped things into “good” and “evil” categories based on where they fell on the Jello Biafra Outrage Scale. (The more shrilly Jello Biafra sings about something the more evil it was.) I no longer automatically rejected anything “mainstream,” and I stopped assuming that anything that was part of the mainstream was somehow automatically tainted. Most of all, I laughed at my own naïveté, I dropped the attitude, and I got down to the non-ideological business of becoming an adult.
But then, years later, something amazing happened, and I realized that all those albums I used to listen to were right. Well, maybe they weren’t right about a lot of the specifics, but it turns out that the general message–that mainstream culture is vacuous and bankrupt–is pretty much entirely correct.
In the last 7 years I’ve had the chance to see Henry and Jello both do spoken word performance. Both these guys are downright masterful in this craft. Entertaining, engaging, thought-provoking, and just provoking. Really good. Ian doesn’t do spoken word, but I keep up with him and if he is ever in this area I will surely to see him play. I saw him with Fugazi back in the 1990s.
Well, that’s all I’ve got to say today. Go have some fun.
I was inspired, one might say compelled, to write this by the conversation I was eavesdropping on this morning, outside my office door. Unintentional eavesdropping — they were invading my sound-space. And brother, when you invade my sound space,it is on!
Deep male voices — the name Romo comes up a few times – talk of options and blah blah blah. Yes, it was a Monday morning discussion of yet another glorious Dallas Cowboys victory on the field of simulated battle yesterday.
The NFL Robot and entire TV spectacle combine the things modern young men love – violence, football, and video games. And beer.
This has never been my world. I’ve never had even the slightest interest in football. None. While I enjoy a good baseball game and I like that sport, I don’t go out of my way to watch it. Basketball — every game is the same. Sorry. It is. But of all the “big 3” sports, football offers nothing to interest me at all. When dudes start talking sports in general, and especially football, I’m pretty sure my eyes glaze over as if the Zombie Virus has just taken hold of me and my mind has gone empty. Which is weird, because to me they’re the zombies.
Before I go on, let me just clear this up. I just said I like baseball. I do. Baseball, for all its steroid scandals, is a great sport. Some will say it is “too slow”. To them I say “No. YOU are too slow, idiot!”. Still, I rarely devote the many hours required to watch a game. I save it for the World Series, but usually I pretty much skip that too. Sorry, I have a life.
My brother-in-law took me to a Boston Bruins hockey game a couple of years ago. First time I’d been to a hockey game. Now THAT was an experience. I can’t say I’ll spend a lot of time watching hockey, but it was fun. And the fans…let’s just say the crazy meter was on “11”.
Now I will continue…
At any get-together, if I meet a new person and they bring up football (which is common and usually happens in the first three seconds of interaction) I know the conversation is over. Done. As soon as those words leave his mouth, I am looking for my exit. “Can you excuse me? I have to go home and put some new doilies on my tea table.” Before you think too badly of me for feeling this way, keep in mind that as soon as that person realizes that I have no idea what he’s talking about he will quickly be scanning the room for safer territory. It’s like being a librarian in a room full of salesmen (I have been in this situation). As soon as they find out you’re a librarian and can’t do anything to make them money, they never make eye contact with you again.
The only thing my liberal intellectual elite mind finds less interesting than professional football is, you guessed it, college or high school football. At least I am vaguely aware of the names of professional teams. In our culture you can’t help but be. But it seems unreasonable to expect me to know anything about your favorite college team. Sorry, but the inner workings of the mind of the coach of the Chickenville State Worm Gobblers isn’t foremost, or even lastmost, on my mind. Getting all worked up about your college or high school team, well, it’s just infantile.
I don’t know any of the millions of rules of football. It’s just too complicated.
I have always preferred doing things myself, rather than watching others do things. I’d rather be skateboarding, or drawing, writing, or reading, or going to aikido practice. Or staring blankly into the sun while wearing a turtleneck sweater on hot summer day with gnats buzzing around my nostrils.
I’m not saying that watching football (or other professional sports) is for stupid, uninteresting people. I know plenty of intelligent interesting people who enjoy watching football. BUT – I’ve never met a stupid uninteresting dude who didn’t love watching football. So there’s an intersection of several Venn diagrams there, and it’s a space I don’t want to occupy.
You’ve probably heard the theory that professional sports are a substitute for war in our society. Instead of city-states actually fighting, they compete on the sports field. Doesn’t seem to be working. Last I heard, people around the world are still killing each other, in-between halves.
It’s more likely, I think, that sports watching/football fanaticism provides some common topic for adult men to discuss — something to insure that at that next dinner party they don’t get mad about politics and start tearing each other apart. Football talk is just violent enough to engage the lizard-brain ever so slightly. I feel my brain stem tingling a bit just thinking about it.
Soccer fans are always quick to point out that soccer is the “real” football. Yeah yeah. Tell it to someone who cares. As much as I don’t care for football, soccer is even worse. Entire games where there is hardly any score. They just run around. They spend a couple of hours accomplishing nothing. Worse part is this — the fans take it so seriously they will KILL each other over it!
While we’re on soccer, let me just mention that what I hate about it is the way the players always pretend to be injured. They are great athletes, but for some reason the culture of the game allows this bullshit acting, and the actors aren’t publicly shamed! This last weekend I went to a pool skating session where a guy tried ten times to ride his skateboard straight into the deep end of a swimming pool. Dude tried about 10 times before making it at least enough to roll away up the next wall. Crashed the other 9 times. No complaining. No crying. Just picked his ass up , climbed out of the pool, and tried again. So you see, I have no patience for soccer players who pretend to be injured.
Back to football…soccer is too big a subject to work in here properly.
I’d rather hear dudes talk about hunting. I don’t even like hunting, but at least in hunting sometimes interesting things happen, like that time Vice President Dick Cheney nearly blew that dude’s face off. See — that is interesting. The potential for good events is there with hunting. You don’t get that with fishing. What’s the worst thing that might happen (other than an occasional drunken drowning)? Getting a hook caught in your nostril?
Here’s a good hit for you. If the position of this guy’s legs confuses you like a Mobius strip, congratulations, you are normal. It should.
Which brings me to the one part of football I do like — the injuries. Now let me be clear. I really do feel bad for the people who get brain injuries in football. Or the kids who get paralyzed. It’s a violent sport. I don’t really understand why parents let their kids play. I’m certainly not a wimp. I’m a skateboarder, former wrestler, and a martial arts practitioner. But football is really really really not good for the human body. Parents, seriously, what the fuck? Sure, injures happen in all sports, but in most sports a 300 pound human isn’t targeting his mass x velocity at your knee.
Now, back to my enjoyment of the injuries. Really, I think most people are hoping for injuries. They want their team to really injure the shit out of the opposing team. They want to see “a good hit”. So I’m not alone in this, my sole pleasure from football. I’m just honest about it. Everyone likes to see a good Joe Theismann hit. Fans get to live vicariously through the action of the person inflicting the hit. “MAN I’d like to do that to that guy who takes the last cup of coffee in the office without starting another pot”. That’s what they’re thinking.
One thing that make me sad is when women get dragged into the world of football by their boyfriends or husbands. They become fans. Usually, husbo is a football fan and the choice is simple. Either convert or be an infidel. Being an infidel is not good for the relationship, because there are actually three members of the “couple”, the third being the girlfriend/wife — also known as the “second wife”. The primary wife is football. And football is a very demanding spouse, as it requires huge blocks of time. Watching a football game essentially takes an entire afternoon or evening. So if there are two “important” games on during the weekend (and two is a very light viewing load), well, you get the picture.
All this, and to what end? Well, let me tell you what this is really all about. The purpose of televised sports. The cause of all this misery. One need only watch 15 minutes of a game and it is painfully clear what football’s special purpose is. Selling beer. All the body building, steroids, HGH, and injuries of the players. All the marital/relationship stress, sublimation of violent urges, social isolation and feelings of masculine inadequacy, lack of exercise and associated carb-fueled weight gain.
It’s all about selling beer. Beer finances it all, while still managing to make a healthy profit. If you doubt this, I challenge you to look at a game without your beer goggles on, and be honest with yourself. It isn’t about athleticism, courage, determination, or character development. From peewee league to the NFL, ultimately it is about selling beer.
If this article has angered you, please, I entreat you to seek out a competent mental health professional, because you are sick.
All this being said, if you invite me to a Superbowl party there’s a good chance I’ll show up, because while I don’t care for the game I do enjoy the spectacle and hanging with friends.
There are at least two cultures living in our society in parallel. I’m not talking about racial divides, gender, urban vs. rural, or even really “class”.
I’m talking about the world of most of us – normal, working, peaceful, sane people, and the world of the Sketchy. The Sketchy World is the one full of people who live on the very edge, where criminality is common, where no thought is given to the future (and by the future I mean 30 seconds from now), where education is low, where confrontation and animosity are often high. Substance abuse and addiction are the norm. The Sketchers are in survival mode 24-7.
These two worlds sometimes come into contact. In more urban environments they see each other more often. Who doesn’t love being in the city when some lunatic begins shouting out that Jesus is on his way or something like that? I love it. In the suburbs contact is less frequent, but does happen. But when it happens, it’s weird. Bus stations are a great nexus of the two universes.
Skateboarding can also bring you into close contact with the Sketchy, but generally everyone just wants to skate, so things are usually chill. Still, in skateboarding you sometimes have to be aware of the Sketchy. Keep your wits about you, and make sure you aren’t pulled in, at least not too far.
I’m sure this is why cops always seem weird to me when I meet them. They spend so much of their time dealing with humanoids who have no idea or ability to get along harmoniously in the world that they must start seeing that aspect in almost everyone.
But I digress…
The other day I was walking to lunch near my place of employment. As I waited for the lights to change so I could cross the street, I noticed a young couple across the street with a baby in a carriage (yeah…of course…they had to have a baby, right?). The woman was really impatient. She could hardly wait for the “walk” sign to light up, as she stood there shifting from one foot to the other, cigarette dangling from her mouth. Her male companion was standing slightly behind her, pushing the carriage. Both looked to be in their late 20s, but with a lot of miles on them.
When the light changed, she took off across the street, jumping way ahead of the man and the baby. As I passed her going the other way, I swear she was trying to invade my space. Seriously. I mean, it is a full size crosswalk, but this fucking hag is trying to take as much of it as possible.
Now, I credit my aikido training for improving my sense of what is going on around me. It hasn’t made me paranoid or anything , but after six years I have developed a bit more of a sense of people’s body language and “way”. I was actually kind of on my guard, just in case this woman was crazy.
Now, of course there was no collision or anything. But afterward as I thought about it, I realized that a lot of people live in that world all the time. — the world where tiny stuff can turn into an altercation, where the lizard brain is primary, and it’s often under the influence of one or more mind-altering substances.
As I passed the guy with the baby carriage, he seemed like he was just wishing that maybe she’d get hit by a car or something. He didn’t look too stoked about being there with her. Who knows what was going on with them. You just really never know what kind of stuff is happening in people’s lives, and with inhabitants of the Sketchy World you really have no idea.
Looking forward to my friend Mike’s comments here, as his line of work (which is perfectly legitimate) often puts him in contact with the Sketchy-verse.
I don’t watch a lot of television until about 10pm. Really, it’s rare that there’s anything worth watching until 10pm.
I know some of you out there will disagree, saying something like “But CSI: Forgotten Pedophile Investigation is on at 8pm”. Well, let me break this news to you. If you like that stuff, you need to hang yourself. Seriously. CSI? Ever been to a police station or any other kind of government office? Guess what…
Not what your local police station lab looks like. Grow up.
They don’t look space-age. The “crime lab” at your local police station doesn’t look like the control room of the Time Tunnel. If your pre-10pm hours consist of watching CSI, Bones, or the latest “fat guy with hot wife” sitcom, I respectfully (not really) suggest that you may want to begin living your life — immediately.
Last night I watched an episode of the Twilight Zone that I had never seen before, the Obsolete Man, starring the great Burgess Meredith. If you don’t know who Burgess is because you are young, or older but stupid, click that link and begin to improve your cultural literacy. A quick summary of the summary you will find on the link above – Burgess plays a librarian in a totalitarian state, and he is condemned to die — live on television (thank God there’s still TV in the future!) — because he has been found to be “obsolete”. However, he manages to turn the tables on the State, by involving and humiliating the Chancellor of the State, demonstrating the superiority of intellectual freedom. Awesome.Being a librarian myself, I of course immediately dug this show. While perhaps “the State” hasn’t gone full-bore into the killing of librarians, we do fight an almost constant battle against the powers of stupidity. From ignorant, pig-like, illiterate Tea Party types trying to starve valuable public services of operating funds, to psychotic religious fanatics trying to ban books from library collections because they fail to mention Jesus on every page, your friends the Librarians fight the good fight every day. Coming to work every day, it is easy to forget that as a librarian I am part of an ancient profession, one that matters and makes a difference. So I loved this episode of the Twilight Zone. So bad ass. The man of learning in intellectual/spiritual victory over the efforts off the totalitarian conservative buttholes. And it was bad ass! Burgess, in the role of librarian Romney Wordsworth, DOMINATES the situation. We librarians just forget how f’ing bad ass it is to do what we do. You know that poor kid growing up in the conservative religious “Ned Flanders” house who comes into your library? The library is the only place that kid is exposed to information that isn’t Fox News/Pat Robertson propaganda!
The enemy – must be defeated.
All of this got me thinking about the great librarians of fiction. My favorite is Dr. Henry Armitage, chief librarian of Miskatonic University, from H.P. Lovecraft’s “the Dunwich Horror“. Armitage not only saves the whole town from some Cthulhu devastation, but likely saves the whole world! Kick Ass!I like to think of religious and political conservatives, tea-baggers, and the other mental-midgets of our society as our equivalent of the slobbering, shambling, slimy, mindless, abominable horrors of the Lovecraft universe. Every time we defeat those fetid, reeking, semi-sentient masses of vomitus-like humanoid flesh, we are saving the universe. We save our planet and the universe one mind at a time. It’s a fight worth fighting.
