Tuesday, 10/14/08
T.T. The Bears Place
10 Brookline St.
Cambridge, MA (Central Sq)
8:30PM, 18+
$8

Getting a bad haircut is like watching a train wreck in slow motion; you're powerless to stop the carnage unfolding before your eyes. Although you feebly attempt to give the barber some direction, it's as useless as pleading with a cop who's pulled you over. Your fate has been decided before you even sit down in that chair. Rocco only knows how to give one haircut, and as his buzzer scales higher and higher up the side of your head, you're left with nothing to contemplate save how ridiculous you're going to look for the next month of your life. My God, every attractive woman within a twenty mile radius is going to be pointing and giggling. And I'm paying someone to do this to me.

In my case, the barber shop should've been handing out gold chains and Oakley sunglasses to help complete the look. That way, I could be assured of landing my dream job with mall security. Does anyone have a Baby Ruth? Because I look like Sloth from The Goonies.

At any rate, after being referred to as "G.I. Jude" all day at work, I realized that I had to take matters into my own hands. I quickly feigned a cough in front of my boss, left work early, and whisked myself back home, where my industrial strength trimmer awaited like Excalibur in the bathroom. With a few quick buzzing sweeps I vanquished all of the douchiness from my mug, and re-claimed my appearance. I may now look like a refugee, but I'll take that any day over rent-a-cop.

To sum this up, yes, I basically paid to cut my own hair. But at least I had the means to correct the semi-permanent ugliness that was forced upon me by a semi-retarded tradesperson. It sure as hell beats wearing a hat for the next month of summer. Although good barbers do indeed exist, this particular haircut may have turned me from them for the rest of my life. The odds of crossing swords with misfortune in that chair have proved to be too great. Buzzing my hair every couple of months is free, quick, and most importantly, consistent. And I'd rather rock it like a refugee, than face the month-long horror that is another bad haircut.

1) When you're young, you haven't accumulated much wealth. You have nothing that needs to be guarded.

2) When you're young, you're still trying to figure yourself out. You're open to new ideas and ready to take chances.

Case in point, go hang out with some college kids and try to count the number of times they throw down the W-word. You'll need more than an abacus to keep up. I even used to refer to my college years as the "Whatever Years", and thought it would have been a great name for a spinoff sequel to the Wonder Years. You can vomit on a student's futon, dent their car, and break plans last minute. I guarantee you'll be met with nothing more than an apathetic shrug of the shoulders.

But as you progress though life, these things change. Houses are bought, and promotions are earned. You decide who you are, and want you want. And as this happens, it becomes less okay when things don't go according to plan. "Whatever" becomes a luxury you can no longer afford.

But you know what? That's okay with me. I spent the bulk of my twenties drifitng with the current of life, and as no surpise, I didn't end up where I wanted to be. I'm much happier to be swimming towards my goals, kicking ass and taking names.

To wrap this up, here's a quick tip: if you want to be taken more seriously by your boss/elders/peers, try cutting back on this word. Immediate results are guaranteed.

I'm really excited to announce the release of my second album, Soulstice. This disc showcases my love of electronica, world music, and the 80's... it's full of dark, brooding beautiful tunes, and I love it. I hope you will too.

You can preview the tracks using the music player to the right, and you can download them from iTunes, CD Baby or MySpace. The whole album is a mere $7.00, so check it out.

Quick hint: Unless you're a hardcore iTunes user, CD Baby is probably your best bet for downloading the tracks easily. Their shopping cart is quick and clean, and you get a zip file with all of the tracks plus a high res image of the cover art!

Friday, 3/14/08
The Paradise Lounge (left door)
967 Comm Ave.
Boston, MA
8:30PM, 21+
$12, $10 in advance

*Other acts on the bill are:
Cahill, Adam Payne, and Hillary McRae.

Now listen, I’ll be the first to admit that when you need to relieve yourself, there's nothing less appealing than walking up to a crowded wall of dudes and whipping out your pecker. It sucks. Yes, occasionally there will be little dividers in between the urinals which help to ease the tension, but that luxury is only found in “high class” bathrooms at fancy restaurants and hotels. At your standard office or municipal building, if you need to relieve yourself, it’s shoulder-brushing time.

That said, there's an entire cast of characters to be found along the bathroom wall, and their idiosyncrasies never cease to amaze me. If you're a guy, you know exactly what I'm talking about... and if you're a girl, I swear to God that every word you're about to read is true. The following “urinal styles” are being described exactly as I’ve seen them, time and time again:

The Spitter
This is the guy who walks in, usually at some unnecessarily high speed, and has to spit in the urinal before he gets started. Often times, he'll make sure to spend a few seconds coughing up something particularly nasty, too. Lovely. Current theories dictate that The Spitter's habits developed through a recognition of the urinal as a "dirty" object. And what do you do to dirty things? You spit on them, of course.

Whatever the reason, there's nothing more skeezy than listening to one of these turds hack up some phlegm while your privates are exposed. After he's done, he'll usually spit in the urinal again, flush it, then fly out the door at the same breakneck pace. I can imagine this guy at work, probably on the stock room floor or some other high stress job, spitting into the trash can and then scurrying away. Total weirdo. I mean look, I understand that spitting is very sophisticated display of behavior in and of itself, but please save us the pleasantries. You're not in the dugout, you're just taking a piss. The leaking urinals mounted on the wall are dirty enough without you pretending to be a trucker.

The Astronomer
The Astronomer usually approaches the urinal much more cautiously than The Spitter, then proceeds to stare straight up the entire time. And I don't mean head tilted slightly up, eyes looking in the general direction of the upper wall. I'm talking flip-top head, 90 degrees straight up at the ceiling. I can only assume that this behavior stems from the desire to not look at anyone else's babymaker by accident. While I appreciate the sentiment, this guy overplays the obviousness of his gesture. So you're looking at the ceiling because you don't want to see my penis? Why, did you notice it on the way in? Fighting off some urges right now? Homo.

The Leaner (aka Dr. Dirty Arms)
This is one of the dirtier characters that will line up next to you at the wall. Usually an older gentleman, The Leaner either places his hand on the wall, far above his head (as if opening a heavy door) or places his entire forearm on the wall just above the urinal. He then proceeds to lean into the urinal while relieving himself.

Now I'm no janitor, but my intuition tells me that the public bathroom wall just above a row of urinals is not the cleanest surface in the world. In fact, I can imagine that as people relieve themselves into the urinals, that tiny particles of urine probably bounce off of the porcelain and end up somewhere on that wall (piss ricochet). Call me a hypochondriac, but I don't see the point in dipping your hands and forearms into the combined pee of about 100 other guys. Luckily, The Leaners seem to be more apt to wash their hands than The Spitters or The Astronomers. Perhaps they have some small amount of intuition about the cleanliness of that wall, nonetheless I'm amazed every time I see one of these dirtballs.

All cleanliness aside, I just don't understand the need to lean in the first place. Is this going to be such a violent piss that you need to brace yourself? Are you attempting to make love to the urinal, secretly hoping that your hand and/or forearm will slip and your weight will trust you into your pensive porcelain lover? Like I said, The Leaner is one of the dirtiest dudes in the bathroom, and is also the most likely to whack out a fart while he's standing there next to you. Nice. I'll keep that one with me for the rest of the day, thanks buddy.

The Pregnant Man
We’ve all seen extremely pregnant women before. After nine months and seven days, they’re ready to pop, and their backs are permanently arched from the weight in their bellies. As a result, they constantly keep one hand on their lower back/hip at all times. A familiar picture, no?

Now imagine it’s a dude taking a leak.

One hand aiming, the other proudly on hip, The “Pregnant” Man acts as if he’s Superman in flight in front of the urinal. The PM not only believes that there’s plenty of space in between urinals, but also that it’s okay for his elbow to make contact with the rest of his compatriots. Some scholars believe that the positioning of the hand on the lower back/hip aides in balance, but personally, I think the PM enjoys striking a “scolding” posture in front of the urinal. You naughty urinal, you’ve been bad, haven’t you.

The Crowder
This guy will fly up to the urinal and get right in there- I mean RIIIIGHT in there, arms touching the sides, the whole nine yards. He's obviously very concerned with anyone looking at his rabbit, and is determined to hide it from the world at any sanitary cost. Not only does The Crowder have no problem making contact with the urinal itself, he obviously doesn't take piss ricochet into account. At a distance of only a few inches, this guy is bound to cover himself in his own filth, neck to navel. There's not enough Tide in the entire world to completely clean his clothes, and he tends to be perpetually single. I wonder why.

The Talker
Those poor, poor homeschooled kids. Thrust suddenly into the public system halfway through high school, they could always be counted on to wear the most embarrassing outfits, tell jokes without punchlines, and openly say things like "my mom thinks I'm handsome". And then they grow up, walk into public bathrooms, and strike up conversations with complete strangers.

Look, I'm sure you're harmless, but out here in the real world we don't hold hands while our dicks are hanging out. In fact, even my best buddy and I know that if we're engrossed in conversation as we enter the bathroom, the talking is more or less put on hold until we're out by the sinks. For God's sake, let us enjoy what little facade of privacy exists in the world of urinals. Don't go wrecking it with your socially retarded desire to make new pals in odd places.

Nobody strikes up conversations in the middle of a movie theater, or starts openly talking during a funeral. The urinal is the same way. The rest of the world would like to pee in peace, so unless there's a raging fire or a swarm of killer bees descending upon the bathroom, there's no reason for me to "get to know you".

So there you have it. These guys really do exist, and I really will have to stand next to one of them at some point this month. I’m proud to say that when I use a men’s restroom, I pretty much look straight ahead, do my business, and leave. Maybe I glance down once or twice to make sure everything's ending up in the right place. But that's it. In fact, that's pretty much it for most guys. The characters I've described above are definitely in the minority, but if you're a dude, you've no doubt run into each and every one of them on more than one occasion. And if after reading this you realize that you're a Spitter, Astronomer, Leaner, Pregnant Man, Crowder or Talker, by all means please post a comment. The well-adjusted populations of the world are dying to hear your story.

Now, before you start swinging your fists, and proclaiming that I'm a jaded miser, take a second to listen to my theory. I'm not saying that romantic love is any less special or meaningful. I'm just saying that, by definition, it's conditional.

First of all, it's important to free yourself from the idea that unconditional love is somehow better, deeper, or more meaningful than conditional love. It's not. The two are simply different "flavors" or the same thing. To rate one as better than the other would be like saying that the color blue is superior to green, or that golden retrievers make better pets than black labs.

That said, there IS a difference between the two. Unconditional love is what exists between parents and their children. You don't "choose" who your children will turn out to be. If your child grows up to become a rapist and a murderer, as their parent you will still love them. It's unconditional.

Conversely, we DO choose the types of people with whom we get romantically involved. We fall in love based on the quality of someone's character, their values, and their personality traits. In other words, these are all CONDITIONS that need to be met in order for us to feel that romantic love. The simple fact that we're selective about whom we marry is a testament to the idea that there are conditions involved. The idea that "the one" exists (or at the very least, that there's a small group of people with whom you'd get along very well) speaks volumes.

I'm going to further prove my point. Picture your perfect man/woman. Not just physically, but personally. What are they like? Sweet? Honest? Caring? Loyal? Now picture someone whom you find to be personally revolting. What words would you use to describe them? Rude? Hurtful? Insincere? Let's say you married the first person, but over the years, and through a series of traumatic events, they became more like the second person. Would you still feel the same way about them, even if they were, quite literally a "different person"? Really think about this. Chances are you wouldn't feel the same.

Like I said, romantic love is conditional. And that's okay. It doesn't mean it's any less deep or meaningful than unconditional love. It's just different.

And I mean, really, do you want to love your wife/husband/boyfriend/girlfriend the same way you love your mom, dad, brother or sister? That's kinda gross.