Also known as the hot mess edition. Maybe it's the changing of the seasons, but my attention span is even more fractured than usual, so bear with me here.
Memory is a strange thing. In particular, my memory is a strange thing. Driving around with Chuck the other day, I recognized a now-abandoned storefront as one of the first video rental stores in the area. It's funny that my mind can be foggy on what I did a few days ago, but I can still name and locate the multiple video rental stores in the region like it was yesterday. Given that 98% of them are now just either ghosts of VHS past or new homes to crummy businesses, this is moderately impressive. Of course, a huge part of this was the fact that these stores were a massive part of my childhood. They were my Disneyland, with each row promising all sorts of new worlds, stories and faces. I love the digital age and all of the easy access that comes with it, but it does make me a little sad that there are kids that will never know this joy. That said, no nostalgia here. Nostalgia is always a fallacy and tends to fog up the reality of the past.
Speaking of nostalgia, I overheard these two girls the other day, talking about how they were “nostalgic” for the 90's. (Keep in mind both were more than likely in their early 20's at the most.) This is so depressing. I'm a pop culture girl in so many ways, but I do wonder if our own culture is basically encouraging this atmosphere of premature longing. It's one thing to be hitting your golden years and laugh wistfully about the time your cousin almost lost an eye in a lawn dart accident. (Heck, scratch the golden years part. That's funny to me now.) But for someone who is just now legally old enough to drink longing for Little Mermaid dolls and “Saved by the Bell?” That's just plain sad. Plus, lawn darts trump Zach Morris every single bloody time and those things were banned by the time I came into this world. Bam.
Another fallacy of looking backwards in our culture is this tendency of saying someone is “the New insert dead hero here.” Case in point, Rolling Stone awhile back called former xoJane and current Vice columnist Cat Marnell “the New Bukowski.” Now I'm actually a fan of Marnell's writing but seriously, the New Bukowski? The only thing those two have in common realistically is that they are writers and the topic of chemical abuse comes up. One was a genius working class poet/prose writer with decades of life and writing experience and the other is still a very much young and talented non-fiction writer from a financially privileged background. Both are good but clearly, if all you get from Bukowski is “uhhh drugs and alcohol” then your eyes are in your pecker.
To wrap things up, nothing soothes the weary soul like music and the Butthole Surfers have been hitting the sweet spot lately for both the hubby and myself. Even better, we just found out that the band is offering a free download of their classic, “official bootleg” Double Live album. If all you know about this band is “Pepper,” then please check out this out. Nobody loves Southern Fried weirdness more than myself and the Butthole Surfers are a classic example of this. Also? Paul Leary is a huge hero of mine. Maybe I can be the New Paul Leary? I jest.