Saturday, January 2, 2010

2009 Album Of the Year goes to . . .



Of course, motherfucking MSTRKRFT, Fist Of God!

This is what all of us Indie-Rock nerds have always wanted, but have not realized until now; to strut our shit in the club without looking like a total goof. The derrrrrty bass just gets my fist pumping (see Jersey Shore), and my ass shaking.

Daft Punk on steroids! Come see me on the dance floor!

Friday, January 1, 2010

Stuff



We have the Industrial Revolution to blame for our stuff.

Here’s a crash course in the history of stuff . . .

In the 1920’s, General Motors started tweaking the looks of cars each year in an effort to boost sales in a saturated market. The ploy worked. The rest of the carmakers followed suit, and the practice continues today.

Sears copied the idea for their Coldspot refrigerators, churning out what looked like a different white box year after year. This practice is now the norm and is applied to a wide range of other stuff, from MP3 players to appliances. Adding to that, the industry’s false promise to make our lives easier through these miracle devices (dishwashers, vacuums, washing machines), eliminating household chores, giving us more time to spend with our families, making us happier.

The industry’s goal is not to make us happier, but to make us think we’re happier by buying more stuff.

The tactic totally works as I watched every fucking retard go overboard buying stupid shit this holiday season.

The weird part is, that I thought we were in harsh economic times. It didn’t look like it, when I see endless amounts of plasma TV’s and iPod’s flying out the department store doors. This type of consumption is totally unsustainable. And by consuming ‘greener,’ products does not mean we’re totally solving the problem. We’re just paying a premium for our guilt.

Try this. Consider buying less. But better.

Having fewer and better objects means there’s less to make space for, less to clean, less to feed. This is the luxury of reduction.

After all, it’s all just stuff.

(ripped off from a GQ)