Lost in the Supermarket

This was my first assignment for Magazine Writing:

“I’m all lost in the supermarket…I came in for that special offer, a guaranteed personality.” Yes, Strummer/Jones managed, in their mohawked, cut-off jean jacket way, to epitomize the grocery store experience, ironically, in a punk song. One of the earliest memories I have of supermarkets involves sitting inside a shopping cart and riding the vessel of consumerism like a white boy on safari. Exhilarating were the countless products rushing by in fluorescent panorama. Gradually, I would first be joined in the cart by some of these products – fruits, juices, rice, beans, carefully examined and often reluctantly approved by my vegetarian parents – and eventually displaced by them: the last stretch of the supermarket journey was always the least exciting. Not only did I have to carry my own weight (woe is me!) but the mysteries of the grocery store (as if anything changed each time) had all been revealed by the time we got in line at the cashier – and don’t get me started on lines.

May the image of a wild-haired diminutive clutching the sides of a shopping cart from within stand as chapter one of this odyssey. 

As aforementioned, my parents were vegetarians and it wasn’t long before a Wild Oats – and then a Whole Foods – opened nearby. At Wild Oats particularly, there would always be mini shopping carts so that the children could do their own “shopping”. This was really quite brilliant because I would be adding countless of my own preferential items to the trunk of our Hyundai sedan, but more importantly because I would hereby discover that it was actually more fun to push the extra weight of a cart than to be chauffeured. You know, the toddler in grown-up’s clothing bit. May that image stand as chapter two.

Chapter three, then, could be my current tendency to feverish shopping-cart-drivership up and down the aisles, scrounging for the cheapest possible foodstuffs necessary for my survival. The fun is over – this is eat or be eaten! Well, not quite. Eat long-grain organic brown rice or microwaveable white rice with bits of panchromatic supposed vegetables. The dilemma seems almost as dire.

I did indeed once get lost in a supermarket, though. It seemed like the biggest place in the whole world, that if I didn’t find my mommy, no one would ever find me. Aisles and aisles of food products formed an impossible labyrinth in which the people I knew were reduced to shadows, tadpoles in an ocean of feet, hiding behind mountains of Lean Cuisine. It felt very much like drowning. Perhaps that was why steering your own shopping cart was nicer than being steered: if you’re in control, you cannot get lost. It never seemed plausible that mommy, with her great big cart of edibles, had ever gotten lost. Control. Here’s where I would end this with a Joy Division quote, but I digress.

TOP FIVE (Vol. 7) - Childhood Record Collection

Were you raised on a daily serving of Motley Cru or were your parents burned out hippies?

Your formative years in 5 bands.

[Okay, mine's specifically till age 10, and is all my dad's doing.]

1. Billy Joel/Elton John (they may as well have been the same person)

2. The Police (Greatest Hits)

3. James Taylor (Greatest Hits) 

4. U2 (Joshua Tree, though I didn't like them till I was older)

5. Majic 102.7 (early Beatles, the Supremes, Frankie Valli, et. al.)

SOUNDTRACK (Pt. 1)

Soundtrack for your day (be it typical or extraordinary) using only ideal albums as events unfold. 

I get up and jump in the shower (Yours to Keep - Albert Hammond, Jr.).  

If it's early morning, I go outside and wait for the bus and ride to school as the sun creeps up, and I slowly begin to grasp reality as I walk through the hall (Give Up - Postal Service). 

In between classes (Morning View - Incubus). 

I take the train back (Fight Club Soundtrack - Dust Brothers).  

I'll do my homework (Piper at the Gates of Dawn - Pink Floyd).  

Then I'll go out (Antics - Interpol). 

And I fall asleep (Either/Or - Elliott Smith).

TOP FIVE (Vol. 6) - Dane Cook

Top Five reasons Dane Cook has dropped off the face of the earth.

1. Mitch Hedberg was always funnier.

2. The Voice of the Generation post has long been usurped by Judd Apatow and his recurring cast of Regular Guys.

3. Hollywood, the bain but inevitable deathbed of all comedians.

4. How unfunny the commercial for the movie with Jessica Alba was.

5. How unfunny the movie with Jessica Alba was.

 - Fool in the Rain

I was actually just contemplating the relative obscurity to which Dane Cook, the King of Standup, has fallen. I don't agree with Number 1 though, I like Hedburg, but he never filled the stadiums that Cook continues to fill (even if Hedburg hadn't died). You are right though, Cook was/is the comedic voice of our generation. I mean, the guy had an irrefutable impact on the millennial vocabulary. Each of us has a Cook skit memorized, and just a few years ago it was pretty common place to see friends swapping favorite skits around the lunch table. Hell, we used "BAMF" (Bad Ass Mother Fucker) as a keyword for our giant SAT study books in my SAT class.

I thought the Judd Apatow point was interesting. Apatow became popular just was Cook was fading. You could say Apatow rode on the coattails of Cook's success. I mean the scripts for Apatow's movies are basically transcripts from a Dane Cook concert.

Rock's Last Roll

Okay, so Lester Bangs had this Theory, right? In so many words, the only direction rock and roll can go in to survive is shrieking atonal non-notes out of shredded vocal chords. The Jesus and Mary Chain, therefore, probably live up to their name. But JAMC is long gone and, besides Nirvana, noise has lost its momentum. The closest we've come this decade is Amnesiac but no one liked it that much anyway. Rock finds itself now in its middle-age, vainly killing itself (Staind) to recoup its early twenties (Led Zeppelin), but taking new joy in tending to its cute and quirky offspring (Vampire Weekend). 

No offense to Fall Out Boy (har har har) but how'd we get from the Beatles to Fall Out Boy, exactly? Now, I know this is starting to sound like a conversation every college student has taken part in more times than they care to count, but this is about the next step, not the current one. This is about how to go out in a blaze of glory instead of singing about whether we're human or dancer, which is about as valid a question as whether it's a good idea for your 4-year-old to curl up in a microwave (unless that 4-year-old was Brandon Flowers). Death is not the pinnacle of life, nor is it as bright and wonderful as birth: it's heavy. It's deep, dark, and cavernous. It's gorgeous but in its ugliness, just as child birth is beautiful despite its gore. Therefore, the 21st Century will not see the 21st Century versions of Buddy Holly or Mississippi John Hurt, and if it did, they wouldn't be the ones to close the show. We live to re-achieve that gore, so how do we do it? Not in feathers, I assure you, Mr. Flowers. 

Iggy Pop was headed in the right direction. In fact, it would have been almost worth it to see rock die with the Stooges so we wouldn't have to face what it's come to now (at this juncture, Fall Out Boy may take offense, along with Arcade Fire, the Strokes, Fall of Troy, and the White Stripes). Wait, did I just name some of the best bands around and imply they all suck? Yes. I did. Oh, it's good music, but only as good as the Beach Boys or Joy Division or the Stone Roses. Wait, did I just name a bunch of classic bands that have passed the test of time with flying colors and imply they're not that good either? Yes! Yes, I did! Listen better! Because I intentionally did not mention the Beatles or Led Zeppelin or Black Sabbath or Bob Dylan. And as long as we're making lists here, I also didn't mention Sublime, Nirvana, Pink Floyd, Oasis, Michael Jackson, the Clash, the Jimi Hendrix Experience (not so much the solo work), Eminem, or any artists that truly stood for their generation in a wall of sound that transported the General Public - in unison - from their banal day into 3 to 4 minute bouts of suddenly understanding the purpose to their lives, and more importantly, they were the Best at it. The Best. The Best. Sorry, Brian Wilson, but by the time you matured enough to write God Only Knows, John and Paul were doing your job better than you. The list goes on and on and in some ways includes the Beach Boys and excludes the Beatles even, but the latter were definitive. There's not much argument there. I Wanna Hold Your Hand was the first glimpse into rock's potentially violent pubescence and since Lennon died, we've been sittin' waitin' with our hands under our asses for someone to throw the last good punch because we're sick of Abba and we want to move on.

Now, when I say we don't have any Master Bands, I'm intentionally skipping over Radiohead's existence. Why? Because Radiohead's breaking boundaries and shifting shape, etc. etc., and that to me does not the Final Blaze of Glory make. Since this is the Future we're dealing with, we're allowed to work in ideal terms, my ideal being that rock will die with honor - yelling for freedom at a firing squad with its back against the wall and its bloodied fist in the air. So, let's pretend there is no possibility that rock will die its probable death: lying on the asphalt with its face in a puddle and its hand reaching for the bus, as it rolls away and sprinkles mud slush in rock's tired, wrinkled face. Fuck that, let's dream a little. Now, if Radiohead's Third Act is some epic amalgamation of the anthemic Britpop they've forsaken and their talent for composing neo-classical sound orgies, that would make for a proper bookend. 

Other possibilities: Ben Gibbard could start taking metric tons of heroin, Jack Johnson could become Interpol's lead singer, or, exactly what Dr. Bangs ordered. An embrace of JAMC's distortion excesses combined with the Stooges' simple death chants, both utilized by talents that can do it right and in a way We would like. Come on, Casablancas, how's about it? Chris Martin? ...Lil Jeezy?

Who knows, maybe Animal Collective will get infinitely better and we'll go down in a blaze of...Confusion....

 - Fool in the Rain

Fantasy Supergroup (Ep.I)

Well. Just cause y'all ain't postin' don't mean I ain't gonna post.

Fantasy Supergroup of the Week:

Brian May (Queen) on lead guitar 

Albert Hammond, Jr. (Strokes) on rhythm 

Jaleel Bunton (TV on the Radio) on drums 

Roger Waters (Pink Floyd) on bass 

= some strange epic post-punk prog-indie anthem band.