Monthly Archive for November, 2008

Black Friday

Let me make this clear: if you got up early on Friday to line up outside some stupid retail hell in order to “score bargains”, you are a moron who deserves to be etched from the tapestry of human experience. If you are reading this and you are one of those people, I strongly recommend you kill yourself immediately. Just find some rope and hang yourself. Really.

In the news today, a WalMart employee was killed when the usual Black Friday stampede trampled over his sorry WalMart ass. In the coming months, we’ll endure all the lawsuits and dodged responsibilities that these events generate. All the while, we will utterly ignore the ignoble, unAmerican, uncivilized idiocy that is Black Friday – the cause of all this garbage. No one will blame stupidity and crass corporate greed for this annual self-humiliation. Instead, we will wonder how we can improve it so next year won’t be so homicidally vapid.

But there is another way. There is the Way of Ted. If you are patient and listen well, I can offer you a chance to enjoy Black Friday with pride, humility and joy. Are you ready? OK. Here we go:

On Thanksgiving Day, enjoy yourself. Stay up late. Eat that piece of pie. Fuck it. Then, on Friday morning, sleep in till noon. That’s right: noon. Ignore the pets/kids/neighbors and whatever. Tell every one and every thing to to go fuck itself. Then, get up slowly and in your own good time. Make some breakfast. French toast is a good choice. Be sure to have some organic juice, too. Not the stuff with the corn syrup. The good stuff.

After breakfast, pay attention to your loved ones and pets. In no time, it’ll be dinner time. Eat out or stay in; doesn’t matter. Then, in the evening, you should watch a movie or have sex with someone. I know you slept in late, but you will feel sleepy again before midnight. I promise. Off to bed with you!

There you go. A picture perfect Black Friday. This is the day after Thanksgiving. Treat it like the day after Thanksgiving.

Bah, HumTurkey!

Well, some of you meddlers have inquired about my plans for the so-called “Thanks-giving” holiday. I can assure you, I won’t be wasting my time with such frivolities as are expected in this day and age, when men can idle themselves in empty reverie. No, I do not respond to the klaxon call of manufactured celebration like the rest of you lay-abouts. Not when there is proper work to be done!

Each Thanks-giving I work late, covering for that shirker Cratchit. At least I’m free of his bumbling excuses and can concentrate on extracting some profit from my meager enterprise. With all the town fools away in their awful little homes, the office is actually quite quiet and amenable to those willing to invest their time in useful pursuits, rather than frittering away their hours in such frivolities as roasted turkey and sport-games.

What are you looking at? Get back to reading the story, damn you!

You can rest assured that something good will come of my efforts; it is by labour that the fruits of life are wrought, and while Cratchit is home with his dour wife and menacing brood, I will be here, in this office, making good on plans well conceived without the help of oafish others!

Come dusk I’ll fix myself a nice bowl of thin gruel, so as not to upset my stomach. As evening draws near, it’s time to head home, where I can relax in my dressing-gown and indulge in a good book, preferably one extolling the virtues of market economics. With a shuffle of feet and heavy sigh, I’ll extinguish my candle and dream away of the riches to come – riches borne of effort and sacrifice! What know you of such things, busy as you are giving thanks to long-forgotten Puritan fools and the barbarians they befriended! Pah! Pish!

So go ahead and enjoy your candied yams and moving-pictures! While your Thursday passes with nigh an indication of any accomplishment whatever, you can be sure that mine has put crowns in my pocket and black ink on the ledger!

That’s all I have for you now, so go away! Off with you! Go on, now! Can’t you see I am working?


Raving Lunatics

Sex and drugs but no rock n’ roll.

I like electronic music. Actually, I like some electronic music. I’m a big fan of the European Chill sound, as well the updated Lounge sound of Europe and the US. I like music that is smoldering, lyrical, melodious and hypnotizing.

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.I’ve been to plenty of clubs and raves. I understand the appeal, even though I don’t dig the scene. It’s a tribal thing. They know the music is canned and repetitive. The DJ’s are gesturing alpha’s with headphones whose musical skills are supplanted by programming skills. The club kids themselves just wanna dance. There’s no musical integrity to be found. But it’s THEIR thing. Older adults, music critics and naysayers can go fuck themselves, because the ravers are having fun. In its own way, this attitude is more rock n’ roll than rock n’ roll.

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I can dig it, even though I don’t like it.

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Thus, this 40-something musical snob found himself volunteering to VJ at a local rave. My company manufactures high end video gear, so I have access to all kinds of cool toys. A local promoter is a friend of mine, so I volunteered my services as a VJ. Why not? I own earplugs.

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I prepared a massive arsenal of content and loaded it into cutting-edge visualization gear. There would be abstract eye-candy, of course. But I also built up some narrative sequences: apocalyptic imagery, sensual imagery and even a complete narrative about the joy of journey and the relief of return. Would it be lost on the club kids? Probably. But I I had to go beyond eye candy.

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This is VJ Culture (Grant Davis), a VJ superstar at work.

At the show, I was bummed to find they only had a mediocre projector and a bare wall for a screen. Not optimal. But the show must go on. I did my thing and had some fun. The kids seemed to like it. When I went outside for some air, not one but TWO local promoters approached me. “Dude! Your visuals RULE! Holy shit! Can you work my party? Here’s a card. Got a card? Oh, man. We really NEED you!”

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Ah, sweet victory! They love me! They really do!

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But yea, the honor is dubious. Ask any VJ: there’s a lot of work and no money in it. Unless you go corporate, you’ll never live off earnings from VJing. The DJ is the star and you are the window dressing. Learn your place. Maggot.

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So I won’t become a big VJ. I am, however soliciting names. Email me with your choices. “VJ Ted” and VJ Retard” are already taken, just so you know.

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Before I go, I leave you with some samples of the kind of electronic music I truly adore: Chill. As you listen to it, try to imagine making love with your sweetie. It’s music made for fucking (languid and sweet), but it’s also melodious and hypnotic; it stands on its own.

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Hooverphonic \”2Wicky\”

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Zero7 \”Home\”

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Morcheeba \”Moog Island\”

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