THIS IS NOT AN EXIT
Isolated and destroyed Sean McTiernan
T
here are very few people I can hang out with. This is partly my problem, I'm as anti-social as someone raised on Limp Bizket should be. Also though, I have super high standards for people. Every conversation I have with everyone comprises mostly of me blanking out whatever shite they're saying about how important the Beatles are and what great things they're doing with their lives. And in my head, I am insulting their great big stupid faces and families. Have a problem with that? Then let's do the man dance. First dance is yours, friend. Anyway, empty hostility aside, my three Galwegian cousins are among the people with whom I don't mind talking with. The eldest is a nine year old and recently, he's been developing an interest in music. Now, this is important. My cousin is a smart guy, he gets it. He's the only person I know who I could have an intelligent conversation with about Astroboy. He asks some of the most well considered questions about comic book continuity I've ever heard. Dude is in the know. He also, sadly, is one of those unfortunate people who thinks for himself and doesn't feel the need to be like other people. This means the next few years might be a bit tougher for him than others. However this also means he'll emerge on the other side as an adult who can have interesting conversations and think for himself rather than a moron gurning over Harry Potter and claiming Shawshank Redemption is their favourite movie. Now music is important to me and, asinine as it sounds, it helped me to know other people felt the same way as me and could express this through awesome riffs and kick ass lyrics. I want my cousin to have this as well. Sadly, at the moment, he is not getting the best guidance. His mother is ok, she likes Sinatra and that (sadly she is less than discerning swing-musicwise so the creeping spectre of 8
Buble is also lurking around the cd collection). His father is another story. Looking at his CD collection is like looking into some sort of 80s shoulder pad wearing nightmare. Such is the depth of its unimaginable mediocrity, that Orchestral Manoeuvres In The Dark are not even in the bottom 10% of the albums, quality wise. I will repeat that, OMD are in the top 90% of his albums. May god have mercy on us all. If they weren't otherwise two of the best parents I know, I'd report them.So mobilised by this burden of terrible knowledge, I ran to Galway. Well, I went on a bus. A couple of days later. But you get the idea. But what albums should I have given my nephew? These would be the first albums he would own. Should I give him something that in years to come will give him an air of credibility? The first two albums I bought with my own money were London Calling by The Clash and My Aim Is True by Elvis Costello. And you know what? I have never told anyone that without them assuming I am some sort of elitist asshole. Now I probably am, but 12 year old me making a decision based on a book he got from the library definitely wasn't. In fact, I have been considering telling people my first album was Wheatus' debut, just to get people off my back. So there is the danger of my cousin being labelled “pretentious� later in life. But even that isn't the only reason. Call me mad prudey but even though Songs About Fucking by Big Black is, to me, probably one of the most perfect pieces of music ever, I don't think I can give it to a nine year old. I want to give him time to learn enough about himself to find out why the type of obscenity on that album is so perfect. Plus, he's a nervous dude sometimes. I don't want him with a head full of horrors. He has to get the right kind of angry and get the right sense of context before he can listen to that album and get it.The key realisation however was that this desperate bid to figure out what albums to give my cousin, wasn't about helping him at all. It was about me showing off. You can't give a dude his "favourite" album or tell him what his favourite band is. John might hate Big Black (I doubt it). He might not even like the kind of music I do. I was being was selfish.Music is for him to find out about and there's no way a cousin can give him a shortcut past bad taste. Liking sucky music is a vital part of your evolution. Without all the Linkin Parks and U2s, how are you going to find what you yourself think is awesome? Still, steer clear of OMD.
What do you give a nine year old?
INNER FETCHINGS John Harrington
Paint a vulgar picture Orla Ryan
I
never thought myself and Tiger Woods would have that much in common. Sure, I'm a regular whiz on a pitch 'n' putt course and we both have a propensity to bang porn stars but I honestly thought that's where the similarities began and ended. However, in recent weeks I've discovered yet another startling connection. As the professional sex addict announced the end of his "self-imposed exile" from the world of golf and strip joints, it got me thinking. Most people ostracise themselves from certain people or places at some point in their lives. Most recently for me, this involved deactivating my Facebook account. *Insert audible gasp here*. Not long after this bold move, I was receiving panicked texts and emails wondering what on earth had happened. Was I still alive?
Had I to delete my page due to the potentially incriminating evidence it contained regarding my somewhat questionable hobbies, sorry - addictions? If my e-life ceased to exist, did that mean I did too? Sure, I was at that party last weekend but if I'm not tagged in a few dozen photos was I really there? If I don't update my status regularly, how will people know when, what, and where I eat, think and shit. And perhaps most importantly, how will others poke me without invading my personal boundaries? It's no longer a case of 'cogito ergo sum', rather 'I Facebook therefore I am'. Somewhere Descartes is spinning in his grave. Well, probably not, his ghost is more likely to be thinking - angrily. Now that it's been a couple of weeks since I last logged on, I'm beginning to notice some changes in my life. I'm once again starting to see how blue the sky is and how rich food can taste. I'm even considering having a face-toface conversation with an actual physical person. I don't want to rush my rehabilitation though. I may not miss it as much as I thought I would, but I still refuse to wholly dismiss the grandaddy of all social networking sites. After all, without it I wouldn't know that others too enjoy the simple pleasure of covering themselves in Vaseline and crying in the dark. Fond, fond memories. And as for my earlier admission, as you might have might have guessed, I was lying I'm shit at pitch 'n' pit. Woefully shit - Tiger Woods-attemptingmonogamy shit. Flux 30/03/10