JayarJackson

1.                  Do music reviewers have to TRY so hard to sound like they’re the gods of music?

I never really read professional music reviews because everyone’s taste is different, so what would make me decide on an album based on some “professionals” taste in music?  I was so 50/50 on whether or not to get the new N.E.R.D. album last week that I actually dipped into some reviews to see what they had to say.  I didn’t know what I was getting myself into when until I stumbled upon this “helpful” tidbit: 

Like its unexpected stylistic kin My Morning Jacket's Evil Urges, Seeing Sounds finds its creators partaking in the subversively phallocentric narcissism of staring at their CD collections, confusing music listening with music understanding rather than enjoyment. 

Dude, just tell me that you didn’t like the CD because Pharrell and Chad tried a little too hard to make us “see the sounds” they were gazing upon, and failed to give us something we’d enjoy listening to.  We know, you’re smart and know a lot of words, now stop uselessly piling a bunch of them on top of each other to make your opinion more valid than someone else’s.  This nose in-the-air review made me disrespect his simple opinion even more. 

So, here’s my review of the review: This gentleman’s unabashed & ostentatious examination of the Seeing Sounds album catapulted me into an inquisitive state of mind where I pondered how many barbiturates the executive must have been using when he elected to employ him. 

And by the way, he was right; the entire album isn’t that great…

2.                  Sometimes being an understanding, bleeding heart American is just as insulting as being a close-minded, “get out of my country” American.

I was at McDonalds this morning, (yeah, I know, I’m slowly killing myself) and as I ordered I noticed the elderly lady next to me with literally about 10 coupons ordering from the Latina cashier.  With all the things she was trying to get, along with her odd voice, I couldn’t understand what she was talking about and neither could the cashier.  After the cashier kept asking her “chicken biscuit?” 3 or 4 times, the elderly lady decided to order in Spanish repeatedly saying, “comprende Espanol?” 

The cashier looked up at her co-worker and at others in the line and continued to speak in English, trying to make it obvious that she speaks English quite perfectly and just didn’t understand her complicated order, just as I didn’t.  Too late at this point, the lady was in full Spanish mode, with a hard-core American accent.  As I walked away, I think the cashier gave in and just took the order in Spanish, flipping through the multiple coupons being used by just one little old lady. 

At first, I thought “how insulting to assume she doesn’t know English just because she struggled to understand what you wanted.”  In reality, the little old lady probably figured that she was making it easier on the Latina behind the register, “if she doesn’t understand English, I can speak to her in Spanish and everything will be just fine!”  She wasn’t even upset, just accommodating.  But…maybe I’m wrong? 

1.                  The next time I go to a club, I’m leaving money and ID at home while wearing baggy jeans and a baseball cap.  A Flashlight is all I need.…yeah, a flashlight.

I don’t do the club thing.  I love to dance and meet people, but if I began to get into my reasons for never going, this would end up being a book.  Anyway, the staples that everyone always has to make sure they have are their ID and the appropriate attire.  That’s understandable, but when I was at a club in Vegas for the first time in a long time, I noticed one thing that is universal: flashlights are all powerful. 

No matter how drunk people get, how loud the music is, or if they’re trying to holla at some girl, when the security puts a flashlight beam on the floor, the crowd splits in a hurry.  No words need to be said, no tap on the shoulder, one glance at a moving light and everyone is compelled to get the hell out of the way!  I wonder what other powers this simple emergency tool has in club settings…

So, the next time I head out to a club (which will probably be sometime in 2010) I’m going to carry a big Mag Light flashlight.  When the bouncer that has an attitude for no reason tells me I need to either give him $1000 or carry 15 girls in on my back, I’ll just flash the light in his face…free entry!  When the bartender tells me that a cranberry juice with a splash of vodka will cost me $20, the flashlight powers will get me some eggs and French toast with my juice.  And when the DJ keeps playing the first 10 seconds of my favorite songs before switching to play 10 seconds of another song, my strong flashlight will hit him from across the room, forcing him to play the Jay-Z verse at the end of “Frontin,” dammit!! 

1.                  I wonder if some girls’ parents know they’re being portrayed as a slut on TV.

I’ve been watching The Real World lately and for the first time, in my latest attempt at being an old man, I thought of what it would be like to see my daughter on the reality show.  I know that the producers of some of these shows like to let us see the sexy young folks having fun, getting completely wasted, and hooking up with each other, so I think of what some of their parents must think when they tune in after the season is over and see this all over TV.  That part is obvious, but some of the guys bring home random girls from the local bars, calling them regulars, and getting them to jump into bed with anyone that happens to live in the Real World house. 

            I’d love to see the look on some people’s faces if they happen to channel surf past MTV and unknowingly catch a glimpse of their daughter’s ass in some guy’s room, being called a skank.  All this while the fellas are being seen as such ladies’ men.  Damn, I’m never having daughters!! 

1.                  Teenagers’ jobs are harder than our full-time, salary occupations.

You spend the majority of your life going to the office, doing paperwork, planning, meeting, and implementing schemes to move your company forward.  (To all you actors out there, I’m not referring to you.)  You also spend the majority of your life complaining about that idiot just above you that somehow thinks he/she can tell you what to do when you’re the one making everything go.  You whine about having to go into work, bitch about traffic, sit at some cubicle, and stare at a computer screen, while watching your back for that idiot looking over your shoulder to make sure you’re not visiting pointless websites instead of getting that report done.  Doesn’t he have work to do, too? 

Teenagers have it harder.  Every time I go into the grocery store, there’s some kid handing out sales papers for hours, pushing 1000 shopping carts in all day, or running to the ends of every check stand to bag our food and keep the older cashiers happy and up to date.  When I’m driving on a perfect Saturday to the beach or a friend’s BBQ, I see some poor chump kid dancing and spinning a real estate sign or dressed up like a Subway sandwich handing out coupons that no one cares about.  They actually teach kids the moves to spin those real estate and cell phone store signs behind their backs and above their heads.  Every time I see it I feel like giving the fool the $20 he was going to make in those 6 hours outside dancing on the corner and tell him to enjoy his day. 

But my philanthropy wears off instantly when I get flashbacks of bussing tables at some pasta restaurant, sweeping floors at some movie theatre, and changing garbage at some water park, all for $6/hour.  I paid my dues, I’ll take comfortably dodging traffic and expertly hiding myspace windows when the nosey walk by any day.  And yes, I will take extra butter on that popcorn, a little in the middle and the rest on top, Son! 

 

2.                  Tags sticking up from the back of people’s shirts are nerve wrecking!

Maybe it’s just some observational tick that controls my mind, but every time I can see a stranger’s shirt’s brand name and whether or not it is machine washable, I have to control myself from tucking that flap back in.  Alright, that’s too much, but it isn’t rude to let you know of the slight mess you’ve got jumping onto the back of your neck. 

And by the way, simply cutting these tags off only to satisfy crazy people like me, creates a frayed stub of a tag that only causes annoying itching that could very well drive a sane man to the brink of madness…I’ve been there.  Just tell me to tuck it in.

1.                  Sports are so important to us fans, we go out of our way to completely discredit the existence of the other team.

 I was at the college basketball Pac-10 tournament at the Staples Center for the semi-final round game between my alma mater USC Trojans and the hated UCLA “Ruins” from Bel Air, not L.A.  My friend and I were pleasantly seated in the middle of a bunch of UCLA fans, and right next to their band.  The sweet sounds of our own beloved band were all the way on the other side of the court.  Since both USC and UCLA are so close, we know each other’s fight songs and stupid cheers.  (Well, UCLA’s stupid cheers).  Every time they began their chants or cheers in unison with the band, we few Trojans had to make sure we sat still, didn’t even tap our feet to the constant sound we’re familiar with, but hate to hear.  If you courageously, disrespectfully, and loudly talk the kind of trash about the other team the way we did, you have to stand strong. 

 

During one timeout, a UCLA fan directly in front of me caught herself giving our band a few claps and head nods as the superior sound was so excellent she probably couldn’t help it.  With hundreds of her fellow supporters around her, she quickly caught herself, locked her arms, and APOLOGIZED for the egregious taboo.  All I could do was laugh to myself and think, “Yeah girl, you like it, FIGHT ON!” 

 

2.                  You’re getting old; it’s a lot less painful if you just accept it.

I live on a quiet street in L.A.  Yeah, I know that’s an oxymoron, but it’s as quiet as it gets if you’re used to loud streets in L.A.  A few months ago, I spotted a car going about 60 mph or more down my street and my mouth dropped.  Three old-man thoughts immediately rushed into my mind. 

a.         “There’s kids playing on this street, you could kill somebody!” 

b.         “This ain’t the freeway, what the hell are you in such a rush for?  There’s a stop sign 20 feet ahead anyway!!” 

c.         “Where are the police when you really need them??” 

Upon getting out of my car, I realized what a horrible thing I had done by just thinking these things that I always placed with the gentlemen that are 70+ years old.  So I did what I had to do in order to cleanse myself; I ran inside, played video games all day and drank on a Tuesday afternoon.  Don’t call me a grumpy old man; let’s just say I’ve matured! 

That’s all I’ve got for this week.  Just remember, even the Bruins love USC and don’t fight time, it’s gonna happen.  You’ll only make yourself look old by stressing about it. 

1.                  Good looking women merge into traffic a lot more easily than I do. 

When I’m in traffic where construction has pushed three lanes into one, about 100 feet from a long stop light that includes a left turn signal and three lanes of opposing traffic, no one feels like letting anyone else in front of them since there’s only been 2 feet of movement in 15 minutes.  Although I still don’t have too much trouble bullying my way into a place that I deserve to have, there’s plenty of drivers that simply put their fate in the hands of a “nice-guy” that lets them in. 

This is a futile strategy that will lose you valuable spots, unless you’re a P.Y.T. in a cute little Mini Cooper.  Just look for the Mustang GTs, high rise pickup trucks, and old school muscle cars; these fellas will part the sea like Moses…all for YOU, young lady.  Guys are such suckers, what do we expect to get for our trouble?  A quick wave from a freshly manicured hand out of the window.  “Yeah, she’s diggin’ me!” 

2.                  I don’t think people other than Black folks say “hello” to people on the street that they don’t know.

Maybe it’s just me, but although no one has ever told me to do so, when I’m walking down the street and I walk past another Black person and we make eye contact I’m more prone to say “hi, what’s up, or how are you doin” than if they are of any other race.  Yes, I speak to anyone, but it’s almost automatic if they’re Black.  If my fellow Black man doesn’t say hello back, I feel that this guy either didn’t get the memo that I got, or he just doesn’t like the look on my face.  I’ve never noticed a couple of Japanese folks looking almost obligated to speak when they’ve never seen each other in their lives, why do I do it? 

3.                  If there’s no such thing as intelligent life anywhere else in the universe, that is the biggest waste of space of all time. 

That’s all I have to say.