The Artisan Hotel: This lush Vegas destination is home to last year's "best new Vegas bar," hundreds upon hundreds of paintings which cloak the already claustrophobic walls, and a dank, musty fountain that litters the air with particulates and other malodorous microscopia. Positioned in the heart of the strip--wait--it is positioned within the heart of a section of the city where all the strip clubs are--so the strip is where the mega-casinos are located, and the lovely Artisan hotel/spa (I forgot spa earlier, but it was broken so they said we could use the one at the Travelodge) is positioned (pardon the pun) where all the strippers go to strip. And, our bedroom was only a mere 40 or so yards from the freeway entrance!
Our room was decorated by one artist (I forget his name, but it was
important enough for them to put his name on a sign on the door) but in
the frenzied focus on the fine arts, hotel staff neglected to remedy
the collapsing shower ceiling, the molded shower curtain, the exposed
rusting pipe overhead of the sink, the flickering light that flickered
even when it was turned off. I half-feared unplugging it, because if it
continued to flicker I would have had to acknowledge that we were
sharing our room with a family of spirits.
The 8 pillows per bed were nice, including the black ones with the luxurious links of black beads dangling from the corners.
These guys put the "ho" in hotel.
More of what to expect from the Artisan Hotel:
- A peeling/collapsing section of wall paper and ceiling in the
corner of the shower. It did add a somewhat “urban” ambiance,
however I grew up in San Bernardino. I've done my time in the ghetto.
- Mold in the shower curtain. This is understandable if the shower curtain has remained in use for an extended period of time in a bachelor boarding house. This is neither understandable nor acceptable for an establishment whose business is bedding travelers on a night-to-night basis.
- Mold in the replacement shower curtain. To be fair, housekeeping immediately brought a replacement, however the gentleman handed us the curtain and immediately departed. I assume he expected us to know we were supposed to replace the Artisan’s defective curtain ourselves.
- Clogged shower drain. I have experienced this at my own shower at home after I have logged a few-hundred showers. I could not help but imagine what a few-hundred previous guests had left in the drain that might cause it to clog. As it was, my friend did not appreciate showering while the excess filth from my previous shower floated around his ankles.
- Complimentary 8:30 wake-up call from housekeeping.
“I like their old stuff.” The cliché of the nonconformist. It allows one to participate in the dominant culture (“Yeah I know all about the bands popular with you followers”) while at the same time distancing and elevating one to a higher level that transcends the common man’s taste, innovation, and individuality. “I like their old stuff” says “I knew about this band way back in the day, probably before most of you. Now everybody’s into them, and they (everybody) don’t even realize how bad they (the band) have started to suck.”
Let’s talk about Green Day. I’m not sure exactly how it works, but sometimes a band simply blows up. They become a household name. I remember the first time I heard of the band “Fallout Boy.” I was hanging half-in/half out of my sister’s upstairs window cleaning the screen. She asked “Ever hear of “Fallout Boy?” Needless to say, I thought that particular statement at that particular time was way wrong. And not because I had never heard of the band. Now Fallout Boy receives top 40 radio airplay.
It’s also true that some bands significantly alter their sound, so that their later work is easily distinguishable from their “old stuff.” I would argue that this is not the case with Green Day. They’re a pop punk band. They were always a pop punk band. Their latest CD, while household-namish, has pop-punk songs on it. What exactly is it that makes American Idiot suck? What is it that makes people, namely those 16 and under (some of whom very well may have been conceived to a Green Day soundtrack), “like their old stuff”? What exactly is it that constitutes “old stuff”? Is Warning? Nimrod? Dookie? What? Are these not all pop-punk recordings? I’m not saying that the Original Green Day Gurus (OGG’s) can’t have an opinion. I’d actually prefer they go a tad bit farther and have an actual reason for their opinion.
Words from a few OGG’s shed some light:
➢ yes! ill give a cookie to every person who's first
green day CD was not american idiot. i get a cookie! you get
a cookie! COOKIES ARE AWSOME.
➢ american idiot would've been a good CD, but
teenboppers took over..grrrrr. o well it was good for the first week
after it came out. but lovely job on the icon, im a big fan of the old
green day!
➢ yeah! green days new stuff sucks a**. i hate it! i like the oldies way better.
➢ old Green Day kicks A.*.*.!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
➢ wait. i didnt even buy american idiot. double cookies for me!
➢ I had a girl tell me to my face that “Green Day used to be a good band, but then American Idiot came out, and everyone liked them, and now they suck.”
➢ Another guy told me they sucked, then I pointed out (somewhat irrelevantly) that he hadn’t been born when the band formed. He countered by sharing that he knew about one of their old CD’s: “Poopie.” He was serious. I gently pointed out that he was likely referring to the album entitled “Dookie,” a synonym for poopie. Well at least he dropped a name instead of falling back on the prepackaged “old stuff.”
Our moral then, (aside from the fact that OGG’s prefer to avoid the
conventions of Standard American English) according to these OGG’s is
that American Idiot was a good CD “the first week it came out” but then “teenboppers
People liked the album. They bought it. Some downloaded it from iTunes. Some downloaded it illegally. Suddenly, NOT buying the album is cool!! Is this starting to make sense?
Imagine the logic of the OGG applied in everyday life.
Follower:
“Dude, In n Out burgers are BOMB!”
OGG :
“Nah, man, I’m over that scene. I used to like them, but now everyone
goes to In n Out.” I liked it when there was only that one shack in
downtown San Bernardino, but now they’re popping up everywhere.”
Ok, maybe you don’t have to imagine. I just reread what I wrote, and I think I may have actually had that conversation with someone.
I can’t help but think that those who consider themselves to be the “nonconformist cool” have themselves become a cliché—a classic case of the blind leading the blind.
It's getting harder tell these crowds apart. Who's leading who?
A little off topic, but I'll go with my favorite fake apology:
Example: "I'm sorry I hurt you."
It's really an accusation cleverly disguised as an apology.
Almost inevitably, this sort of "apology" is followed by an explanation of how the action in question really wasn't intended to cause any harm, so the offender really isn't an offender at all. It's all in the mind of the person who THINKS they have been offended!
How is this an accusation? Well, the "apologizer" has no remorse for the action itself in this case. Their sorrow stems from the fact that the offended party has yet again "MISINTERPRETED" a set of actions. Supposedly, the problem lies with the offended one. THEY (the offended) have misinterpreted. THEIR (again the offended) feelings have been hurt, when there really was no reason for them to be. It's all one big misunderstanding.
Contrast this set of circumstances with a true apology: "I'm sorry. I screwed up. The fault lies with me."
However, most of us, myself included, find it a bit more comfortable to discreetly shift the blame from ourselves, and in the case of "I'm sorry I hurt you", the implication is that the blame really lies with the person who is offended. The supposed "offense" never should have taken place, because it was never intended. Who's fault is this? The person being apologized to. It's really a nifty little trick.
"I didn't mean to hurt you." Ok. Maybe, they're really sorry they "hurt" you, but there's no mention of being sorry for any action. The behavior that caused harm is likely to occurr over and over again, because remember, they weren't sorry for the behavior. They were sorry that YOU (the offended one) had a few hurt feelings.
The neat thing is, we're all left with this disfunctionally tidy satisfaction. The offender sheds the burden of responsibility for their action (onto the shoulders of the offended one), and the offended one gets their apology.
My little writing assignment experience on Vox has come to an end. I had about twenty students (out of 150) create accounts as extra credit for a journal assignment related to The Diary of Anne Frank. Most students completed their journal, and I was pleasantly surprised to see some writers "electronicize" their voices.
To those students who might be reading: I was impressed with a lot of what was written. Thanks for giving me the opportunity to express myself as well. I have a stockpile of sarcasm and cynicism that can't always be expressed in a classroom. It's been a good time. I think I will continue to post, and I hope all of you will continue to write.
I feel like I should say something inspirational here, but I can't really think of anything, so I suppose this is the end.
Of my post.
You ever walk into Kinko's for a couple of innocent copies, have an incoherent conversation with one of the bleary-eyed customer service reps, and find yourself asking "Where the heck is Kinko, and what kind of outfit is he/she running here?" The only time I accomplish anything in this place is when I plug my thumbdrive into one of the computers in the back and print my own stuff. God forbid I have project that needs professional printing. (I acknowledge that employees at Kinko's are extremely burdened by a never-ending flow of projects and requests. I do feel for them.) If I were a little more competent with a copy machine, I might attempt it myself, but I'm not about to risk it when one dollar a copy is at stake.
Example: I ask what seems to me to be a perfectly ordinary question
like "how much would it cost to get 50 copies of a document from a USB
drive in color on card stock?", and I get this wide-eyed staredown
thing from the lady at the counter as she tells me in an awe-inspired
whisper that the job will take a couple of days. I, meanwhile, have no
idea what I've just said that is so out of the ordinary that she needs
to continue staring at me in an awkward silence, so I ask if they have
an educator's discount. The following ensues:
WIDE EYED LADY: You mean like a teacher?
ME: Yeah, like a teacher.
WIDE EYED LADY: yelling to a spikey-haired guy in the back Do we have a teacher discount?
SPIKEY-HAIRED GUY IN THE BACK: yelling Does he have a card?
WIDE EYED LADY: Do you have a card?
ME: shuffling through my wallet Uh...no I don't think so.
WIDE EYED LADY: to the spikey-haired guy in the back He doesn't have a card.
SPIKEY-HAIRED GUY IN THE BACK: Then no.
WIDE EYED LADY: Then no.
ME: Ok. May I please speak with Kinko?
Note: There is no mention as to how one is to procure this mysterious "card." Apparently, if one doesn't already have it in one's possession, there is nothing that can be done. Yes, I could have asked how to get one, but by this time I was feeling quite uncomfortable, because I still hadn't seen the woman blink! I was starting to identify with the crazy guy from "The Telltale Heart." Except I was confronted by not one, but TWO vulture eyes!!!
Ok so I wasn't sharp or sarcastic enough to ask to speak with Kinko, but I did notice, while thumbing through my wallet, that I had an Office Max educator discount card for 15% off, so I said my goodbyes to the wide-eyed lady, who had yet to blink, and made my way over to Office Max.
Now, my experience at Kinko's had led me to believe I had some sort of hard-core project on my hands that would take days to finish, so I was slightly surprised when the lady at Office Max ran off a test copy, then plugged it into a machine that ripped out 50 copies in about 3 and a half minutes.
If this was the end of a chapter, I would ask the following questions "for further exploration":
- Who is Kinko, if that is his/her real name?
- Why does he/she sound like the ringmaster of a fantastic circus, and how might this be construed as irony?
- How does one acquire the mysterious teacher discount card?
- Who was the guy with spikey hair in the back, and why do you think he wielded such power?
- What may have been the cause of the woman's wide-eyed stare when I asked if I could have 50 copies, in color, on card stock?
[Note: This post has been inspired by a series of events that continue to recur. I choose not to reveal the specifics of this series of unfortunate events. Instead, I will make fun of MySpace. Hit me up sometime. I haven't had any comments in about three weeks.]
Ignorance has been repackaged. I always thought the word carried a bit of a negative connotation, but apparently it emerging among young folk as a pyschotic symbol of status. Peruse a few MySpace profiles. Scroll down to the book section (if you can read it amid the flashing lights, bulging banners, 3 videos playing simultaneously, and the swirling patterns of the technicolor background. I feel like I might see a hologram if I stare at the thing crosseyed). But for those times when the text IS NOT the same color as the background, I often read something like this:
Books: "I don't read."
So on and so forth.
People are becoming extremely comfortable ridiculing readers, and unwittingly, more comfortable at announcing their own ignorance (and their alarmingly high comfort level at remaining in this state of intellectual midgetry). We're becoming "down with dumb." No worries. Pretty soon we'll all be in this together.
The uninformed mock the informed (or those attempting to inform themselves), and yet we're told we all have equally valid opinions. Millions of minds, ripe for the plucking.
Maybe I'm just another MySpace hater. Maybe I was laughed at as a small child for reading the Anne of Green Gables series. Or maybe I'm really afraid that stupid will become the status quo.
P.S.--I pimped out this Vox post with a picture I found on the internet.
Bitter-funny story about the perils of high school told from the point of view of a self-proclaimed "king dork." His perspective on AP classes:
"AP is like a different world. You don't have to do
anything at all, not a single blessed thing but show up, and you always
get an A no matter what. Well, you end up making a lot of collages, and
dressing in costumes and putting on irritating little skits, but that's
about it. Plus, they invented a whole new imaginary grade, which they
still call an A, but which counts as more than an A from a regular
class. What a racket."
I don't remember where I came across this quote, but I wrote it down and saved it to my computer, so it must be good:
"Friendship is like peeing in your pants. Everyone can see it, but only you can feel the warmth."
"Strike a match and hope it lasts. Here's to following your own lead."
--Less Than Jake
The other night, I stayed up a little later than I'm used to. I was exploring Vox. There are all kinds of different groups one can join, depending on one's interest. There are groups about music. Groups about science. Groups about sports. Groups about politics. There is a group for pretty much anything a person would like to belong to. You know what I discovered? I couldn't find a group in which I truly "fit in." I wanted to find people just like me. People who enjoyed sports, reading, writing, punk rock, lifting, health, family, faith, teaching.
Let me rephrase: I fit in "a little" with all kinds of people. I can find something to talk about with almost anyone, but sometimes, when I try to talk about one of my other interests, I lose whoever it is I'm talking to. As soon as they realize I am not 100% "one of them" they give me the blank stare. The raised eyebrow. The puckered forehead. It's almost as if they smelled a fart, and I was the guilty party.
For example: I love snowboarding, yet I'm horrifically irritated by most snowboarders. It's rare for me to find a snowboarder that I get along with, and snowboarding is one of my passions. Maybe it's my fault. Or maybe it's that many of the snowboarders I come into contact with are blithering idiots. Maybe it's both.
Baseball is another one. I played baseball for the better part of my entire life. I was the only English major on my team at two different universities. Needless to say, we didn't start an after-practice literature discussion group.
Punk rock? My favorite music since I was a teenager, and I still haven't grown out of it. Yet, I don't agree with the message of a lot of the super-preachy political punk bands out there. I love the shows, I love the sound, I love the crowds--this music changed my life--but I'm not really on board with what it means to be truly "punk rock." Call me a hypocrite or a sell out.
At about 2AM, I finally grew weary of trying to find a Vox group that was my "perfect fit." I don't think it's out there. It was a little frustrating, but my quest for the perfect Vox group made me reflect on something I already knew. My diverse interests are part of what makes me...me. I'm not one of those people who can completely submerge themselves into a single group. And I wouldn't want to. I like the freedom of wandering from group to group. Sometimes that means I don't "fit in" as well as everyone else. That's my fault, but I'm ok with that.
I started this post with a quote from one of my favorite bands. It's from a song called "Faction." It's about belonging. The song states "Sometimes you just want to belong, at any loss at any cost." It feels good to belong. I searched for two hours the other night, just so I could belong.
But what are we willing to sacrifice so that we can belong? At what cost will we "fit in"? Sometimes we need to strike a match, and follow our own lead, regardless of who comes along with us. Here's to following your own lead.
