Kids suck

In my Friday evening CAD/Drafting Methods class last week, I came across some general shittiness from a fellow student of a more youthful age. I was showing a group of students how to go about downloading the student version of AutoCAD 2010, warning them that the program could be a little temperamental if one has an older computer system. I explained that I owned one of these older computers and had crashed it multiple times when attempting to run the program while listening to music with a media player at the same time. Then this kid, who couldn't be older than 18, relayed the following to me.

Oh yeah. When my grandmother heard I was going to college she gave me like 30,000 dollars. So I bought this ridiculous HP system that has like 100 GB of RAM. So AutoCAD runs no problem.

I was quiet for a second. But the kid had on a shitty Poison "world tour" shirt. So I asked him why he'd bring that up after I'd confessed to the poverty of my computer. Why would someone do that? After one person admits a deficiency - be it personal, financial or what have you - what drives another person to essentially say "I'm better"? I would understand had I taken the route of bragging about how nostalgically bitching my 2002 Gateway is, plastered with its AFI and Sick Of It All stickers. That might induce a competition of sorts. That was not the case.

The kid didn't have an answer for me. Half jesting, I told him he was a fucking asshole. His response: Well, now you're calling me names. So why should I be nice to you? After witnessing his inability to reason, I explained to him - with the tact of a kindergarten teacher - that I wasn't calling him names, but assessing his character. That was pretty much the end of that. But what the hell is wrong with kids? Maybe that one is just upset that he's a trust-fund, string-bean wuss and that I'm a meatless beast of unparalleled wit. That must be it.

Switching gears, I saw Where The Wild Things Are this past weekend. Absolutely fantastic. For the past couple days I've tried and failed to come up with something profound to say about it so I could post it here. Allow me to use the words of someone else in place of my own.

There are different ways to read the wild things, through a Freudian or colonialist prism, and probably as many ways to ruin this delicate story of a solitary child liberated by his imagination.

The New York Times critic who said this was referring to the book, but the view appears to have been shared by director Spike Jonze. While it's clear that a good deal of addition needed to take place in the film to supplement a 40-page story consisting mainly of pictures, Jonze chose to primarily expand upon the liberating imagination of a child. What happens in the book happens in the movie, but with less parameters. The world of the wild things is boundless, with more variance in the environment and that which can be encountered and created within it. The wild things are recognizable in form, but now carry distinct personalities and tendencies. It is in the interaction with and between the wild things that film steps beyond the book, fleshing out why it is that the Max would want to quit his fantasy to return home to his family. (Not a spoiler. Happened in the book.) So go see it. It's rad. I told you I had nothing profound to say.

The Wire

Damn. It's over. Admittedly, a sentimental part of me wishes it could have continued on to reach "happily ever after" territory. But I'm genuinely impressed by how loose ends were left to be, giving no neat and tidy solutions. That is an honesty you don't often experience with television drama. Yeah. I could elaborate more. But Josh is just about to begin his journey with The Wire and it should not be spoiled. I wish him the best of luck. May he enjoy it as much as I have.

Sheeeeeit.

Punch - s/t

625 Thrash/Discos Huelga
(2009)

Despite the renowned words of Kevin Seconds, hardcore unequivocally is boys' fun. The ratio of dicks to chicks is 10:1. Testosterone levels can be lethal or at the very least off putting. When a "she" does wind up in the mix, the result is Walls of Jericho. So yeah, the scene could really benefit from a well-intentioned lady's touch. And no, this isn't a covert scheme to raise probability for the boot-knock.

Respect to Punch. Female-fronted and seriously pissed, they put to rest any reservations concerning the ability of women to step off the sidelines. In terms of intensity, their vocalist (Meghan) spits with a scathing venom that far exceeds the generic dick-flex of most guys on the microphone. It's like nails on a chalkboard, but awesomely refreshing. She's rounded out by a thrashy brand of hardcore that brings to mind the likes of Ceremony and American Nightmare. Fast enough enough the crew, crusty enough for the flannel, and just the right amount of heavy breaks to lure the flatbrims. There's scene unity for you. Should have know it would be a broad showing dudes how the game is played. Excuse me while go I scarf down a Luna bar.

Download

"Who's Bringing the Microwave?"

This is old and probably isn't real, but nevertheless funny as hell.

http://www.collegehumor.com/article:1789446