Cheney and Westbrook, Together At Last

I really wish I had noticed that I didn't write "are" in the last comment, but the joke still holds.

Blast From the (not so distant) Past

I got a package from my brother in the mail today, a sort of belated birthday present. The package contained a "Grow Mother Mary," which is akin to one of those tiny alligator things that you put in a two liter bottle filled with water and it grows to six times its size, except it's shaped like the Virgin Mother instead of an alligator. This is the part that makes it a present, says my brother, since he was already going to send me the other half of the package - a remixed collection of songs from his old band, The Dakota.


There was also a handwritten note (how quaint!) explaining the process of the remix and a little bit of history about some of the songs. I'm listening to the record as I write this, and it's forcing back some long forgotten memories... it's been at least ten years since I've seen The Dakota, so all these memories are from a time when I was a much different person. I think that most people are constantly evolving; I've come a long way since these songs were written and it's very strange to go back. I expect, by the end of this record, to snap back to present day and marvel at just how much I've grown.

Between the ages of 14 and 18, I was legitimately a fan of thrash metal. My taste in movies and literature were largely a product of what I perceived as deep or meaningful, but not music; I liked what I liked, and it was that simple. I tended to be dismissive of popular music, but I never professed to like music because it had integrity. I thought Bob Dylan was boring then, and I do now. It's strange to listen to thrash metal now, since it's no longer appealing to me in any way. The Dakota has sentimental value, and I could probably stand listening to some Converge every once in a long while, but the time when I could go see one of these bands live has long passed.

Instead, I'm thinking about myself in high school, and it's kind of embarrassing. I used to wear Dickies (even though I never really liked them). I always had a chain wallet, and I went through a phase where the chain attached to my wallet simply could not be long enough; it may have reached my knee at one point. Sometimes it would get stuck in the back of my chair in class and I would struggle to free myself before anyone noticed how ridiculous it looked. I used to carry only the shittiest backpacks I could find, and they would always be covered in patches and buttons from bands that I was sure no one had ever heard of. I would always wear hooded sweatshirts, and I doubt they ever got washed. It's a miracle that any girl took interest in me; I was very opinionated, and my opinions were always framed in a world I thought was black and white. I was overtly self righteous. I was, for some inexplicable reason, actually jealous of my friends that had family problems (I think it related to my idea that, in order to have integrity, you had to have some kind of dysfunction in your life). Somehow, in the midst of all this obnoxiousness, I managed to find two (TWO!) girls to have long-term relationships with.

What's even more fascinating is that, since I began to realize just how stupid and childish most of this stuff was, I have had comparably awful luck with finding girlfriends. My success with women has scaled inversely with my self-awareness. I'm smarter than I've ever been, I better understand the nuances of social interaction, I dress in normal clothes, I'm comfortable in my tastes in food, music, movies, and literature. It seems counterintuitive that I would be single for five-plus years. I feel that part of it may be largely circumstantial - I'm no longer in school, where meeting and getting to know people was not only easy, but unavoidable. But a more critical look may reveal that part of the problem is geographical. Los Angeles is the only city I've ever been to (or lived in) where a significant percentage of the population wears costumes rather than clothing. I used to do an honest double-take when I saw someone wearing a scarf in the summer, a tie with a t-shirt, or sunglasses while indoors and/or at night. I never thought I'd see a man wearing Uggs. It's "New" New Wave; a sort of perversion of post-modernism. Fashion should never outweigh utility the way it does in LA.

If nothing else, this observation supports my experience. When I dressed like a fool and showed no humility or sense of awareness, I got girls. I've seen, firsthand, this theory at work in my adult life: the guys who try too hard to dress outlandish are the ones who get the women. It would almost be enough to get me to revert back to my high school personality if the women these guys got weren't so universally vapid. But I've apparently strayed waaaay off topic. This started with The Dakota.

I remember most of the songs on this record (which stopped playing a long time ago; I've been rambling). I remember having a lot of fun going to see my brother's band. And I remember always feeling like I was on the verge of being a part of the whole scene, but never quite believing in it enough to commit myself to it. As a result, all the memories associated with this record feel more like a series of observations than experiences. I was always just on the outside of the circle, looking in. I can even remember the exact day when I officially abandoned it all for good. I loved listening to this record, but not for the reasons I expected.

The second half of my belated birthday present still awaits, so I think it's time to go throw this bitch in the tub and see what happens.