SLACK'D

Back in 2003, I was living at home, wearing purple eyeliner to my boring service industry job and spending most of my time collaging. I had a fresh driver's license and the thrill of rolling around in my mom's car at night listening to the Raveonettes and using her Hollywood Video rental card to check out Marlon Brando movies was unparalleled. The guy at the counter was a plump ginger with a long ponytail under his Hollywood Video-issued baseball hat who I suspected had a crush on me since I was the only teen coming in without my kid and buying the king size pack of jujufruits. I ignored his halting glances since I didn't really start talking to boys until I was about 20, even ones I had no interest in.
One day, I checked out Slacker, because the case looked weird and I had just recently discovered that I was cooler than anyone I knew, having been educated at a prep school in which my peers' interests ranged from the fall j. crew catalog to the spring j. crew catalog. I got home, popped in the VHS (earnestly) and got to work stenciling "London Calling" lyrics onto t-shirts I'd just picked up at the Gap on sale for $9.99.
Slacker was weird, I couldn't really make sense of the characters and the lack of plot line got lost in my intense stenciling session-- I later moved onto Bowie lyrics.
Eight (!!!!11) years later, my life is eerily (depressingly?) similar to that of my eighteen year old self. The only element that's different today from the scene described above is that I use my mom's Netflix account. And I know how to talk to boys now, but that's a different story entirely. Tonight as I was sitting around making record cover journals, feeling inexplicably attracted to Ted Nugent, I decided to scroll through the Netflix collection, and Slacker caught my eye once again.
The film that I watched tonight, of course, is the same as the VHS I rented a thousand beers ago, but oh how my perception of it has changed. What once seemed like dreamy esoterica has since become the soundtrack to my own life; the characters, once just that, are now people I have met over and over, comprising my own anchor to post-collegiate reality. While I was completely engrossed in the film and finding myself in conversation with these people, a thought entered into my head: Is this movie making fun of us? Is Richard Linklater looking at 20-somethings who sit around drinking beer, talking about their lives and the world, politics and their relationships, with their friends and roommates and strangers, and deeming it all a waste of time? The film is called Slacker. Is the film's thesis that we're aimless, rootless, wasting our time and our potential to fulfill that great American myth of "making something of ourselves"?

As anyone with a hundred thousand dollar degree in Why The World Sucks and a barista job to prove it knows, "Our Generation" is the topic of a thousand porch/bar/breakfast PBR 30-packs. The Oxford English Dictionary defines "slacker" as "a person regarded as one of a large group or generation of young people (especially in the early to mid 1990s) characterized by apathy, aimlessness, and lack of ambition". They may have to alter the era included in their definition. Is it not "Our Generation," the children of those hardworking model Americans, the baby boomers, that has been called out on a hilariously frequent number of occasions by the New York Times for being lazy, ego-driven, sext-crazed narcissists? Slackers, in the truest sense of the word? Intra-generational hand wringing abounds at the NYT as their op-ed columnists tell us to stay out of restaurants and save our money. In preparation for footing the bill for "Their Generation's" gross mistakes, of course.

Every conversation over porch beers at noon on a Tuesday illicits the same conclusion: we're not unmotivated, the ones pushing papers and paying their bills are. We're the ones who are looking for something more, the ones who refuse to settle for what we've been given. We're taking the path of least resistance, fighting with ourselves and everyone else for answers instead of with the TV over Dancing With the Stars.


And it turns out Linklater agrees: “Slackers might look like the left-behinds of society, but they are actually one step ahead, rejecting most of society and the social hierarchy before it rejects them. The dictionary defines slackers as people who evade duties and responsibilities. A more modern notion would be people who are ultimately being responsible to themselves and not wasting their time in a realm of activity that has nothing to do with who they are or what they might be ultimately striving for.”





Slack on, "our generation."

duh.

jeans creamin time

That perfect spot in the middle of the Jules/Bruce Venn diagram:




this could barely be better even if it was ELO.

Ever wonder...

why "we're" all functional alcholics who don't give a shit?

IT'S IN THE NEW YORK TIMES!

Read this and stop feeling guilty about devoting your life to hedonistic nihilism: it's the only thing left to do!

Although I can't help but laugh at the thought of this mainstreamer bro being sad about not getting a "corprate job on the bottom rung of the ladder."

GIMME SOME LONE STAR.

Also, loved the last two posts. Mothersbro inspired in me some optimism. He "gets" it.

THURSDAY NIGHT: ACT TWO

Scene: Andrew's house, 3 AM

ELSA is sipping a beer. ANDREW is carrying a pizza box. They walk into the house. ANDREW'S MOM is on the couch.

ANDREW: Hey Mom. This is my friend Elsa.

ELSA: Oh hi.

ANDREW'S MOM: Hi.

ELSA and ANDREW walk downstairs.


ANDREW: Awk-ward. She has a TV in her room, you'd think she could watch it there.

ELSA: Oh. God.

ANDREW and ELSA sit on a leather couch, and ANDREW turns on the TV, selects the "Ricky Gervais Show" from the digital cable menu and begins to eat pizza.

ANDREW: What are you doing tomorrow?

ELSA: I have to work like, all day.

ANDREW: That sucks.

ELSA: Yeah. What are do doing?

ANDREW: Fucking nothing. Looking for jobs. I just got fired from the record store.

ELSA: Where are you looking?

ANDREW: Best buy, radio shack.

ELSA: Oh. Nice.

ANDREW: I'm too tired to make you popcorn. You want something to drink?

ELSA: Yeah, how about some juice.

ANDREW gets ELSA a glass of orange juice.

ANDREW and ELSA watch RICKY GERVAIS for a while, and when ANDREW has finished a few slices of pizza, he leans over and starts kissing ELSA. ANDREW and ELSA are making out and start taking off each others clothes until they are both naked. ANDREW gets up and comes back with condoms. They begin to have sex. ELSA is on top.

ANDREW: Don't be so loud.

ELSA: I'm not being loud.

ANDREW: The couch, I mean. It's squeaking a lot.

ELSA is too drunk to fully contemplate the fact that this is the opposite of anything she has ever wanted but does feel a vague sense of boredom and hopes ANDREW will finish up soon.

ANDREW eventually comes and ELSA rolls off.

ANDREW: That last condom ripped.

ELSA: You better be fucking kidding.

ANDREW: I am.

ELSA: Worst joke ever.

ELSA gets up to pee. She comes back to the couch and ANDREW is eating pizza and watching the Ricky Gervais Show again. ELSA covers herself in a blanket and briefly wonders what constitutes slapping someone across the face these days.

ANDREW leans over and kisses ELSA.
ELSA's phone vibrates. She reaches for it and reads a text from MERE: "what the hell happened to you guys." ELSA texts her mom that she's sleeping over at her friend's house tonight.

ELSA closes her eyes and sleeps for a moment.

ANDREW: What time do you have to work tomorrow?

ELSA: Eleven.

ANDREW: Mmm. I think I'm gonna drive you home now. You could totally stay over but it's gonna suck way more to drive in the morning.

ELSA tries to stifle a visible smirk and notices she doesn't actually care.

ELSA: Ok.

ANDREW goes into the bathroom and ELSA pulls on her pants and shirt and stuffs her bra in her purse. She finishes the orange juice.

ELSA and ANDREW get into his car and listen to RYAN ADAMS. ELSA used to listen to RYAN ADAMS when she was a freshman in college and think that some of his songs were very romantic and sweet and that RYAN ADAMS must be a pretty senstive guy and that his music might be nice to listen to with another kind, sensitive guy.

ELSA and ANDREW engage in more idle banter on the car ride to ELSA's. ELSA can't wait to be in her own bed, alone.

They pull into ELSA's driveway.

ELSA: Welp, see ya later.

ANDREW: Yeah, I'll see you later.

ANDREW leans over and kisses ELSA.

ELSA: K. Bye.

ANDREW: Bye.


ANDREW pulls out of the driveway. ELSA walks into the house, upstairs to her bed and throws her purse on the ground. She looks in the mirror and notices her FRANK ZAPPA shirt is on inside out.

Thursday Night: A play in three acts

ACT ONE

Scene: 2 am, the bar. MERE, ELSA and ANDREW are ordering their last beers.

MERE: Ah Nick hasn't texted me back.

ELSA: [ahem] oh, [ahem] what?

MERE: I'd texted him earlier and haven't heard from him.

ELSA finds NICK in her phone and texts him: "what. the fuck. don't play me with a friend." and deletes his number.

MERE: K, lets go back to our house or find a party or something.

ELSA: fuck yes. i have to drop my roommates' car off though, I'll drive you to yours and you wanna follow me home and then take me to your house?

MERE: Sure, let's go.

ANDREW: I'll meet you guys there.

MERE, ELSA and ANDREW pound their beers.

MERE AND ELSA go to ELSA'S car. ELSA turns Grizzly Bear up all the way. MERE lights a cigarette.

MERE: I fucking love this album. Actually the last guy I boned before Nick was the one who played it for me.

ELSA: Mmmm, yeah, it's pretty amazing.

MERE: So what about you and Andrew? You guys gonna make out again?

ELSA: uh, no. that was a one-time thing.

MERE: Well he's been talking about you all week. I'm glad you finally came out so he can shut up.

ELSA and MERE arrive at MERE'S house. MERE goes to get her car. ELSA sits in the car listening to Grizzly Bear.

ANDREW swings open the passenger side door, leans over and starts making out with ELSA.

ANDREW: Is this Grizzly Bear?

ELSA: duh.

ANDREW stumbles backward against the door.

ELSA: Wait, where are you going?

ANDREW: Matt's house. you guys should come afterwards.

MERE walks up to the car and hands ELSA three PBRs.

MERE: You left these here last time.

ELSA: Sick.

MERE: Ok, let's go. See ya, Andrew.

ANDREW: Matt's. After.

MERE: Yeah, we get it. We'll be there.

MERE follows ELSA to her parent's house to drop of the car. ELSA goes inside to get some more beer. ELSA gets into MERES car and cracks open a PBR.

ELSA: So, what was going on with you and Nick?

MERE: Eh, we dated a long time ago. Then I was wasted last weekend and called him. He came over, we boned. I was laughing the whole time though, and I think he was pissed.

ELSA: ha. oh. he seems like he has the biggest napolean complex ever.

MERE: UH, yeah. Also that guy has never heard of foreplay.

ELSA: mmm for some reason I can see that.

MERE: Yeah, I was just kind of bored, that's why I even called him in the first place.

ELSA looks at her phone and has 2 missed calls from Andrew. ELSA and MERE arrive at MERE's house. ANDREW and the TWO MATTS are standing in the back parking lot behind the house.

ELSA: you guys want beer?

MERE: it's gross and totally skunked.

ELSA: Yeah right, it's delicious.

TWO MATTS: yeah, sure.

ELSA: Here, you guys can split one.

THE TWO MATTS share a beer.

ANDREW: what the fuck are we doing? is there a party or not?

MATT: the one on orchard got busted, and the one on bayview is just like 4 people sitting around.

ANDREW: fuck this, I'm ordering pizza.

ANDREW orders a pizza.

Idle conversation ensues.

MERE: Ok, what are we doing? Let's at least go inside. It's not even warm out.

ELSA to ANDREW: Are you going to get that pizza?

ANDREW: Yeah, you wanna come?

ELSA: Yeah.

ANDREW: Ok guys, we're going to get the pizza. See you guys in a bit.

ELSA and ANDREW get into Andrews car. ELSA drinks a beer.

ANDREW: I'm like the best drunk driver ever. Like, better than most sober people.

ELSA doesn't really care and mumbles in response. ANDREW is going about 70 on the highway. They arrive at the pizza place and ANDREW runs in to get the pizza.

ANDREW: This is the best pizza in town. You want a piece?

ELSA: I don't eat pizza, I'm vegan.

ANDREW: Fuck you. Do you eat popcorn? I make the best popcorn ever.

ELSA: Yeah, that sounds sick.

ANDREW: Fuck the party. Let's go back to my house, I'll make you popcorn and we can watch the Ricky Gervais show.

ELSA: That sounds good.

ANDREW turns the car around and starts speeding in the opposite direction.

these seem relevant

I'm sending that one to Liz.

Copy this and send it to all parents and relatives

cause the NYT sez it's ok to fuck around for YEARS after schoolin:


After graduation, I spent five years wandering around doing nothing — or getting as close to it as I could manage. I was a cab driver, an obsessed moviegoer, a wanderer in the mountains of Colorado, a teacher at a crazy grand hippie school in Vermont, the manager of a movie house (who didn’t do much managing), a crewman on a ship and a doorman at a disco.


Thanks, NYT!

PUNK!

kute/gross/kute

ALSO my roommate is on a "conference call" talking about "interactive media" and "expectations of the product" with a "client" right now, while I am "surfing" "buzz bands" on the world wide web. REAGANS KIDZ UNITE!!

&

i'm obviously going to send this to you anyway. But it does prove that Gauguin= 150 yrs ahead of the curve.

have I shown you this experimental side project post-blogspot core blog yet?

RE: lost generationz

defeated? resigned? no fuckin way, broad.

"Mothers, don’t let your children grow up to be hipsters. We are a lost generation, desperately clinging to anything that feels real, but too afraid to become it ourselves. We are a defeated generation, resigned to the hypocrisy of those before us, who once sang songs of rebellion and now sell them back to us. We are the last generation, a culmination of all previous things, destroyed by the vapidity that surrounds us. The hipster represents the end of Western civilization – a culture so detached and disconnected that it has stopped giving birth to anything new."


I used to believe this, that our world was over and we were nothing but vultures picking at its rotting corpse... but I really don't anymore. The things that have formed our culture might be dead and dying-- sincerity, huge record labels, hypercapitalism, etc, but there are new, better things popping up in their stead. Self-awareness, self-distribution and small, community oriented projects are growing out of the ashes of those bloated tenets of our modern era.

I don't really know what hipster means in 2010, but in 1959 it meant someone who listened to jazz, liked drugs and wrote/read things that used the word "fuck." I have a feeling that when we say hipster we mean people who listen to noise/folk/punk/jazz, like drugs and read/write things that use the word "fuck." In much of the discourse that labels itself "concerned with American ideals", you'll come across phrases like "standing for something", "hard work" and talk of "freedom" "bravery" and "prosperity." Simultaneously, you'll notice that our armed forces kill civilians around the world with a frequency that suggests they enjoy it, while our elected officials have left a fifth of the children in their own country to live in poverty. And this is largely thanks to that "peace and love" generation who later built corporate America over former farms and forests and parked their SUVs in the driveway.

So if we are defeated, it's because we recognize the gross mismanagement of funds and passion by the people who call themselves leaders of the free world, and if we are destroyed it's because we don't know how to change that. Instead, we throw pebbles into the void, listen to noise/folk/punk/jazz, like drugs and read/write things that use the word "fuck." The more people who opt out of our modern corporate nightmare, the fewer bombs dropped in its name. "Hipsters" might not "stand for anything," but they've got my vote.

s00000 ghey for these bros

[when i was younger, i wanted to have 5 kids and name them for each member of the strokes. nick and nicolai could get confusing.]

Reason No. 237

... that young alts (what the hell are we called?) should not live at home:

Accidental exposure to weepy "contemporary adult alternative."

My roommates like pretty good music for the most part, but sometimes some maverick Starbucks compilation from 2004 sneaks into the shuffle, and the other day I was subjected to the criminally maudlin tripe of Five For Fighting's (srsly, what the fuck) "One Hundred Years."

And I was like, "this guy totally gets it."

My Roommates

Whenever you move into a new living situation, it takes some time to adjust to the quirks of your co-habitants. I'm still getting used to mine-- one of my roommates is always asking me to vaccuum and the other one thinks Ray Romano "gets it."

Sometimes we have dinner together. Here's an excerpt from a recent conversation around the dining room table:

The topic: Tiger Woods.


adrienne: well, he's still a good role model for college students who want to sleep with 14 women.

daniel: I doubt any college guys sleep with 14 women. I never knew any college guys who were into that.

emily: uuuuh, yes college kids are still into that.

daniel: today?!?! even with AIDS??!

emily: uuum, yeah.

daniel: well, if you sleep with one person, it's like you're sleeping with all the people they've slept with.

adrienne: kids today are probably more worried about... what are they called... STSs.

daniel: SDS! students for a democratic society.

emily: [cringe/chuckle/kill me plz]



But, Dan likes Fleet Foxes and Adrienne buys me beer, so I guess I can't complain.

Re: Crash and Burn

So what's a TOTALLY creative, complete renaissance girl Reagan's kid to do?

Well, you already answered your own question with that one. Go out and get laid anyway!

As your sister in living rent free/jobless/just tryna experience something real, grrrrl have I been there.

When criticism from the world at large (parents, other family members, clueless friends, etc) arises, I like to do two things: 1) look at their lives, and ask myself if that's something I aspire to, and 2) reach into my arsenal of humans who I do think lived badassedly ie the way I wish to live in general, and ask myself what they would think. More often than not, I think that they would be like, "fuck yeah. I never had a real job or a mortgage either!" If Allen Ginsberg ever walked up to me and was like, "what the hell are you doing? stop it!" I sure as shit would. Until then, I'm gonna keep believing that what I'm doing (or not doing) is ok because I'm ok with it.

Kinda just think that the world is full of people who just don't "get it" (as illustrated by the fact that the world is falling the fuck apart), so I'm not too quick to get down on one who decides to say "f that shit" and avoid the trappings of modern life at all costs.

Personally, I think your response of the creative realm being different is completely valid. The problem is that our dumb world places value on monies more that anything else so it's hard for people normalized by this culture to see the other things you've "earned" this year: an awesome portfolio, great experience and lots of contacts.

Maybe just in the interest of preserving your rent-free way of life for the time being, it would be worth having a sit down with the roommates and telling them your plans and your reasons for your life choices, internship, etc. All parents really want is their kids to have some idea of what they want to do, and surprisingly think that their kids are totally clueless. I've had SO many convos with my madre re: this topic, while I am FREAKING out because I can't do what I want to do and stress about "the future" ALL the time, while she's asking me if I ever think about "the future."

So yeah. You just gotta like do what you wanna do, while attempting to keep the roommates happy. Sucks that they don't understand the world, so you gotta do your best as a liason. Also, if you are interested in earning dollars, is there any after-school art program or something you could work at? Maybe not with li'ls, but high school kids could be fun.

(just read Dan Savage and am feeling all advice columny, apparently.)

Welp, I'm about to go to an interview for a barrista job! Hopefully my future co-workers will be 19 and hot.

Life's great defeats...

Welcome to the world of living with your parents...
I feel a shift coming on in our blog. L337 Living
W the 'Rents?! Could be a cultural phenomenon...
Let's be the official scribes of the netz recording
this history....