You know, I grew up with a group of kids quite unlike the guys they are today. Yes, I know, people change, but fuck that…. not sooo much that it’s cyclical puberty. I guess we could compare them to hippies. People that weren’t always free-wheeling drug tasting flower children, but innocent, fun-loving manhunt seeking yutes that relied on their older siblings’ behavior as the best example to follow. Then it was sex and LSD, now it’s Coked-Up croquet, Burt Bacharach and a pair of chinos.
Since high school, I’ve seen firsthand, a snobbish self-entitled change in the lot. Not my immediate cronies thank god, but the backup pack. Their obsession with the odd, is as fake as their childhood love for lima beans, downing them in one gulp not because mom’s cookin was good lookin…but ‘cause a home-run derby in the court was calling out loud “get your ass out here before its dark!” These guys were my jock friends that loved pop music, a case of beer with a football game and pool-hopping at midnight. As they went away to college, something very strange happened where they forgot who they were. Consistently subjected to rebellious individuals far cooler, it reminds me of when Bart Simpson goes to the school for the gifted. He’s mocked constantly for his stupidity and needs to leave to feel better about himself…….in this case, these guys scooted into pretty schools for their athletic talents and learned the ropes by conforming immediately to how geniuses do, or else perform a one-handed self-wedgie at the main lawn during lunch.
Back home, they were cooler-than-thou cult followers who could no longer relate. The guy who used to spike his hair like one of the Gotti boys now has a dry comb-over and dons a mustache that catches more milk than an udder bucket. I thought he’d forgot to remove his 80’s pornstar Halloween costume. They fight conspicuously hard to neglect these changes; morphing like butterflies in stages and taking off in erratic flight to mislead us, but always flying in whatever direction the season’s taking them. Now, the hardest whiskey ever produced is the only thing they order, and somehow it’s the only thing they ever drank, as they try to defend themselves when we point out that they used to swear by their father’s passed down middle name that Old Milwaukee’s Best was the shizzy. This mild Alzheimerish slip is not even the scary part….they believe they’re these far out artists that understand counter-culture, what’s on the brink of discovery, and what truly is worth regarding as cool or funny. The absolute driest form of anything creative has become their purest example of expression. If an old man shit his pants and dragged ass like a dog tickling an itch, they’d take a picture of it and call it art. They’re so far advanced for their time, that if confronted, they would outright deny the thought that they’d ever even had a transformation. Like one morning they’d stepped out of bed, threw all their Abercrombie and Fitch cargo’s into a fire and raided American Apparel for the ugliest fucking neon deep-U belly shirt that’d reveal their newly accepted happy trail before it disappeared below their thrift shop light-green corduroys. I wish I was exaggerating. At least then we’d have our friends back, and also feel less like we’ve been left out.
When I blame myself for being behind on the times, I look at what my true to life, everyday brodies are doing versus the guys that sit back and study what others do to gauge what’s cool…it just so turns out, the guys who've been made to feel idiotic have actually always been ahead of the steeping curve. The artists, the innovative ones, they continually create and leave something behind; those are the people that reveal their talents for all to see, instead of leaning hard on a crutch made of comebacks and chin-grabbing afterthoughts. If these guys were the writers, I’d say “fuck yeah! ……keep interviewing amazing people and drafting dynamic shit.” If they were creating music, jotting down lyrics or coming up with a new hot beat their families could thrive on, I’d say “that’s my friend’s band! Don’t they sound sick?!” They offer not even a shred of talent….having lost it after their 4th year of NCAA eligibility. They have no responsibilities even still, and they pretend their life flows in a different direction, when we've all been living. There’s no faking anymore who’s shit truly wreaks. I say to these temporarily lost souls, hate to break it to you….just like a hippie still is today, you too, will be tomorrow’s wannabees.