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Emos And Why I Dislike Them

I’m usually a person that despises discrimination. I’ve spent the better part of my life trying to fight against it for many groups that are in our society: non-white cultures, homosexuals, women, the disabled, the economically disadvantaged and so on.

Though occasionally, a group emerges that I just can’t tolerate. Mostly because they purposefully put themselves in a position that makes other lives harder unnecessarily. Those that dedicate their life to being ’emo’ are a good example of this.

Last night an episode of ‘Talkin’ ‘Bout My Generation’ aired on channel 10. I don’t usually watch it, but it was on – so I did. Everyone was dressed up as an icon of their generation. Comedian Josh Thomas decided to dress as My Chemical Romance lead singer Gerard Way – he tweeted why: “I dressed like Gerard Way because I was asked to dress as a defining person of our generation. I wanted an Emo, because Emo’s are funny”

This lead to an attack of over 30 tweets from identifying ’emo’ @PandorasHitList proving not only why Josh Thomas may have found emo’s funny, but why I vehemently dislike their ‘movement’.

Look, if you like wearing black clothes and eyeliner – I don’t give a shit. And I also want to say to anyone who is having suicidal thoughts or thinks they may be depressed and also identifies as an emo – go and talk to someone about it and get some help. Not from a livejournal community, not from your emo friends – from a professional person or someone you trust. From what I’ve read in these online communities, they’re nothing but a bunch of enablers and cannot help you. This is directed to the people who know they’re just out for some attention:

-You trivialise self harm

-You trivialise suicide

-You trivialise mental illness

The problem with these 3 things is that you add shame to an already difficult subject. It’s ‘the boy who cried wolf’ except you get away having received some attention, but thousands of people actually experiencing these things get eaten by the wolf. Because of your attention whoring, mentally ill and suicidal people sometimes feel that they cannot ask for real help to save their lives because they’ll be shooed away for just trying to get attention like you are. I know and have lived with people who actually are mentally ill. Depression isn’t a case of the puberty blues; depression affects you in ways you can never understand – like not being able to get out of bed.

-You clog up the doctor’s waiting room trying to get your Zoloft prescription

-You drain the resources of school counsellors, charities and your parents for problems that don’t actually exist

-You can’t take a joke… Every time someone even alludes to an emo joke – your world caves in

-You accuse others of being ‘conformist’ while you try to dress, behave, speak, emote and EXIST like every other emo

-You whinge about the world not including or accommodating for you when you go to every effort to isolate yourself from it

-Your music sucks.

-You can’t seem to get over the parts of life that everyone has to go through and deal with (and you feel the need to tell everyone about it)

-You resist getting a job or being educated, even when so many people are trying to provide you with the opportunity to do so

-For the few of you that do get a job, you whine about or refuse to adhere to the dress code (even though everyone else has to)

Your poetry really sucks

-In social company, you think your emotional outbursts are more important than anyone else’s lack of willingness to witness them

 

I prefer Goths – bring back the Goths.

Look I’m sure this is incredibly offensive to anyone who thinks they’re an emo – I’m sorry you feel that way, but these are things that make my life harder. I don’t try to get in your way, why do you want to bring me down? I didn’t do anything to you. Shit happens – please, get the fuck over it. Everyone else has, what makes you so special? Your haircut? No.

Part of my job is to import music into a country radio station. Whoever chose these tracks today obviously really wanted to depress me, because they are all hilariously horrific.

Most are from the 1950s or so and are spoken word, adding the ability to choke mid-lyric. Some are about things you’d expect to happen in life like cheating and betrayal – but a lot of these just make you think “How the fuck were these ever released?”

I thought I’d share some of the highlights with you because… wow… these certainly shouldn’t be buried in history. I really don’t know what was going on around the time they were written, but seriously, you think this generation is desensitised? Think again.

5. A ‘Dear John’ Letter – Jean Shepard & Ferlin Husky (1953)

You just gotta say – what a bitch… Also what I find interesting about this song is the almost jovial singing from Jean Shepherd as she tells her warring boyfriend that she’s now fucking his brother. Christmas dinner would get awkward.

4. Teddy Bear – Red Sovine (1976)

This guy is the king of choking up, it’s hilarious. This story just get worse and worse, mum’s lonely, dad’s dead – crippled boy’s… well… crippled. Well lucky they’re now the hated neighbours on the street with hundreds of trucks blocking traffic. Good work kid.

3. Old Gilbert – Glenn Jones (1997)

It seems it’s the norm in country music for it to get worse and worse, as you can tell from this Australian 90’s track. I don’t know why he just didn’t get another dog – look, I realise you got to know each other pretty well – but just go get another one. Or a girlfriend… Seriously man.

2. Knoxville Girl – The Louvin Brothers (1956)

Aww isn’t that sweet, young love, late night walks together- wait, excuse me, why the fuck are you murdering her? I love how this is question is never addressed throughout the song. It just winds up with him whining about a headache and having to stay in jail ’cause his friends haven’t seen Prison Break. Well at least there’s a lesson there.

1. Drunken Driver – Ferlin Husky (1956)

The seeming ‘fiddle of death’ that starts off this song, kind of gives the impression that the song will never turn out well. Yes that’s right, it’s good ol’Ferlin again taking tragedy to the next level once again. Not only have the kids been abandoned by their father, their mother’s dead and they’re homeless. Don’t worry, dad comes back – to run them down with his car. I think my favourite line has to be “the little boy, in a puddle of blood, in the ditch line, there did lay”. Seriously, WTF?

So there you have it. Could it get any worse? Probably. I’ll keep an ear out and post any more I find.

It’s A War

I’m just going to take a moment to have a rant relating to my professional life, though it will probably relate to you as well.

Have you seen this video?:

http://www.funnyordie.com/videos/b5e66d4b58/play-helen-and-hall-oates-off-keyboard-cat

The reasons why I’ve had to link it rather than embed it are:

a. Because wordpress doesn’t seem to want you to embed anything but YouTube videos

b. Warner music are dicks and have decided to disable the audio on the very popular YouTube version

Yet another example of media industries forgetting that they serve consumers – not the other way round. What a shame that production companies won’t step up to the plate like radio and print media is and adapt to the rapidly changing media consumption environment.

If only film and television production companies would grow a brain and insert advertising into freely available high quality digital torrents – they wouldn’t have to lose bucket loads of money on piracy. Why the hell would general society start paying for something they’ve always gotten on free to air? Especially when there’s an equally simple method of getting the program for free via illegal torrents.

If production companies flood torrent sites with full length HD episodes and films with short intermittent commercial breaks – everyone’s happy. Instead these companies wag their fingers and treat their consumers like naughty children that have been stealing cookies from the cookie jar, when they should have been buying them from iTunes for $4.99. Well guys, don’t bite the hand that feeds you – because other than a slow internet connection – guilt is the one thing stopping everyone from downloading everything illegally. If they don’t like you – they won’t feel guilty anymore.

For music the process is a bit different, but comes down the same method – don’t kill your own publicity! Let YouTube show a video featuring or remixing your song! It’s streaming media! Yes, it can be downloaded but not with enough sound quality to be useful to anyone. How many people of this generation listened to or liked Hall & Oates before this video? Not many. Suddenly it’s back in the mainstream; it’s cool, current and interesting.

Then Warner kicks up a fuss and acts like a spoilt kid in the schoolyard – ruining the joke.

Well it was pretty hilarious while it lasted. Viva La Revolución!

Ever Get The Feeling That You're Being Followed?

Ever Get The Feeling That You're Being Followed?

I’m all up on the mod cons of social networking – don’t get me wrong. I have a MySpace profile that hasn’t been touched for 3 years or so (mostly because it jams up my computer for 7 minutes every time I visit), my facebook profile is the undisputed centre of my social life and my twitter account… well… this is how it goes.

Twitter has single-handedly thwarted any understanding I thought I may have had about online social etiquette. It has blurred the lines of appropriateness and I no longer know where I stand.

I got MySpace. You added and added and added, regardless of whether the person you were adding was friend, foe or fantasy. Usually, they added you back – then you could very happily have Ben Folds in your top friends (though this was widely considered a faux pas as only the best of your IRL friends were supposed to have a place there) Suddenly the playground loner has over 2000 ‘friends’ and endless amounts of bulletins to keep them interested.

Then we get to facebook, the older brother. You only add those who you know or have met. There’s a bit of a blurred line when it comes to adding those who you’ve had brief yet enjoyable online interactions with elsewhere – but you can always just show them a limited profile, so that’s no biggie. But as a general rule of thumb, they’re people who would recognise you in public.

Then we have twitter… social networking’s deformed, eccentric uncle. So far, it’s not completely clear who you follow, ignore, DM or @reply. And we’re brought to my conundrum;

There’s this guy right… You read his blog, you see him writing this and that for various other websites and you like his style. You have similar interests – you think you’d get along well if he were a friend of a friend at a party and so you decide to follow him on twitter.

One day you send him a witty @reply to one of his tweets with the hopeful expectation of some kind of acknowledgement, a few minutes later – you get it. It’s equally witty. You giggle, reply again – and suddenly you have a little conversation going. It finds its natural end and you’re satisfied.

You regularly comment on his blog, because it’s a good blog – and you’ve got shit to say – all the time linking your own blog under your username (what’s wrong with some shameless self promotion eh?)

Amazingly, when desperately looking at every original link that’s ever been made to your blog… you see his blog’s address. You follow it and find YOUR blog on HIS blogroll. ‘Wow!’ You cry. ‘I’ve made a connection!’ He appreciates your wit!

The next day an email in your inbox, informing you that HE is following YOU on twitter. You pass it off as an automatic response, as many people follow everyone that’s following them… that is, until you look at his followers – 1400 are following him and he’s only following 400! You feel magical. Like one of the chosen 29%… actually you are one of the chosen 29%

After a while, the glow wears off. Your witty @replies go un-replied and you sit, forlorn – refreshing every 30 seconds for some kind of interaction. Each time, the press of rejection felt increasingly heavier on your shoulders.

These days, you get the occasional reply from him – but there’s no rhyme or reason to it.

Were you too forward? Did you get a little too enthusiastic?

You’ll never know. Do you know why?

HE ISN’T YOUR FRIEND!

The whole concept just completely fucks me up. I don’t get it. Whenever someone you don’t know on twitter sends you a reply – you suddenly feel like you’re on nodding terms with them in through the corridor of life.

That shit just got way to metaphoric. I’m leaving.

It’s Friday night, 4 minutes to 11 as I begin this entry and after a long week, I can’t say that I’d rather be anywhere else than under the covers with 4 seasons of a good series to watch (It’s Always Sunny In Philadelphia – it’s very good)

But I can’t help but wonder if I should be so comfortable.

I suppose I should delve a little into why I started this particular blog to begin with. Well first and foremost, as a dumping ground for my online amusements so my facebook friends don’t delete me for my frequent link postings – but also to stand on a virtual rooftop and scream “I’M WAY TOO FUCKING SINGLE – WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOU ALL?”

I would pretend that I don’t have a sailors mouth, but when one gets to the end of her tether – you really shouldn’t blame her for abandoning her ladylike tendencies once in a while.

My room is slightly messy and I hate to admit why, but it’s because I don’t care about mess and I have no one else to clean it up for. While you may suggest that I find some worms to eat – I don’t know what else to do.

How do people find other people that they like? How do people like me find other people that they like?

It’s certainly not from online dating websites, it’s not necessarily from bars – or work, or walking down the street… I’ve tried all of that to no avail.

Earlier this year, I was considering buying a house – but the thought of doing that alone terrified me. The thought of doing most things alone terrifies me. Even though I’ve been single for my entire life minus a 3 month relationship in high school – I can’t seem to get used to being single.

This is depressing. I’m sorry. You’ve already ascertained my being desperate by the TITLE OF THIS BLOG.

Just forget about it by watching this:

Don’t take that as me saying I want a baby… cause I do not. Under any circumstances. No.

Stop trying to impregnate me with your eyes! Get away!

…My two favourite things.

Actually, that’s not strictly true. I enjoy both of these things – though when you put them together, I’m on the verge of bursting.

A very clever man called Neill Cameron has done just this with his blog project the A-Z of Awesomeness and awesome it certainly is.

I’ll let the images speak for themselves, but I was absolutely tickled pink when my suggestion for X was used in his most recent entry:

Awesome... Just Awesome

Awesome... Just Awesome

As Neill writes:

Yes, Charles Xavier’s dark secret is this: in his dream of peaceful co-existence between humans and mutants, there is no room for Greeks.

I was just so happy – I had to share it with you. This man is brilliant – I implore you to look at more of his alphabet and perhaps print them out and laminate them for display like I’m going to.

He probably won’t mind – as he explains that he can’t make any money off them because of all the copyright issues. What a shame!! They’re great!

I was asked the other day what scared me as a child. I thought since we were already on the phobia conversation, I’d continue with my top 8 childhood fears for your pleasure (not top 10… I’m too lazy).

Most of these continue to give me a sense of uneasiness to this day:

I would imagine this is what he would have looked like

I would imagine this is what they would have looked like

8. Funnel Web Spiders

Or rather, a particular family of funnel web spiders. When I was about 7 – my aunt and uncle lived across the road from my house. One day my parents were helping them clear some garbage from under their house. During the clearing, they found and killed a funnel web spider.

I imagined, since they lived so close-by – there would be this spider’s family living under my house, spending their days planning how to exact their revenge on us.


Eyelashes of the Devil

Eyelashes of the Devil

7. The eyelashes of Sesame Streets’ Snuffleupagus

Yeah, I’ll be the first to admit this is a weird one. I knew the Snuffleupagus was a puppet and a massive puppet at that.

This drew me to the conclusion that they had used real human hair (from little girls like myself) for his eyelashes. I also took offense to the eyelashes being so ridiculously long and imagined the constant eye irritation would put him on edge.

No one wants to be standing there talking about the alphabet when a giant orange elephant (?) decided to charge and flatten your tiny young brittle bones.

Theres Just Something A Bit Weird About That Man

There's Just Something A Bit Weird About That Man

6. Paul Keating

Yet another one on the strange side. It was in early ’97, just a month after my 10th birthday when my mother packed up the family and took us all, picnic basket in hand, to a Labor Party fundraising function somewhere in the bush (I think it was in the Blue Mountains) About 15 minutes in, I was bored shitless. It was a hot day, there were hardly any other kids there and not many places to sit down. Paul Keating was also there.

He came over to speak to my mother and I was introduced. I said something vaguely above maturity (because I was a politics freak child) and he started talking to me for what seemed like an eternity. There was something about him that made me really uneasy – I’m not saying he’s a bad person, I’m just saying there’s something odd that I’m connecting to that meeting that’s still with me. It wasn’t until one of Noni Hazelhurst’s kids came over to ask if I wanted to play that was given a reprieve.

My mother had a photo with him that day and framed it – it still makes me uneasy.

Death Trap

Death Trap

5. The Edges Of Trampolines

I think this one’s pretty obvious. If it isn’t, you haven’t spent enough time on trampolines. My dad convinced me once that if I didn’t keep away from the edge of the trampoline, I would fall through the hole and break my leg.

I never ever went anywhere near it. I was even scared of stepping on it slightly when getting on and off the trampoline, because it would pinch your skin really fucking hard and cause a bruise. Those things are death traps. No wonder modern trampolines may as well be an air bubble. (Though it does detract somewhat from the childhood experience)

I Can Barely Cope To Look At It

4. Wasabi

This is a story of brotherly cruelty that anyone with a brother will be able to empathise with. When I was really young, about 3 years old – my mother had been making things with marzipan and introduced me to the flavour. A toddler’s sweet tooth cannot be deterred and so I wanted some more. When I asked my brother if he knew where it was, he said there was only lime flavour left. Well you get the story. I cried. A lot.

And I still can’t eat wasabi.

Sprays You Like A Hose: Beware The Stink Bug

Sprays You Like A Hose: Beware The Stink Bug

3. Stink Bugs

The afore-mentioned aunt and uncles’ house across the road was the source of a lot of my childhood fears and this one came from total hearsay and unsubstantiated claims that if you went anywhere near a stink bug – it would cover you completely with a putrid smelling liquid. According to Wikipedia this is bullshit. Sure, they secrete a putrid substance if you poke it with sticks – but they do not SPRAY you like a hose if you’re casually walking by.

A large population of stink bugs inhabited the cumquat tree right next to the gate of the house and I would run past every single time – I also hate cumquats (not sure if that has anything to do with fear though – they taste like shit)

Apparently The Worst Thing You Could Ever Do. Dont Do This.

Don't Do This. (That's Probably Why The Hand Had Been Badly Photoshopped In)

2. Mercury

In year 3 (like the perfect teacher’s bitch I was) I was carrying a box of thermometers we’d been using in science. I tripped and fell (which went on to be a common theme of my childhood), smashing several of them on the carpet.

The teacher made a massive fuss and made me scrub my hands for 15 minutes – then covered the area of carpet with newspaper for weeks. Mum then had to go out and buy battery operated thermometers because I had images of biting on it and dying because of the mercury.

Draining down to its firey end.

Draining down to its' fiery end.

1. Bathwater Going Down The Plughole

I have absolutely no idea where this originated from, absolutely none. But it got to the point of me having to call my parents after I was done in the bath, so they could unplug the drain while I ran away naked with my hands over my ears.

I imagined the sound was the water screaming in pain as it was pulled down into hell.

That was school scriptures’ fault – my parents were atheists.

So now, if you ever think me strange – you know precisely why.