Why's Everybody Hatin' on Hate?

    "I don't have time for hate," spoken with the most annoying and condescending of drawn-out affectations. Or, "You are just wasting all your energy on hating," says a well-meaning, but self-righteous (and mistaken) friend.  Why is everybody always hatin' on hate? Ugh, I'm so tired of it. 
     Are we so close-minded as to think that some human emotions are inherently better than others? They all evolved for a reason. I feel like I've become, ironically, some kind of negative emotions cheerleader, rooting on all those who dare to feel and express negative emotions. We need to express those negative emotions if we ever want to resolve the issues that caused the negative emotion to flare up in the first place. Expressing negative emotions also works as a steam escape valve to keep ourselves from imploding. It's hard to release any steam if our valve is crammed full of hippy-dippy, everybody-love-everyone nonsense. And it keeps us in some state of balance; the idea that every thing has an apogee and its corresponding nadir. Can we really love, without an idea of hate? Or are we destined to a banal series of likes and dislikes? 
      Hate can be a very useful emotion, that has gotten a bum rap for too long now. Hating broad groups of people: bad, hating racism itself; good. Hate can motivate to fight against such ignorances and injustices. It's a propellant, that can be harnessed for good. On a more individual level, hate can be the catalyst that drives us to make necessary changes within our own lives.  Be it finding a more fulfilling career, or cutting out toxic people whom we feel some kind of binding, but erroneous obligation to, for various reasons.  
     Without the compartmentalization that hate allowed me, I would still be brooding over childhood abuses. Hate allows me to place certain individuals, concepts, anything I feel deserving, into the "I hate" category, then I truly don't have to deal with them anymore, if I so choose. They hold persona non grata status, which renders them powerless over me. Learning to be okay with hate was the only thing that assuaged the heavy guilt that accompanied the emotional and psychological abuse I suffered through as a child, at the hands of my grandmother. I thought I was some terrible kid, who was probably going to Hell, because I hated my grandmother for all the things she was doing to me. I felt this immense guilt because I was "supposed" to love her because she was part of my family. All that guilt did to an elementary-school aged kid was cause her an anxiety disorder, depression, acid reflux, and later on, an eating disorder and Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder. Once I started to go to therapy to untangle all those memories and experiences, just expressing those emotions felt better, but it was the acceptance of the hate I felt, by my various therapists that led to actual progress. They let me know it was okay to hate that person, it was okay to never want to have that person in my life. And the guilt began to lift, like a morning fog over the Scottish moors, revealing verdant greens and calming lilacs. That's all I needed to see; "this shit really works." I've had a healthy respect for hate ever since. 
     No one should be subjected to those types of abuses, and if hate get someone out of a deplorable situation, so be it. Sure, it's not for everyone; hate is an acquired taste. And hate mixed with anger can be a dangerous cocktail. But quiet, thoughtful, passive hate certainly has its place.  Some people choose the path of forgiveness as a way to disassociate themselves from troubled experiences or terrible people, but that size doesn't fit all.  Others need something a little less conventional; the jungle path versus a scenic promenade.   Something a little truer to their feelings, and hate can be that solution.

Post Script:

     In order to adequately appreciate and fully understand hate, it must be distinguished from its nefarious counterpart: evil.  Whereas hate can be very passive, evil is entirely proactive.   Sure hate could seemingly lead to evil; we could mislabel hate-run-amok as evil, but I think the distinction comes by the process of which we acquire either.  Where hate is learned, or accumulated throughout the course of experience; evil is inherent, and is either thwarted or distilled with time.  Additionally, hate and evil differ in action and expression.  With hate, one would say, "I detest that." And would generally try to steer themselves away from whatever it is they detest.  With evil, one might say, "I despise that," which implies a veiled threat, like if given the chance, they would choose to destroy whatever it is they despise, rather than just avoid.  Evil has a premeditated component to it. There is plotting and scheming; some kind of active manipulation for personal gain or satisfaction.  Hence, why crimes in our justice system are differentiated into varying degrees based on the idea of premeditation. 

     That's why I have a particularly hard time trusting anyone who says they don't or can't hate.  It's a natural human emotion, why would they be exempt from that?  It's seems like nothing more than a cheap veneer, attempting to hide thier odious perversions through the reaction formation defense mechanism.  People sincerely lacking ill-intent never feel the need to attest to that fact aloud, and certainly not repeatedly.  But the "I don't hate" mantra seems to be the battle-cry of the miserable manipulator, the envious schemer, and the black-hearted conman.  There must be, also, a certain air of narcissism and arrogance, because they never really bother to think maybe someone is catching on.  Maybe it's egotism, or maybe their subconscience just doesn't let on, but either way, they tip their hand.  And certainly, not everyone is a mastermind.  Unadulterated stupidity could be the culprit too.  Most likely, it's some depraved permutation thereof. 

Eternal Trump-Nation: As far South as it Gets

The really funny thing is, I don't even think Trump is some hardcore, brooding racist, no more than any other rich white man from an affluent background, anyway. He's not stockpiling munitions in a bunker or writing some militia manifesto. He's not angry at minorities for taking his job or sleeping with his wife.  He is the guy at the top, the guy who calls the shots; he is the Man.  He's an elitist asshole who turns his nose up at anyone with less money than him, and really turns his nose up at anyone with more money than him. He's a textbook demagogue; a second-rate Mussolini, (which is really saying something), who's willing to say any manner of outlandish bullshit to pander to his slack-jawed electorate and land free airtime. Remember he "loves the poorly educated," and with good reason!  A good friend of mine said something profound the other night, "What we call progress, some people call society going to hell in a handbasket." Most of these people are still sore about the God damned Civil War!  He's stirring up latent racist sentiments in the under-educated in an effort to garner votes from that demographic. But has anyone at his campaign bothered to do the math on that? There isn't enough bigoted voters outside the Republican Party to vote him through in the general election. He needs at least some of the minority vote to win the presidency, which seems unlikely since he's alienated every possible ethnicity beyond whites males. He's also alienated any possible female swing voters with his extreme misogyny, (except for the severely self-loathing and ignorant.) Even most Christian groups aren't behind him. He's really relying on his raunchy magnetism to elect himself to the presidency. Ah, the hubris of a narcissistic blowhard. He's no mastermind, he has "people" for that... He's a bored billionaire who just wanted a chunk of power to go with his bank account. He has no economic plan, he has no foreign policy experience, he has no formal education regarding the law or the Constitution. He's far from brilliant and is a universal joke to other countries. He's not even that great of a business man, filing for bankruptcy no less than four times.  He'll hawk anything for a buck. He is the billionaire equivalent of a used car salesman. Yeah great plan, trying to elect another wealthy twit to the Presidency, America. That worked so well with George W. Bush.
     The ironic and very best part of this whole charade is that Donald Trump wouldn't associate with the type people supporting his campaign, under any other circumstances, if you paid him. Yet, they look at him as if he's some kind of savior. Yikes. While he's living in his ivory Trump Tower, eating caviar on his morning toast, these pathetic saps are drinking Coor's Light in their trailer on the same La-Z-Boy recliner they've had since the Carter administration. Yeah, he's a real man of the people, your candidate. Try voting with your head for once, stop being seduced by fear-mongering and the emotional puppetry elicited from hot-button issues; stop voting against your own economic interests. The only people who should be voting Republican are the millionaires and billionaires, because those are the only constituents that answer to.  Vote for a candidate from a party that actually wants to shrink the income gap, not grow it. Vote for a candidate that wants to lower taxes for *your* tax bracket and increase the minimum wage. Vote for a candidate that wants you to have a free education and health care, and social security.
     Don't vote for a candidate because he will "shake things up in Washington and I like that." You know what else would shake things up in Washington, if we elected a nine year old kid as president. You know some winner of a patriotic essay contest or something. "Skyler Thomas for President, he's no Washington insider!" (With a backwards "r," of course.) "For my first act as president, I'm going to veto my bedtime, Mom!" 

Or maybe we should elect a zoo animal as president, like a llama or a penguin. That would certainly turn Washington on its ear! "That Mr. Waddles is one tough president, he stonewalled my talks on immigration reform for over two hours. He just kept casually catching fish in his beak that the Vice President would toss at him until I eventually just stormed out of the Oval Office!"

Or maybe we can dust off Nixon's cryogenically frozen head; I'm sure he could whip this country into shape! 1974's disgrace is 2016's humility. 

      All these options would "shake things up," but not for the fucking better. Just like if Trump were to be elected. He's a deplorable fascist. Just ask all the American citizens being forcibly thrown out of his rallies or 115 pound female press member his campaign manager manhandled.  But I guess some people prefer to be ruled by an iron fist.  I wonder how the WWII veterans feel about wasting their time fighting Nazis just to see home-grown fascism take root in America seventy years later.

     "Voice or no voice, the people can always be brought to the bidding of the leaders. That is easy. All you have to do is tell them they are being attacked, and denounce the pacifists for lack of patriotism and exposing the country to danger. It works the same in any country." Hermann Goering, interview during Nuremberg Trials, 1946.

      The more I think about Donald Trump and how ridiculous he is, maybe some evil genius Democrats did mastermind this plan. To ensure another Democratic presidency whilst exposing all the backwater, mouth-breathing, misogynistic racists this country still has lurking about in an effort to round them all up, and offer them a "separate, but equal" opportunity to colonize the whitest place on earth: Antarctica! They can use all those survival skills they learned from their back issues of Soldier of Fortune magazine to create a frost-bitten utopia upon the tundra.  They can unfurl all those Confederate flags they have in storage, to wave proudly in the icy wind.  And maybe they can even find a few penguin presidential candidates while they're at it!

A few more various thoughts on this farce of an election:

3/13/16
I think I just realized what Trump's campaign music should be: the theme from Jurassic Park, as it is a great metaphor for this incredible farce. Mr. Hammond (the GOP elite) and InGen (big business) have genetically engineered this monstrous relic that was supposed have gone extinct (and stayed extinct) eons ago. But they weren't counting on the Dennis Nedry's (avarice) of the world cutting the power to the electric fencing and letting the monster out of his paddock. Trump likes to think of himself as some beastly King anyway, and now he is King of these beasts, playing off their basest fears and primitive beliefs. This metaphor works right down to his tiny Tyrannosaurus Rex hands!

🎼"This is the theme to Jurassic Park, da-da dum dum dum. Donald Trump is a demagogue, da-duh dum, DUM, DUM DUM..."

3/12/16

 This level of racism and jingoism has always been around; there's nothing new under the sun. It always lurked in the shadows around here, while it was certainly more pronounced in other regions. But for a while, it seemed like progress was being made, despite the warped opinions of some ignorant fringe groups. What is truly shocking and sad is how quickly and easily people jumped on his white supremacist band wagon. It was like he just flipped a switch and a mindless posse was formed. A couple of pitchforks and a few torches and it could be a new hit show on AMC. Mob mentality at its basest. It's like Trump gave these hayseeds a license to be racist again, mainstreaming racism. These groups are no longer on the fringe. They are banding together with only one thing in common: fear of people different than them. It's incredibly childish, among many other adjectives. I just read a great article about the rise of authoritarianism: http://www.vox.com/2016/3/1/11127424/trump-authoritarianism

Anyway, conservative, "core" Republicans certainly have created this monster, with their hot-button issue talking points as a way to pander to this sect and their 24-hour Fox News cycle, running amok, to this logical, but foreseeable conclusion. But now they can't control the beast and are kicking themselves for being so short-sighted, (but probably not for being so destructive). Hopefully, this will force a collapse of this Republican strategy and we can just casually walk by these dazed and confused folks on the march toward progress.

3/2/16

So, Super Tuesday has lead us to "What the fuck have we gotten ourselves into?" Wednesday, and I'm seeing a lot of sensible political posts, and some downright moronic ones. In many of these posts, inevitably, someone is comparing a candidate to Hitler. Most candidates do not fit that bill. Not even Donald Trump. What, you say? "But the things he says, his outrageous jingoism, his ruthless squashing of any enemy or critic!" Don't get me wrong, I believe he belongs among the pantheon of fascist demagogues, I just think these folks have the wrong one. He's less of an Adolph Hitler type, and more of the Hermann Goering type. (Honestly, referring to him as Hitler gives him far too much credit in the category of forethought.) He's a flashy, superficial, paunchy blowhard, obsessed with amassing wealth and baubles. He cares more about the look of power and the spoils than the actual power itself. If elected to the White House, I don't think his flat-footed stomping around the Oval Office, dressed as Julius Caesar, while sipping the classiest red wine out of a solid gold Trump trademarked chalice will be far behind. Where Goering was a supreme narcissist, Hitler was a supreme sociopath. I definitely thing Trump belongs in the supreme narcissist camp.
That being said, I've seen some really disheartening posts by fellow Democrats announcing that if Sanders doesn't get the nomination, they are taking their vote and going home; not voting at all. This sore loser attitude isn't helping anyone. Not only is that incredibly immature, if it is any more than Facebook hot air, it is to the detriment of the nation. Don't you dare hand your vote over to any manner of fascist demagogue, no matter how entertaining. This Republic is not a reality show and voting is not a game. And on a personal note, I've been a Democratic Socialist long before I even knew there was a term for it, since high school. I would have loved to see Sanders in the White House, but I'm not sure how much of his agenda could have actually been turned to law. I will support Hillary Clinton for the general election, because I think she is smart, capable, experienced, and will take the job seriously. Unlike the circus act, the Republicans are running.
To that end, I've heard/read this argument several times now, by Republicans: "I can't vote for Hillary, so I have to vote Trump by default. The best we can hope for is that he drives the nation into the ground, and it sends a message to Washington that we want a change. And then we can rise like a phoenix from the ashes." Or some lame variation of that. I'm calling it the Drunken Frat Boy Rationale. Maybe it sounds good for a second to your other wasted buddies, until you sober the fuck up and realize it's maybe one of the most ridiculous notions ever uttered. Because it's in those tumultuous economic, social, and political conditions that a dictator like an Adolph Hitler, actually comes to power. Because to me, that's sounds a lot like Germany, after WWI. And we all know how great that turned out!
And Dems, at that point, we won't have to worry about measly things like institutionalized racism, pay equality for women, living wages, LGBT issues, or funding for Planned Parenthood, because we will be too busy worrying about ethnic cleansing, genocide, famine, and child soldiers. And then, and only then will we have enough motivation to enact any real change, which will just get us right back here, where we started. Content people don't start revolutions, fat people don't take up arms, and people with mortgage payments don't fight for ideals. Complacency is their greatest weapon, and it's used against us all the time.
But all in all, this about sums it up...

Throw your vote away

I want a "Don't Blame Me, I voted for Kodos" t-shirt.

Music for a Meloncholic Mood

The sound of rain falling upon the roof at night, as it plinks into the metallic gutters or plunk-plops onto the grass has a romantic quality to it.  Thunderstorms can really be exciting to that effect, but there's something so melancholic about a rainy day.  It just doesn't hold the same magic.  I tend to long for night on these overcast, dreary days, so that saturnine feeling can turn dreamy as it drifts toward atmospheric.  So I can succumb to my emotionally sadomasochistic desires. Here are some songs that capture that forlorn sentiment.

Let's start with something a little more on-the-nose, as to ease our way into this warm, esoteric bath.

Tom Waits and Chuck E. Weiss- Rains on Me (Alternate Version)
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gPlWv9IB9mU

Tom Waits- Strange Weather (Demo Acoustic)
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=02oKHUCvqVs

Tom Petty & the Heartbreakers- Louisiana Rain
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7XCjBvA1E8M

Van Morrison- It Stoned Me
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=p9Fk1AM5TfA

Elton John- Grey Seal
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-xpfkIm26Jk

Thin Lizzy- Whiskey in the Jar
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wyQ-tScuzwM

Lyle Lovett- Natural Forces
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lbZn_Z5s-yA

Guy Clark- Anyhow, I Love You
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JNx8_eSe8-w

Townes Van Zandt- Be Here to Love Me
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=M15Oat49zTM

Jimmie Dale Gilmore- Because The Wind
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TJER4xTCeZY

Dire Straits- Six Blade Knife
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=l7aLPFlJb9s

Chris Isaak- Waiting
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=P2_vBFFYm9w

Lou Reed- Perfect Day
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QYEC4TZsy-Y

The Flaming Lips- Yoshimi Battles the Pink Robots
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AzlMeTxVdH8

The White Buffalo- Redemption #2
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BHupIudJpDA

Drive-By Truckers- Assholes
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=v4LKdaNsyNk

Lucinda Williams- The Night's Too Long
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5tIFk4mkxyk

Otis Redding- Cigarettes and Coffee
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NyMg-EhZ1Es

Steely Dan- Dr. Wu
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=w58E2S315a4

Warren Zevon- Hasten Down the Wind
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Q05wB6F1UMk

Warren Zevon- The French Inhaler
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3Ibe85f_Tqw


Here's the link to listen to the playlist in its entirety: Music for a Melancholic Mood Playlist

Sad Songs and Waltzes Aren't Selling This Year: A Lachrymose Playlist of Wistful Memories and Holiday Malaise

I miss the illusion of love you used to emit.  I miss that entrancement that lifted me up and held me tightly. I miss the possibility of dreams coming true.  I miss the innocence of that schoolgirl fantasy.  I miss hopefulness.  Now I live in the land of disenchantment, without your love and without the threat of happiness.  You let my love ooze down the sewer of your narcissism.  I was merely your plaything.  A fantastic toy for the most deserving golden boy of Chandler Park.  To play with, use, and discard at your leisure.  And how dare I not be honored to be the big man on campus' chosen rag doll.  Of all the ingratitude!  I don't even have those rose-tinted memories of love anymore.  Even those got destroyed by your egomania.  All I have left is anger and hate and dreams of revenge.  Never to be realized because the capacity for lessons learned isn't possible in your robotic and soulless being.  You were never programmed for compassion.  So, I'm left to writhe and twist; never to be satisfied.  All I can do is lament and try to bathe in the bantam shreds of residual amber my memories allow.

"But a little bit of soap will never erase the pain in my heart and my eyes as I go through the lonely hills."

The Jarmels- A Little Bit of Soap

When all your faith has been stomped and pulverized, at least John Hiatt will give it the ol' college try to take you back to church.

John Hiatt- Have a Little Faith in Me

"I gave you my heart, but you wanted my mind..." There is no pleasing someone who's love is the choking kind.

Mavis Staples- The Choking Kind

I must have listened to this song a thousand times when we met.  Because that's what you made me feel; this soul deep love bullshit.  And to think it was all a mean-spirited joke.  And now all the children scream for Alex Chilton

The Box Tops- Soul Deep

And while we're strolling down memory lane, here are a couple more lame tunes that remind me of that sandalwood-scented time; the memory of which is well-worn and threadbare by now.

The Casinos- Then You Can Tell Me

The Duprees- You Belong To Me

The memory of that night first we met, was one of my most prized possessions.  Now I can barely bring myself to think about it, and when I do I don't even know what to feel.  You even took what little illusory romance I had left.

Merle Haggard- My Favorite Memory

"The Taker," written by Shel Silverstein, is a tune about an slick conman who takes advantage of a naive girl just to watch her break.  Juxtaposed with "We Had It All" about losing the greatest thing ever clutched in hand and all that's left is memories.  It's like Waylon knew all the while...

 Waylon Jennings- The Taker/We Had It All

This song came on the radio one afternoon after it all started to fall apart.  I thought it meant I should keep trying, but we all just see what we want to see.  It's all neural garbage.  "I am a vessel that's empty and useless.  I am a bad seed that's fell by the way...You are my last hope, don't turn me away."

Dolly Parton- The Seeker

It's hard to forget the crushing contempt I felt for you at that Lyle Lovett concert that August night after it began to undeniably unravel.  The heat and humidity were no match for the fire that burned inside of me; searing and seething toward the next seat over.

Lyle Lovett- I Can't Love You Anymore

Another adult contempo artist I always put on when I'm feeling sullen: Chris Isaak.  "No, no no. Don't put on your depressing music.  Come on."  Fuck you.  I'll listen to what I want.

Chris Isaak-  I Wonder

More music to loathe.  How dare I leave unsanctioned music playing in the kitchen, like an animal!  Of all the dirty, rotten tricks; barely audible Tom Waits playing three rooms away is right up there with torture and genocide.

Tom Waits- Back in the Crowd

And this is a tune for those who look down on all the Wristcutters of the world.  "Why don't you just get drunk like everyone else."  Fuck off, you ape.

Gogol Bordello- Through the Roof 'N' Underground

Maybe the only cool thing you ever turned me on to... I guess it wasn't a total waste.

James Booker- Too Much Blues

I think this is a nice piano lead-in to yet another Tom Waits tune.  Just the fuck-you cherry on top.

Tom Waits- Please Call Me Baby

And then there are times, when a sad song just isn't quite sad enough.  So I have to rubberband back the other way to get to that deep corner of pain I seek.

Darlene Love- Today I Met the Boy I'm Going to Marry

And here is a haunting tune performed by The Cramps via Ricky Nelson, just in case you were feeling too upbeat.

The Cramps- Lonesome Town

And Tom Waits' truest sentiment... "I always play Russian Roulette in my head."

Tom Waits- A Good Man is Hard to Find

The Antithesis of the Murder Ballad: The Swingin', Rump-Shakin' Rocker

I'm oft accused of being a woman of polemic extremes.  I tend to see the world in very black and white terms. I'm either swimming with the dregs at the bottom of the barrel of despair or sailing above the stratosphere on a wave of exhilaration.  I guess it's the only way to temper either emotion.  I would argue it's better to experience the apogee and nadir of emotions rather than meander aimlessly somewhere in between.  So, with that in mind, I would like to provide a counter-point playlist to the previous murder ballad set; a series of rollicking, driving, irresistibly dance-inducing tunes to make you forget about that melancholy, if only for those three and half minutes.  Think of it as a nice hot shower, after an icy walk through the blizzard of misery. Enjoy, fuckers!


Here is the song that happened to come on XM radio this afternoon, that sparked this whole idea.  You may be familiar with the TMBG cover of this tune. Thanks Georgie Boy.  And check out that cover; hipsters only wish they were that cool.

Georgie Fame- Yeh Yeh

Let's stay in the swingin' 60's vein and go surfin' with The Rivieras.

The Riverias- California Sun

 And here's a bit of a slower jam to sway those hips to, creeps.

The Okaysons- Girl Watcher

And one more hip 60's tune to nestle in that manly chest hair with "Double Shot of My Baby's Love."

The Swingin' Medallions- Double Shot of My Baby's Love

Let us now turn to the soulful side of the 60's with Archie Bell and the Drells,

Archie Bell and the Drells- I Just Can't Stop Dancing

Which brings us to the absolute, undisputed king of soul, the incomparable Otis Redding.  As much as he could belt out a soulful ballad, he could turn out a sweaty rocker.

Otis Redding- Shout Bamalama

Let's travel back a bit, to a freaky-good guitar player and just plain freak; Chuck Berry.

Chuck Berry-Maybellene

Let's take rock and roll back even further to its roots in the rolling jazz of New Orleans.

Fats Domino- I'm Gonna Be a Wheel Someday

And keeping it down there in the quarter...let's see those tits, ladies.

Professor Longhair- Go To The Mardi Gras

And because there is no greater music to dance to than zydeco, here's a bit of Buckwheat for yas.

Buckwheat Zydeco- Hot Tamale Baby

Let's go even further south with this sonic upper by Jimmy Cliff. I dare you not to dance.

Jimmy Cliff- Reggae Nights

Reggae makes for a nice transition into ska. Here is a tune we used to listen to ad nauseum back in high school.

Reel Big Fish- Sellout
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AEKbFMvkLIc

And then there is the Mighty Mighty Bosstones.

The Mighty Mighty Bosstones- Rascal King
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9NxMlG3M40k

Another Massachusetts' band; The Dropkick Murphy's with BRUCE!  Irish-American folk punk plus New Jersey's favorite son equals rock.

The Dropkick Murphy's- Rose Tattoo
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kRkkStu4__M

And a song for the season from everyone's pal, Julian Casablancas.  I don't care what yo Momma say, SNL sketches make for great rock songs.

Julian Casablancas- I Wish It Was Christmas Today

Then there is the honky-punk sounds of The Old 97's.

The Old 97's- Timebomb
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=is83WB7Ue1Y

There would be no honky-punk without the godfather of rockabilly; Roy Orbison.  Let this song take you away as it builds to the ultimate crescendo.  Feel free to do the jerk on the hood of a car while drinking a nice AMERICAN beer.

Roy Orbison- In Dreams

A little rhythm and blues from Bobby Charles.

Bobby Charles- I'll Even Turn Square For You

And a 70's revival of the genre, from the cult favorite, Rocky Horror Picture Show.

Meatloaf- Hot Patootie

And then there is The mother-effing Ramones.  The baddest, most kick-ass band there is. Not was, but is. The Ramones' attitude is their enduring legacy.  There is something wrong with you if you don't like this; if it doesn't make you want to move.  Seriously.  Get evaluated, asshat.

The Ramones- Teenage Lobotomy
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OzundJyMw60

In fact, do yourself a favor and buy every Ramones album ever made to rouse yourself out of that complacent stupor.  Open your eyes and fucking feel something.  It sure beats jerking off.

When Your Cup Runneth Over: Murder Ballads for the Ages

I often point to the prevalence of the murder ballad in twentieth century music as an indicator of a more honest time.  Life was hard, especially for certain disenfranchised groups of people, the poor farmer, the unwanted immigrant, the dismissed woman, or the lynched African American.  There wasn't the complacency that comes with being fat, content and entertained.  Not only do I think melancholic and dark songs helped the salt-of-the-earth folks cope with the hardships of everyday rural life to the depression of a big city tenement, but it also helped set the stage for uprising and much-needed revolution.  When we are more honest about our personal situations, and the situations of society at large, it can effectively lead to a real change.  Which is one reason why I think gloomy, lugubrious songs have been driven underground.  There is a certain cushiness that comes with the creature comforts of the twenty-first century that keeps rebellion at bay.  Each successive generation takes a what it took their forefathers to get them there, a little more for granted.  We live in a digital age where vast libraries of knowledge are literally at our fingertips, yet studies are showing we Americans are collectively getting dumber as we rely on technology more.  Instead of learning about any given subject on the infinite internet, we often find ourselves mindlessly playing Candy Crush, looking up an endless stream of cat videos on YouTube, or jerking off to mediocre porn.  We live in era where so-called "negative" emotions are frowned upon, and stigmatized.  "There are pills for that, you know." Or, "Why don't you just get drunk like everybody else?"  It's a little difficult to crush 200,00 years of human evolution with an half century of barbiturates, mind-numbing "entertainment," and the subtle tsk-tsk condemnation of the faux-positivity set.  Negative emotions have always existed in congruence with bleak circumstances.  To deny them is ludicrous and futile.

Murder ballads are also gruesome cautionary tales set to song, but sometimes the message is unclear.  Sometimes they seem to be trying to preach the prevention of making costly mistakes such as murdering a loved one, yet others seem to preach the prevention of the sins of the flesh that may drive a jilted lover to the lengths of murder.  In either event, I'd like to present a varied selection of murder ballads to taunt the mind, and stir the soul.

Let's start with something a little more recognizable, but with such a fun tempo, you kind of forget it's even a murder ballad.  It's got that 50's dance-ability that you just can't help but twist your hips and snap those finger, but it's still about a guy getting shot over a dice game.

Lloyd Price's version of "Stagger Lee"

"Stagger Lee" I think moves us nicely into "Frankie and Johnny" which is also known as "Frankie and Albert" done by everyone from Mississippi John Hurt to Elvis.  But this is my favorite version by the venerable Sam Cooke.  If you aren't doing the Watusi to this tune, there must be something wrong.  This is a song about a woman getting her irreversible revenge on her two-timing scoundrel of a man.

Sam Cooke- "Frankie and Johnny"

Let's delve a littler deeper into the genre with a novelty song by the incomparable Tom Lehrer.  This is certainly a macabre song with a dark sense of humor...

Tom Lehrer- "I Hold Your Hand in Mine"

The next tune I would like to present in two different versions; first the Leadbelly version, then the Nirvana Unplugged version, most will be familiar with, of "Where Did You Sleep Last Night."

Leadbelly- "Where Did You Sleep Last Night"

Nirvana- "Where Did You Sleep Last Night"

And then, there is the quiet genius that is Warren Zevon, obsessive compulsive disorder and all.  It's okay though, he's just an excitable boy.  Perpetual flippancy must be a symptom of OCD...

Warren Zevon- Excitable Boy

Now, I would like to look at the country side of the murder ballad with Hank 3's version of "Cocaine Blues," that's been covered by just about everyone from Dylan to Cash.

Hank 3- "Cocaine Blues"

Next, the would-be murder song sung by the usually genteel and sometimes cheesy Kenny Rogers.  Another recognizable, but heartbreaking tune about a disabled Vietnam vet who begs his wife not to step out on him, until he is gone.

Kenny Rogers- "Ruby Don't Take Your Love to Town"

Here are a couple of tunes by Robert Earl Keen.  One more along the lines of the traditional murder ballad mixed with a sort of countrified Bob Dylan "Lily, Rosemary and the Jack of Hearts" style sound, entitled "Jesse with the Long Hair Hanging Down." Another, by Robert Earl Keen with a more modern twist on the murder ballad like a honky-tonk "Take the Money and Run", called "The Road Goes on Forever," about winners and losers amid the perils of wild love and a robbery run awry.

Robert Earl Keen- "Jesse with the Long Hair Hanging Down."

Robert Earl Keen- "The Road Goes on Forever"

Then there is this Lyle Lovett tune that for the longest time I didn't even realize was a murder ballad, let alone straight out of a Tarantino film.

Lyle Lovett- "L.A. County"

Next is Doc Watson doing the seminal version of the classic folk song "Tom Dooley."

Which I think is a good lead-in to the Louvin Brother's version of "Knoxville Girl." This one is probably the most frightening sounding of them all. Something about those haunting harmonies, I don't know.

Louvin Brothers- "Knoxville Girl"

Then there is Bruce.  As much as he could incite Yuppies to dance in the dark; he could sure pen one hell of a heady tune.  This is a murder spree ballad worthy of Mickey and Mallory.

Bruce Springsteen- "Nebraska"

And now for something completely different.  Quite a change in tempo anyway, but no less murderous from everyone's favorite 60s sex symbol.

Tom Jones- "Delilah"

And now for my favorite murder ballad of all time.  Even though, my love of this song since youth had nothing to do with it being a murder ballad, as I didn't really understand the full point then.  And this is the definitive version, sung by Bobby Darin, who just makes being a murderous psychopath seem so slick and fucking cool.

Bobby Darin- "Mack the Knife"

Pirates of the Night

    I'm restless. I need to get the hell out of the house.  All I want is to listen to moody music on the jukebox at the dive bar around the corner.  But it's Friday night and the place is usually crammed with weirdos and miscreants.  Which I'm usually fine with, but the weekend crowd is usually a bit rougher and malodorous.  The stench of whiskey breath and unwashed clothes looms heavy on Friday nights.  But I don't think I care tonight.  I'm tired of writing.  I'm tired of fretting.  And I'm tired of the constant aroma of fresh laundry.  Maybe I want to get dirty.

I put on a black body-contouring dress and line my eyes in the deepest shade of onyx they make.  I can't help but think of the possible inhabitants of such a place on a night such as this.  The approaching holidays always make people act a little funnier; stranger, or maybe it's just the amount of liquor they all consume around this time of the year, dealing with their fucked-up families and the crushing loneliness.

It's fucking cold.  The night wind is unrelenting and whips inbetween the cookie-cutter houses as I scurry to the car.  I search around the radio stations until I find the atmospheric song I am looking for.  Something smokey, and silky to feed the night.  I drive around the block several times looking for parking, to the point where I contemplate just going back home.  But a spot opens up, as if to make my decision for me.

The guy at the door checking i.d.'s is always so fucking surly.  I'm hard-pressed to call him a bouncer, as he is pretty scrawny under that billowy beard and leather jacket, and I think the only thing that guy has ever bounced is his rent check.  No amount of polite banter ever softens his icy exterior, so I don't bother this time.

I snake my way in, through the constricted crowd, peering around for an open seat, of which there appear to be none.  I make my way instead to the jukebox to get my selections in the queue.  Plus it helps me look less freakishly alone.  There is some little nagging feeling in the back of my mind, or perhaps in the pit of my stomach.  Hell, maybe it is a foolish hope.  I try to shake it, as I peruse the albums, though most are memorized by now. I feed my crumpled bills into the machine and press the desired buttons.

The place is packed with oddballs; they keep bristling me as they walk past.  Though the jukebox bisects the bar, it's hard to see the back half of the place.  I swear amid the musty winter coat and skanky beer smell, there is the sweet aroma of a masculine deodorant or cologne.  It instantly transports me to a much cozier night; full of heat and intrigue.  But it fades just as quickly as it came.  I'm left in the olfactory grip of old wood and stale cigarettes.

I spot an open bar stool against the back wall.  I take what I can get at this point.  I fight and push my way to the seat.  I sit facing toward the crowd of mongrels and yuppies there on a lark.  I quietly and rapidly resent every mother fucker in the place for not being him.  What the hell was I really up to anyway?  Who was I really expecting to find?  Some ray of hope in the bleak madness that envelopes my every thought.  Fuck.  I start chewing my bottom lip nervously, as my eyes dart around the barroom.  A largish bald man in a puffy down jacket is taking up most of my sight line.  He is talking to a smallish Indian guy in tight corduroy man-leggings.  Everyone is having a mediocre time, while pretending to have a great time.  Eventually Midwestern Big Pun and his friend push their way to a recently vacated booth, allowing me some breathing room.

As the human semi-truck and his miniature side-kick mosey their way to stake their claim, I spot a blonde tuft of hair above the crowd, not five feet from me, sitting at the bar.  I instinctively know who it is; partly terrified, partly relieved.  What the fuck to do now?  Shit.  He is here with some plain, dirty blonde cast-off from the Bachelor or something.  I kind of want to go throw a drink in his face for being such an unrelenting asshole.  Saying hi would just be fucking stupid.  It has to be all or nothing.  He will see me eventually and that will be even worse.  So I should do what I really want to fucking do...

Perhaps it's the God-awful fight with my ex-husband echoing in my head, or perhaps it's the seedy atmosphere of the bar, or even more, maybe it is that lingering scent memory that drives me over to him.  I only make it a few steps before he notices me, but it is too late by then.  I've already decided; the course has been set.  I breeze right between him and his sorry excuse for a date. I don't even speak while his cupie doll balks behind me. I just stand there and let him absorb the hard reality.

But I can't resist the magnetic pull to be near him. I find myself being drawn into  him. Fuck it. As I lean in to kiss him, I feel his powerful arm wrap around my waist and squeeze me into him. His lips are honeyed with bourbon and that wonderful scent of his cologne invades my senses. My hands grope his back as my nails lightly scratch the fabric of his t-shirt. I can feel his hardening erection against my abdomen. 

I'm sure by now, the crowd is taking notice. And I can't imagine what his stupefied date must think! I can't help but laugh, cruelly to myself, at the ease of which I usurped her date. We can't stop pawing at each other, like the feral animals we are. At some point, I think the girl tries piping in, but time and space have become meaningless in our embrace. I don't know how long we stood there making out, but it seemed endless. I break free from his snare, just long enough to breath, "I fucking want you. Every fucking part of you," into his ear.  I make my way down his earlobe to his neck, kissing my way back to his waiting mouth. The date finally gets fed up and grabs her coat to leave. She mutters something along the lines of, "I can't believe this shit. Never call me again," or some such and storms out, I assume anyway as we are still grinding each other at the bar. 

He reaches into his pocket to fish some money out of his jeans; never breaking stride. He throws it onto the soggy bartop and we reluctantly detach so he can throw his coat on. He positions me in front of his massive bulge I've seemed to have created, so we can get the fuck out there somewhat unmolested. He wraps one strong hand tightly around my hip bone while his other arm extends around my waist. We walk in this strange manner as if one bantam shred of light between will somehow break the spell the night has cast between us. I can feel the burning gaze of the fellow patrons, some burning with hate and disgust, while others sear with desire and envy. I feel nothing but white-hot excitement and just a touch of arrogance. 

We finally break our way into the cool, autumn air. He spins me around to face him and he grabs the back of my head to bring me into him for more unabashed making out. His apartment is only a few blocks from the bar, but I know we won't be able to hold out that long. I lead him to my car just down the street and hand him my keys. He pulls open the passenger door and closes it behind me. He gets in and I'm already mauling him. He fumbles the key into the ignition and pulls the SUV into the nearest alleyway as I suck and kiss his neck and what his v-neck tee exposes of his chest. I rub his granite cock through his jeans, but further arousal is redundant at this point. I just like feeling its might under my delicate hands. He starts to moan inadvertently. My fingers find their way to his belt buckle and deftly unclasp it with one hand, while the other can't help but grab his incredible, broad biceps. I undo the button on his jeans and slowly, torturously, cajole his copper zipper down. 

I've only imagined what his cock looked like, as I insistently denied my desire time and again. I gently ease my hand into his boxers to feel the rigid, smooth flesh that lie beneath. I caress it lightly with my fingertips; savor in its delicacy before freeing it. It's rather triumphant in its fully realized state. Perfect; almost regal in its eight inch length. I begin to kiss the base of this plunder I had stole; softly and sweetly. Letting my mouth run across its entire length before dragging my tongue along the underside of his cock making my way luxuriously to the tip. I pause at the head to tease and kiss him just a bit more before I fully envelope him. But I can't wait any longer and he is audibly in agreement as I wrap my mouth around the entirety of his head, swallowing more and more of him until I gag at the base of his shaft. I keep working my wet mouth around his cock while I twist and stroke my Byzantine fingers around the lower portion of the shaft; thumb grazing his balls with each downstroke. 

I know he won't be able to hold out if I continue on, and I want desperately to fuck that big, shiny cock, so I coax him to crawl in the back seat after ripping off his coat and jeans, while I slip out of my jacket and slide my soaked panties down my slender legs. 

He positions himself in the middle of the bench seat, with his weighty dick at full attention in his massive hand. I practically hop into the back seat, my dress hiked up to my waist and my riding boots still on. Neither of us wastes time as I straddle his lap, while peeling his t-shirt off his sweaty back. The windows have fogged up completely by this point and neither one of us is inhibited by the thought of getting caught. He unzips my barely-there dress and pulls it over my head. I raise myself slightly to guide his cock into my waiting pussy. It's dripping with excitement, but it's still tight at first.  I slowly lower myself onto his erection, easing him into me. We both moan low, as if in relief for the delayed satisfaction we were finally about to indulge in. "You feel so good on my rock-hard cock, you fucking minx." This sends an electric pulse down my spine.  We start kissing furiously once again.  I rock my hips into him, picking up speed with each bounce, my long tobacco tresses jumping and flying.  He rhythmically meets each grind with the thrust of his cock. He feels so amazing inside of me, like he was meant to be there. Like he was molded just for me. He starts sucking that one secret spot on my neck that drives me wild.  I can't help but grind into him faster as I cry out in pleasure. I open my eyes just long enough to see him boring into my body with his oceanic gaze. He licks my nipples as I run my fingers through his hair, pushing his face closer into my tits; my head thrown back in unadulterated lust. His breathing becomes heavier as his thrusts quicken. He's right on my g-spot now, I can feel the climax building. The more he moans, the hotter I get.  I keep bouncing on his thick cock until I know I'm going to come. I pull him even deeper inside of me as I whisper to him, "Baby, you're going to make me fucking come on your big cock. Fuck.  I'm coming, baby..." As I trail off into indecipherable babble and guttural moans; I can feel his dick pulsating inside me as I clamp down in orgasm.  In the next second, he yells out, Fuck, baby. I'm coming!" as his cock  unloads his hot come inside my wanton pussy.  

We just sit there for a moment, panting uncontrollably. The heat from our bodies has created a jungle-like climate and we are both rife with sweat. I nestle my face into the space between his jaw and shoulder, kissing him lightly, and enjoying the feeling of his cock still nestled snugly inside of me. He wraps a powerful arm around my waist, never minding the searing heat between us. His other arm bent and pressed against the back of the seat, my arm against his; our hands intertwined. It feels like a gossamer-threaded dream. Neither one of us ever wanting to let go of the rapidly fleeting moment. Fistfuls of passion, lust, and spark, diffusing; oozing out into the piceous night.  As hard as we try to contain the power by holding each other so tightly and so close, it still manages to evaporate, leaving only the condensation of a stark reality. The most I can muster is, "Never let go of my hand."