Voices in the Wilderness

A little while ago I made some snarky comments on the sheer awfulness that can be found in this electronic wilderness. And I stand by that assertion - that the while the internet (and easily used publishing tools like Blogger) gives everyone a voice, not all those voices have something worthwhile to say. Hell, I don't even know if I have anything 'worthwhile' to say - I do this for my own twisted amusement, and those of my friends and family who share some or all of my warped sensibilities - not because I think anyone particularly gives a shite.

The point is, there are some worthwhile voices out there. If you venture out past the Forest of Slow-Loading Sites, across the Plateau of Poorly Punctuated Prose, and over the Sea of Banal Commentary, you can find folks who can flat out write. You can find writing that will make you laugh, make you think, make you angry. Here are some examples of what I mean.

This guy is one those afore-mentioned folks who can flat out write. He recently posted the following on his friend's site.

Tom Petty said the waiting's the hardest part. And that's true, but it's also rich. I'm just now beginning to realize this fact. I've always rushed things along, feeling like I needed all of her affection right away. There's no way in hell I could call her tomorrow. I had to call her today, yesterday, 5 minutes ago, right now. I had this distorted notion that a friendship with a girl was the annoying pre-cursor to the real relationship, the romantic relationship--the kissing and holding and late-night whispering of words. Secret words. But I was wrong. The friendship is everything.

This is the relationship, the so-how-was-work, the what-did-he-say-when-you, the I-had-a-shitty-day-thanks-for-calling. These are the little scraps of her life that she's letting you be a part of. And you have some of your own. The path into someone's life is always uphill, never down. There's the work, the active pursuit of who she is. But you're not trying to figure her out like a song on the guitar because part of what you love is her complexity, the endless maze which you never seem to tire of, regardless of how many walls you slam into. This is work, but it's enjoyable work. If you can get it.

So you find someone that you enjoy. You find someone that helps you laugh at yourself. You find someone whose beauty has you stealing glances, taking risks. You find someone with whom you wouldn't mind being cooped up in a house for 40 or 50 years. You find someone who can at least tolerate the fact that you occasionally clip your fingernails in public because you're compulsive about that sort of thing. You find someone you respect, who makes you realize that you have a long way to go, someone who doesn't mind listening to obscenely loud music on the way. You find someone who, by the grace of God, enjoys your company, the sound of your voice, the feel of your hand in hers (and hopefully dark beer).

And then you uncurl your fingers because she'll never belong to you, not really, even if one of those fingers is wrapped in a gold band.

That, my loyal half dozen, is some good shite. The man can throw down. In my internet wanderings I have come across entire sites devoted to chronicling the author's thoughts about the trials and tribulations of love and such. And none of them contain as much truth as the elegant starshell of prose quoted above.

Changing gears, if you don't already read Mimi Spartypants on a regular basis... what's wrong with you? This is funny stuff people, funnier that much of what passes for comedic writing in the New Yorker. Dig this off-hand riff about the guy who amputated his own arm in the wilderness:

To me, this story illustrates several things that I have been saying for years. (1) Never, ever, go out into Nature. What does Mother Nature want from us? The answer is obvious: She Wants Our Limbs. For instance: Frostbite. Giant crushing boulders. Wolverines that can rip off an arm with one clamp of their wolverine jaws. Muskrats that first incapacitate you with a tendon-severing ankle bite, then nibble and nibble until your leg is entirely gone. Go ahead, scream your lungs out during your Nibbling Ordeal, do you think Mother Nature cares? She is all like, Listen motherfucker, what exact part of "red in tooth and claw" don't you understand? Don't come to me singing your sad limb-losing song. You were warned.

Mimi Smartypants on music:

Slicked-back hair, mirrored sunglasses, suit and tie, this jag-off in a Jaguar is speeding through a yellow light in River North, and---for real---he is blasting the Phil Collins song "Sussudio" on what is no doubt a very expensive car stereo. I was like: Wait, was that Patrick Bateman? Please tell me that was some sort of prank, like the guy is participating in a rousing game of Rich Person's Truth Or Dare, because why, why, why would you listen to "Sussudio" in the car, where other people can hear you? I mean, maybe you are allowed to keep the Phil Collins CD in a dark closet and throw on "Sussudio" when you are cleaning the house or something, but even that is skating on some very, VERY thin musical-taste ice, mister. The only possible use I can see for that song is maybe using it to clear the last few cokeheads out of your house when dawn is breaking and you need the party to be OVER, NOW. (Somebody call Sartre, quick: I am having a new vision of existentialist hell where it is always five in the morning and everyone is doing coke and there is always Phil Collins on the stereo. Oh my god I have to go lie down.)

Mimi Smartypants on Sesame Street:

THE MAJOR SESAME STREET ARCANA AND A CONSIDERATION OF WHETHER OR NOT I WOULD HANG OUT WITH EACH (IN ALPHABETICAL ORDER)

1. Bert. Undecided. He seems a bit rigid to really be good friends with, but I can see hanging with Bert and playing Scrabble on a rainy day. Verdict: Maybe.

2. Big Bird. Is a painfully immature dork. You can't just ride on being seven feet tall, you have to develop some sort of personality. Dig? Verdict: No.

3. Cookie Monster. I am a little scared of this guy. He is pure id. He is crazy. You never know what he is going to do next. I mean, check out his wildly rolling pupils, his tendency to devour both food and non-food items, his inability to use the "I" pronoun. Cookie Monster is the guy that you can't not invite to the party, because he is such a long-time part of your scene, but you assign one of your friends to kind of keep an eye on him. Verdict: A qualified yes.

4. The Count. Although the constantly-counting thing would get old fast, part of it appeals to the OCD freak in me, plus: he's a vampire! What self-respecting former goth wouldn't hang out with The Count? I can even see myself dating The Count, if only briefly. It's the cape. And the sash with the mysterious vaguely Eastern European medallion on it. And the fact that his head is a lovely shade of lilac. Verdict: Yes.

5. Elmo. Elmo ruined Sesame Street. Who cares about Elmo's World? He has the baby helium voice and seemingly no interests. Elmo is whiny, demanding, and his need to be the center of attention would drive me bonkers. Get him away from me. Verdict: No.

6. Ernie. I don't like Ernie. Verdict: No.

7. Grover. Best Friends Forever! Grover is my favorite. First, Grover is the only Muppet with a job. He is a waiter, and maybe he is not a very good waiter (certainly that blue guy with the mouth that opens like a drawbridge does not think so), but it is probably just a day job and Grover goes home and paints or plays drums in a noise band. Grover is more or less slender with just that hint of a belly---the body type of a monster who enjoys his beer and one that is kind of sexy (in the manner of Madonna in the "Lucky Star" video being way sexier than her later six-pack worked-out incarnations). Grover has a flair for the dramatic (Super-Grover, the near and far thing, the blues songs). Verdict: Yes yes yes.

8. Kermit. No doubt about it, this is one Renaissance frog. He rides a bike, he plays a banjo, he is a reporter for Muppet News Network, he runs the show, he looks good doing it, and he is humble and friendly and even gets depressed sometimes (eg, "Not Easy Being Green"), and anyone who doesn't like Kermit is just a hater and obviously envious of his amphibious green cool. Verdict: Yes.

9. Oscar the Grouch. Now we're talking. Me and Oscar, getting all kinds of punk rock fucked-up on amphetamines and malt liquor. We would watch skateboard videos on TV and then we'd get bored and kick in the TV screen and roll around in the shards a la Iggy Pop. It matters not because Oscar's got a whole closet full of motherfucking TVs. And a whole closet full of firearms. And a whole closet full of malt liquor. Later we have a Silly String fight, go for a ride on his elephant, generally trash his place. ROCK! Verdict: Yes.

Quite simply, if you want to laugh - if you want giggle to yourself while co-workers wonder what's wrong with you -visit Mimi.

Those are only two sites worth your time. I could literally create pages filled with entertaining, funny, thought-provoking quotes from other folks. Instead, I'll list a few more 'voices' I think are worth your while, places I visit (or try to) on a daily basis.

Silflay Hraka

The American Undershirt

Utter Wonder

bears cave

Eject!Eject!Eject!