FAIL

There is a man named Asher Roth, and I lived in a much happier world before I knew of his existence.

Exhibit A

Ok, so you say, it’s all in good fun. Too easy to hate on. Too much a whorish and tacky affair to take seriously. And, there’s a sense of humor here. But, exhibit B:




Not the best thing to be said over “A Milli,” not the most intelligent or even clever critique, but it is scathing. It is rewarding in some way.

I’m not going headlong into the delicate subjects of race, privilege, fame, and success in Hip Hop. Just because I’ve been catching up on Dilla, Madlib, and DOOM doesn’t mean I can throw my weight around like I’ve been invested in the genre long enough. But a piece of shit is a piece of shit. That’s all fine as long as a piece of shit doesn’t become this year’s frat rock party jam, and the panting and desperate record industry descends upon us with it in their talons.

Ash could have made anything out of himself. He is an internet phenom, riding on the success of marginally impressive mixtapes. He could have picked used his minor wave of hype and step up and refine the humor and critique of his A Milli freestyle. The fixation on minutiae, conversational delivery, reminds me of Mike Skinner, at least for a couple seconds. But now he’s hip-hop’s response to Tucker Max.
The educated, aware, marginally talented young privileged white kid who squanders his talent and makes a clown of himself. He’s someone who realizes how fucked up his situation is, but takes the money and fucking dances. His only solace is that his success proves how vapid his fans and critics are to give him the success and attention. Or more depressingly, the former doesn’t even apply. He has never questioned his actions.

Modding guitar pedals and otherwise fixing things that aren't broken

I just finished modifying two guitar pedals in my possession, giving them both new life and better functionality. And, without trying to pat myself on the back (although I am quite impressed with them), I realized how gratifying it is to take something apart and make it better.

Not only have I learned basic electronics, but also sharpened my ability to research, to learn new systems and develop new skills with almost no instruction. It's not like I just fucked around until I got lucky (a lil maybe). I feel like this is another merit badge for my list of Skills For Surviving a Post Apocalyptic Future.

Andrew and I had brainstormed about this very issue. He's seen a biker with a weedwacker sized engine attached to his bike frame. As he buzzed down the road, Andrew declared that the Apocalypse has befallen us, but news hadn't spread yet. This guy must have gotten the memo though, and was already on top of it. Mind you, this is before the financial meltdown. So like William Gibson says, the future is here, it's just not widely distributed yet.

I'm hoping that what I'm learning now fucking around with second hand distortion pedals, could some day help me build wind turbines to power my own pirate radio station of the apocalypse. Or at least power a sweet soundsystem for those end of the world dance parties. Or maybe, I should just be buying lotsa guns.

All of this seems much more feasible than me EVER using ANY of the "SKILLS" learned in dramatic writing. Besides, in an oral culture (and you can bet that's what we'll be for the most part), narrative will be a more important art anyway. Or maybe, there will be post-civilization "happenings" or new forms of performance. But let me tell how fucking useless the dramatic form will be in a world where food is scarce and there is no government to protect you. That will be almost as useless as the degree I'm spending 3000 extra dollars just to get.

Of course, all debts will vanish. So, maybe I don't have an excuse not to show up on Tuesday.