The Best of Road House

Graduating from college and living in San Francisco means things have changed in my life. I’m supposed to be more politically correct but the reality is that it makes me less accepting. I’m forced to wake up every day before eight, but I want to stay up until four. Girls like me more, but men respect me less. But one thing will never change; my love of shitty movies.
Now let’s be clear on something. I’m not talking about bad movies. There are a lot of bad movies in the world. I’m talking about self-involved shitty movies; the guilty pleasures. You know, the ones you pretend to like ironically, but in reality you just like. In this vein, last night I watched Road House for the thirtieth time and the Double Deuce never looked so sweet. Road House is a movie mostly about the redemptive qualities of bar fights, but to a lesser extent philosophy, love and ripping the occasional nemesis’ throat out. Without further ado, here’s what I like most about Road House.

My Twenty Favorite Road House Moments

1. Two words: Double Deuce
2. Dalton and Kelly Lynch are sitting in her Jeep after a drive. Dalton’s in the passenger seat. They’re looking intent. He unbuckles his seat belt like a three year old (you know, pushing the button and letting the belt fly up) and this somehow does not kill the mood.
3. Dalton has supposedly ripped a guy’s throat out before.
4. The music that’s playing as Dalton enters the Brad Wesly’s house.
5. Three words, “Gentlemen,…Wade Garrett.” Spoken by a blind dude.
6. I’m serious, there are like 400 needless scenes where the director cuts to a guy smiling absolutely inexplicably.
7. Nick’s smart. He says, “I don’t know….I wouldn’t want my emergency room doctor getting drunk with a coupla bouncers a few hours before her shift.”
8. Early in the movie, the owner of the Double Deuce walks into the bar and he sees graffiti on his wall that reads “For a Good Fuck Call….” He changes the axiom to say “For a Good Buick Call….”
9. My favorite Tom quote, “This movie would show that view….” It really could have been said about 4,742 different shots from the picture.
10. When the bar owner says, “I put a lot of money into this place,” when the entire bar is decimated for like the 40th time. Maybe if your entire bar wasn’t broken every night it wouldn’t cost so much, you know.
11. If you’re a red-blooded male and I told you this was an ‘80’s movie with no qualms about baring upper bodies would that do anything for you?
12. However, this also equals three other words: Patrick Swayze shirtless.
13. Did anyone else notice that Brad Wesly burned down Red’s business, destroyed a car dealership and blew up a house without a single repercussion.
14. Second best quote ever uttered in a movie courtesy of Dalton’s nemesis, “I used to fuck guys like you in prison.”
15. And the wet blanket girlfriend award for whatever year Road House was released goes to….O my gosh, it’s Kelly Lynch….I had no idea.
16. “Remember that blonde, She could suckstart a Harley.” It’s like Shakespeare if Shakespeare had lived in a coke induced haze in the ‘80’s.
17. Extra Extra!!!! Giant Stuffed Polar Bear randomly falls on grotesquely fat guy.
18. I really can’t say enough about the random Westside Story music that plays throughout the climactic scene, it would (literally) be impossible.
19. Dalton flinches at the end; can’t rip out Wesly’s throat.
20. The rest of the townsfolk shoot Bad Guy Brad Wesly but it takes four shots before he dies.

Some Random Thoughts from a Day at Work Augmented With a Long List

I finally got a television after living in San Francisco for two months without one. In the larger “what does it all mean” sense, this is not that important. What is important is the DVD I bought at Longs Drugs today to christen the first watch. Of course, I’m talking about Roadhouse. I can’t wait to drink shitty beer and pretend that I only like to watch Dalton beating the shit out of people ironically even though, in reality, I just like it.

- Harrison Ford’s been in a lot of spectacular movies. Patriot Games, The Indiana Jones Trilogy, The Star Wars Trilogy, Air Force One (“Get off my plane.”), The Fugitive. I don’t really have anything else to say. I just feel like people need to remember these things

- I hate comedowns/hangovers. I also don’t really like how long drugs last. I want to feel the drug for a bit, but then have the symptoms go away. In light of this, I want to create a meta-drug. I’d take it and then all of a sudden I’d be all contemplative and despondent AND I’d be inexplicably hungry. Then half an hour later I’d come out of it but all of a sudden I’d be jittery and nervous and I’d think I was the coolest person in the room. Then after half an hour I’d just be sloppy drunk which would obviously segue into being hallucinogenic. Finally, at the end of it all the drug would have a comedown that consisted of a blow job or something. Honestly, who wouldn’t take this imagined concoction?

- Eleanor Put Your Boots Back On sounds like mixing pop rocks and soda (a good idea)

- If I had to be bludgeoned death by an animal, I can’t think of a cuter animal to do the deed than a sea otter. I think I might actually let him do it.

- It seems like frolicking should be outlawed.

- Two Books worth reading: Chuck Klosterman IV by Chuck Klosterman. Some advice: Don’t listen to him talk. Somehow, it makes you like him less. That is, unless you like nasally voices and intellectual bantering (maybe monologues?) about pop culture. So, I guess I’m saying it made me like him more, but will make everyone else feel the opposite. Second Book: The Book of Job. It’s a pretty messed up book, all things considered.


- A fun game to play: Miniature golf in the house. What’s needed to play: A Glass, A golf ball, a Putter, and preferably stairs.

- O yeah, and a case of beer.

- It would be cool to have a leather belt with all the planets on it and call it Orion’s Belt

- I think the best thing Dutch people have given the world is their Ovens.

- American’s should probably give up golfing. I mean, I know the Ryder Cup is team golf and golf isn’t really a team sport (or a sport), but seriously if America can’t beat Europe it might as well give up. That’s like a tiger getting the shit kicked out of it by a pregnant seahorse.

- I always wonder what Jane was addicted to.

- I know other people have said this but there really was no reason that Kevin Bacon needed to do a full frontal scene in Wild Things. None at all.

- I’ll throw this out there. I have an irrational hatred of James Spader. I’m interested in whether others hate him too or if it’s it just me. Honestly, I can’t think of a pseudo-celebrity I hate more from the poofy hair to his pompous attitude. It’s probably just me.

- Why isn’t Adam Sandler funny anymore?

Road Trip Bands

Most of you are aware of the fact that myself and three others went on a road trip across the states. As we are all probably much cooler than whoever is reading this—with the exception of Best Western Bryan who was in Hong Kong—as evidenced by the fact that we remained sedentary in a car for 100 hours, I figure everyone else might like to know what four mostly bored roadtrippers listened to in order to pass the time. (100 hours)

Road Trips Are Long And So Is This List

Earlier in the narrative— around Day 1—I wrote about how important music is to a trip of this magnitude. Every single one of the road trippers feels this way. We each spent about twelve hours a day in the car and each one of us— even the dog—has commented that it never felt that long. This phenomenon can be explained in a few ways. The company is one reason, the booze another, but without question the most important reason was the dual iPods we were armed with (Supplied by Ryan and myself ).
Now that the narrative is nearing its finish, it seems like I should break down the bands that have made this trip bearable in ascending order from the most important band to the first band of musical purgatory and everything in between. The important distinction here is that I am not rating these bands in overall importance as a band, but in overall importance to this road trip. I’m not actually saying Tenacious D is better than the Beatles, but for us on this road trip they were more important.
In the same vein, we did not listen to The Red Hot Chili Peppers until we were crossing the state line back into California so they don’t even make the list. This is vexing given that I compare them to The Beatles and they have a song called Road Trippin’, but it is not all that surprising. Bands like this are great but not old enough for me to put them on when I’m in a classic rock mood. My world is very stratified. We have the “new” indie scene, the “80’s” and classic rock. There is no room for change. So important bands of the early 90’s are often left unheard in my world and hence do not make the list of “Important Road Trip Bands.” This explains the omission of the Chili Peppers, Nirvana, Pearl Jam et Al. But really it means there’s just no accounting for taste.


1. Tenacious D- Without question, we listened to Tenacious D three times a day. Once when we were hungover in the morning, again when we were high in the afternoon and one more time before we got to our destination. The Road may be the best description of the last ten days of my life ever written.
2. The Beatles- They’d be #1 if they had written The Road, and described my present state of existence. I’ve made it crystal clear that no band can be better than The Beatles. …How clear? Crystal Clear.
3. Electric 6- Fire in The Disco kicks ass and anyone who writes a song with lyrics like, “Girl, I wanna take you to a gay bar,” is alright in my book. On another note, I’m beginning to think he might have a point with the whole gay bar thing. It seems like that might be a perfect place to take a girlfriend. I mean, she gets to dance all night and you don’t have to worry about anybody hitting on the apple of your eye. Anyways, I have a really funny (and therefore slightly depressing) story about a gay bar. When I was a freshman in high school some seniors had fake I.D.’s and their idea of a good time on Friday nights was to go to a place called Woody’s—a gay bar—in Laguna Beach and send their friend (who was very good-looking) into the bar to pick up an unsuspecting homosexual. Then as the tipsy individual was leaving with the good looking high schooler the entire group would jump out from behind a car and beat the daylights out of the queer (too far?). So, this continued off and on for about four months until one night the good looking kid picked up on some unsuspecting individual and they were leaving for the man’s car, but this time when the group of six football players surrounded him something different happened. All he said was, “Sweet, because the only thing I like more than sucking dick is kicking ass…” He then proceeded to single-handedly pummel the football players. Redemption thy name is gay man with two different black belts…
4. Bloc Party- I really like Bloc Party.
5. The Killers- Same as Above
6. The Eagles- I hate The Eagles.
7. Franz Ferdinand- Eleanor Put Your Boots Back On sounds like a song the Beatles would have made. I think that’s probably the best compliment you could give a British band not named Oasis.
8. The Honorary Title- What can I say, I’m an indie slut. Bridge & Tunnel is a kick-ass song as is The Smoking Pose.
9. The Strokes- The Strokes could steal my hypothetical girlfriend without even trying.
10. Rod Stewart-Someone Like You sounds like a woman I haven’t met yet. Maggie May sounds like a woman I probably have.
11. The Faint- Omaha, NE’s best band and a cautionary tale about what happens when you don’t stay hydrated.
12. Huey Lewis & The News- I think they’re #12 because they’re next to the Honorary Title in my iPod. Still, Sports is a great album.
13. Elton John-If you can look at me straight faced and say that Tiny Dancer & Your Song don’t kick all the ass a gay piano player possibly could, then you are a better person than I.
14. Interpol- It seems like I’d be a better Interpol fan if I really liked blow, but both of their albums mildly rock highlighted by Slow Hands, Evil, PDA, Obstacle 2, etc….
15. Jet- I like iPod commercials. And they (sort of) sound like AC/DC….
16. AC/DC- Apparently, AC/DC stands for Aging Curmudgeons start to suck.
17. Guns ‘N Roses- I like them despite the fact that I support neither guns nor roses.
18. Johnny Cash- He’s pretty neat. Live at Folsom Prison has to be one of the coolest live albums ever made.
19. Stellastarr*- Refer to #8, and listen to Homeland, Somewhere Across Forever or Sweet Troubled Soul
20. Lynyrd Skynyrd- Hey What’s Your Name? It’s Lanolyn? Lanolyn…. like sheep’s wool?
21. Kings of Leon- I like that you can name a hit song anything you want. The Bucket?
22. Mitch Hedberg- I’ve got a story about this guy. I had tickets to see him at the Improv in Irvine before I went to Europe. I did not see him for reasons mostly under my control. I drank enough to kill a small Honduran family and was kicked out. If this wasn’t bad enough, Ryan took me to the car and put me to sleep. He also used this trip to the car to re-stock his pants with beers to bring back into the club (we were all underage). When the bouncer saw this, he kicked my entire group out. I have no way to verify that this is all true (because I was asleep), but everyone who went has been slightly angry with Ryan and I ever since. It didn’t help that he died soon thereafter. R.I.P. Mitch. By the way, did you catch the Mitch jokes on Pages ___ & ____?
23. Journey-Any Way You Want It? My answer is without special sauce.
24. My Chemical Romance- Ryan really likes this band. I think if Helena is the best you can do, then #24 is the highest you can go.
25. Harvey Danger- Where Have All The Merrymakers Gone? is one of my favorite albums. I guess since they’re #25, it’s probably my forty-third favorite album.
26. The Sounds- Because sometimes the only person in the room who can rock is a small woman from Sweden.
27. The Postal Service- The District Sleeps Alone is a great song and there could be Nothing Better than listening to this band. Except (I guess) all the bands in front of them.
28. Belle & Sebastian- Dear Catastrophe Waitress, I’ve been Sleeping the Clock Around so Get Me Away From Here I’m Dying.
29. Willie Nelson- Let’s see; Willie’s On The Road Again. So am I. Willie is, in all likelihood, very high right now. So am I. And Willie is (probably) going to make a fool out of himself on a stage tonight. So am I. I’m beginning to feel like we might be the same person separated by time, space and a few working brain cells.
30. Elliot Smith- Do you think any of his friends said, “Hey Elliot, You wanna go get a drink,” after they heard A Fond Farewell to a Friend?
31. Led Zeppelin- They probably should have been higher
32. LCD Soundsystem- He should probably be a little bit lower.
33. David Bowie- His music is almost as cool as he is, and I read that he wrote Heroes in a detox clinic in West Berlin overlooking the wall. That is so Rawk & Roll.
34. The Allman Bros. Band- Jessica is my favorite wordless song. Whipping Post is my favorite song about wood.
35. Queen- I bet I like Fat Bottomed Girls more than Freddie Mercury ever did. Also, we copied Wayne’s World and sang Bohemian Rhapsody at ear splitting volume at least four times on the trip.
36. Kansas- We only listened to this band in two states. (Because Kansas City is also in Missouri.)
37. Creedence Clearwater Revival- Someday Never Comes is probably the best song ever written about leaving your wife and infant son.
38. The Violent Femmes- I forgot what 38 was for.
39. 80’s Music- Here’s to the entire catalog of one hit wonders classified in my iPod as “80’s.” Has there ever been a stupider line immortalized in song than, “….But the point was brought to moot,” in Jessie’s Girl. My guess is probably not, but really isn’t that the plight of musicians; they all have an awful poetic heart yearning to escape their corporeal bodies.
40. The Cars- Sometimes (and you don’t know when) you find they’re Just What You Needed.
41. Black Rebel Motorcycle Club- Does anyone else think that it’s weird that they decided to become an alt-country band?
42. Deathcab for Cutie- Their name seems like it would fit one of those “hardcore with a heart of gold” bands better.
43. The Rolling Stones- One of the best rock bands of all time? Yes. One of the most important bands of this trip? No.
44. Fisherspooner- Because they have a song called Fish and Spoon, and I’m told by their frontman that Emerge is an underground cult classic. Go figure.
45. The Bravery- A poor man’s Bloc Party. Actually comparing them to Bloc Party is kind of like those comparisons between Adam Morrison and Larry Bird. I get it, Morrison is white and he has a high release, now let it go.
46. Moving Units- I like indecipherable music. It makes me think I could be a rock-star.
47. The Mountain Goats- Either No Children is the most ironic song I’ve ever heard or it’s the funniest song about hating your life ever written. Either way, support The Mountain Goats.
48. The Hot Hot Heat- You might know them from that song where the lead singer sings a song about The Middle of Nowhere. In any case, that’s where I am at this very moment.
49. Kasabian- I like them even though Oasis does too.
50. Boston- The only great band named after a city. I loathe Chicago.
51. Beck- I like a lot of bands that have names that start with B.
52. Muse- I just remembered the White Stripes. Muse is not better than The Stripes, but this list is getting ridiculous anyways. I think the order doesn’t really matter anymore. Anyways, Thoughts of a Dying Atheist is a neat song as is Falling Away With You.
53. The White Stripes- Only this low because I forgot about them until now.
54. Death From Above 1979- Good Lo-Fi group….I don’t know, just listen to them because they have the best band name I’ve ever seen.
55. Kaiser Chiefs- Britpop at its most mediocre. O, My God & I Predict A Riot are semi-riotous.
56. Panic! At the Disco- Like Fall Out Boy with synthesizer. This makes them better.
57. Fall Out Boy- Like Panic! At the Disco without synthesizer. This makes them worse.
58. Bright Eyes- Colin Oberst makes me want to go out and beat up a drunk catholic kid.
59. Taking Back Sunday- Because Monday was already taken.
60. Saosin- Eh….
61. Prince- Prince would be rated higher, but no one ever let me listen to him….
62. Keane- What can I say…I’m a pussy.
63. Say Anything- Somewhere there’s a Molly who really hates this band.
64. The Shins- Good
65. The Stills- “My luck’s pushed too far. I’ll get wrecked innnnnnn some bar…” I guess that pretty much sums up the trip.
66. Radiohead- Kid A kicks arse.
67. The Arcade Fire- They’re kind of slow and melodic and purgatory-lite sometimes, but Rebellions & Neighborhoods #’s 1 & 3 are really listenable.
68. Pinback- I like Summer in Abaddon.
69. The Pixies- At this point, I’m beginning to wonder, Where is My Mind?
70. Alkaline Trio- An example of their amazing lyrics from the song Radio… “Shaaaaa-kinggggggg like a dog shittinnnn’ razor blades…” This thoroughly proves my theory that inside every musician there is a terrible poet yearning to get out.
71. Neil Diamond- I wonder if I only like Neil because of Saving Silverman? Whatever, “Sweeeeeeeet Caroline bud dum bum bum…”
72. Bruce Springsteen- Coincidentally, we were all born in the U.S.A. too.
73. The Cure- It seems like we probably listened to The Cure at some point or another.
74. Don McLean- How could we not listen to every possible song about America and Pie (Possibly my two favorite words)….Bush would be proud
75. KISS- We never made it to Detroit Rock City
76. Marcy Playground- The list is now going in alphabetical order, but come on who doesn’t love Sex & Candy. Be honest.
77. The Mars Volta- They used to be part of a (sort of) shitty group called Sparta. Now they’re a semi-successful new wave jam band.
78. The New Pornographers- A.C. Newman calls them ridiculously talented, and I (begrudgingly) have to agree. What a dick though.
79. Oasis- The (Wonder) wall between the first 78 bands and musical purgatory.


Important One Song Bands

Before the iPod these bands would not have been “important” to the trip, but the podskie makes it exceedingly easy to make playlists so these are the good songs from mostly unlistenable bands that helped us through the trip.

80. Head Automatica- Beating Heart Baby
81. A.C. Newman- Miracle Drug
82. The Adored- Catch Your Breath
83. Tupac- California Love- Guess why
84. Wham!- Jitterbug. Faith is categorized under 80’s in my world.
85. Phish- Gin & Juice
86. Snoop- Gin & Juice
87. Barry Jive & the Uptown 5- Let’s Get it On
88. Meatloaf- Anything For Love
89. OutKast- The only important two song band: Rosa Parks & Ms. Jackson
90. Louis XIV- God Killed The Queen
91. The Black Keys- Set Me Free
92. Chromeo- Needy Girl
93. Kings of Convenience- I’d Rather Dance With You Than Talk With You
94. Blonde Redhead- Astro Boy
95. Pat Green- Everclear
96. Captain Geech & The Shrimp Shack Shooters- That Thing You Do!

Purgatory

97. Modest Mouse- If you have to listen to them then listen to Float On or The Ocean Breathes Salty. The rest of the group loved them and this mildly annoyed me, which is, I guess, the point of purgatory. It’s not bad and it’s not good, but it could be worse.
98. The Doors- People are going to decry my taste in music now, but (honestly) if Jim Morrison hadn’t died would people really think a rambling song like The End was any good? I mean, I like Break on Through(To the Other Side) and Light My Fire and Roadhouse Blues and People are Strange and Riders on the Storm and L.A. Woman, but honestly do seven or eight songs really make you great. I think this band is in purgatory only because other people like them so much that it causes me to have an adverse reaction to them.

Reader’s Note: I was wrong. Louis XIV kicks ass.

How McDonald's Can Remedy my Hatred of Tibetan Monks

How McDonald's Can Remedy my Hatred of Tibetan Monks

The not so recent movie Super Size Me examined the effect McDonald’s food has on one’s body. The protagonist, a fu manchued Morgan Spurlock, ate McDonald’s for every meal over a month period. At the end of his starchy debauchery he found himself in dire need of detoxification and, probably, of a toilet to sit on for a month or so. Now, the obvious question is; why does any of this matter? The answer is simple; I’ve decided to make the world a better place. I want to become a McDonald’s franchise owner. I mean, Morgan Spurlock may have illustrated the awful consequences that eating greasy food every day has on one’s body, but it doesn’t really seem to be changing the eating habits of the world, you know. McDonald’s is still a profitable business. Here’s the rub. I don’t want to own just any McDonald’s; my goal is to franchise the golden arches on top of Mount Everest. I want the symbol of American decadence to adorn the pinnacle of human excellence and achievement.

Now, I can already hear the naysayers harping, “This franchise would be absolutely unprofitable even if you could build it.” But these people are missing the point. It doesn’t matter that this restaurant may or may not make money; it’s the fact that it exists at all that is important. It would obviously be a testament to the McDonald’s corporation’s narcissism and hubris if they were to place a franchise at the top of the highest mountain in the world. But it would also be an affirmation of their business model. There—literally—would be no more mountains to climb.

To illustrate what I mean, let’s put this into perspective. What’s more important; one unprofitable restaurant or boundless name recognition? The answer is obvious. I mean, there are unprofitable restaurants all over the place, but none of them exist on top of the highest peak in the world. Name recognition is, really, the only goal of every marketer in every business. McDonald’s already owns the lion’s share of the fast food market, but if they were able to put a restaurant on top of the world their competitors wouldn’t be playing the same game any more. They’d have their feet firmly on the ground while McDonalds’ head was up in the clouds.

So, I’ve (sort of) made an argument for McDonald’s to franchise Everest. I think it would be a GREAT marketing tool. It’s like Lex Luthor says in Superman, “They print more money all the time….Land’s the only thing they’re not making any more of.” Well, he’s absolutely right. There’s only one top of Mount Everest, and whoever gets there first lays claim to it (Kind of like the U.S. and the moon). So, it’s up to McDonald’s to get there first.

At this point I feel compelled to bare my intentions. I’ve been lying to you. Well, that’s not entirely true. I haven’t lied so much as I’ve been hiding the truth. I DO believe that this franchise would be a great marketing tool. The symbol of American capitalism on top of the pinnacle of human exploration and all….That is all true. But I have another, more subversive, reason for desiring that an American corporate entity infiltrate the Tibetan plateau, namely, I despise Tibetan monks.

Tibetan monks sit up in that high altitude all day (presumably) contemplating things like reality, morality, the meaning of life and the meaning of the word “is.” They try to find meaning in the human experience and they are able to do this because some well-meaning mooks in America (and the rest of the world) campaign against China for their freedom. Bullshit. There is only one rule that truly governs the world and it is that men take what they can get. And this is what makes the problem of these Tibetan monks so disturbing. They don’t campaign for anything so other people take it upon themselves to campaign for them. They rely on others to be the voice in the fog where no other had previously existed. Well, I want to put an end to this, and to this end McDonald’s can help.

Those golden arches are a symbol of everything those prurient monks have worked their entire life to avoid. They symbolize American materialism in the form of 39 cent hamburgers, fries and a coke (This price may need to rise given the high cost of transporting burgers five miles into the air.). Not only is this our opportunity to modernize these monks, it is our duty. In time, they will see capitalism as the liberator of their previous life and will come to understand that living in harmony with the land was not what God intended when he told us to go forth and multiply. I mean, our model has worked in the Middle East, right?

It is our duty as the world’s largest economy—with near endless resources—to finally illustrate to these free loading monks that we aren’t gonna take it anymore. If they use yak milk to subsist, we’ll create a yak farm, fence those ungulates in and start producing milk like they’ve never seen. And if they want it, they can cross those golden arches at the top of Everest and buy it like everyone else (Two dollars a quart, by the way). And when it’s all said and done, I’d like to think that these monks will come to realize that capitalism may not be the best system, it’s just better than all of the alternatives.

Perhaps McDonald’s may be all that is wrong with capitalism. This much may be true. But it’s no longer just our problem, you know? This is why it’s time to modernize these monks, to welcome them into the infinite abyss that is the world economy.

So, I’ve (sort of) made this argument for McDonald’s to relocate a store to the top of Everest. I’ve also given my reasons. 1. I think it would pay enormous dividends 2. I hate Tibetan monks. But there is still a third reason behind putting those golden arches on top of Everest and it has to do with my imagination and the reason I hate monks in the first place. In my mind I am imagining an alternate reality where there really is a fast food chain on top of Mount Everest. And I am imagining that some guy has just scaled the mountain and entered my restaurant. He has ordered a Big ‘N Tasty when he realizes that he has forgotten his wallet at the base. The question is; do I give him the hamburger? Right now, my guess is that if I were a monk then the answer would (probably) be “Yes”, but this is the wrong answer. The right answer is that this life is made up of rules like “no shirt, no shoes, no service” and “the trading of legal tender procures goods and/or services.” If the guy who just climbed to the top of Everest is starving, he obviously should not have put himself in that situation. We are not communists, you know, but these monks still live in a world where “giving of oneself” is not frowned upon as it should be. That’s why I want to bring the West to the East and that’s why I can say to the monks with all verisimilitude, “Welcome to capitalism. It means you can procure whatever your heart desires, as long as your heart doesn’t desire a soul.”

The Shot Heard Round the Blog

The Shot Heard Round the Blog

Today is Sunday, September 10th in the 2006th year of our lord, and that means its time for a Sunday afternoon with Austin. Per usual, I’m going to (more or less) ramble as many ideas out as possible and then write about one of them later. And if you don’t like what you read, remember its Best Western Bryan’s fault. I could have never set a blog up on my own. I am not proactive.

• I live in a mildly shady area so I think I’m going to start using a cane. But not just any cane…one of those canes that doubles as a sword or something. I mean, it serves two purposes. 1.) It looks classy 2.) It’s a deadly slashing device. What more could you want from your walking stick?
• Is Adam Sandler funny? I used to think so, but now I'm not so
sure. His non-funny movies are fine, but that doesn't mean he's
funny, you know?
• Would you rather have a thousand dollar dinner or a thousand dollar suit?
-Nick answered thusly, “The suit for sure. Who wants to shit a grand the next day? Too depressing.”
• Nick asked, “Do you think the world from John Lennon’s “Imagine” could ever exist. Here’s my answer, “I don't think John Lennon's ‘Imagine’ could ever exist, but I think ‘We Built This City’ by Starship or ‘Monkey’ by George Michael are
probably more attainable. This is probably all the White man’s fault.”
• If you ever find yourself in the middle of nowhere Texas Chainsaw Massacre style, the gas station employee is always the town’s resident Einstein. Never forget this.
• GO BEARS!!!!
• Are we all winners because we play drinking games or are do we play drinking games because we’re winners?
• Has alcohol made me funnier or do I just think it has?
• It would be a real treat to meet Tony the Tiger.
• If I told you there was a place that served one dollar beers as long as football was being played, would that interest you?
• The first line from the song “Radio” by Alkaline Trio…”Shaaaaaaaakinggggggggg like a dog shittin’ razor blades.” This just further proves my supposition that inside every musician there is a third grade poet trying to get out.
• Books to read if you have as much time on your hands as I do: Now I Can Die in Peace by Bill Simmons, How Soccer Explains the World by Franklin Foer, Sherlock Holmes and The Hound of the Baskervilles
• Listen to The Silversun Pickups. I mean this; if you do not listen to them then we have a problem. Honestly, if you don’t like them, I will fight you.
• Is it a man-law that every man has to have a fu Manchu at least once? I hope not.
• On a related note, fu Manchus are the new mullet.
• I don’t like it when people claim to be giving 110%. It’s too damn illogical.
• How long do people have to say, “Oh that guy, _______, is so underrated” before he actually becomes overrated.
• How often does someone have to go to the bathroom when they’re drinking until you can make fun of them for a small bladder? 3 times? Or is it only in the context of how many beers have been drunk?

I think that’s enough. Here’s something I thought about for way too long this week.

Who Would Win in a Fistfight

It seems to me there is no greater question in our time than, “Who would win in a fistfight.” So, I’m going to pit famous and a little bit famous people against each other. As an added bonus my fights all go fifteen rounds because real men bludgeon each other for nine more minutes. I’m all about pugilistic purity. I don’t know if I’ve ever heard anything cooler than Ali-Frazier III when it was possible that Ali could have died had Frazier been able to stand for the fifteenth. So, in the spirit of toughness and ill-will toward men (and women) I give you my dream altercations.

Lucille Ball vs. Ethel
Odds: Lucy 1 to 4
This one’s a no-brainer. Ethel was so spineless toward Lucy that I really feel like if Lucy and her had come to fisticuffs she would have simply allowed Lucy to beat her up while telling Lucy that she was thankful she’d been punished for doing something wrong even though she didn’t know what it was that she’d done wrong in the first place. In fact I’m done with this one….Let’s just move on.

Patrick Swayze in Roadhouse vs. Patrick Swayze in Point Break
Odds: Roadhouse Swayze 34 to 1
Roadhouse Swayze wins when Point Break Swayze’s cutman squirts lemon juice in his eye. After a long investigation, it is revealed that the cutman was none other than “I am an F….B….I…. Agent” Johnny Utah who had been tracking Point Break Swayze all the way to Vegas for the epic battle. Furthermore, the outcome of the fight is contested when it becomes apparent—through video evidence—that Roadhouse Swayze never actually connected on any of his punches, did not rip out Point Break Swayze’s throat and that both Point Break Swayze and Agent Utah had bet heavily on Roadhouse Swayze to win the fight.

Trey Parker & Matt Stone vs. Scientology
Odds: Pick ‘em
Stone & Parker take the early advantage as they bludgeon scientology, but there are just too many beautiful scientologists and Americans are just too susceptible to beauty. In a surprising turn of events Scientology knocks Stone & Parker down in the tenth and the duo is never the same. They fight to the end but lose in a split-decision when Celebrity Judge Kim Jong Il inexplicably gives the 10-9 score to the scientologists in the fifteenth. There is great outrage, but Kim Jong Il does not care. He immediately goes golfing where he improbably makes seventeen holes in one and a par.

Bruce Willis vs. Will Smith
Odds: Willis 1 to infinity
After playing the great Muhammad Ali, Will Smith believes he can compete with Willis. Will Smith is killed in the first—by one punch—when he steps into the ring with Butch. Millions are deprived of hearing him scream in every role he ever plays. He is best remembered for his hilarious line, “I have got to get me one of these…” in Independence Day. The lesson: Never step into the ring with Butch.

Ving Rhames vs. Michael Clarke Duncan
Odds: Clarke Duncan 1 to 2 (or is that Ving Rhames)
In a battle of people that look alike Michael Clarke Duncan wins handily in the fourth round when Ving Rhames cannot make it out of his corner. On a sidenote: If Michael Clarke Duncan wasn’t so big I would never be able to tell him and Rhames apart.


A transcription of a night I may or may not have had on Friday

8 P.M.- Tom and I finish our first beer
8:15- Beer number three conquered
9- Probably six beers and a shot so far.
915- Time to go out.
9:45- Tom and Austin find their way to the Elbo Room. Austin makes a bad decision and orders two Ocean Beach iced teas.
10:00- The drinks are done. Tom is very drunk
10:15- Tom and Austin go to Delirium
10:30- Austin loses Tom
10:45- Somehow Austin is talking to girls. They get a cab and all of them go to a park. Austin is confused about how he got himself into such a situation.
11:00- Austin makes fun of a fat girl. He feels bad about it later.
11:15- Austin asks a gay guy, “So, where are all the gay racists…. Like I really want to meet one.” The man is not amused. Austin says simply, “Hey man if you can’t laugh at yourself then who can you laugh at. I mean, listen to that lisp.”
11:24- A shot of Black Label whiskey is taken. Hilarity ensues.
11:30- Austin realizes that drinking in a park is underrated when he decides to roll down the hill three to four times. Everyone else decides to join in. Austin realizes that this group is at the mercy of his whimsicalities.
11:38- Austin finds a Yanni poster.
11:39- He contemplates what to do with such a poster. He takes a shot of 151 to help him make his decision.
11:40- He decides that this Yanni poster must be photocopied and he demands that the group find a Kinko’s.
11:42- The group agrees.
12:14- The group enters Kinko’s. Yanni is photocopied 100 times or maybe a 1000. Either way, someone else pays.
12:27- Austin is hungry. He posits that the group should go and find an Indian food place.
12:54- Austin is eating Naan and telling everyone who will listen that Yanni is like “John Lennon with talent.”
1:04- Someone agrees with him that Yanni is “like John Lennon with talent,” and Austin verbally accosts the loser for the next 27 minutes.
1:15- The loser makes fun of Austin, but Austin just says, “Whatever, man only a guy with a deficient penis (though I probably said ‘small dick’) would really believe that Yanni’s better than John Lennon.” He is not amused. He says, “You’re the one that said it first.” I reply that I was trying to “root out all the weak links in this coterie.” He buys me a shot to atone for his misdeeds.
1:32- Where am I?
1:45- Whiskey was a bad choice
2:04- Austin decides to pass out more Yanni posters outside of a bar while people are leaving. He continues to say that John Lennon was a hobo.
2:21- Another person agrees and Austin calls him a “Gerrymanderer.” The guy is not amused. He threatens to punch Austin. The bouncer comes by to ask what the problem is. Austin answers saying, “This hobo said that Yanni is like John Lennon with talent.” The bouncer apparently loves John Lennon. This boded ill for the other guy.
2:37- Somehow, I am taking a shot with the bouncer.
2:39- Tequila was a bad choice.
3:32- I time travel and find myself on my stoop.

A Staggering Work of Low Morals & American Hegemony

Before we get started, I need to get something off my chest; I look like a prettier Johnny Depp mixed with a healthy dose of Brad Pitt’s abdominal muscles from Fight Club not to mention that I’m hung like Mark Wahlberg’s prostheses from Boogie Nights. Okay, thank God we got that out of the way.

I tell you these things for a purpose beyond bragging (and lying). I tell you this because I went to a bar last weekend and at this bar there was a twenty-dollar cover. Now, considering that I am the cheapest person in the world, I immediately a.) became extremely annoyed with my two friends for dragging me from my bar stool at a relentlessly un-cool speak-easy using the empty promises of sugar plums and manna and b.) began to grumble about the twenty dollar fee quite vociferously (even for a drunkard). As we got to the front of the line, I was still verbally accosting anyone who talked to me including the bouncer. Surprisingly, he didn’t bar me from entering. In fact, he was extremely cordial before quieting me by saying the most important five words any bouncer could ever utter: “There are playmates up there.” All of a sudden, and for the next 24 seconds the twenty-dollar charge seemed completely reasonable and perhaps even a little low. Then the shot clock on the cover expired and I came to a pretty epic realization.

What does it matter that there are Playmates up there?

I mean, let’s be upfront about this. Even if you did possess Johnny Depp’s counter-culture good looks and Brad Pitt’s abs from Fight Club (and for fun let’s even throw in Milton Berle’s tower of power) what are the chances you’d get to take a Playmate home at a party thrown specifically for them when every non-gay male in the place harbors the same aspirations. Honestly, these playmates can choose to go home with anyone!!!! So, even if you were a movie star’s doppelganger why would she choose you. And, I’m not saying Johnny Depp couldn’t pick up any of those playmates (because he could). I’m saying that while women do care about comeliness, attractive appearances are secondary to wealth. Now, I realize this isn’t exactly groundbreaking information here, but bear with me and you’ll learn something about why country’s fight wars, how Dwyane Wade does that, and why I wasted twenty dollars.

Why countries fight, and how this is related to why I will (probably) never bang a Playboy Bunny.

At its heart, every relationship is a power struggle. In some cases, it’s obvious, but usually it isn’t. The struggle exists beneath a façade erected as a courtesy to shield both members from exterior scrutiny, but it’s always there. The struggle for power never goes away. And whoever is stronger wields the strength in any relationship. Now, I know this (sort of) demystifies and (totally) de-sexualizes the entire idiom of romantic interluding, but when they’re really really broken down there is a common thread between romantic relationships and why wars have occurred in the past and will continue into the future.

A relationship is an accord between two like entities whose balance of power is constantly in flux. What this means is that while one party may have the advantage at one point, the entire balance could shift in the blink of an eye and at this point the lesser power can gain the upper hand. For example, after World War II, the United States controlled something like 40 percent of the entire world’s productive capacity and the atomic bomb. Back then the saying “These Colors Don’t Run” was a way of life not a bumper sticker. Then, in 1947, the U.S.S.R. unlocked the nuclear puzzle and, in what seemed like the blink of an eye, the Soviets leveled the international playing field. What happened? Well, an international relations guru like Ken Waltz would probably say something like, “there was one superpower so there was an international power vacuum allowing for another country to rise up and challenge the pre-eminent power.” And he’s exactly right. Have you ever seen a person get away with infidelity when there was no way that their partner did not know what was happening? Because that’s pretty much what happened when the Soviets got the bomb. If you have seen this, then you’ve seen an example of what happens when one half of a two actor system loses its power advantage. And these things happen all the time; in romantic relationships and in the international system.

How did the United States justify going to war with Iraq? Whether or not you think we should have been there, the evidence supporting WMD’s was suspect, and if that was our only reason for invading then we made a mistake. However, there were obviously other factors contributing to the decision to topple a dictatorship halfway around the world. Namely, we could. America had (and has) a preponderance of power, it holds the entire deck (with Jokers included). America is the cheating woman whom the rest of the world continuously crawls back to because they have nowhere else to go. She is the devil who wears Prada. And that’s the thing with relationships, no matter what anyone tries to do to make them act more rationally whether it be creating a U.N. or a weekly date night, they will never act rationally and they will always be dangerous. Men and women continue to date because there is a chance that somewhere out there in this mad, mad world there is a person with whom power can be shared and equality guaranteed. And this perfect relationship will be both gratifying and incredibly rewarding. For much the same reasons, countries will always continue to align with eachother because it’s always easier to face this cruel, cruel world as part of a team than by oneself. Sadly, this is also the reason wars will continue eternally. When one side starts to gain power, the other starts to worry what the first side will do with their newfound strength. Will they subjugate us? Will they slaughter us all? Is she going to break up with me so she can chase after that other guy? And I know that these are all irrational fears, but they have existed from the time God K.O.’ed Adam so he could steal his rib. With this in mind, here is a short history of America using my own relationships as a crutch to illustrate the very real, very strong similarity between power, relationships and the international system.

Kelly Kapowski & Me= England vs. U.S.
- She was the powerful homecoming queen (with a strong Royal Navy, I guess) and I was a rising power. We had a lot in common, but as we grew up in college (same school) her power began to wane as mine began to augment until we had to separate because my hunger for power was insatiable (Manifested in my desire to drink beer). Also, she’s still really pretty and we have a treaty—i.e. we talk cordially from time to time (until she reads this I suppose).

Veronica Corningstone & Me= U.S. vs. Russia
- We both had a lot of firepower. She was great looking and cool as could be. She had a radio show on our college radio station and had great taste in all things aural. She’s the only girl I’ve ever dated who I thought was (probably) cooler than me. I had recently returned from Europe where I had run with some bulls and garnered enough stories to be consistently interesting past the fourth date. But in the end, she came out on top. My economy just couldn’t handle it. And this is even though I never had an Orwell to poke holes in my logic.

Rachel McAdams & Me= Switzerland vs. U.S.
- Rachel was noncommittal because I was graduating; she had to come back to school in the fall for one more quarter, and was going to Europe that summer. That said, she was sort of clinging at the end and talked endlessly of what it was going to be like when she came back. So, she’s like Switzerland in World War II; if the Swiss abstained but didn’t let the Germans use their banks.

Sarah Packard & Me= Iraq vs. U.S.
- I probably took advantage of Sarah sexually. I met her after breaking it off with England and I was in a frenzied state. She had no real power in the relationship and I pretty much bombed her whenever I felt like it. 20 years from now, I am going to wonder why I ever did it.

Gloria Cleary & Me= The Netherlands vs. U.S.
- Gloria graduated a year early and promptly went to graduate school….to jump around with monkeys in the jungle, which was just about the goofiest thing I had ever heard. I suppose she’s the Netherlands because it’s the goofiest country I’ve ever seen. Honestly, who’s national color is burnt orange? Really.

Etta Place & Me= Kosovo vs. U.S.
- I made it with Ms. Place the night Gloria left. Then I bombed her for a few weeks before stopping (sort of) inexplicably. Kind of like Clinton and Kosovo.

Cloris Leachman & Me= The Philippines vs. U.S.
- Cloris was gorgeous in eighth grade and throughout our first two years in high school. We fooled around a few times and I had a crush on her, but after awhile realized that I had no real desire to continue. Besides, I was close to starting my relationship with England, so continuing could do nothing except cause the world to think I was imperialist.

Maggie The Cat & Me= Spain vs. The U.S.
- Maggie the Cat starred in Cat on A Hot Tin Roof and serves as the pseudonym for the girl with whom I had my first sexual encounter. The weird thing is, I almost forgot about it much like our (mostly) forgotten war with Spain, which ironically netted the Philippines.

The One-Night Stands & Me= Those lost in the primordial capitalist soup vs. The U.S.
- These girls are comprised (mostly) of all the girls I met directly after England and I stopped talking. In fact, some of them happened in that weird time when England’s and my relationship was stuck in a coma and neither of us really knew what was going on. Is it salvageable? I don’t know, well….So yeah, I am not and have not always been morally flawless. Anyways, these girls are lost in the capitalist machine that separates the rich from the poor and the girls that I went out with from the ones that I did not.

These sorts of relationships are exactly why the international system exists. Besides the rudimentary literary device of using my life as an allegory to illustrate a larger truth, these girls all represent the power dynamic present in every two-actor relationship. Veronica Corningstone is the reason America outlasted Russia just as the Wall coming down signified my total lack of control over that relationship. Not only do all of these rib-stealers comprise the contents of my heart, they illustrate why less powerful countries need to ally against the powerful ones—i.e if they do not, they will be overrun—and why, at the start of The Cold War, two equally strong sides emerged.

However, they cannot explain why the world has not risen to balance against the United States in the aftermath of the collapse of the Soviet Union. But I think I have the answer. Ken Waltz would probably say that in the early 1990’s the American preponderance of power was too great to counter-balance. Then he might mention the relative benignity of the American hegemony illustrated by the fact that the United States is the first hegemony whose neighbors go to sleep every night knowing their autonomy is never in danger. However, I think there is a much simpler way to illustrate this point and it brings me back to the playmates and why I might as well have just burned a twenty-dollar bill whilst sitting on my barstool. Those playmates at that trendy bar in San Francisco represented America at the turn of the new century and beyond. In the context of a party thrown for them and about them, they held all the cards (including the Jokers). And this is why it was a total waste of money no matter what a steroid using ex-high school football player who allowed me access to that world said. The fact that playmates were upstairs dancing meant nothing because there was no chance—even if I allied with all of my friends—that I would be leaving with any of those vixens. They were just too powerful, too buxom and really too drunk to have any fun with anyway. And oh yeah, that other thing I told you I’d teach you….

How Does Dwyane Wade Do That?

He’s uberathletic. Other than that, I don’t even think Dwyane knows how He just did that.

I Predict A Riot

I just graduated from an institution of higher learning with a dual degree. This is not too important. A million people do it ever year so I can’t imagine this achievement is all that significant though (I guess) others would disagree. At least, the graduation parties were epic.

However, there is a relatively important aspect to the graduation ceremony and it has a lot to do with two dichotomous ideas; confusion and epochal behavior. In fact, the confusion is (probably) related to the epicness of the situation. Here’s what I mean; when a recent graduate—in this case me—is sitting in the hot, hot sun waiting to be commenced, his skull is constantly bombarded with the hopes of those older than him. They tell him, “It is now time for you in the class of____ to go and use the education that has so luckily been bestowed upon you. You owe it to society, to your parents and most of all, to yourself…blah, blah, blah.” This is a pretty epic sentiment, all things considered. Moreover, it is quite confusing. I mean, here most of the class of ____ is; they’re sitting in the hot, hot sun (most likely) slightly hung over and in utter disbelief that life sans a parental safety net is about to start. And here’s the thing, at the time this person—in this case, me—is incredibly jubilant about this turn of events.

However, sooner or later three months pass by, and you should be going back to school because, you know, it’s what you’ve always done. And finally, it hits you. We live in a society that endeavors to educate its children for one-quarter of their lives before unleashing those same children into the world like a whirlwind. Except, most of these children have no idea where they’re going. This is (pretty) confusing, all things considered.

Now, I’m not saying there’s necessarily anything wrong with this. Young adults have been graduating from college since slightly before I was born, and they’ve accomplished some pretty epic things. I mean, the fact that this essay was written on a computer and turned in via the internet is (sort of) mind-boggling when you really think about it. But is it really that epic? What constitutes this kind of behavior? Can it be achieved through technological innovation? Or is it strictly an emotional attachment to one’s fellow man? Is the creation of the computer truly an achievement? What about the telephone? These are tools that supposedly make our lives simpler, but in reality make them infinitely more complex. Is this the kind of innovation I’m supposed to aspire to?

I can’t imagine that a farmer who pre-dated the Industrial Revolution had a very complex life. He toiled in the field day in and day out, and if he had a house and a healthy family at the end of his days, his life’s goals were fulfilled. Would technological innovation have made his life more fulfilling? I doubt it. Who knows, maybe breakthroughs are supposed to make my life more difficult. This leads us to the crux of this essay namely, how can we define epochal behavior?

It seems to me that certain ways of life will always be unnervingly epic. For instance, people who devote their life to the service of others will always be noble. Unnervingly noble. (Unnervingly because it makes me feel worse about myself; noble because they are.) But where does that leave the rest of us? If we’re not Mother Teresa, then what are we? What do you do if you don’t have her lion-heart?
Perhaps, the key is to have the funds to champion your pet causes like Bill Gates or Warren Buffet? Maybe having an inordinate amount of money to throw at societal problems is the master stroke that truly illustrates one’s grit. It seems to me that this type of philanthropy is self-serving, but not, necessarily, any less fulfilling. Except now, the problem is that Bill Gates has a fortune to give away, while I’m just a recent college graduate with naught but words and a few dollars. How do I make a difference? Maybe, I should give what I can to the bum who makes his home under my stoop. In fact, I think I’m going to do that….I’ll be right back.

(Four Minutes Later)

I’m back. I bet I just made that local transient’s day, and this makes me really believe that money may be the key. Maybe Bill Gates has figured out how to be epochal. Maybe epochal behavior is creating a company with your friend’s operating system and then squeezing out the competition for twenty-five years before taking the fortune you amassed to impoverished lands. I think that sounds about right. It’s the American Dream really: a house, a white picket fence and a personal fortune approaching thirty billion dollars.

All snarkiness aside, the real problem is this; it is true that when a person graduates from college, life is the vista over which we all look, and the possibilities are (mostly) endless. However, it is also true that, from an epic perspective, many of the people overlooking their personal vista won’t amount to a hill of beans. It’s a simple fact; eventually life takes over. Those same young adults graduating this summer will cultivate their own children and then the whole process will start over again culminating with them attending their own child’s commencement at which time the vista will open for that person. And the point is that life is hard and in the face of such an endeavor (life), who has time to worry about epicness as it pertains to making society better.

This kind of philosophy is tragic but not necessarily dangerous. It is a philosophy resultant of the coupling of the impossibly high standards and ridiculously low initiative that characterizes this country. But you know what, if I’ve learned anything; it’s this. Noble deeds do not exist only in those epic gifts, but in the mundane gift of a dollar to a bum because it really is true that if you can make one person’s life better then you can change the world. Even if that bum just spent the money I gave him on two forty’s and some Cheeto’s…. at least he’s eating.

Okay, so a man I call Bryan—but everyone else calls Best Western—set this blog up so that I could impart my fractional wisdom. I’m sorry that I must operate under a psuedonym. Suffice it to say, I’m relatively famous yet mostly unknown. When I go to the movies people stare, but they don’t wave. It is an uncomfortable existence.

So this is how I’m going to do this. On Sunday mornings, I’m just going to put up a bunch of randomness. Sometimes there might be whole articles, sometimes thoughts like this. However, as is the case with this week, if I do not have an article up I will probably take one of these thoughts and enlarge it by mid-week.

A little bit more about me; I lose at Scrabble, but that’s only because "qzxtrea" isn’t in the Scrabbictionary. Who’s Scrabble to take away my triple word score because "qzxtrea" “isn’t a word.” I don’t trust their agenda. Anyways, onto the thoughts.

• Where are all the gay racists? They have to exist, right? It seems like it would just be so comical to see some guy at a bar yell some profane thing about black people and then go home to his Puerto Rican cabana boy. If they exist, I must find them.

• I can believe it’s not butter

• I know you can get a drunk driving ticket (or something like it) if you’re drunkenly sleeping it off in your car, but there’s a demographic here that everyone is forgetting about, probably because no one cares. But I care. I’ll be the voice for this downtrodden minority. Obviously, I’m talking about van people. Think about this. Van people are people too so I can only assume that like everyone else I know they must get drunk. (Actually, in all likelihood, they’re intoxicated more regularly than people I know. I mean, they do live in a van for a reason.) So what’s to stop policemen from giving these inebriated transients drunk driving tickets when they’re really just sleeping in their pseudo-home. I think about these things.

• Books Suggestions for the week: The Age of Fallibility by George Soros, The Sign of Four by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, Consider the Lobster by David Foster Wallace

• Here’s an amusing thing an agent wrote to me about my query letter. The query letter is the letter you write to “WOW” the agent into deciding to read a piece of your manuscript. Then if that also “WOW’s” them you send them the whole thing. Then hell is frozen and they say they want to represent you by shopping you to a publisher. Then they take 15% of whatever you make. And people wonder why book writing isn’t as lucrative as article writing. Anyways, here’s my query letter, and after that is what the guy wrote.

Dear %&^&&%^&,

My name is Austin Marshburn and I’m an enigma (I’ve also written a 53,000 word manuscript or else this query would really be a waste of your, mine and our time). I believe in capitalism but don’t want to work for the man. I believe in freedom but don’t want to fight for it. I’m against war but stay silent, mostly, on America’s practices of exploitation. I grew up in an anti-Communist America, but think the government should help me out while staying out of my personal life. In short, I am conflicted. You might think that this story illustrates apathy. You’d only be half-right.

Recently, I took a trip—with three buddies and a dog in a too small car—across America. We had highs—chemically and biologically—and we endured lows—the gist is the same as before—along our chosen path. We saw the beauty of New Mexico at night while dangerously inebriated and the splendor of a Pennsylvania blizzard through the looking glass of a car window and my chronicle of our adventure makes up half of the manuscript. (The other half will become significant later)

Suffice it to say, my narrative non-fiction with an emphasis in pop culture entitled An American Odyssey is stupid in its brilliance and brilliant in its stupidity…tragic in its verisimilitude and verisimilitudey in its tragicness…It is both an indictment of the vapidity of pop culture and a sentimental journey through a mind obsessed with it. (How long is this journey you ask, exactly the other half of the book I answer) In short my new friend, my book saves lives.

The tome I’m asking you to represent is comprised dually of a ten day journey across the states (the transcription of which is the memoir-y part of the book) and my thoughts while sequestered and sedentary in a moving vehicle throughout a 100 hour drive—or as I’ve come to call it “The Second Half of the book.” Along our chosen path I managed to comment about the cocaine trade to a Colombian riot grrl—this was a bad decision—and convince a coterie of people that my friends and I were part of a marauding funk band playing gigs throughout the states (for charity no less). The second part of the book is the journey to find myself as I graduate from college and prepare to embark on a life in a world (the real world) totally dissimilar to the one I had previously inhabited (college life). This part of the book is my testament to the confusion engendered by a society that educates me for a quarter of my life before unleashing me like a whirlwind into the world. The only problem is that, like a whirlwind, I have no idea where I’m going. To my mind, this confusion simultaneously sets my book apart from others while also helping it appeal to the masses. In short, it will appeal to old and young alike for a similar yet diametrically opposed reason; the confusion I face when attempting to weave my own web in the world. It will remind adults of a time in their life when nothing was set in stone and life was exciting and relatively pure, and it will appeal to recent college graduates who wonder if they’re alone in not knowing where their life is headed.

What makes this On the Road inspired book different is the way in which I choose to find meaning in life. Unlike many writers I don’t look into the deeper meaning of Kafka or Tolstoy, I like to find my deeper meaning in sports and the Golden Girls because, in my mind, you can find yourself anywhere. I just choose to—much like Chuck Klosterman—find myself in popular culture because I think it is a more populist lens with which to view oneself against the rest of the world. If you were to put pop art in a time capsule it wouldn’t be a very good reflection of the beauty that humans can create outside of societal norms, it would be a reflection of the experience of living within societal norms. Pop art teaches us how we actually expect ourselves to live. It is a reflection of us. I think this is somehow more beautiful. This is the basis of this book and it is perfect.


Right now—at this very moment—I am entering the stretch run of my college career. I am twenty-one years old and am about to graduate from the University of California at Santa Barbara. {The aforementioned dog is graduating from the University of Chicago, with a degree in aeronautics or barking or something…it’s probably barking, which is where we dropped her off}

I noticed your excellent credentials in ___________, and I would be thrilled to have you represent me. If you would like to see An American Odyssey please contact me as soon as possible. I will only be showing Odyssey… to one agent at a time. You can reach me by phone at (949)310-2740 or by electronic mail at austinmarshburn@gmail.com

He then wrote, “using words like ‘coterie’ and ‘tome’ just kind of make you look like a 21-year-old who's trying too hard. try (sic) not to let fantasy and hubris delude you too much.”

And he might be right. Except I can’t help but notice that he used the words “fantasy”, “delude” and “hubris.” I guess it’s only okay to have a marginal vocabulary if you’ve spent 30 years in the book industry. I mean, I just didn’t want to write the word “book” again, you know.

• When does it cease to be “recreational” drug use….Like when do I stop being a college kid and become an alcoholic…Can this happen while I’m still in college? (I wrote that a while ago)

• Steely Dan is a stupid name for a band. I realize this is subjective, but honestly Steely Dan? It makes less sense than Jefferson Starship.

• Thank You For Smoking is the best movie I will see this year and it will get not one iota of consideration for the Oscar. How does this always happen? It was funny and satirical and it had a message and Katie Holmes was in it and at this point in time that always makes me laugh. I respect crazy people like Tom and Katie Cruise so much as actors because, unlike the rest of us, they have to rein in their craziness for the camera. They are truly acting. (Is she taking his name?) I always (sort of) think that actors aren’t really acting and that’s why they do the same sort of role over and over. Like Al Pacino in Scarface is just a re-packaged, more deranged, Michael Corleone with a bad accent. Maybe Al Pacino’s a bad choice. BUT a guy like Jack Nicholson. I mean doesn’t the Jack Nicholson from One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest seem pretty much like Jack Nicholson in real life. Like just some cool slacker…I don’t know, but this thought is getting too long.

• Fredo Corleone (sometimes referred to as John Cazale) was in five movies in his career before his body succumbed to cancer. Every one of those movies was nominated for the Best Picture Oscar. That has to be some sort of record, right? What would be the equivalent of this in some other field? And is this more imressive than Al Pacino?

And Now a Story about a cat named Connor Tillman (I now owe a friend—Nick—50 dollars because of this guy)

Between my sophomore and junior year of college five friends (Ryan was one) and I went to Europe to eat, drink and generally raise the standing of the American name worldwide. I posit that I drank thirty-eight out of the forty days I was there, and I further posit that upon return from Europe I could have drunk a heavy alcoholic under a table (though I guess one could be argue that at the time I was a heavy alcoholic). With that said, we all did our heaviest drinking while being transported whether by plane, train, or automobile. One such day stands out among the rest. Four of us—Ryan included— were in Madrid, Espana and we had to travel to Barcelona to meet the other two trip compadres. However, we missed the first train so we booked the next train to Barcelona, which happened to be a nine-hour night train that evening. This gave us at least another five hours in Madrid. When we found this to be the case, we immediately left the train station to find a bar.

As we left the train station, we saw what looked to be a swanky establishment across the street. We figured we’d buy a few over-priced drinks, talk and be generally merry. Fate intervened. On our way to “swanky” bar, we spotted a run down speak-easy to our right. This establishment existed down a dirt road and was only distinguishable as a bar/ Texas saloon by the dilapidated sign on the front that read Bebidas y Comidas. Needless to say, we eschewed the first establishment for the run-down dive bar.

As we entered the bar, we could see this was our kind of place. The lady bartender served us Mahou, a delicious Spanish beer, and was a great conversationalist (At least to my friend Bryan and I who can speak Spanish). Near the end of our dilapidated bar experience we asked her what her favorite shots were. She replied with a surprisingly normal taste. She liked Beefeater, Jack Daniels and such. However, Bryan and I dug deeper and she told us we could try her favorite Spanish drinks. We were most jubilant about this until she pulled three unmarked bottles out from under the bar. At this point, we became legitimately ecstatic.

The three bottles were full of some substance we took to be alcohol. They were colored brown, purple and clear and we all took shots of each with no hesitation. We trusted this unnamed lady. After our time with her, we were all sufficiently sauced. In short, she could have charged us anything for the drinks, but here’s why I liked Spain so much. For seven beers and three shots, this lady charged us seven euros apiece. Life was drunkenly beautiful.

We left the bar because it was time to go to the train. However, being the ridiculous European alcoholics we were, it was imperative that we purchase two liters of vodka before embarking to Barcelona. So, we sauntered into some Madrid-ian mini mart and purchased said bottles. Armed with our alcoholic ammunition, we boarded the train. After downing the bottles Bryan, Ryan and I quickly became bored so we did the only logical thing three sots could possibly imagine doing; we found our way to the train’s bar.

So now, we were in the bar and with nothing better to do, Bryan and I started speaking Spanish to a lovely Guatemalan woman. The conversation proceeded to get funnier and funnier—or drunker and drunker; I’m not sure—to the point that people coming into the bar ceased to leave (Also, Ryan couldn’t understand a word we were saying so every time we all laughed, Bryan or I had to explain to him why; this was high comedy). The night ended with some dude buying us a round of wine—those airplane single serve bottles—me looking at him incredulously thinking he was gay and him assuring me he wasn’t, and an eventual wine race. On the count of tres Bryan, Ryan, the lady and myself chugged the wine as fast as we could, and the lady won handily. That’s the end of my night.

I awoke at eight the next morning with my pants around my ankles and a bunch of angry passengers staring at me, and all I could think was, “I can’t believe I lost to that lady.”
This story should be over, but it’s not. As we got off the train in the early mornin’, one of the compatriots—Nick—who we were in Barcelona to meet ran up to us and screamed, “Hey guys it’s great to see you. We’ve got good news and we’ve got bad news. Which do you wanna hear first?”
We all say, “The good news.”
“All right,” he answers, “Well, the hostel is all lined up so we have a place to stay and everything’s pretty much in order.”
“So,” we ask, “What’s the bad news?” to which he replies,
“Well do any of you see Connor?”
All of us were still drunk, but somehow we did grasp the gravity of the situation.
Apparently, a German friend of ours whom we have nicknamed Bier because he is, in fact, allergic to beer, flew into Barcelona to meet us (Sidenote: Being German and allergic to beer is sort of like being Jamaican and allergic to weed, or being alive and allergic to air). The night prior Connor, Bier and Nick had drunk a few liters of vodka together. Nick and Bier were fine, but upon entering a drinking establishment, Connor decided the drinks were too expensive and he left—after buying a drink. Bier and Nick finished their drinks—and Connor’s—then began to wonder where Connor could be, (presumably) inquiring, “I wonder where Connor is.” So, they left the bar and proceeded to search for him; he was nowhere to be found.

Now, this is a drunken twenty-year old search, and in Barcelona there are street vendors who sell beer constantly, so (obviously) along the way Nick stopped at a street vendor to purchase some alcohol. While the transaction was being completed, Nick felt an object, most likely a fist, hit him in the face. He turned around to see whom the perpetrator was just as a woman ran up to him screaming, “LO SIENTO, LO SIENTO….” Apparently, this woman is a prostitute and she has just thrown her shoe at a patron who didn’t pay. She has hit Nick on the side of his face with a damn stiletto heel. Nick will remain scarred for the rest of the trip. In any case, this is all Connor’s fault.

Readers Note: Nick was actually happy about the prostitute bludgeoning. He relished telling people, especially his mother, that the scar on his face was the manifestation of a prostitute’s heel striking him.

So, as we get off the train to Nick yelling, “We lost Connor,” we are all thinking he’s drunk and lost. We are all correct. We get on a subway and get off near a hostel where we can put our backpacks down and start searching for our lost amigo. This is a perfect idea except for what happens on the way to the hostel as we pass the statue of Cristobol Columbus.

Connor is passed out on the statue of Christopher Columbus. This stone likeness of the great explorer is built in the center of Barcelona right near where we got off the subway to search for our hostel. So, there we are, in front of a statue, all wondering what to do. In front of us lays our misplaced friend. He is pasty white, has blood oozing out of his chin and cheek and is sleeping in between two poles meant to keep kids from skateboarding on Columbus’ statue. One friend—Bryan—wants to take suggestive pictures of our drunken friend, while another friend—Tom—thinks it would be in bad taste because as he said, “Look at him. He really might be dead.” Ultimately, we all tire of looking at him and we don’t take a picture and we wake him up and the moment we find out he’s not dead we realize we should have taken a picture of him and now Nick wants to punch him in the face.

Anyways, as Connor arises his first words are, “Where were you guys, I’ve been looking all over for you.” Upon hearing this, Nick starts to gouge out his eyeballs with metaphorical sandpaper—i.e. He’s not happy.

As Connor is slowly regaining consciousness, he realizes his pockets are empty. At this point he decries whoever it was that picked his pocket until we point out that he has just awoken outside on a statue with blood dripping down his face. I guess the moral is that there are never any ill effects to alcohol consumption. In any case, I love Europe and I love transportation.

Welcome

My name is Bryan. I work for a writer who calls himself Austin Marshburn. Although my boss would love to reveil his real name he can't because he is a quasi famous novelist, and he now has to use this alias for publishing rights purposes. It's sad when you don't even own your own name anymore.

Anyways, the goal for "Austin" is to release a blog report early every sunday morning. Something for his readers to enjoy with their morning coffee or perhaps a late night quesadilla made after stumbling home drunk from a night out with boys hunting cougars.

A little bit about Austin: Austin is a linguist. His Chineese name is Bo Rai Cho. He can speak Mandarin almost fluently. He knows several words in German and speaks a version of Columbian Spanish known only by 4,000 people called Flauta.

Born in 1979 in Discovery Bay, in Northern CA he has been a resident of California his whole life. His father, Tim, a horse wrangler was an important influence to Johnny Cash. Some say that Tim was the original "Man in Black" and that Cash got his fashion sense from him. Tim also always carriers a knife. Austins Mother is awesome. Austins Sister used to beat up dogs, and then one day when she was 3 she got drunk and picked a fight with the wrong dog and was eaten alive, until she was dead.

Austin attended the Harvard for 2 and half years where in studied Economics as well as ESPN. After dropping out of school, he worked as a freelance photographer for 4 years. His best known work can be seen in the end credits of the blockbuster hit "A Day without a Mexican"

His whole life, he has been a writer. Just writing about anything and everything. He is considered to be one of the major Generation Y authors and is regarded as one of the so called literary "Dopplegangers". Austin has been a member of the Dopplegangers for 2 years now. They are a gang of writers with a lot of street credit, in Nor Cal and our spreading their influence throughout California. His writings express a sense of seeminginly chaotic drivel with meaning. His writing has been criticized as pointless futile yet enjoyable. He is in a class of his own, there are no other writers in the same genre.