I Don’t Like Parties Anymore

The problem with parties is always the same. The music is just too damn loud.

Let’s talk definitions. I am no Webster, but I say a party is about socialization: meeting with your fellow creatures to seek some canoodling conversation.

A gathering where we sit in silence listening to music, that’s called a concert. I like concerts, but only concerts I choose to attend. None among us wants to be forced through a concert of someone else’s favorite tunes. Extend some auditory courtesy to your guests. Your music should stimulate and inspire. It should enhance conversation, not drown it out.

At least until 2 am, when the drunks want to dance.

Party on.

Language Adjustments

I love the phrase “when I was a boy.”  Men need to bring that one back.  I wanted to be an astronaut when I was a boy. When I was a boy, I could run like a breeze, etc. etc. Yes, it’s archaic but it sounds delicious. Consider the message it sends. Referring to a past boyhood implies that the present speaker is a man. The listener gets the subtle message, I am not a boy anymore. The speaker confirms it with every story. I once was a boy. I am now a man.  Say it again.  It can heal you.  I once was a boy, and now I’m a man.  We need to remember the difference.  I’ll start the trend: When I was a boy, I wanted to be a poet.

I Had Sex With Michael Jackson…

…playing on my iPod.

You have just participated in a social experiment designed to gauge the clickability of a blog title promising celebritorial controversy.

If you’ve read this far, I’m calling you out.  Why do you care about Michael Jackson this much?  I just dropped his name and your mind perked up, didn’t it?  What’s going on here?  We don’t want to slander the dead, I get that, but do we have to pretend that Michael Jackson mattered to our post-modern 2009?  Six months ago he was the punch line, but in death he’s the king of pop again?

To be honest, I had forgotten all about the “King of Pop” public relations campaign.  It was one of those things that everyone laughed at.  Michael Jackson proclaimed himself the King of Pop, whatever that means. He was a performer, I don’t fault him for grandstanding.

I don’t fault him anything, actually.  I never cared for his music so I didn’t listen to it.  That is where my relationship with Jack-O began and fizzled. I don’t fault him at all.

I fault his audience.  I fault you.  You fanatics who drove this little boy to mutate into Michael Jackson.  You and your obsessive attention.  How old was he in the Jackson Five?  Was he old enough to be adored by millions of you people–expecting perfection from him at all times, at all times.  He was so adorable.  Look at that face!  Look at how much he went through to keep you looking at that face, or to get you to finally look away: my God, did you see what Michael Jackson did to his face?  He looks hideous.

You did it ladies and dudes, or at least your parents and grand-ones did.  You sat back and watched the child you abused self-destruct for your own amusement–LIVE via corporate wire!  Well he’s dead now so you can look away. Leave him alone. Let him rest in peace, at last.

For any part I played in your fall, I am sorry Michael.  I hope your heaven is a happy childhood.

Play in Peace.

No Commute

I do not believe in long distance relationships, because no relationship is worth a commute.  There is no one I want to be with badly enough to drive several hours on a regular basis.

Maybe temporarily, sure.  If I meet a goddess of a woman who just happens to live five hours away, I would do the commute for a few months until one of us moved.  I think three months is a good deadline.  Any longer, no.

I’m sorry.  I know you all think I don’t believe in love, but I do.  I just don’t believe in commuting.  I know many of you have done this for a year or two or three, but come on.  We only tolerate a work commute because we have no other choice.  Commute to work or starve.  It’s the American way.

I will surrender the ground on work commuting, for now.  But in situations where I have a choice, situations where I am looking to share the most intimate details of my life, in matters of romance and love and sex, no commuting!