as always
Sunday October 12th 2008, 12:45 am
Filed under: Boozy,change,nostalgia Tags:

a longer post, and probably one I’ll never write right. re-re-re-re-re-re-watched Pump Up the Volume, the 90s Christian Slater pirate radio flick (featuring (the briefly topless) Samantha Mathis, who apparently was dating, and literally with River Phoenix on the fateful night at the Viper Room when he popped his clogs….). Anyway, perhaps the isolation of that 1980/90 movie, of Heathers, of Reality Bites, of the Brat Pack films, is lost in this interwebs generation. How alone can you really feel, at 15, knowing someone out there on the worldwidewebs shares your fetish for boys in silk stockings, smoking seductively, sexily speaking alliteratively? I’m sure that high school continues to be an island of isolation, but how the fuck did High School Musical capture the mood, rather than Nirvana and Pearl Jam’s Jeremy? You won’t find (a la this evening’s filmic entertainment) cars on the football field tuned to a pirate radio station, when they’re all at home, IMing each other, or random strangers, through preselected lenses of shared interest and shared virtual locale. Maybe we all stopped feeling quite so alone at the point when TV, radio, and books weren’t enough to create a community, but the web provided a way back. Maybe the whole sick twist of the dot-com bubble wasn’t that my generation gave up on values for money, but that we made the decision irrelevant for those who followed. The axiomatic binary, the fundamental chasm between consuming and creating, between buying a TV and watching it or buying a super-8 (or video camera) and making it, between buying another album or buying a guitar, has been not merely eroded, not merely erased, but turned topsy fucking turvy, in ways fabulous and obscene. Sitting alone at home with the internet isn’t as alone as sitting home alone with only radio, tv, and books. Same, college. Wandering campus has a certain isolating possibility – do i will i can i know him/her. Add a cell phone, and it’s fucking Liverpool time – you never walk alone. Shit, even the crazy woman up in Berkeley, paranoid schizophrenic, probably, speaking to herself and pushing her shopping cart. Crazy, a wide berth given by the fine and upstanding charitable citizens of the East Bay. And then she bought a 5 dollar toy plastic cell phone, and yelled her insanities into the phone. And she was less threatening, and the yuppies were less afraid. Thus endeth the lesson, assholes. I think we fucked something _big_ up. If “why can’t we all get along” was the question at the moment of urban/civic disfunction, we’ve managed to take “we” off the physical map 9 encounters out of 10. That’s scary.


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