As a slinked through the streets of the Quarter, and into the Treme, I walked past the scores of bright eyed, coffee infused tourists happily snapping away photos of everything in sight. Tour guides rolled past on lame Segways, while others commanded packs of fat assed, pig fucking, slack jawed mom’s and dad’s dragging their non interested kids around as they guffawed in unison when their guide would explain the violent, and insane history of the Quarter, on foot, and in epic detail. While the kids dreamed of underage drinking, and seeing real, live boobs, the mom’s and dads hoped for the best attempt at teaching them about culture considering the piles of rocks of a town they likely spawned from was marginally entertaining outside of the stop light, and the McDonalds parking lot where everyone hung out.
life is short in spite of your plans so, tell the girls they’re pretty while you can one day they’re gone and all you got left is some empty bottles and an old country song that plays on and on
i wasted my time with these cigarettes and these ashes all i’ve got left wash this old town nothings left for me washed down stream into the sea this big ol’ river will kill us in time ‘til then we’ll drink it’s weight in cheap beer and wine we can drink just as fast as the river is strong and we’ll drink ‘til we’re gone. we’ll drink ‘til we’re gone.
life is short in spite of your plans so, tell the girls they’re pretty while you can one day they’re gone and all you got left is some empty bottles and an old country song this big ol’ river will kill us in time ‘til then we’ll drink it’s weight in cheap beer and wine we can drink just as fast as the river is strong and we’ll drink ‘til we’re gone. we’ll drink ‘til we’re gone
Snippet, that is scarily too much like real life...at least mine...
“I need the ring. I want to be someone’s WIFE, Clint. I want the kids, the house. I need that. I am going crazy seeing my sister, and her Mongoloid husband making all of these arrangements that I wish we were making. We could do it cheap. We could do it, for next to nothing. I know of a million really neat little stories of people who had great weddings, one a shoe string budget. Seeing my best friends all knock down, one after another is killing me. I swear to god, you are going to drive me into the crazy house if we don’t start making some real progress here. I don’t want to be the old lady with the cats. I want a little old man to love when I am a little old lady. Clint, I need you to be my little old man.”
At this moment, I am flustered with crazy. Trying to difuse such an insane bomb will take the proper litigation, trying to prove my innocence within the situation of my girlfriend’s mental health about to explode. My relationship bomb squad gear is on, and as I’m trying to tiptoe through the minefields, I am trying my damnedest to not set another flip out.
“Baby, why are you freaking out? I love you. We’re getting there. You know as well as I do that the relationship, and soon to be sham marriage that your sister is apart of is going to end like the nastiest car wreck, ever. C’mon. Why would you compare our genuine love, to something like that? She’s like what? 25, and he’s like 38? That’s never going to work. He was married before, and has a kid! How is she gonna really handle that when she wants a baby of her own, and he’s washing his hands saying the well is dry? We’re slowly climbing a hill. I don’t give a damn what your friends are doing, and whom they’re marring. I’m not them, nor am I in a race to get to the rest of my life. We’re working on our thing down here with the rest of the world, and I am damn happy to be sharing that love with a wonderful woman.”
See what I did there? Take situation, turn it around, and blame the sisters false happiness on the problems of the married world. I then compacted the blows with adoration, and playful admissions to her beauty. Three easy steps the male should execute to calm the savage ovary driven beast; I now waited to see what level of success I will be met with.
“See!” She hollered like a drunken sea captain. I knew this would not be good.
“ You don’t fucking care. I want to see my sister happy. I know her relationship isn’t perfect, but they’re at least trying-
“Fuck trying.” I said, ready to ditch the boxing gloves and lay this bitch out with a verbal haymaker. “Your sister is marrying a retard. The guy is a moron, he’s old as hell, and they’re going to fail. I’m gonna waste a whole weekend of my life going to the stupid wedding, pretending that I’m excited about a marriage that you, and I both know will fail. I don’t want to be that guy. I want to get married once to the woman who will lie next to my corpse forever, and ever. If I don’t want to sprint down the aisle, because forever is a long fucking time, my dear, excuse me for giving a flying fuck about what I am going to do about my own fucking life. I could give a shit less who, or what your friends are screwing, or getting married to. I do not care, and never will. As far as my interest goes, it’s miniscule, at best. So please, spare me the girlish details, that I promise you I seriously could give a flying fuck about. If there were a scale, you’d be shocked to see how little it moved. So cool it on this marriage shit, before you see me shuffle my little, late night bartender ass the fuck out of the door, and into someone else’s arms. I’m done, I’m out, and going to sleep. All I wanted was a little sex, and I got a fucking fight.”
Metal is everywhere in pop culture. It’s hidden away in places we don’t even realize. From cartoons to reality shows, we’re there, and now, more than ever the popularity is accepted from the mainstream. In the spirit of finding metal in the oddest places, imagine if The Muppets could scream and circle pit alongside fat, sweaty dudes in Misfits t-shirts.
These are the most metal Muppets and who their musical counterparts would be:
Kermit the frog – Metallica
Kermit is the one Muppet everyone in the world knows. Who doesn’t know Kermit? He is the symbol of Muppet-dom (I think I just created a word). Just like Metallica are the gateway band for many, into metal. Everyone knows them. By this point, their music is so vanilla to most people; you can get away with playing it pretty much anywhere. While some may love Kermit, most just kinda like him for trivial purposes. Just like putting on an old Metallica record at a party. It may not be the first choice, but most of the time no one will complain about “And justice for all”. No one ever complains about Kermit.
Gonzo – Mr. Bungle
Gonzo is unique. He has a weird nose, loves to bang chickens and turns into a superhero on occasion. He can drive a car, tap dances in oatmeal and can catch cannonballs. Up until Muppets in space when we never knew he was an alien, Gonzo was always listed as a “whatever”. Mr. Bungle could be considered along a lot of the same lines. The music goes from Disco funk death metal to punk opera. Mike Patton practically bangs the crowd and has stuck a live television camera down his pants and shown a festival audience in Australia his ding-a-ling. I think he’s not too far off from banging a chicken. I mean, have you not heard “Girls of porn?”
Rowlf the dog – Between the buried and me
Rowlf can inspire us with playing everything from boogie-woogie to Mozart on the piano all while being the voice of reason for the Muppet cast. He has played the Fur Elise and has sung with Tom Waits. He is a dog of many talents. Aside from playing piano, he plays a doctor, as well. Rowlf is a hard to pin down. He is so much more than a furry Schroeder of the Muppet world. Between the buried and me are the band that defy labels and continually push the boundaries of art with their themed tours and albums as concept pieces. Rowlf could certainly duet with Tommy Rogers on “I hate onions”, his finest song.
Dr. Teeth – Marilyn Manson
A gold toothed, pimp weirdo who fronts a band with a crack head on drums, a dude who looks like he’s homeless on the guitar. His bass player is a chick that, like Gonzo defies logic. The band’s name is “The electric mayhem”, they have a song called “Love you to death” and lyrics are seriously “I’m gonna explode an atom bomb on your soul”. This is so not for kids! If you’re going to have a Muppet band, Dr. Teeth is one step off from cutting himself and spiting on people while wearing a ball gag in his mouth, in the most friendly, Disneylike way possible.
Sweetums – Slayer
If there is one thing in this world I know, it’s loaded metal dudes love to scream one thing: The ubiquitous cry of “SLLLLAAYYYERR” at any moment possible. Give someone a reason to shout it and they will. Sweetums barrels into rooms like an overgrown gorilla-man and pretty much destroys everything in his wake, even if it’s unintentional. If Slayer ever was one thing it’s brutal and Sweetums for sure, is brutal.
Fozzie Bear – Skeletonwitch
Fozzie is corny but charming and has a generous heart. He tells terrible jokes but looks fantastic in a set of glasses with a mustache. Skeletonwitch have lots of fans because they’re over the top and totally play into metal clichés. They embrace the trivialities of the scene and exploit them just as Fozzie loves to use puns to lure Kermit into lame jokes.
The Swedish Chef – Obituary
I have no idea what the hell The Swedish Chef says apart from “BORK BORK!” This is almost as much as I have ever been able to discern anything John Tardy sings.
Uncle Deadly – Dimmu Borgir
If you’re going to have someone be known as “the phantom of the Muppet show” and make their first appearance with Vincent Price, you’ve gotta call him Uncle Deadly. He’s scaly and blue and looks somewhat like a dragon. This all sounds remarkably similar to the dudes in Dimmu Borgir. Shagrath would pee his pants if he got to hang out with Vincent Price. Mr. Price was metal before Ozzy could wipe himself. Ozzy’s been on the Muppet show but he never hung out with Uncle Deadly. He got the shaft and sang with Miss Piggy.
Clifford – Candiria
Clifford is slightly humanoid with a face of a catfish and purple dread locks. He looks like he smokes serious weed. Candiria was a group of dudes who smoked serious weed and wrote improvised jazz-metal. In his early appearances, Clifford spoke about the environment and evolution. Both are topics covered vastly in Candiria’s music. Clifford likes to be spanked and was the Muppet house’s “Authority on all things cool”. Candiria wrote one of the best hardcore records ever with “ The process of self development” and had Clifford been available, I’m sure he’d of bought a bag of purp and got down on some bass tracks.
Scooter – Glassjaw
Being the dorky guy around the office doesn’t exactly get you laid, but being the dorky guy who totally loses his composure when people aren’t doing their jobs is a completely differenent plot. Scooter is beyond nerdy in his members only jacket and rimmed glasses. No one talks to him unless they want something. This is the exact mentality that creates bands like Glassjaw. Four dudes who really, genuinely hate life and play with absolute monstrous talent because no one was calling on Friday’s, so they got extremely proficient at their guitars. On Muppet babies, Scooter is a gifted computer geek who is the problem solver of the nursery. There is a fair chance this was on tv a lot while the members of Glassjaw were developing into the malcontents who wrote “Siberian Kiss” because honestly, you have to be pretty dorky yourself to get some of stuff going on inside Daryl Palumbo’s head.
Rizzo the rat – Madball
Come on, this was too easy! Wacka wacka wacka!
Animal – Pantera
Crazy furry thing destroys everything in sight and I am willing to bet off the camera’s he’s a total Jagermeister drinking crazy- thing who sleeps with anything that says yes. If you’ve ever seen a Pantera home video, I’m sure you could imagine Animal destroying a dressing room to “I’m broken” right alongside Vinnie Paul and Dimebag. Pantera was in a Spongebob square pants episode. I think Animal and The cowboys from hell could have partied.
Dr. Bunsen Honeydew – The Dillinger escape plan
Dillinger, like the good doctor, create riffs that defy logic and time patterns that leave the listener flustered. Dr. Honeydew is the resident scientist in the Muppet universe and puts his assistant beaker through an array of horrid experiments where he basically, kills him. This is pretty close to what Ben Weinmen does when he presents a new song to his band mates. One would assume he plays a few riffs, and they groan knowing their hands will fall off.
Lew Zealand – The Melvins
Lew is the guy who throws fish and lives for anything with fish. That’s weird. The Melvins are the weirdest musical dudes there are. I don’t think they even know how many albums they have out at this point. If there ever was a Muppet to relate to a band with songs such as “Sqeetis” or “Honey Bucket” I’d say it was Lew Zealand.
Crazy Harry – Slipknot
Take a charming psycho who screws with the Muppets electric, plays triangle in the pit band and has a passion for bomb building. Throw a mask on the guy and you think he could be beating a drum behind “The Clown”.
Waldorf and Stattler – Robert Dean & misc partner
Two old, salty bastards who make fun of everything while being highly intelligent with their snarky comments. Sounds a lot of like most of us geeks who live and die by heavy metal. If you’re gonna write about guys who spit fire or set world records by how much they can head bang, you have to have a sense of humor.
Got a dick load of writing done this week. Two pieces for the Quarter Rat. Two pieces for www.truthaboutmusic.com, managed a few new places to submit my novel to. I need to get some cash together so I can get my podcast off the ground in the next two weeks, as well. On to working further on my novella. When that’s finished, I will begin editing “Burial”.
I did get a very nice email from a publisher this week, at least.
Lil Wayne is about to get bitch slapped via me, courtesy of TAM.
Tomorrow (tonight) is metal night, and I plan on getting wrecked drunk, and into as much trouble as is legally allowed.
Still haven’t heard back about the tv show. Hope that happens, cause America ain’t ready for me.
Be really attractive. Your acne is gone, your face has matured without having wrinkles and everything on your body is lifted naturally. Eat bagels seven days a week, binge-drink and do drugs: you’ll still look like a babe. When you turn thirty, it’ll become a different story but that’s, like, not for a really long time.
Reestablish a relationship with your parents. You don’t live with them anymore (hopefully) so start to appreciate them as human beings with thoughts, flaws and feelings rather than soulless life ruiners who won’t let you borrow their car.
Go from eating delicious food at your parents’ house to eating Ragu tomato sauce over Barilla noodles. Develop an eating disorder to save money.
Move into an apartment on the corner of Overpriced and Dangerous. Sleep on a bare mattress with an Ikea comforter. Your mother talks to you about buying a top sheet and a duvet cover but feel like you’re not mature enough to own something called “duvet.”
Read the New York Times piece, “What Is It About 20-Somethings?” Feel exposed and humiliated. Share it on your Facebook with the caption: “Um….” Your friends will comment “Too real” and that will be the end of that.
Work at a coffee shop but feel hopeful about your career in advertising, writing, whatever. Remember that you’re young and that the world is your oyster. Everything is possible, you still have so much to see and hear. You went to a good school and did good things. Figure if you’re not going to be successful, who the hell is?
Date people who you know you’ll never be able to love. See someone for three months for no other reason than because it’s winter and you want to keep warm by holding another body. Date a Republican just so you can say you dated a Republican.
Eventually all these nobodies will make you crave a somebody. Have a real relationship with someone. Go on vacations together, exchange house keys, cry in their arms after a demoralizing day at work. Think about marrying them and maybe even get engaged. Regardless of the outcome, feel proud of yourself for being able to love someone in a healthy way.
Start your twenties with a lot of friends and leave with a few good ones. What happened? People faded away into their careers and relationships. Fights were had and never resolved. Shit happens.
Think of yourself at twenty and hanging out with people who didn’t mean a thing to you. Think about writing papers, about being promiscuous, about trying new things. Think of yourself now and your face looking different and your body feeling different and how everything is just different.
Form the habits that will stick with you forever. Drink your coffee with two sugars and skim milk every morning. Buy a magazine every Friday. Enjoy spending money on candles, smoke pot on Saturdays, watch the television before bed.
Move into a bigger apartment on the corner of Mature and Gentrification and finally buy a duvet cover. Limit your drug-use. If you find yourself unable to do so, start to wonder if you have a problem.
Have your parents come to your place for Christmas. Set the table, make the ham, wear a sophisticated outfit, This will all mean so much at the time.
Think about having children when you stop acting like a child. This may not ever happen.
Maybe this is assuming too much. Maybe this is generalizing. Maybe society uses age as an unrealistic marker for growth. Maybe. Still feel the anxiety on your 30th birthday and think to yourself, “Oh shit, I’m no longer a 20-something.”
Robert Dean is a freelance writer, author, poet from New Orleans, LA. Born on the Southside of Chicago in 1981, he studied English and writing throughout his formative school career but never considered it something more than a hobby. After taking a compositional writing class his senior year of high school and meeting a teacher that changed his perspective on the art, he decided to take up writing as a career, for better or worse.
Graduating with top honors from the Chicago center of broadcasting, he learned the journalism side of writing. While the other students were busy getting ready to look good on camera, he was too busy reading books.
Dean has worked for NBC, ABC, The Michiana Entertainer, and has had freelance pieces published in online journals and has also has contributed to various independent zines that have came and gone throughout the years.
Currently, he is a contributor to Truthaboutmusic.com and yourteamreallysucks.com.
He has also written for the world-renowned Offbeat music magazine and has gotten to write about and interview some of the most exciting musicians to come out of New Orleans. He also writes for the Quarter Rat, an insider magazine for the service industry of the French Quarter.
Leaving Chicago to pursue his writing career, Dean moved to Louisiana to seek out new ways to expand his mind and dive into a life where fiction meets reality. Since the move, he’s written a full length novel titled “In the arms of nightmares” that is currently being shopped for publication and is writing a second novel along with continuing work on his collection of short stories titled “The snakes in the garden.” His story “Blue Eyeliner” has been published in Open Heart Press’s “An Honest Lie”. He’s also written everything from stories to bad music reviews in the punk rock zines that have came and gone from coast to coast.
The more creative spelling of your child’s name, the clearer indication that the parent, is in fact an idiot. Lots of vowels does not make your child special. Naming your kid after a possession, or car does nothing but set the cultural standard for a sub par existence imprecated by audacity of the parent to make their child “special”. I have never met a success woman named “Mercedes” in 30 years.
By giving your child a name with ridiculous connotations that will only lead to them swinging on a pole, why do it in the first place? There is nothing wrong with a tried and true name like Nicky, Vinnie, Joey…etc. Those are names of dudes you can trust. Someone with the name Graeysin, is not. He sounds like a pussy from the get go. Street fight breaks out, Vinnie’s the guy smashing the bottle and lunging at a face. Greaysin has already pissed his pants because his mother is a half wit who said FUCK YOU, the minute the poor bastard popped out of her doggy door.
I’ve found myself doing something that my great grandmother used to do. When I have leftovers that have gone bad, or a bit of something that isn’t enough to eat, I throw them outside in the lot next to my house for the neighborhood animals. When I was a kid, my Nana used to throw bits of bread that went stale ( i did this tonight) out for the birds, and squirrels. I laughed as I thought about it. It made me feel good to know that was passed on, as silly as it is.
I can’t be the only person who, even though their life is good, feel trapped sometimes. I feel like a foot is slowly coming down over my neck, and the air is slowly escaping. It’s not a daily feeling, it’s a bigger universe feeling. It’s a feeling that I get when I think about being 30, and where my life is going. I need to make some fireworks happen. To become someone bigger, better.
Someone with a career that is bulletproof, and the world cannot stop. I like being a dj, and my bosses are very accommodating to my needs as a person, which is invaluable to a productive work place. I’m just getting scared I’ve peaked as a person. I need to stoke the internal fire. I do not wish to dance in the ashes of a life of what could have been.
I get my Hank Williams tattoo on my left wrist that I’ve been wanting for years. MEGA psyched on this. You have no idea. I know I should take pictures of all of my tattoos, but honestly I’m too lazy to do so. Everyone is always asking for pictures of the sleeve. Maybe after Tuesday, I will.
People with bad taste in music, or no opinion on music are the kinds of people I cannot deal with. Music moves everything. It’s the soundtrack from love to struggle. I base people’s entire worth on what media they like. Call it shallow, but it’s true. These things matter. Imagine trying to relate to someone who didn’t have a favorite Beatle, or couldn’t really grasp the gravity of who’s better, Blur or Oasis? Or had no opinion on Johnny Cash. What would you do if you were trapped in a car, or room with someone who ONLY liked what was played on the radio, and only liked “fun” music. What if you met someone who didn’t own music, and they said they had no time for it, and preferred to talk about law, or politics with no sense of humor. These are the kinds of things that keep people up all night.