Just now I realize how much of a disgrace it is to listen to particular music without suitable bass. Music from The Clash has such a select few elements: indecipherable lyrics, 4/4 count that’s just oh so pleasing, AND bass. And without one of these elements, The Clash just isn’t The Clash….
And now I continue, uninspired, sans bass.
I, like much of everyone everywhere, am unemployed. Which leaves me wishing for things that I could not possibly obtain. Like these boots I’ve wanted for a million years. And to hop on a boat and travel around the South Pacific. Or have a tree house like Erin Wasson’s that was featured in Interview this month. I want this to be the case —-> Erin Wasson : Megan Pluth :: Superman : Robin. I don’t think Wasson is going to be in any Marvel comic in the near future, but she’s damn amazing. I want to be like her. I’ve always dreamed of having a place like this. Wood wood wood. This is why boat living has always been a sort of romantic idea to me as well. The organic building blocks of your home are tangible, something you see all around instead of plaster and paint. It’s real.
Thus, this happens to bring me to another topic. I’ve always been plagued, maybe, by being obsessed with authenticity. A ridiculous example of this can be seen on a little outing I had just today. We stroll leisurely down bay side Balboa. We pass the unfortunately quick Ferris wheel. Rent-a-Boat. Newport Landing Sports Fishing and such. And there, there she is. “BALBOA BARS HERE”. We walk on to have a bite to eat at a little cafe on E. Balboa Blvd (Cafe Miaafe) and the slowly gravitate back to “BALBOA BARS HERE”. What, you ask, is a Balboa Bar? Well, simply, it is a dipped ice cream bar on a stick. But, these are offically NAMED. They are THE Balboa Bar. And apparently Jane’s #2 Corn Dog Stand did not have the license to call them Balboa Bars. It was, simply, an ice cream bar on a stick. Jane’s #2 Corn Dog Stand just wouldn’t satisfy my desire for authenticity this time. We had to search for an authentic Balboa Bar. In reality, the only thing that made this little bar authentic was the name. An intangible thing attached to the creamy, chocolaty, sprinkled bar on a stick. Why did this matter so much? The name didn’t make it taste any better than Jane’s. In this case, the authenticity was just me being marketed to, and I bought it. But, I didn’t lose this battle, Jane did. This war with authenticity is something that Jane will forever be plagued with. However, she’s got location, merely feet from the car ferry makes the authenticity of her bars inconsequential. But, here I am, still plagued and with a terrible stomachache due to my lactose intolerance and fierce drive to feed my need for authenticity in our faux world.
THE END…….The Clash, Clampdown……