My Friend, The Unfrozen Cave Person

I just took on a new intern in my office a few months back, and I think it's fair to say that this young man is the closest thing to an alien I've ever met. No joke. If he came in tomorrow, ripped off his face like Edgar did in MIB, and told me he was from the Nexxulon Galaxy here to study human culture, I wouldn't flinch. I'd ask him how the weather was there and if they were the mean kind of aliens like "Independence Day" or the nice kind of aliens, like from"Close Encounters" and that'd be about it.

After two months, here's what I know about this 26 year old, communications major, intern:

He doesn't know what a Republican or Democrat is. Furthermore, he doesn't know what/how senators, representatives or any other level of government function.

He doesn't watch movies, TV, or football but is eerily fascinated with the Celtics.

He does not have an email address or a home computer. In fact, it wasn't until August that he got his first cell phone.

He was unaware of the oil spill, trapped minors, or any other news story of the past year until he began interning here and was forced to hear news.

He did not know what Facebook or Twitter were until I told him in late September of this year. Still doesn't have one or completely understand why they exist.

He has no desire to go to Las Vegas, drink, gamble, or move from his couch unless it is to play basketball, work, or eat Micky D's. His girlfriend wants to do the opposite.

He has a girlfriend. Somehow he has a girlfriend.

It's been unequivocally the most bizarre two months I've ever spent with somebody. I swear to god a metor could destroy half the continental U.S. and he would still drive here for noon and say "You see that traffic outside? That's crazy, man. What's going on out there?" How could a 26 year old be so illiterate to the world?! At first, I found this predictably frustrating seeing as I work solely with computers and news...but after a while it was almost like interviewing a 26 year old from 1955, not 2010. The conversations became more poignant and I suddenly felt like I was showing the preverbial caveman what the world had become low these past 2000+ years. His questions slowly went from insultingly simple, to unintentionally astute observances about our society's dependency on information.

Why should he know how every level of government works? He enacts his right to not vote due to lack of opinion and knowledge and therefore is doing the responsible thing according to everybody else.

Why should he have an email or cell phone? He lives at home, has a land line, and rarely goes out in the first place. He likes his job and his lot in life so why attempt to alter it all the time? If he had the internet, he'd only be forcefully exposed to information he is neither seeking out nor wanting, which everybody tries to do everyday.

Why does he need to know about news anyway? He doesn't live in New Orleans, so he ain't getting drowned. Hearing about some poor bastard getting shot down in the south end of his hometown doesn't decrease his chances of getting popped in his car, so why worry himself?

His explanations are so stupidly simple, they start making sense after a while. I'm constantly questioning our reliance on media and information as a whole...and then here comes this person that literally is a walking example of what would happen if we suddenly just "shut off" in 2010. The answer is we would be a hell of a lot less world weary and socially aware, but otherwise still capable of putting on clothes and not pooping in public. The world would keep spinning, but the questions would go away. That's both a bad thing (knowing why your paycheck is being cut would be a good slice of FYI) and a good thing (wouldn't know Ashton Kutcher or Twitter to save his life. Something I think we can all agree would be awesome).

The Intern is now really feeling the pressure's of the modern world and is very awkwardly being bombarded left and right to "get with it." My relationship with him is now duplicating the storyboard of "Avatar." At first, I was totally on board with making this kid change his ways, but after time and a little perspective, I'm standing in front of him pleading with everyone else to stop spoiling his perspective on things and to just let him live in peace!

Leave him alone! He's in his natural state and you're going to contaminate him!

Is is possible to keep living like he has been his whole life? Is it socially responsible? Don't we as humans owe it to our species to evolve and embrace what is "new" and "better" for us? By locking ourselves out from all pop culture, information and news do you become dumber or just less informed? Is there even a difference?

Let's put this kid behind glass and find out.

I Shall Follow My Dreams, Nomar

When I was 12 years old, I didn't want to be a policeman. I didn't want to be an astronaut or a firetruck either. I had no aspirations of being a rapper, rock star, or roadie for Metallica. Being an army man or a lawyer or a doggy doctor was never in my cards. I spent my youth focusing on one prize:

I wanted to be Nomar Garciaparra.

And you know what? God dammit...I still have a chance.

I still have my oiled up Rawlings glove (which, ironically, had Derek Jeter's autograph on it). I still have the shaved down tennis balls I used to whip against the brick foundation in my backyard in preparation for my debut at Fenway Park. My toe tap is still as brilliant as it was 12 years ago and all these years of not being Nomar have clearly just enhanced my OCD abilities to waggle a bat, adjust by gloves, fix my gold chain, point to Jesus, then adjust my gloves again. So why not go for it? Why not do my best to be Nomar?

Am I too short? Well, at 5'8 and 160 bills, I'm exactly the same size as Dustin Pedroia so OBVIOUSLY that's not going to be an issue in today's modern age. Are my wrists to strong? Shit no! Before I take my first major league swings, of course I'd have some burly motherf***er break them to toughen me up. Hell, I haven't even gotten a haircut since July so I'm just three buckets of industrial strength cooking oil away from having the awesome, trademark pompadour. A few injections of horse testosterone and a marriage to the best female athlete of this generation I'm I'll be golden.

(Side note: Can we lie and say that Maria Sharapova is the elite athlete of this generation? I really don't want to see Diana Taurasi naked.)

I'm sick of looking back at middle school year books and laughing at how ridiculously short everybody comes to achieving their dreams! Aren't our little kid dreams so much better than our adult ones?

"Hey Johnny, what do YOU wanna be when you grow up?"

"Well, I'm thinking I'll play high school football for a few years. Make varsity, smoke a lot of pot, and forget that you have to apply to colleges to get in. From there I'll probably go to community college for a semeseter, drop out because school sucks, then work part time construction with my Uncle Manny until I knock up that chick down the street who totally has the hots for me."

Where are the lawyers and astronauts?! Shouldn't our population be overrun with veteranarians and pop singers?! Where are the short, Portuguese guys running the point for the Celtics in the NBA?!

Nuh-uh. Not me. No-siree. I'm sick of working this Monday-Friday, 45 hours a week regular working man garbage. Would Nomar Garciaparra work in radio? HELL. NO. He's too handsome to be on radio! I bet ESPN came to Nomar and said "Hey, Nomar! How'd you like to work production at our radio station in Bristol? Work behind the scenes, voice some things, and really put your nose to the....uh....ok, don't put your nose to anything. You might hurt whatever it is you've put it to." And you know what Nomar said? Screw you, ESPN! Get me on TV because that's what I want to do. I may be dopey, lack opinions, insight and apparently razor blades...but I'm Nomar Garcia-f***ing-parra!

That's why I'm heading to the batting cages tonight. I'm gonna strap on the gloves and get to swinging the bat because I won't give up on my dreams. I haven't swung a bat in five years, but I assume with age comes both power, agility, and enhanced hand-eye coordination. Bye-bye, working in local radio...I have a higher calling. Once the scouts from the Sox see me gracefully tracking down balls into into the third base gap they'll be amazed. I'll dazzle them with my ability to hit to all fields. Wait till they see me negotiate a contract too...I'll pout and frown harder than a new born without a binky. Theo will melt like freakin' butter.

All my years of hard work and number 5 jerseys are going to pay off. This time next year, I'll be the starting shortstop for YOUR Boston Red Sox.

Oh...wait a tic. I'm thumbing through my Middle School year book and apparently I wanted to be The Foo Fighers when I grew up. Oops.

I'm coming for you, Grohl.

Hot Dog Flavored Mistakes

Every generation has a "What the f*** was I thinking?!" moment. A once-every-ten-or-so-years event that at least partially explains why they grew up the way they did, and also links them to others they're own age in a "touched by the same uncle" kind of way. Sure, the positive experiences we all go through are ulimately more important to our developmental phases (the 70's had dancing, the 80's had hip-hop, the 90's had video games, etc...), but the negative stuff that we all collectively jam into the back of our brains has to play at least some role. They're like festering memories of embarassment and horror that other generations get to mock while we cower into corners trying to deny their very existence. You think people who grew up watching "Happy Days" like hearing every good thing gone bad called "jumping the shark?" Hell no! That probably eats them up inside, because that's what our generation associates with Fonzie...not his slew of sexually transmitted diseases or broken jukebox hands.

It can't be healthy to keep it in, so I'm just gonna say it outloud for everyone. Our generation's weakest, lowest, darkest point. An event we all got sucked into, probably spent money on, and have spent years pulling a Mel Gibson's Dad pretending it didn't happen. It did. And we have to look it in the eye and deal with it. Ready?

Chocolate Starfish and the Hotdog Flavored Water.

I know, I know...I cried a little bit just having to type it. But you know what? Screw it. I'm going to own what we all should own up to.

I bought Chocolate Starfish. I looked forward to buying it. When it came out, I took 20 of my hard earned, Dunkin Donuts made dollars, and bought it. I went home with a big ass smile on my face, popped that baby into my CD player, and listened all the way through. What I, and everybody, should have done was slam my face against a wall of rusty nails then burned 20 bucks with the nearest blowtorch. But we didn't do that. We got excited about what was supposed to be the biggest album of the year and fell into a bear trap made for millions, and everybody walked away looking like they just watched their dog get run over by an oil tanker.

What made this catastrophe worse was the epic, class transcending ability Chocolate Starfish had to disappoint. Genuine rap-rock fans stood in line to get it at the same time pop-loving girls with "PINK" splashed on their asses got it. Metal heads bought into the hype and picked it up at the same time the first wave of Juggalo's did the same (side note: Juggalo's deserved this. Assclowns.) Personally, I was probably a little more attached to the early stages of emo music than I'd like to admit and I bought the crap out of Chocolate Starfish. I figured "Hey, 'N-Together Now' is a good song and 'Rearranged' was ok...let's do it!" I wasn't expecting 12 different remixes of the song "Rollin'" and other audible pieces of brown noise producing garbage. But then again, nobody was.

I should point out, up until this point, I was totally against the modern rock scene too. To this day, I will stand on firm ground and argue that Stained and Creed are the worse things to happen to rock music since rehab and condoms. I distinctly remember arguing my freshman year with two kids in $50 GAP sweatshirts why the d-bag from Stained had absolutely nothing to be so depressed about and how he was just pandering to upper-middle class white kids who thought they had social problems. And this is coming from someone who bought a Rufio CD. Don't know who Rufio is? Good for you. I really wish I felt the same.

A couple of years ago, I went rummaging through the cd rack of an old friend of mine. Like everybody else, his cd rack had more dust on it than Cloris Leachman's hoo-ha, but I was able to wipe it away to reveal an absolutely epic collection of horrible music from our youth. New Found Glory. American Hi-Fi. The cd that wasn't 14:59 by Sugar Ray. Eiffel 65. Lou Bega.

Yah. That's right. Lou Bega.

Then I found Chocolate Starfish. Seeing it's nonsensical, mushy oompa loompa cover brought back "Deer Hunter" esque flashbacks. Of all the hot garbage that was festering in that rack, this was by far the worst offender and we all knew it. So then the same argument everybody our age has had...

" Two Dollar Bill Y'all was a great CD! Then the one with Nookie on it was pretty great, too! What was I supposed to do...not buy Chocolate Starfish?!"

"Yes! Yes, you could have not bought it! You should have sold high on Enron stock, not wait until it got better! And what the f*** do you mean Two Dollar Bill Y'all was 'great' CD?! Are you retarded?!

"It was! And didn't you buy Chocolate Starfish too?"

"SHUT UP, MAN! NOT FUNNY! OK, MAYBE I DID BUT F*** YOU!"

I think it's high time we all come together, sit around the camp fire, and talk about what we endured. It's healthy to talk about it and let out all of our anger and frustration. Yeah, Stained and Creed were terrible and we can take comfort in the fact that this generation is going to have to atone for making Nickelback gazillionaires, but Chocolate Starfish was our version of Dave getting taken away by the stranger in "Mystic River:" We all saw it, we all know exactly what happened, and it's never going to go away no matter how hard we wish. Think about it...if you see a guy in a backwards, red hat....what do you want to do?

I think we can all agree that hitting him over the head with a broken bottle then ripping his face off while crying "WHY!?" is a fair answer. And that's not normal. I don't think.

Let's heal. Let's talk. Let's all of us put the past behind us and start fresh.

Let's agree that Chocolate Starfish and the Hotdog Flavored Water did happen, but it's not going to define our generation's biggest mistake. Because, as clearly stated before, that is totally the entire idea of the I.C.P.

F***ing assclowns.


(A great link on this topic: http://answers.yahoo.com/question/index?qid=20100824061145AAC3Dyv)

"Indie"...Why Does the Floor Move?

I'm pretty sure that (500) Days of Summer is the best movie I've seen in a few years. I saw it a few months back, after a couple of months of being unsure about it, and...per usual...I'm an idiot. In case you haven't seen it, or were like me and just heard really vague descriptions, it's a non-linear story about two smart, funny, yet completely self absorbed people who fall in love, then abrubtly break up without any particular reason. Ok...so that didn't help the vague description thing at all. It's not an anti-love story...it's just a story. A realistic look at a goofy relationship with goofy people that told it's a bold, often hysterical, cartoonish kind of way.

Naturally, this was an "indie" movie. Because that's the only kind of movie that gets made nowadays, I think.

To be honest, I'm not really sure what even constitutes being "indie" anymore. It used to be a movie that was not picked up by a major studio that had limited release. Now, major studios are picking them up but still limiting release thus making any movie that's not directed by James Cameron an "indie" movie. That's not a criticism either...I'm actually just really happy that movie studios, more than ever, appreciate that audiences are just as willing to see good movies than bad movies. Historically, "indie" movies are just better than big studio pictures that are released into every theatre on the face of the planet. That's why more people saw the last Madea movie, but not too many people saw Rachel Getting Married.

Before I get ahead of myself, I'm not going to be the douchebag dressed in all black wearing Costello glasses telling you to "appreciate" movies more. I just like good, well made movies as do most people. If you take the time to go see a lot of movies, than odds are you like well made movies too. So I don't need to play the role of snobby, art-house guy and pretend like this is new news. This too is a welcome revelation: more people just like "indie" movies. Mainly because they're easier to get to now, but also because the way technology and the medium has advanced...there's no tolerance for bad "indie" movies. Even a slightly obnoxious "indie" movie, like "Cyrus," gets pushed down because it's not perfect.

I kind of like that.

The best part of the mass marketing of "indie" movies is the effect it's had on everybody else. Big budget movies now have to keep up with compelling characters (Iron Man, Star Trek, Spider-Man 2, The Social Network, The Town, etc...) as well as high budget, crowd pleasing action and story. Gone are the days of Steven Segal getting top billing on the facade...instead, we get to be gleefully entertained by bad movies for free. It's called SyFy and it's f***ing awesome. The standards "indie" movies have brought to major cinema have quietly taken a foot-hold in the market. Major studios now want quality instead of quantity. Ok...maybe a little of both. But at least it's not just luck if a big budget movie is also well written.

In turn, this has kind of hurt the appeal of "real indie" movies, I suppose. (500) Days of Summer was really great and director Marc Webb is now manning the Spider-Man reboot, but we'll never see him direct a real, true "indie" flick again. Once more...that's not a criticism. That just means his immense talents will actually be given the time of day by studios, hopefully like what happened to David Fincher. It's only rarely now that a flick like Blue Valentine comes out and people are genuinely shocked by an "indie" picture.

Of course, Blue Valentine is only getting pub because it's rated NC-17....but still. I'm thinking people just want to see Ryan Gosling have sex with Michelle Williams but hey, whatever sells tickets.

Here's hoping to the long term success of pseudo-"indie" films continuing the pop up under the guise of major studios who are handling them better than ever.

Don't Hate the Player...

Imagine for a second that you are 18 years old. You're the typical fresh-out-of-high-school punk who just wants to mess around with girls and have a good time...only, you're also a savant at a particular craft. So gifted, in fact, that you are all but guaranteed to, at some point, be given the opportunity to perform this ability for an extremely lucrative career.

You are recruited to a college that specializes in that craft, given a full scholarship to master the craft, and are given a rather inclusive internship where you get to showcase your abilities in front of thousands of prospective employers. This is an amazing opportunity that is only enhancing the number of zeroes your first paycheck will have when college is finished.

You go to the campus store, and what do you see in the window? A big, ol' honkin' t-shirt with your smiling face on it. Thousands of students, and creepy adults, are causing the shirts to fly off the shelf. Every newspaper in the state is singing your praise for the immense amount of talent and attention you've given the school. Those t-shirts are now the highest selling item in the campus store.

And every single penny made off of your name and abilities is going to the school.

So one day, you take off your own t-shirt, sign it, and give it to the girl sitting next to you in chem. lab. She winks, you laugh, knowing that you're probably going to get laid by that girl in the very near future.

Only you've just been suspended from your internship, scolded by the school, and penalized by the state legislature because you sold your t-shirt and made a profit. You're future is ruined, your reputation tarnished, and the once free ride is now one with lots of shifty eyes. Because you attempted to cash in on your own fame, created and marketing by the school who is allowed to cash in on the same fame, you've been socially and professionally torn down.

Sound fair?

Welcome to the world of NCAA athletics, where even sports fans who don't care about major college sports know that the "system" of the NCAA is more screwed up than than Chris Johnson's teeth. Putting aside the easy target of the money grabbing, self serving joke that is the Bowl Championship Series, let's look at the way student athletes are treated: like cash cows.

By all regards, NCCA football is arguably the new "fourth major sport." The athletes are known before they even commit to a school, and once they do they are major discussions on ESPN and every other sports media around. Stadiums sell jerseys, video games are made, and other heaps of praise are showered on the players with all the revenue made off of these names and likenesses going back to the NCAA and the schools. If a student athlete, most of whom come from poor backgrounds, attempts to make a buck off of their own fame...they are suspended from their team and their reputations are dragged through the mud.

Case in point: A.J. Green, the consensus best WR in college football from Georgia. Green sold his own jersey, which was being sold for $50 in the campus store, to turn a little profit. He was suspended for six games and, in the era of "OH MY GOD!" sports journalism, got lumped in with student athletes who take booster money or accept gifts from greedy agents looking to get their feet in the door of a potential million dollar piggy bank.

I'm not in favor of paying student athletes. I think that's completely unjustified and unfair to students who are helping their campus and communities in other ways. You pay a college football player, you damn well be ready to pay engineering students while they intern as far as I'm concerned. However, it is completely unfair to disallow a student to make money, especially when the college that is admonishing them is doing the exact same thing. Call it "Do as I don't, not as I do, or else you'll be on your ass so fast your head will spin." If AJ Green or Tim Tebow or any other athlete can't make money on their own fame, then neither should the NCAA. No more jerseys or video games or ESPN shows. No more BCS bowl games and multi-million dollar TV deals for conferences or underhanded money grabbing for out of conferences games that will demand hundreds of thousands in TV ad money.

If the NCAA is allowed to blatantly make money off of their athletes...then the athletes should get to make money from playing in the NCAA.

God Dammit I Love YouTube

This video has 834 views. I account for probably a little over half of those. Why does YouTube exist? Because if it didn't, I would have never have seen this guy's facial expression.

Music and I(pod)

I have a tough time with music.

I was raised dorkish, so I wasn't even exposed to anything other than The Beatles, Fleetwood Mac and The Moody Blues until I was a teenager. This left me with a healthy love for music, and specifically the well written songs. When I was in high school, I worshiped at the alter of WBRU and WFNX and couldn't wait until I was in college so I could go to all sorts of college rock shows, grow a spiffy beard, and complain about how hard college was. I always found most of the really good college bands to be the well thought out, well spoken, and well written types who could simultaneously complain but also be introspective. Also, they had cool names like "Soul Asylum" and "Weezer." By the time I got to college, My Chemical Romance and Fall Out Boy replaced flannel shirts and shaggy beards with skinny jeans and cry make-up. This, to me, was a tragic turn of events. Mostly because I think emo music is f'ing horrible, but also because I don't know how to wear a mohawk, fauxhawk, or eyeliner ironically.

I don't remember the day I turned off the radio and plugged in the iPod for good...but it was sometime around there I suspect. That's when I went into my time capsule to avoid what people my own age were listening to that I couldn't stand hearing. In other words: a music snob cocoon of my own creation.

The other day after leaving a concert in Providence, my buddy who was home for the weekend from Texas, asked me if I could recommend any good bands for him. Apparently, the only things popular in Texas are Toby Keith, old Ozzy and every Nickelback song ever recorded. I gave him a few off the top of my head...She & Him, Gnarls Barkley, some of Ok Go, The Fratellis....then I realized I was out. I thumbed through the 1500+ songs on my iPod and realized that I don't have anything new. I couldn't even recommend any good metal bands, because since everybody's favorite gross toilet/venue closed (The Living Room), I hadn't even seen a decent metal show. I had stepped out of the time capsule to realize that I hadn't given modern music a chance in over five years. The last time I had even discussed music, it was an argument over why Trent Reznor and Buckethead were no-talent a**holes and why hack, psuedometal bands like Clutch and Three Days Grace should find a volcano to sacrifice themselves to. But even that was two years ago.

What had I missed in five years?

Were obnoxious BRU DJ's talking about the creative wonders of Panic! At the Disco and AFI? Had Simple Plan, New Found Glory and Something Corporate merged into one high pitched whine known simply as "Found Something Simple?" Could I safely wear leather pants and spiked necklaces and been seen as just a weirdo, not someone going to a concert at Lupos? Had some brave soul broken the mold and created a band with melodic guitars and a singer who sang whilst playing said guitar...or was the world still being run by 65 pound males in makeup bracing themselves on microphones, backed up by overly enthusiastic yet mediocre bass players?

So, I turned on WBRU to see if emo was still in and the time capsule had served its purpose. Emo isn't in, as it turns out. Bands that sound like Brandon Flowers and The Killers are in though, and the bass players are slightly tamer. The singers still make love to their mic stands and can't play anything other than synthesizer...which I guess isn't so bad?

I emailed my brother, who's 16 years older than me, but also has a bigger heart for accepting new bands into his iPod fraternity. He suggested a bunch that I'd casually heard: Arcade Fire, The Black Keys, Wilco, etc...I determined that I like Wilco, although I find Jeff Tweedy's fragile, emotional genius thing to be a little much. I'm ok with The Black Keys...and I just flat don't get the popularity of Arcade Fire. Somewhere along the line, the wackier you sound just meant the better you were. Again, all of this still being better than the aforementioned cry make-up and screaming, so I can't cast too many stones.

In all, this revelation of my own dying taste in finding new, good music is a little depressing. I used to love finding new bands that I could latch on to...now, I'm lucky if I can find a song that catches my interest let along a slew of songs from the same band. I know sites like Pandora are out there and are designed specifically to open your mind to new content...but I like my old content. I was ok with The Killers...but I'll go god damned insane if I hear another "my heart is bleeding inside!" song with guys in ironic suits playing behind them.

I'm not going to go back into the time capsule. But I'm also not willing to argue over why Trent Reznor is a douche anymore either. I think I'm just going to let the music come to me, and not the other way around.