Tuesday, July 6, 2010
There are a few things that I hold as constants in life. The sun rises in the east and sets in the west. Molly Ann Cupcake will be cute when she's not screaming. My cats are beefcats who sleep in sausage gravy. There are four lights. These things are more than consistencies to me, they are anchors that influence my day to day living and dictate the whims of my conscience. Over the past few weeks, I've found that several of these anchors are rusted, loose, or otherwise not real. Here are a couple of them...
I'm actually mostly a vegetarian, so this one shouldn't be too bad. I mean, after all, one of my personal, musical, and comic heroes has joined my side (more like a pescatarian, as he does eat fish occasionally) so I should actually be happy. But I'm not...
Look at that guy. He makes it a point to be as strong on the outside as he wants to be on the inside. He is the definition of definition. He is like a side 'o beef with eyes. He didn't get that way eating tofu, you know. One of his quotes from one of his spoken word albums went something like (when describing eating at a Russian restaurant) "... there was vegetables for the vegetarians and meat for the real people...", so he was serious about being at the very least omnivorous to a huge degree. Why does this bug me? It means he's getting old. That means I'm getting old.
"But he's merely listening to what his body is telling him to do, and since he can't lift weights with as much vigor as he used to, he doesn't need the extra calories or protein." I know, I know. But Black flag came out with their first album the year that I was born, so he's been around all my life in one way or another. He's an angry, alpha male type, and to think of him violently tearing into a bag of lettuce rather than the side of a still breathing beast is kinda sad.
So what, you say? That's a stupid reason to feel like a paradigm has been subverted! You're probably right. But it still feels weird. Moving on to something that we can all agree is an abomination...
When Molly, my niece by friendship, says "Gabba gabba" and points expectantly at the monitor, and I pull up some Yo Gabba Gabba from the computer and play it for her, she is enthralled. Watching her is hypnotic, because she dances and hums along and basically interacts with that silly, trippy "lets-make-a-kids-show-about-the-dangers-of-mixing-psylocybin-with-pcp-and-then-sing-about-it" show like it's a real person. She was over here last night as her mommy was looking up Yo Gabba Gabba stuff for her second birthday party, when I heard a familiar voice say something like "I'm doctor Tony!"
That voice clicked in my head, but I couldn't make myself look. I didn't want to believe it. I glanced up, and there he was...
This man combined the cooking chops of LaRousse, the foul mouth of that guy who sleeps by the dumpster outside the China One King Buffet, the writing style of Hunter S. Thompson steeped in Jack Kerouac, and the drug taking ability of four Keith Richardses. He has traveled the world eating things that you and I would never even consider edible. He was almost kidnapped by the Cambodian military. He's shot automatic weapons with the Yakuza. He ate a god damned duck fetus AND the still beating heart of a live cobra on the same day! Of all the people in the world that I would say would never be allowed within five hundred yards of a kids show, he's in the top three (the others being Mao Zedong and Max Shreck).
This stings like peeing vinegar razors.
But at least there's no weirdness like this happening with other people, like, foul mouthed comedians...
Well, then, there are no respected satirists...
... sex-humor peddling musicians?
... someone who was in an adaptation of something by Douglas Adams?
... Ok, how about anyone who appeared on Jackass?
... Does anybody else feel weird about this?
At least some things are sacred. I mean, it's not like hell's freezing over, right?
Oh, BITE ME!
Song of teh post: Billy Bad Breaks, by The Damned.
Cupcakeface of teh post: Molly Ann Cupcake.