Living In Irony

Lone wolf workout today. I really enjoy these sessions since I put on my iPod and listen to music. I went thru the Ludus workout today, which you can read about here:
http://gladiatorconditioning.com/

One of the features an iPod has is something called "shuffle songs" which acts, more or less, like a random roulette music changer. What I enjoy most is when you're throwing a sandbag over your shoulder huffing and puffing and a song comes on that completely contrasts to your condition. Steve Winwood seems to encompass a LOT of irony in situations like these. Like naming your kid something expensive you could never afford...right Tiffany?

Anyway, "Back In The High Life" came on as I was drenched in sweat and wanting to puke my guts out under an early afternoon sun. Quite the high life. But this brings me to my friend Vince.

Yeah, I'm not hiding his name. He's guilty until proven innocent. If you want his number so you can harass him...I'm more than willing to pass it out.

This mug lives under what I call "functional irony." Picture it...

...It was another typical Sunday of booze filled recovery. I'd been off the sauce (so I'm just bored), so I figured what better way to waste time than to jam on an acoustic guitar. Well, Vince is sitting there naming off the tunes I'm playing. I think...yeah...we're jamming. Then he brightens up and says to me "you know what's a really good movie?...'Air Guitar Nation'" Now I've heard about this movie before and I'm pretty sure I broke the land speed record for skipping by it on the Netflix queue. I already know it's made by douches for douches. And I look at Vince, pick in hand...frozen in mid-strum a little taken back that my guitar playing inspired this. Alright, I'm a bit game for this. Moreso, that I didn't have a say as he was already changing the channel, convinced I would appreciate this. Any refusal was met with focused (albeit hungover) action.

To summarize, it's about a competition to see who the greatest air guitar player in the country so they can send them to the world finals in some country that is in desperate need of irony...I think it was Amsterdam. I'm not going to get into the weed thing...but...the obvious nature of this should not escape anyone. So I watch a bit of this documentary hoping that I would draw from it some form of entertainment. Instead, a sad vignette of a subculture that I had rocker dreams with lazy musical aptitude.

Yes, late night shows jumped on this phenomenon like a bunch of bored nuns dipping into cheap mull wine. Yes, they packed bars with super hip people that loved the intensity of spaz-oids. Yes, these were grown ass adults. But, Vince...oh Vince didn't happen to realize he was watching this with a guy who actually spent the time to learn guitar. Air guitar, at its funniest apex, is a brief moment at best. A few moments later, it becomes sad. Here are people who LIVE for this exposure. Strumming away at imaginary axes, making guitar-gasm faces, mimicking the greatest moves of familiar rockers. And it was taken to be a serious craft. I've played venues with legitimate crowds. I've felt the fear of being drawn out as a phony. I've faced the criticism of other musicians. And here we are...somewhat a mockery of a talent boiled down to pageantry and nothing but irony to support it. People don't turn from car wrecks...they slow down for them.

Am I a hater? Maybe. Who wouldn't appreciate having something that took years to learn and constant performance anxiety turned into a hipsters symposium? Wouldn't this be like showing "West Side Story" to The Crips and asking them to join because you can plie like Tony?

Maybe I'm old, crusty and no fun...but irony just gets on my nerves these days. In L.A. it's a movie called "The Room." It's full of irony. SO-bad-it's-good type attitude. What people don't know...and I've rarely mention...my sound mixing teacher did music for this project years ago, before it became a hipster's paradise. I remember him telling me that he's never seen anything so awful...and he's from Bosnia! If this flick is worst than genocide...hey...line starts around the block.

A few years later I was invited by hipster co-workers to go watch and treat it like "Rocky Horror." I couldn't do it. And to this day, I still refuse. Not my cup of tea. And before anyone accuses me of being a complete hard case about it...I once conquered "Resident Evil" while Britney Spears' first album played on repeat in the background. Irony can save you from looking like a raging homo. I guess sometimes you do need the sweet with the bitter.