Hear me baby hold together, fanboy.

Some say it's best if you never meet your idols, lest you be disappointed. I've met several of mine in various states of being...usually in the mindset of staying consciously aware of myself enough not to fanboy out on them. Lucky for me the few times I really have the people have been gracious as fuck.

Tonight I'm seeing the band forgetters. Through my young adult life I've been something of a Jawbreaker and Jets to Brazil fan and I never got to see either. Blake's new band is now playing in such a setting where I'm almost certain a level of closeness I'm not sure I trust my inner fanboy not to lose his shit in. I'm generally a pretty boundary-less person so this will require exercising maximum self control to keep cool. Mega pumped for the show no matter what happens... I'll keep y'all updated. Ha. I'll fix the formatting later.

UPDATE

You know what? I'm not going to fuck with the format. All I can say is that the dude was fucking awesome. He doesn't do pictures with fans anymore but he offered up a hug and was nothing but charming as fuck. Best dude ever. The show was great.  I didn't TOTALLY fanboy out but I gave more than a few heavy compliments. Great band and great folks. Buy their record, see them. Do all that.

I wish I had bought a button. Unfortunately I'm an idiot and I didn't.

The end.

I Went to a Ratchet Party

I asked my guides for a definition of “ratchet” several times, but never understood it until I experienced it. I was told there would be drink, smoke, loud music, and lovely ladies dancing dirty, all in a location unknown until a few hours before everything kicked off. Intriguing I know, but to me it sounded like some sort of sting operation. I decided to beat traffic to Los Angeles and spend the afternoon awkwardly playing with my phone for a few hours to mentally prepare.

I did not imbibe. After all, this was my introduction to what cool people do and I didn’t want to fuck it up. Some of the ladies in our expedition stopped at the corner store to buy small cans of sake to smuggle in. As the sun went down, we finally got an email with the address. It was a known hangout: a disused warehouse in an industrial part of town. Armed with $10 each and the most modest of fanny packs, we departed.

Security had set up on the sidewalk and were doing a good job of keeping the front of the warehouse looking dark and unremarkable. The females of the expedition did not pay their entry or stop at the door, but the males were pat down before being ushered down a twisting, crowded bottleneck of an entryway. My inner self, speaking in the voice of a gruff fire marshall, wondered how many partiers would get trampled in an emergency. Most of the debris was kicked into the corners, and most of the wires and pipes were out of reach, but this didn’t appear to be intentional.

But the beats were loud enough to shake the exposed rafters. A rotating cast of women danced on a shoddy plywood stage surrounded by imitators and admirers.  Two or three DJs stood behind, spinning 2 Chainz and other possibly-satirical rap mingled with textural EDM. The crowd was largely college-aged, attractive, and very reflective of LA’s ethnic and stylistic diversity. Even auptight blogger in running shoes didn’t look out of place. It felt like the only thing we all had in common was our willingness to show up to a poorly-planned party in this part of town.

The security was thick, but they all had a Rottweiler-esque fixation on watching for confrontation. Indeed, the sake was passed around openly, and there was enough smoke for the flashing lasers to get trapped in sticky clouds floating over our heads. We had to step over a tangle of unrestrained cables (safety first!) and navigate past hastily-constructed barriers to get behind the main event, where the crowd jostled directly with the DJs and girls. A conservatively-dressed man concentrating on a tangle of audio equipment ignored the beamingly proud woman who began to grind on him.

My girlfriends were invited on-stage to briefly twerk to the music. I stood in my corner with some guys who looked like landscapers and thought about the definition of “ratchet”, which at this point seemed more of a superlative than anything. A metaphor did come to mind, but it had something to do with socket wrenches, so I pushed it aside.

The mood evolved with the beat. The dancing became less spastic and more sensual, though it still took place on all elevated plywood surfaces in the place. Twitter-length conversations were shouted into ears. I lost all concept of time, and then when the house lights came on, people obediently began to filter out. We were some of the last of them, and even the sidewalk crowd had thinned as people stepped over broken pallets and trash to their cars, packed in tight LA fashion for a few blocks.

By the time we were waited in the car for our driver, deafly reflecting on the night, it was well after last call. My metaphor returned: ratchet. Turn it one way, it noisily gives way, turn it the other, it locks. The shaking asses, dilapidated structure, and skunky smell seemed completely unrestrained, but a Californian serenity accompanied it. Ratchet felt like unidirectional, focused craziness, and tightening nuts and bolts never felt so good.

Free Lunches, Education, and Bahasa Indonesia

In my culture, everything is commoditized. We buy a lot of bottled water here in the US for a country with clean water from the tap. We’re constantly advertised to and told we need things, and that consumerism has spread to education. It isn’t just for-profit colleges that are guilty: even a state-funded university costs too fucking much to get through without some sort of financial aid. Huge libraries and sports programs are examples of universities spending on things to increase prestige or attract students, which makes us sound more like customers than anything.

Education costs are going up even though employers are complaining about the quality of grads. Too many grads need to intern to find work at all after dumping cash into a university education, which must really feel like paying the Pied Piper. Some say our country needs to revamp education. I agree.

But if the times are a’changin’, it makes more sense for that change to start with students.To that end I’m looking for cheap, easy ways to learn Bahasa Indonesia on my own. From the wiki:

Indonesian (Bahasa Indonesia) is the official language of Indonesia. It is a standardized register of Malay, an Austronesian language which has been used as a lingua franca in the Indonesian archipelago for centuries. Indonesia is the fourth most populous nation in the world. Of its large population, the number of people who speak Indonesian fluently is fast approaching 100%, making Indonesian one of the most widely spoken languages in the world.

So here’s something else commoditized: language learning. Rosetta Stone makes a software, but they’re also selling a yellow box with a DVD in it: a physical and financial sacrifice to the gods of language and travel. Some of us, myself included, need some sort of tangible commitment to make that soulless consumer part of our brain shut up. I had Rosetta Stone in the military and I hated it, so I threw some money at Pimsleur. I also bought a white board and a small phrasebook, but that’s it, I swear. I’m not trying to spend money on things other than beer.

Lucky for everyone, educational resources have become dirt cheap to free everywhere but the campus bookstore. Free resources like Anki, Babbel, and Livemocha are more than enough to get started learning a language. Forums like Reddit’s /r/languagelearning catalogue the resources and answer any other questions wikipedia can’t.

And here’s what your high school guidance counselor might not tell you: you’re gonna be poor, and you’re not going to want to buy the APA style guide for English 101. When I needed formatting help, I Googled “apa paper format” and the top result was always that Purdue website that explains it. I plead guilty to doing homework on my smartphone. I’m a vulture picking at the skeletons of primary sources, yet I’m a well-fed vulture.

To learn Bahasa Indonesia in a classroom with a teacher and a textbook, I’d have to transfer to a university. I’d have to drive about an hour every day, or move, and still shell out $700 a semester. I’d have to start giving a shit about things that aren’t learning. And I guess I don’t see the point in that.

There are no free lunches, but man does not live by bread alone.

I Went to a Juggalo Party

I went to a Juggalo Party. On purpose actually.

What I was certain of was that I'd be uncomfortable. What I wasn't certain of was what I would see. I expected a lot of creepy facepaint, ICP/Kottonmouth Kings/Twiztid shirts. Hatchetmen as far as the eye could see. Kind of went into it with a dickish, judging mentality. Admittedly so.

The reason I went WAS all the uncertainty. My in was that my friends' band was playing there.

I figured if any crowd of folks could handle my MS Paint created self made iron on SKULL FUCKER shirt it would have to be a bunch of wicked clowns, so I dressed accordingly.

On arrival we were carded at the door which was already a bit weird. Some loud hip hop was blaring from the basement. So I went down there and a guy I can only say perfectly fits the description of Lil Kev from the episode of It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia "Dee is Dating a Retarded Person" is tearing shit up. He's wearing a lime green jersey of a sort, football if my memory serves me, and a backwards visor. Dead ringer for Lil Kev.

Mere minutes passed when I decided I wanted to hit up the wop that was promised...and they fucking delivered. Grab a cup, start boozing. I didn't drive so I figured to booze hard.

At one point when I took my hoodie off an acquaintance said I may wanna be careful with my T-shirt, displaying a guy shoving his cartoon dick into the eye socket of a skull in his hands--there was a girl with one eye at the party. My first thought was that he was fucking with me and my second thought was...even if there IS a fucking one eyed girl the odds of her having lost her eye in a dick related incident had to be extremely low. When I went upstairs to see if the pizza also promised in the event description was there I not only saw the girl with one eye, I saw that there was no pizza. Bummer, I guess. One eyed chick. Righteous.

So we spent the night parting with these folks who were all pretty rad. A guy with a cleaver hanging on his chain wallet may have been the weirdest thing about these folks besides one eyed girl. In any event the show went off without a hitch. A few of us sat behind the bar reaching into a giant box of gumballs there to fill the many gumball machines the host had in his basement, throwing them over the drummer's head into the middle of the room. As they fell to the floor they'd roll until they were crushed or hit something.

By nights end the wop was gone and I was plowed but it wasn't enough. Filling a cup with fruit from the wop jug I went to down on really boozy, not so tasty fruit.

The show promised much female nudity. While it was largely a sausage fest, something the event description explicitly stated was unfavorable, it did actually deliver female nudity. My friends did shots off a larger set Juggalette's tits...and best of all...designated "Titty Commander" brought all the females out for quite possibly the sleaziest most ridiculous Titty Competition ever. Cyclops and about 5 other women all bared their breasts to a small crowd of cheering retards (let's be honest--in this moment we were all being absolutely retarded) and some even got Faygo showered.

By the end of the night people were lazing about and I grabbed the mic for a freestyle sesh with some friends taking up drums and it went downhill and I stupidly decided to run jokes on the 10 people left in the basement. I got a few laughs but it was mostly a horrendous idea. I spent the last 15 minutes in the house trying to get one girl to share in some c-c-c-co-caaaaaiiiiiiine to no avail.

We left, all a little shocked at what a great time we had at the Juggalo Party.

--Gumby

Gay Boy Scouts, Social Dramaturgy, and Name Calling

I don’t frequent the Mormon blog scene, but its probably having some sort of Renaissance. As I've mentioned, Mormonism has a weird track record for institutionalizing divisiveness. It’s been a bigoted organization for most of it’s history. Nowadays, there are tons of thoughtful, highly educated Mormons that are working to change that from the inside. And they’re succeeding, which is pretty cool.

So when a link got posted on Reddit and I started to skim it, I almost spit out the cheap red wine I was drinking. It’s about a Boy Scout that probably isn't going to get his Eagle Scout award because he’s gay. Surely Mormons are a little uptight, but uncaring and cold? This needs investigating.

Thomas Montgomery is an active, believing Mormon who has a gay teenage son. Even the most liberal of men can feel lost in a situation like that, because sexuality is complicated and growing up sucks in any case. Now, Thomas’ son is at the age where he can see institutionalized discrimination, and he’s also in the awkward position where it affects him. This is the part where good dads have have the duty to shuffle the deck a little bit, and Thomas does his due to shuffle ‘em.

The Boy Scouts of America doesn't allow openly gay scouts or openly gay leaders. No, they don’t test you, or double-dog dare you to make out with Molly Mormon under the bleachers, this is an entirely symbolic form of discrimination. You can stay in the club as long as you stay in the closet. I don’t have a problem with closets, I have a problem with forcing kids into them.

But that’s how the Boy Scouts and most Mormons prefer it. You can hang around us, but not the “you” you...the “you” that this environment has made for you. Just be that person we talked about earlier, and everyone will be happy. Anything else upsets the flow we've got going. Being your genuine self brings meaningful discussion, requires me to think critically and empathize with my peers, and tests my openness to experience.

Isn't that what “scouting” is about?

Well, if the BSA discriminates against people because of their sexuality, how could it be about that? I could rag on the BSA all day for this very reason. It’s styled to look like it’s about individual growth, community citizenship and service. Their highest award? You and your parents do some work to earn it, but the real requirement is to pretend to respect god and act like you’re only going to love vagina, eventually, when you’re older.

What really spells success in scouting (or school, or life in general) are more important things, like parenting. My parents encouraged me in scouting or I would have never even showed up. The Montgomerys must encourage their son, or he wouldn't even be even close to the Eagle award. Good parenting, check. But, their son just happens to be both gay and honest. Honesty is only encouraged for straight boys, apparently.

For example, Jordan will have all his qualifications for Eagle within the year.  I have brought up the issue with Boy Scout leaders, our Bishop and our Stake President.  We are met with cool tolerance.  Everyone acknowledges that Jordan has earned and deserves his Eagle and that it would be a tragedy if he were refused (acceptance), but no one is advocating for him (support).

These parents are just trying to raise their kid right, and of course are taking advantage of the built-in community and leadership that Mormon communities put into scouting. That’s just common sense. They also don't want their son to grow up feeling threatened or pigeonholed. And they’re getting a lot of lukewarm responses from Mormons, a people who claim to be the most well-behaved people on earth.

When we link national articles via Facebook and email to family and friends about an issue directly relevant to Jordan, there are no replies of support.  Here and there, some of our “supporters” have asked to not be contacted with such information or at least to be blind copied so as to not be associated with a group that could possibly support such things.

Which brings me to the real issue, which is not Mormonism or Scouting: social dramaturgy. Life is a theatrical production, and you have to act a certain way on-stage or the drama just doesn’t work. On-stage is where most of the action happens, so imagine it to be any conversation where other people are around. Luckily, you also have a backstage area you can decompress, and even invite other actors to hang out or commiserate.That’s sort of like sitting in your room and listening to ABBA. There is a lot more to it than that, but I’m not sure how much is applicable so I’ll get to the point.

If your life’s playwright is Joseph Smith, discussing certain topics is going to anger and confuse the other actors. Asking them to care about something that isn’t in the script is going to raise eyebrows. There just isn’t a part for gay teens in this script. They don’t feel comfortable on stage, so they’re kind of on the fringe, where nobody wants to be. Even though most people don’t have any animosity for outsiders, they aren’t main characters, and they probably never will be.

I’m going to repeat this part, because it really stings:

...some of our “supporters” have asked to not be contacted with such information or at least to be blind copied so as to not be associated with a group that could possibly support such things.

Translation: Some people aren’t just scared of empathizing, they’re scared of other people thinking they empathize with something unpopular. So yeah, send your spam emails about your son as long as my peers can’t see that I’m involved.

Denying yourself sexual enjoyment in life is fine, go for it. I've already talked more shit about Mormons and sexuality than anyone is comfortable with. But scouting isn't about sex: there is nothing in scouting that involves sex. This is about an organization that treats kids badly for how they feel. If I had a gay son, I wouldn't want him to be around other people that systematically exclude him.

So here’s the name-calling. People who are unwilling to step outside the usual dramaturgical everyday existence? Those people are lame. People who do that, but also pretend to follow Jesus Christ, and also distance themselves from an adolescent boy in need of support? Yeah, those people are fucking pussies. Avoid them at all cost.

Do the Girl Scouts have a Boy’s Auxiliary or something? Raising kids is hard enough these days.