John Vargas

I don’t have a problem with the fact I’m getting old, for the most part. Frankly, I’ve felt old and out of touch for years now, watching old movies, listening to old music. That’s been a huge part of my life for most of life, really. I remember an old homeless guy asked me for some change at the end of a freeway exit, and as he came close to my window to receive my gift of spare change, he heard my music, which I believe was Robert Johnson. When he realized what he heard, he said to me, “Man, you got an old soul!” To be honest, I loved hearing that, and I considered it a compliment. Still do.

Being out of touch with the modern world never really mattered to me, because, for the most part, modern music, movies and style are pretty ridiculous to me. Be that as it may, I don’t have the time nor the inclination to make myself look like I was born in the 30’s. I dress (somewhat) modern. At least, that’s what I thought.

The other night, I was working the door at The Fake Gallery. Next door, at The Ukrainian Cultural Center, there was a party. Odd, because I’ve never seen anything that ever had anything to do with Ukrainians or their culture at this spot. My people (the Mexicans) tend to be the only folks that rent out that joint for Quinceaneras. But this evening was different. It was a 15th anniversary party for Vice Magazine. I know very little of this publication, but it doesn’t matter, since this piece has nothing to do with the magazine per se.

All night, there were people lined up around the corner to get into this party. All of them kids born in the 80’s, when I was in high school. This, I’m kinda used to, really. I know I shouldn’t be where I am most of the time, feeling like the creepy old dude in the corner eyeing the young’ens, but a lot of comics are young, and I end up hanging out with a lot of them (well, the ones that aren’t assholes). I saw a comic I knew early in the evening, before things got really crowded on Melrose and Heliotrope, and as he explained to me about this party, he also explained that the “theme” of the party was a 90’s theme. That is, to dress like it was 1994. He stretched out his arms in a way that said, “See?” Frankly, he didn’t look that different to me. “You’re pants are still a little tight for the 90’s, dude,” I told him.

As the evening wore on, and I tried to keep these loud mouthed twentysomethings away from our door, I realized that all these kids looked like they were dressed in some sort of costume, with their band shirts from the 90’s, flannels, and other 90’s staples. And yet, they looked all wrong. As if they were making fun of it the way people my age would make fun of the 70’s. Then, I looked down at my own clothes: Vans, exceedingly baggy Dickies, shirt a little too billowy, a skateboard hat, and of course, flannel.

Holy shit! I’M dressed for this party, and I wasn’t even invited! I could walk into this party, and probably get complimented on the accuracy of my “outfit.” Unfortunately, this wasn’t an “outfit,” this is the way I dress. Everyday. And these kids were, effectively, making fun of it! When the fuck did I become Ralph Furley?

Fucking kids. What do they know? I can’t wait til they’re my age and they have to watch twentysomethings make fun of the way THEY dressed. And, let’s face it, there’s WAY more to make fun of, what with your stupid hair cuts, and retarded facial hair, and ball squashing girl pants, and t-shirts so worn out and tight that they might rip when it gets cold and your nipples get hard.

Get off my lawn!!

When I go to the gym, it is very important to me to listen to my own music because, by and large, I hate almost all modern music. So, I pick out a good playlist, and try not to pass out. Unfortunately, when I’m on some of the machines, I cannot get the plasma screens out of my line of sight. So, I have to suffer through some terrible videos on “B TV.” That’s Bally TV, I guess, and sometimes, in between The Jesus Lizard or Bruce Springsteen songs, I can actually hear these aural abortions.

Here are a few of the thoughts that drive through my head like a Ferrari.

* Madonna, seriously, you suck now more than ever. You offer nothing to music artistically, if you ever did. And anyone who brings up your “business savvy” as a testament to your supposed greatness needs to have their eardrums blown out by an excessively loud Melvins show. Music already has too many business people destroying it from within. Marketing is not music.

* Beyonce, shut the fuck up. If a woman wants to remain single, that’s her fucking prerogative (as that other shit stain, Bobby Brown would say). Quit cajoling women into putting “a ring on it.” And if I were you, I’d beat the shit out the choreographer you hired for that stupid ass video. Don’t get me wrong, I enjoy looking at your ass (and that’s all I enjoy about you) but that metal, gothic-industrial glove you put on and kept flashing at the camera makes you look way more retarded than even I thought you were.

* Honestly video “directors,” haven’t we had enough footage of the bad-ass black woman who aint gonna take her man’s shit anymore walking up and down a runway with all kinds of attitude? When En Vogue did it, okay fine, I’ll admit it was new and cool. Now, you’re just copying what someone else did years ago. You guys suck, but then, I guess you’ll always suck. You can’t teach creativity.

* Creed, aside from being fucking terrible, you’re not “hardcore.” You’re pansies. I don’t care how many sit ups you did to make your stomach look ripped, and no amount of head banging from your bass player is gonna convince anyone but your stupid fans that you guys are hardcore. Blink 182 makes you guys look like pussies. Think about THAT! A shitty, no talent punk wannabe band makes YOU look like pussies. Hint: metal and religion DON’T mix. Unless of course, it’s Satanism.

* Seriously, Madonna. Kill yourself. You killed modern music, and I think you should repay the debt.

If I offended your taste in music, too bad, you have horrible taste in music, and you should be offended as often as possible. Music is more than just pretty sounds.

Changing the channels, I paused for a moment on the World Series. The commentators were talking about the new game. This is the scintillating, brilliant discussion on strategy I heard:

Jock A: “How do the Phillies get back into the series?”

Jock B: “Well, the Phillies have to get some runs.”

Really, Jock B? The Phillies have to get some runs to win the game? Are you fucking sure? There isn’t some other brilliant way you’ve discovered how to win a baseball game? Just score some runs (preferably more than the opposing team)? This is one of the many reasons I find it difficult to watch most sports. The commentators (especially here in the good ol’ U.S of A) are pretty fucking stupid.

Look, I don’t deny that baseball doesn’t require a certain amount of skill and strategy, but if you’re going to hire commentators, for fuck’s sake, make sure they aren’t morons. And somebody tell them that they don’t HAVE fill every silent void with their voices. Shut up. Enjoy the game for one single fucking moment!

But then what am I to expect from our american sports? Our teams are world champs after they advance past ALL the other teams… In our country. Man, are we self-centered. And stupid.

Hey Phillies and Yankees, remember to run the bases counter clockwise (to your left) after you swing that wooden thing at that little white thing! Oh, and if it gets hit to you… Catch it!

Jocks. They were stupid in high school, and apparently, still are.