The following exchange pretty much sums up my week.
(Old school Green Day plays in between band sets)
Becky: Look at all these little kids here who probably have no idea who this is.
Me: Yeah I know. You have no idea how many people have looked at me weird this week when I say something about Dee Dee Ramone.
Becky: Who?
The sad part is she was totally sincere. Keep in mind that the only reason I've been talking about Dee Dee Ramone all week is because of the fact that NOBODY ELSE KNOWS WHAT I'M TALKING ABOUT. One stupid little comment I made on Monday has turned into a theme for my whole week. I think that I am completely dissilussioned with the youth of America. By the way Becky is 21.
I think Laurie says it best:
"Of course they don't know who Dee Dee Ramone is. You're talking about a generation whose knowledge of punk starts out with Blink 182."
For this reason (and the conversation that followed) Laurie has made it onto the list of top 5 girls I've met this month.
Yes I've met so many females this month I can make a top 5, probably a top 20, but I don't want to think that hard. Does this mean I'm any closer to filling the void left in my life from lack of companionship? Probably not. I'm way too picky. Oh yeah, and I live in my car!!!
I think Kill Bill is the best movie I've seen in quite some time. However I don't think that American audiences are ready for it. You kind of have to know what Tarrantino is going for in order to see it for what it really is. But nobody wants to here my over-analytical film school perspective. So here's my dumbed down review prepared for the average American movie goer. Keep in mind that there is a reason most Hollywood studios tend to underestimate their audience. If you want to see an action packed blood bath, go see it. If you can't see past whats displayed on screen and get into what's really going on in the characters' heads, you'll miss the point. If violence offends you, STAY AS FAR AWAY AS FUCKING POSSIBLE!!!
I ran into Julie the other day and she asked why I never come over anymore. It was kind of ironic considering the contents of my last journal entry.
By the way Erica... no, I do not want to go to the strip club, yes I realize that I'm hanging out in my cousins basement with 5 guys and 1 girl, yes that is Joy Division on the record player, yes you and Ciara are welcome to stay, and no I don't understand why you want to hang out at your place of employment on your day off. So you can hate me if you want to, but I'm content.
But enough about females. My dad called from New York last night. I'm wondering how he got my number actually. He said he's moving back down to Georgia soon. He's pissed because I've been living out of my car and I didn't call him. Apparently he got into it with my mother on the phone about the whole situation. Apparently situations like this are supposed to bother me, but I'm really not overly concerned. I think my whole emtional circuitry got fried a long time ago. So he told me I need to stay with my Aunt for a while, which I've pretty much been doing anyway, except now I have a key.
It's odd to hear my Aunt's perspective on our generation. Funny how she's pretty much saying a lot of the same things that I have, except in a different tone. Maybe we wouldn't wander around so much if we had more genuine opporunities, instead of being told to integrate into the system. Whatever I'm sick of talking.
"This is for new jacks trying to figure out where they fit
Get busy
Destroy the walls when you spit...
This is for kids worried about the apocalypse.
Do Something,
Start something and stop talking shit"
(Old school Green Day plays in between band sets)
Becky: Look at all these little kids here who probably have no idea who this is.
Me: Yeah I know. You have no idea how many people have looked at me weird this week when I say something about Dee Dee Ramone.
Becky: Who?
The sad part is she was totally sincere. Keep in mind that the only reason I've been talking about Dee Dee Ramone all week is because of the fact that NOBODY ELSE KNOWS WHAT I'M TALKING ABOUT. One stupid little comment I made on Monday has turned into a theme for my whole week. I think that I am completely dissilussioned with the youth of America. By the way Becky is 21.
I think Laurie says it best:
"Of course they don't know who Dee Dee Ramone is. You're talking about a generation whose knowledge of punk starts out with Blink 182."
For this reason (and the conversation that followed) Laurie has made it onto the list of top 5 girls I've met this month.
Yes I've met so many females this month I can make a top 5, probably a top 20, but I don't want to think that hard. Does this mean I'm any closer to filling the void left in my life from lack of companionship? Probably not. I'm way too picky. Oh yeah, and I live in my car!!!
I think Kill Bill is the best movie I've seen in quite some time. However I don't think that American audiences are ready for it. You kind of have to know what Tarrantino is going for in order to see it for what it really is. But nobody wants to here my over-analytical film school perspective. So here's my dumbed down review prepared for the average American movie goer. Keep in mind that there is a reason most Hollywood studios tend to underestimate their audience. If you want to see an action packed blood bath, go see it. If you can't see past whats displayed on screen and get into what's really going on in the characters' heads, you'll miss the point. If violence offends you, STAY AS FAR AWAY AS FUCKING POSSIBLE!!!
I ran into Julie the other day and she asked why I never come over anymore. It was kind of ironic considering the contents of my last journal entry.
By the way Erica... no, I do not want to go to the strip club, yes I realize that I'm hanging out in my cousins basement with 5 guys and 1 girl, yes that is Joy Division on the record player, yes you and Ciara are welcome to stay, and no I don't understand why you want to hang out at your place of employment on your day off. So you can hate me if you want to, but I'm content.
But enough about females. My dad called from New York last night. I'm wondering how he got my number actually. He said he's moving back down to Georgia soon. He's pissed because I've been living out of my car and I didn't call him. Apparently he got into it with my mother on the phone about the whole situation. Apparently situations like this are supposed to bother me, but I'm really not overly concerned. I think my whole emtional circuitry got fried a long time ago. So he told me I need to stay with my Aunt for a while, which I've pretty much been doing anyway, except now I have a key.
It's odd to hear my Aunt's perspective on our generation. Funny how she's pretty much saying a lot of the same things that I have, except in a different tone. Maybe we wouldn't wander around so much if we had more genuine opporunities, instead of being told to integrate into the system. Whatever I'm sick of talking.
"This is for new jacks trying to figure out where they fit
Get busy
Destroy the walls when you spit...
This is for kids worried about the apocalypse.
Do Something,
Start something and stop talking shit"
VIEW 3 of 3 COMMENTS
me: "you make me happy."
my boy: "[insert giggle here] you're butt is warm."
Keep the faith man. Don't worry about getting a place. Stay where you are. I'm not moving out unless I'm thrown out. I'll do the yardwork and the housework and pay for my own food. Plus I pay the electric bill here. It's all gravy. The whole status symbol of having a "pad" is a fucking mirage. The whole fruit stand is going to go up in the hurricane anyway so you may as well have nothing to lose.