brooklyndrinksandgoeshome

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I Feel Like I Should Be Doing Something With This.

Last time I updated thing thing, I was gainfully unemployed with way too much time on my hands, but enjoyed every second of not working. I mean, after years of working hard and being told that I was going to get rewarded for working hard, all it got me was fired from a job I absolutely hated and laid off from a job I absolutely loved. What a sham.  This self-imposed vacation lasted five and a half months. I was 41 at the time and it was the longest period that I felt as if I finally did something for myself and I happily did nothing. No reading, no running, lots of sleeping in until 10 (I wasn’t a complete bum), a couple of naps throughout the day and a lot of leaving the house just for the sake of giving myself something to do. It wasn’t the most fulfilling time but it didn’t feel like depression either and if anything, it made me understand why people go through extended periods of unemployment. It also made me wonder how people can go through years without working and not be driven absolutely crazy. At least I had an end game which made most of 2017 tolerable along with some sort of paperwork snafu from a former company were I continued to get benefits until the new year and hilariously almost stuck me with a $20,000 something medical bill when I actually had to take advantage of their incompetence, but that’s another entry saved for when that place eventually shuts its doors. Not that I’m still bitter.  In other social media news that wouldn’t have been a problem 20 years ago: I thought a friend blocked me on a Facebook that lead to a ruined Friday evening with a friend who had to hear me complain about it all night over wine. Turns out, she just shut off her profile and JESUS CHRIST NOT FUCKING EVERYTHING IS ABOUT YOU! Paranoia has got the be the most self centered mental illness ever.  Also, Tumblr sucks for many reasons but one of the main ones is that they don’t post the date of your entries! Who designed this? Some absented mined punk who never thought to put the years on photocopied show fliers? Livejournal’s still the best platform IMO even though no one reads it anymore. It’s hard to see the point in all of this sometimes even if a creative outlet is nice to dust off once every couple of years. All of my old Myspace and Diaryland entries have been lost forever in the internet space time continuum and a lot of what I’ve written on here is super cringey, especially back when I thought what I was doing was real writing. I was suppose to be a famous music critic by now (yeah yeah there’s always time shutthefuckup), but I’m not completely disappointed with how things turned out. On to 2020 where shit’s only going to get weirder. 

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This Memory Needs a Tune Up

It gets me every time: We come home from work, put on This American Life after a nap and start to make dinner. Have a glass of wine, put on a movie and go to bed early.  Breakfast from scratch the next morning, go to a gallery or see a movie. It’s raining slightly, she still has a tape player in her car. It’s her personal best of Chet Baker mix with most of MBV’s “Loveless” on side B. “When You Sleep” always brings back your own high school memories of listening to Canadian radio, driving endlessly at night around that crummy suburb you swore you’d never go back to. 

We go back home, order a pizza then I head out to my local brewery to meet with the regulars. Sometimes we talk about work or sports or wrestling or music or memories or if you’re all on the same page, politics. She’s at home catching up with her best friend in Chicago or reading a book or writing her own book, or maybe she’s putting it off to organize her CD collection instead. 

Of course this doesn’t happen. I can’t sit still in one place for longer than six months before I get bored and severely depressed with whatever routine I set up for myself. Job, relationship, zip code and that self-destruct button is huge and right in front of me and it’s never quiet either. I wish I could put on the breaks, take a look and try to enjoy the things around me for a change. She doesn’t exit all that much either, unfortunately. Sometime the most toxic people can also bring up the most comforting feelings just so as long as you can tinker with the memories. It’s all I have; a strong imagination for things that don’t exist, but the chance of something like this coming true in real life one day keeps me going. 

Therapy was decent today. Thanks for asking. 

Edit: Yes, I know I sound like a whiny white liberal cliche. I don’t care. 

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Veel bekend volk op dit werk van Willem van Haecht. Hij schilderde de collectie van de belangrijke Antwerpse kunstverzamelaar Cornelis van der Geest. Links onderaan zie je de verzamelaar. Hij toont trots een werk van Quinten Massys aan de aartshertogen Albrecht en Isabella. Achter Van der Geest staat Anthony van Dyck. En rechts naast de aartshertog staat niemand minder dan Rubens. (Rubenshuis)

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House Party (1990). Ghanaian poster.

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Salt is good for you.

I’ve been telling this joke a bit too much these last couple of months, not because it’s particularly funny or that it’s only relatable to the perpetually (but ever increasing) unsatisfied types, but it does hit a little too close to home for me: Detroiter hate it here, Brooklyners hate it there, neither can see themselves living anywhere else and everyone’s always drunk. I also joke that maybe my friends really don’t want me around? Maybe it’s the well-meaning friends with different opinions who are unintentionally pushing their own neurosis’ on me when I ask for advice. Let me count the ways:

A. wants me to get the fuck out of this country right now because we as a nation, have economically, militarily and spiritually peaked and that we’re on the brink of a complete meltdown and the Russians are about to invade any minute now, starting right in my backyard apparently. Can’t get a damn word in when where on the phone with her, but anyway…

There’s M. and her angry, tipsy, self-destructive habits that are usually tolerated at the local VFW halls where all the regulars hear of her “getting the fuck out of Detroit,” but her “over qualifications” get in the way and the only thing available for her PhD filled resume are low paying adjunct positions in the Carolinas and how her own tenure track at the local Jesuit university barely keeps her above poverty, etc.

E. flat out called me a stupid ass for even thinking about leaving my house for an overpriced flat in a sketchier part of Queens with, god forbid, roommates.

Z. is miserable no matter where he is and doesn’t care where I end up, but why would I want to go back to New York of all places?

K. feels the same way and it seems like he’s been content with never leaving his $2000 something apartment way out in Brownsville since he moved there several years ago and has been planning his escape back to New England ever since he got his very worthless MFA in sculpture from Pratt even before I met him.

I’ve touched on all this before, but clearly this has been on my mind a lot lately.

The grass is never greener; it all depends on how you water and take care of your lawn. I hate these dad like clichés as they make me sound like a total cheese ball, but it’s kind of true. A city doesn’t revolve around your own needs; you have to make it the best for yourself. But what if a city can’t provide you a living wage job? There’s always someone willing to work a lot cheaper and the next thing you know, a trucking job to move auto parts around town is only going to pay you $9 an hour if you’re lucky –I’m still annoyed about that interview when I asked to start at $17/hr when in fact, it topped off at $15. Fuck that noise. Unfortunately, someone else out there is more than happy to take that because they need to feed their family.

What if you move her from an expensive costal city on the lure of cheap housing so you can focus on your studio work or novel, only to find out that there’s a lack of social infrastructure to support the arts around here? A recent date found this out the hard way after she won a house last year –like literally won a goddamn house from an essay contest, one of those rare, only unique to Detroit non-profit organizations that I have a ton of respect for. Her release party is next week and not a single local media outlet reached out to her to promote it. Plenty of interviews with NYC and LA papers, sometime with a Chicago NPR affiliate, but not even a peep from anywhere around here. I’d talk more about this person, but it was only a 45 minute long Tinder date and at the risk of being a creep who doesn’t know his boundaries, I’ll keep the rest of this anonymous.

I don’t know, I’m feeling a bit salty towards Detroit right now and I need to stop updating this whenever I’m in a bad mood. It is nice to know that I’m not the only person who feels this way, but not knowing where you belong, constantly feeling out of place no matter how many geographical solutions you seek out, is never a good feeling. Maybe I just need to get out of the house for the first time today will help; going to see these dudes later tonight at the wonderful El Club in Southwest. Now see, there’s a step in the less gloomy direction

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It’s embarrassing, the last three written entries on here have mostly been about people passing away as if I’m surrounded by the all-encompassing grim reaper everyday at every turn. I mean, this is what happens when you write about the past and naturally the people who are no longer with us will get a bit of extra space because all we have from them now are memories, but for fuck sake, I’m not mister doom and gloom all the time. If anything, it seems as if I’m surrounded by a self-contained bubble of early 90s Japanese wrestling, 70′s power-pop, Radio Garden, this Oliver Sacks book that I’m hoping to finish before the end of the week and curling. No really, curling. Seriously, curling rules.

I haven’t written that much about music in the last several years mostly because of burnout and if I’m not careful, it’ll start to feel like a job and I’ll want to put it off until my non-existent deadline creeps up on me which I can push back to infinity without any consequence (hell, it’s taken me a week and a half to finish this pointless exercise anyway). Besides, critiquing music as a serious profession, I’ve come to realize as the years have past is, well, kind of stupid; like if you don’t have anything nice to say, just ignore it and all the bad music will all hopefully vanish, right?  

That being said, I do wonder why a lot of bands from yonder past never never got the credit or recognition they deserved. Usually from a DIY perspective, I’m quick to blame poor distribution deals from a company run out of their mom’s basement, or a local band who never played beyond the same 20 people at the same club for their entire existence, (this plagued almost every Detroit band from the early-80s until the late-90s) or just plain old self-destruction that still bites people back, whether if it’s drug addiction or a fear of failure/success. My personal favorite --and I can’t find it on the internet to save my life right now, was when a jilted ex destroyed all but a hundred copies of her boyfriend’s first and only EP of his band, thus making it an instant collector’s item with their tracks being discovered fairly recently on a Killed By Death bootleg.

I also think my own opinions on music have always a been a bit left of center as I get bored way too easily and I quickly turn into a crotchety old man whenever Pitchfork creams their jeans over another Garageband produced dance track that sounds as boring and milk toast as any song put together from laptop bloops and bleeps.* Feeling this old out of touch makes one resort to the jazz or country section of any used record store, or when anyone asks me what I listen to these days, I usually say “podcasts.” But something about the aforementioned 70s power-pop obsession has arrived after a brief yet expensive summer of Northern Soul collecting that got put on hold as I have a hard time paying more than $20 for a 45; yeah, this phase didn’t last very long. Before that, it was Sun Ra who has literally hundreds of releases under his always spotty discography and after awhile, it became overwhelming search through scores of, I’m sorry, no disrespect, bin fillers, to eventually find a reissued gem like Sleeping Beauty or Lanquidity. Before that, it was electronic, sci-fi synth soundtrack sounding 70s prog made by the guy who use to drum for The Shadows. Did I mention that I get bored way too easily?

Even by record nerd standards, I know I have some unpopular opinions on popular unpopular music: Big Star weren’t going to be next Beatles ever and they probably have five good songs top. As much as I love The Jam, Style Council have a handful of tracks that blow away anything else Paul Weller’s ever done (oh snap, fighting words). With a few exceptions, The Yellow Pills comps are wildly overrated with a lot of tracks sound more like a second rate Rick Springfield --even if it was the point for a band to be the next Rick Springfield. Also, it still bothers me that The Fastbacks, mostly ignored for their entire 22 year career, got more recognition when they opened for The Presidents of The United States of America when “Peaches” was in heavy rotation. Seriously, I’ll take Answer The Phone Dummy over any 90s Sub Pop release any day.

The Keys: I Don’t Wanna Cry

Produced by Joe Jackson and still managed to have only found a recent audience from the depths of obscurity thanks to a Youtube hero. Not bad, but probably too nice and squeaky clean as The Buzzcocks and Undertones already did this way better and louder. Still, the singer hits those high notes with ease and could have easily been a hit if it was written for, I don’t know, Elvis Costello or someone else a bit more angsier. 

The Letters: Nobody Loves Me

Again, way too wussy and self-hating even by pop-punk standards, but I still love this track as it’s bouncy pogo energy and raw production more than make up for the shitty lyrics. One and done, never heard from again until a 2002 CD reissue of their mostly unreleased discography, or is it a reunion record? I don’t know.

The Tours: Language School

Another one and done from the UK who got plenty of hype from John Peel, signed to Virgin and imploded within a year never to be heard from until Cherry Red reissued their unreleased album a few years ago which is now also going for a steep price on Discogs. Nice short, poppy number here that if anything, makes you realize how much (again) the Buzzcocks influenced a generation of UK bands in the late 70s-early 80s.

20/20: Remember The Lightning

I first remember hearing about these guys from the well meaning Radio Heartbeat Records who reissued a single that quickly went out print along with the rest of the labels discography --some moved on to form Captured Tracks who eventually went on to re-release all of Milk ‘n Cookies output on a (sorry) completely unnecessary 2xLP box set, huge picture book included. 20/20’s first album got lost in the shuffle of another busted label (notice a trend here) that got swallowed up by Epic Records, which is a shame because we could have had a punkier younger brother of the Knack.

De Cylinders: I Wanna Get Married

Spontaneously heard a live set of these guys on the always fantastic, very missed Cherry Blossom Clinic on WFMU and rushed to see their record release/only American show ever in front of a dozen others at a random Brooklyn bar. The wonderful Sing Sing Records reissued this single and naturally, there’s a way out of print CD discography compilation  that’s only available in Japan for like $40 bucks on Discogs. Uh, I have to find a job first.

Nasty Facts: Drive My Car

God, I love the internet. This gem would have never been discovered if it wasn’t for some Youtube hero who posted a vinyl rip of a bootleg as the original pressing is long gone --cheapest one I found on Discogs going for $70 and it’s tough being a cheapskate and a record collector at the same time. Anyway, punky rocky from New York with a singer who sounds like less gruff but equally badass Joan Jett; America’s answer to the Rezillo’s! Get on it, weirdo!

Ail Symudiad: Garej Paradwys

Probably never made it farther out than Cardiff because everything’s in Welsh, but they put out a surprising number of singles that were all pretty consistent throughout the 80s --I’m pretty sure this is their third one. Full of energy despite the weird guitar effect pedals used throughout the song and if you’re curious, they’re called Second Movement and according to Google Translate, this songs about partying in their garage. I don’t know, I didn’t go farther than their “Paradise Garage” song title.

The Elevators: Your I’s Are Too Close Together

The least punky song on here, but it did make me laugh out loud the first time I heard it. I mean, of all the reasons why he won’t go out with her, and he lists everyone one on here, her facial structure was the final straw. Probably a wee mean spirited, but the lyrics go perfect with the chorus, high notes on the lead guitar and all.

The Records: Starry Eyes

Saving the best for last. There’s no excuse, this should have been a huge hit. I mean, it’s great that we have our own song to share with our closest friends --for example, a heartbreaker of an ex or whatever it was you want to call it when we had an on and off again thing in 2012 introduced me to this and well, all it did was prolong some coulda-woulda-shoulda feelings that lasted a bit longer than it should have. Anyway, this song’s a power-pop masterpiece that, unintentionally or not, sounds like an unreleased Big Star track and it makes me angry that these guys got swept under the rug for whatever reason.

I’m tired and I’ve run out of adjectives, just like how I use to back when I (barely) made a living writing about music, no benefits, no thesaurus. Will try to write more about something like Atsushi Onita or how much I love The Great British Bake Off or something. 

*Nothing made me feel more out of touch with underground/contemporary music when I had a hard time understanding what the big deal was with The Fiery Furnaces, but when I couldn’t get away from Animal Collective, that’s when I get up and settled into a WFMU k-hole. I can tell you the exact moment sometime around the end of 2007, on the 7 train heading into Long Island City for work, reading The Metro --I’m a sucker for free daily newspapers no matter how badly written, and came across their best album of the year list with Strawberry Jam being number four or something. “This album rules” the brief review started and once again, I just didn’t get it. I don’t always take part in any schadenfreude, but I’m glad significantly less people give a shit about them these days.   

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When your squad’s lit as fuck. 

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Good Ideas, Best Decisions

Being in J.’s basement was like being in a time capsule that contained over 200 years of memories brought together by punk rock, mutual friends and bad decisions, but what came out of it was a camaraderie of friendship that felt as if we spoke only a week ago as opposed to ten years since everyone was actually together. A. didn’t want to rehash his pre-heart attack pre-born again Christian stories of drinking, fighting and possible kidnapping, not because he didn’t find them hilarious, but because his wife was never privy to what kind of person he was before they tied the knot over 13 years ago. J. proudly came down and laughed about his teenage days of taking acid and exposing himself to the red eyed drivers on I-275, something of which would make him a reluctant internet celebrity and earn an instant registration on the national sex offenders list. LD. was reminded of her brother’s legendary Wyandotte, Michigan eviction party where, looking back on it, most of us met in the first place: Broken furniture, walls tagged an exploding toilets and an alleged police investigation because of the roomfuls of splattered Jello that resembled a torture scene.* 24 years later, we still laugh about it especially knowing that LD’s brother moved back into said apartment 9 years later without realizing it. LD simply rolled her eyes; she heard all these stories several times before and she’s still known as the little sister who never drank, got in trouble nor were we allowed to date her --she looked way to much like her brother anyway.

Nobody brought up why we were there in the first place, that wasn’t the point of the impromptu wake. We were there to celebrate life, memories and friendships over beers and the records we still listen to 25 years later. We don’t do this enough and as much as I hope my friends and family would do the same for me, I also hope that it doesn’t take another passing for us to be together again. 

To Sandy. I know we haven’t spoken all that much in the last 20, but you brought a lot of love and friendship together over the years like it was yesterday. Nothing will be forgotten. 

*Two years later, a couple of knuckleheads in the neighboring city of Trenton tried to repeat this event going as far as posting flyers around town like it was some punk show. Although the apartment eventually got a giant mouse hole between the living room and bedroom that was big enough to safely jump though, all it led was a couple of arrests, historically bad credit and the organizers having to spend the rest of their married lives putting everything in their wives name.

@@@

Shrinks are expensive and I can’t help but resent how mental health is treated like an elective secondary treatment, like we choose to hate ourselves, feel guilty over some shit that happened over 30 years ago, that completely disappearing off the face of this Earth seems like it would be the best for everyone; just taking up all this room, being more of a walking environmental waste than a human being. It’s way easy to take up too much Tumblr space about my problems because this RAM (or broadband or whatever it is that makes all the room to publish data on here) could be easily used for puppy GIFs instead. I mean seriously! Puppy GIFs > Pages of my depression any day. 

So yeah, this is one of the many reasons why I’d rather see someone in person and talk it out. I’m not about posting way too personal information on the internets anymore; I mean as positive as it is to share and relate similar experiences with everyone on here, the well meaning advice from friends and complete strangers can be conflicting from either channeling one’s own issues and insecurities onto me, or unintentionally providing me with dismissive answers as if it’s simple and not daunting to go back to school and completely change careers at 40, or start a food truck like there’s no overhead and that everyone in Detroit wants a vegan Coney whatthefuck.

Can’t say I expected this year to start off the way it did, and that’s not exactly a bad thing. But living life without much of a  safety net and actually doing things for myself instead of putting others in front of me is a new feeling and I feel like I don’t completely deserve this in the first place --frankly, that’s been the most difficult part of what I’ve been trying to call Funemployment these past five weeks and counting. The network of family and friends around me is stronger than I imagined even if they provide the conflicting, well meaning, aforementioned advice --”leave Detroit,” and “don’t move to NYC” has been a common theme among everyone, depending on which side of the country they’re on which if anything, has given me the additional worst case neurosis' that no one wants me around. Anyway, there’s nothing wrong with going to the library to write this out, there’s nothing wrong with taking a nap when you get home, there’s nothing wrong with sleeping in until 10AM just so as long as you get everything you need to get done and there’s nothing wrong with watching all ten episodes of The People Vs OJ Simpson in one sitting. Seriously, that’s a great miniseries you should all check out. 

It’s also a weird, almost unwelcoming feeling to make a decision on what you want to do next, whatever that it. It’s also way worse to...(edited out)...Ugh!

The above is what I’m currently stressing over at the moment. Maybe a vegan coney dog food truck is something Detroit needs after all. 

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Who Am I, Anyway?

Right now, I have an unnecessary Home Depot run to look forward to and I’m thinking about that time I met Mayor Michael Bloomberg at the McClure’s Pickles Brooklyn office back in the summer of 2013. The photo taken above (I’m on the right, just so you know) now seems like a lifetime ago. I was a different person in a different environment, still perpetually looking for answers, still awkward, but I was also trying very hard to be a Mets fan. Hell, I don’t even like baseball these days anymore. @@@

Someday’s, everything feels like a burden and I have to force myself out to be social so I don’t end up being a complete shut in as it’s so easy to fall into that rabbit hole. I’ve seen friends and friends of friends around my age who’ve gone on for years without job and the effects are noticeable: Alcoholism, a vicious circle of depression and feeling of worthlessness brought on by said depression (you get the picture), enough selfies on a social media account to get defriended  --the other excuse for me to drop someone is because I’m tired of looking at their goddamn kid five, six times a day clogging my Instagram, but I digress.

One of my dad’s best friends recently lost his son --someone who I graduated high school with and practically grew up within those public confines-- after years of an undiagnosed bipolar disorder that may or may not have had anything to do with the cocktail of uppers and downers the cornier found in his system. As far as I knew, the last job he had was at some shitty Downriver factory back in the early oughts where he “tore” his “achilles heel” on site and spent the last ten years trying to build up a workman’s compensation lawsuit without much luck --a practice he learned from his dad who also spent most of his adult life trying to sue Ford over a bad back. Anyway, the last time I saw him was the first time I’d seen him since graduation day, May 1994: Remarkably in shape for someone who never left his hometown, let alone his parents basement, long ponytail, cruising around on his fat tired bike and at least to me, gave an uncomfortably long hug as if we were long lost bffs. Truth be told, I couldn’t stand the guy mostly because he was a deadbeat dad and I had to play nice for those two minutes because of how close our families are.

I don’t know why I still think about D. He was just a bit part of my life who only recently came up since I moved back to the Detroit burbs a little over three years ago. Lord knows he’s not the only person I knew from around here who passed away either by overdose, suicide or (less than likely) natural causes, but it does have me thinking: Depression is everywhere, but does it seem to be more concentrated in economically depressed Midwestern cities? Or am I just thinking out loud and channeling my own neuroses on Tumblr again? In other words, am I disappointed in myself or everything around me?

As of today, I’m on day seven of unemployment without much of an effort to do something about it besides reap some temporary benefits and use my extended spare time to paint over some nail holes around my living room. It’s a strange feeling, being completely self-aware and detached at the same time. Like, I painted myself into a corner and I’m just casually waiting for the floor to dry; might take a few weeks, but that’s okay, got nowhere pressing to go anyway. Despite all of this new found time on my hands, I’ve been feeling pretty all right these days, more of a relief actually as I wasn’t particularly keen on the direction my life was taking and losing my job clinched this year long lingering feeling. Actually, I don’t think I ever got over that crummy first month of being back here that involved almost being frozen to death amidst a couple of bitter, lingering disappointments that carried on a lot longer than I care to admit. It seems like for most of my life, I’ve done everything for other people and just now, right this second, I’m actually doing something for myself: This aforementioned detachment comes from enjoying myself for once, but that nagging, pesky self-awareness in the back of my head knows that eventually, doing something for myself also involves some sort of self-sufficiency down the road. Stupid reality.

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Democracy Spawns Bad Taste.

As I look back on these last couple of days after what I can honestly say was the worst election that went on way too long and somehow divided this country even more than these last 16 years ever could have, the first person who came to mind was, of all people, former Sunspring/Metroshifter frontman and Louisville post-rock mainstay Scott Ritcher. Back around 2008, he unsuccessfully tried to get himself on the ballot as an independent candidate for Kentucky state senate and unexpectedly faced a lawsuit brought on by Democrat Denise Harper Angel who charged that the signatures petitioned to get him in the race were from outside of their elected districted. To make a long story short, a Democratic candidate went out of her way to make sure that a two party system was forcefully kept intact so it wouldn't take votes away from her, once again shutting out out the opinions for those who again felt left behind. The sleazy, underhanded ways come out in full force when you threaten to take away their votes and that’s why less and less people roll their eyes when someone says, “There’s no difference between the Democrats and Republicans.”

Anyway, Harper eventually won the local election while a dejected Ritcher gave up all American politics for good and moved to Sweden. Last I heard, he's been feeling a lot of love lately from people who suddenly want to visit him.

During the primaries a few months back, I couldn't help but feel how Unamerican it was that we only had two options on the ballot: Democrat or Republican. Hell, there wasn't even a bracket to write in a third party. As much as I find Libertarianism stupid and backwards, you should at least have the option to strip away all government regulations, I mean if you really think that's a good idea. I couldn't in good conscious vote Democrat all across the board as I didn't recognize anyone running besides Hillary and Debbie Dingle (who I'm also not all that fond of as a corporate stooge in Democrat clothing). In the judge's section, I wrote in each bracket, "Don't" "Know" "Who" "They" "Are" and walked out of the polling station slightly discouraged, but confident that the Democrats would win by a margin slight enough that it would teach them not to shove a candidate down our collective throats; that we wouldn't blindly elect whoever they placed in front of us. If their main man (or woman) shouted liberal values and supposedly spoke to the angry poor white working class, then we'd forget about their speaking engagements at Goldman Sachs and their astronomical paydays that came with it. Campaigning LGBT rights and a woman's right to choose is important, but is it as important to the an unemployed mill worker who saw their job go overseas? And let's face it: Does a candidate who represents an outdated, regressive status quo, whose fucking husband gave the go ahead for free trade agreements honestly expect unilateral support from a UAW voter who lost their job to a sweatshop in Vietnam? Not all voters are stupid, but there's a reason why there's so much mistrust when a politician tries really hard to talk to you about last weeks football game.

There have been a number of articles that are trying to explain how and why Trump won since last Tuesday; who voted for him, how our president-elect touched a nerve with this specific demographic or that group of angry loud voices, what do they expect in return and why was everyone else so wrong and out of touch. When it comes down to it, what matters most to me right now is how minorities, immigrants and the LGBT heard a giant call that said, "You're not welcomed here." That's not true and that's not the country I grew up in.

I'd like to believe that a Trump presidency will light a positive spark for change. Cynicism does not make you smart, it makes you apathetic and then it leads to shitty things like possibly getting your health care taken away or having creepy white power sympathetic assholes like Steve Bannon get nominated as White House strategist. Ugh. It hasn't even been seven days and I already almost miss the George W. years. Almost.

And finally, fuck the DNC. You had one job, it should have been a cakewalk and you managed to fuck it up in the worst way possible. This is on you if my country gets blown back into the stone age. 

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Mark Rothko, Untitled, 1954. Mixed media on canvas. 235,5 x 142,9 cm. The Katharine Ordway Collection. Yale University Art Gallery

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Cotton Comes to Harlem (1970). Japanese poster.

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Out of Sight (1998). French poster.

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Two Reclining Figures, Egon Schiele

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Bad Idea App.

Mobstr

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My Mom Thinks I’m Too Depressing

The singer/songwriter from Mischief Brew, Erik Petersen, passed away a couple weeks ago from an apparent suicide. He left behind a wife, pugs and a lifetime of memories from everyone who met him and I can’t stop thinking of how strong mental illness can be despite all of ones accomplishments that look incredibly successful through the view of so many others, such as myself. I’ve never met the guy and up until this past weekend, I never heard his music, yet I’m more upset about his passing than the handful of people around me who’ve died since I moved back to Michigan almost three years ago.

My initial reaction was to write about all the mutual friends of friends who are now suddenly gone and how it affected everyone around them, but that’s not my business to describe the impromptu wakes and all the grief that comes with it. What I should not be writing about is how recently common this has all become: Not because of old age, but how the easy access of opiates and lack of employment make it so easy to feel numb to everything that it’s easy to forget the people around you and how much they care. This is all based on assumption as I barely knew any of these people, let alone seen or talked to them in over 20 years, but I am basing this on my own depression and that low, sinking feeling of extended unemployment --or in my case, unfulfilling jobs that allow you to think too much about your own bad life decisions. 

I don’t want to make this about me too much, but I do know how hard it is to look beyond ones own unhappiness. Put everything into perspective, and I should be thrilled about my dead end, unfulfilling warehouse position and not curse myself for putting my career as a journalist on the back burner. What I have now, and I have to keep telling myself this, is that things could always be much worse and that I still have a whole chapter of new characters, adventures, conversations and because of a faulty career path, job opportunities ahead of me. Some days are easier than others. Hell, somedays I just want to gorge myself with pizza, drink an entire box of wine and watch wrestling all day. Others, I’m a mad vegan biker who’s ready to run for Dearborn city council and break the door down of my local NPR station and pitch my podcast to them and why they haven’t sponsored it yet? 

That last paragraph was unfortunately inspired by news of an old friend who’s is probably not going to make it before the end of the summer. Wheelchair bound after a stroke amidst a heavy dose of extended chemo treatment, my friend J. brought his wife and teenage daughter to see Psychic TV the day before yesterday at El Club. He barely had the strength to climb up the five stairs through the front door, at least not without the help of his family who held him up, but he still had the excitement to go out and see one of his favorite bands before his time was up. I was ready to practically write up a brief obituary, but it’s not my business to try an interpret what’ll eventually become someone else’s grief. After all, he’s too busy living the next chapter of his life.  

[brooklyndrinksandgoeshome]

Cannonball Run II (1984). Spanish poster.