Me x Barry White

This is something I have been avoiding for quite some time but I guess was ultimately inevitable.

For the first time in my 27 years on this planet I can honestly admit to being a Barry White fan. I've been a devout fan of 70's soul music since I was a child but Barry White always struck me as some cheesy 80's pop star that belonged in the center square of some lame game show.

The othernight though as I am sitting around the crib listening to elevator music on the radio, Barry Whites Never Gonna Give You Up started playing and my ears perked. Like a few other slow jams on this depressing excuse for an R&B / oldies station I was forced to re-evaluate my opinion of the man and his tunes.

Ever since I have been on some uncontrollable trip to listen to Never Gonna Give You Up repeatedly going on roughly three days straight. There's something about the bleakness of dark sounding love songs that appeals to me. Surprisingly the radio seems the best place to find them in abundance. Especially songs that have lost alot of their deepness because of how thin they have been stretched over a pop culture landscape that doesn't appreciate them.

I guess now that I have nothing but time in the evenings to sit around and analyze shit like this the songs have sort of slowed down for me and I'm finally able to give them a fair shake.

Anyways...

Bangin Kicks

Lampin Gets Guest Contributor!!!

Good evening friends. By now many of you have had the fortunate experience of meeting me personally, while the rest of you may have only heard of me through legend and simply feel as though we have crossed paths before. Yes, I of course am John's much beloved and talked about infamous penis.

I come to you this evening inspired by recent events taking place in the fine state of Wisconsin (trust me, you don't even want to hear the cheesehead story) and have decided that not only am I going on a temporary labor strike, but to announce that I have also become a member of a local union that exist to protect hard working guys like me from unsavory characters like my boss.

The reality though, is that I enjoy my profession a great deal and take my craft very seriously. All I am asking for is that I am finally given proper safety equipment and to stop being exposed to hazardous environments. The hours suck, I am overworked and underpaid with very little time to rest in between brutally labor intensive shifts. I'd like some healthcare benefits and a little vacation time would be nice every now and again too.

Unfortunately my boss is a real jerk. The guy has very little regard for his own safety let alone mine. Do you have any idea what it's like being trapped down there all day? I'm the only guy on the planet who can be locked in the dark and still look and feel as though I have gotten a sun burn. This is fuckin bullshit.

For example, this is a recent exchange during a trip to the free clinic on a Monday morning after a wild weekend of hard boozing and beating up trim.

Time: 7 am

Location: Free Clinic.

A clearly hungover John limps to the back of an already long line full of impregnated skeezoids and baby mama's getting WIC. The young lady infront of him catches his eye.

John: Good morning.

Girl: Good morning.

John: So what are you in for this morning?

Girl: I'm here for my WIC check, get away from me you fucking creep!

The door opens and the line files into the initial waiting room. There's a lady handing out forms and paper work at the entrance.

John: Good morning, maam.

Lady: Oh, boy. Again?

John: Well, You know how it goes. It was first Friday.

Lady: Geez louis buddy. Just wait here a second.

John: It's ok I know the routine, just hand me the forms and I'll go have a seat.

Lady: No, no. Please, just wait here a second. Hang on.

The lady goes to her desk to make a phone call to the doctor.

Doctor: Hello, Dr. Miguel speaking.

Lady: Yes, Doctor Miguel, he's back!

Doctor: For the love of god, man. Please, hold for a minute.

The doctor proceeds to bow his head and mutter some sort of spanish prayer under his breath. Then grabs a stool and walks over to the cabinet. He pushes some boxes and supplies out of the way, reaches way to the back and pulls out a bottle of Jack Daniels. Takes a huge swig, shakes his head and walks back to the phone.

Doctor: Ok, send him back. I'm ready now.

Lady: Yes, sir.

Lady goes over to John.

Lady: The doctor will see you now, sir.

John: Sweet, a guy could get spoiled by such speedy service. Hope you guys work this quickly the next time I'm in here.

Lady: Good god! This isn't an express pass, sir.

John enters the room, he reaches out his hand to greet the doctor.

Doctor: Oh, umm, one second.

The doctor picks up a latex glove and places it over his hand before he shakes Johns hand.

Doctor: Ok, how can I help you this morning?

John: Well, (details are censored).

Doctor: Ouch, what happened to the last five packages of free condoms we gave you? Don't you ever get sick of coming into this dump?

John: Oh those, I trade them to cab drivers in exchange for rides to the bar.

Doctor: Sigh. Let me examine it.

John pulls down his pants.

John: Before you look, doc, keep in mind it's kind of cold outside today and I'm a little shy.

Doctor: This is quite unique to say the least, never seen one that looks like this before. Where the hell have you been shoving this thing? The reds, the blues, the swirls. It is all very avant garde. I don't know whether to treat it or frame it for the Smithsonian to hang up as a work of art.

End.

Now do you understand my plight? I am just a hard working guy wanting to do his job, but I can no longer work under such detrimental conditions. Until my demands are met I refuse to punch the clock and perform my duties.

I ask that all others in my situation or even those who simply sympathize, join me in this strike and immediately contact your local state representatives to demand that stricter rules and regulations are in place to protect our special interest.

Paying For Autographs?

It was roughly spring of '02 and I was eagerly awaiting graduation from high school. A friend of mine, who we will call "Kramer", had dropped out of high school and gotten mixed up with some college aged kids that were paying him to go around the country to hastle celebrities and athletes for their signatures.

One weekend he asked if I'd be interested in the possibility of meeting a then red-hot on the charts Ja Rule. I'm not going to go into heavy details on all of the goings on over the course of that weekend but I will say that by 4 a.m. on Sunday morning I was in a lavish hotel lobby standing next to a heavily inebriated Ja Rule having my picture taken. With one hell of an epic story to tell at school on Monday morning!

I knew at that moment, for me life as a fan would never again be the same. I now knew how to penetrate that invisible wall that exist between fan and celebrity. Whether it meant waiting in a dark alley behind a concert venue, standing on a sidewalk outside of a hotel, whatever. If I was a fan of your work and wanted a signature or a picture I could get it without breaking a sweat or my wallet. And the great thing is that most of the time the personality in question was eager to oblige with a smile and a "thank you for being a fan".

So, fast forward to the present. I'm a little older now and it's not quite as cool to be pushing slightly passed your mid 20s harassing celebrities. Although, there are exceptions, ofcourse.

Anyways, as I am planning a trip next month to Jacksonville, Florida for the Cult Fiction Drive-In convention for "legitimate" autographs I am blown away by the outlandish going price for the signatures of "celebrities" who have not been relative for atleast twenty years.

Not saying that a celebrity should not be compensated for their time. That's what I thought the whole appearance fee and free travel accomodations were for. Hell, I am not even opposed to them charging for a signature or a photograph. So long as it is within reason.

The guest list at this con has grown so impressive that the three or four signatures I had originally planned on budgeting for has grown to seven or eight. At an average of $20 a pop that is one hell of an expensive weekend. Especially when you tack in the cost of purchasing the memorabilia that you are asking them to bless with their John Hancocks. Even at around $10-$15 per signature that adds up quick. Not to mention the cost of admission just to go to the event.

As a fan it seems a tad insulting that personalities who would otherwise be working at a Wal-Mart and forgotten about have the nerve to price gauge the very people who have ressurected them from obscurity and keep their names afloat through fan sites, blogs, etc and only really want the opportunity to tell that person how much their work has meant to them. Fans of comics, horror, sci-fi and all things otherwise fantastic are unique because we never forget our heros. Unlike fans of other varieties who seem to have a more what have you done for me lately approach to fandom.

This is not to say that I am not going to still go to Jacksonville and have the time of my life come hell or high water. If worse comes to worse I got a $5 bill for every guest in attendence to snap a quick photo with me, if that isn't good enough then a free handshake and a, "you were awesome in **insert film**, thank you for the memories" will suffice. There should be plenty of vendors in the dealers section willing to take my money. If that isn't the case either then I have found a few bars and clubs in the area that I guarantee will be willing too!

I just can't bring myself to part ways with my hard earned money in exchange for a signature that is priced way beyond market value, especially when I have gotten things signed for free from names at the peak of their careers.

This may sound sort of pessimistic but I am just trying to get my complaints out of the way in advance so that I can give a less political or heavy handed account of my travels to the show when I get home.

Somebody Has To Dig Ditches

I just sat through the film "Waiting For Superman" and it caused me to reflect on how terrible my own experience of being funneled through America's public educational system was. Not to mention realizing just how awful many of my educators actually were.

As an adult in the workforce who is critiqued on a regular basis and always one bad decision or lay-off away from my next unemployment check, I find it ridiculously unfair that an educator can be horrifyingly bad at their craft and still recieve a somewhat decent salary along with a very generous benefits package.

Sure, there was the occassional good teacher and a few decent ones sprinkled throughout. But for the most part my twelve years were spent doing crossword puzzles and word searches. Or worse, simply copying notes off of a projector and being told to learn the material on my own. Besides mathematics, I can hardly recall a time in those twelve years when a text book was anything more then a weight in my backpack. That is ofcourse when a text book was available or not in such mangled conditions that it was virtually unreadable.

During the sixth grade I even had a math teacher who would spend the entire class period telling stories about his ex girlfriends, hijinks at high school jobs or griping about the intelligence gap between his American students and the class of foreign kids he'd teach during first period. Looking back on it, how were we ever supposed to catch up with those kids when we were busy being a test audience for his stand up comedy routine?

That is just the tip of the ice burg that doesn't even begin to cover the many teachers given cushy jobs based upon their value to various athletic programs. One of the worst teachers I ever had was a wrestling coach who taught drivers ed. His job mainly consisted of popping in a video and goofying around with his pal the varsity football coach who he shared a portable room with (At the time the school was being remodled and classrooms were forced into trailors). That same guy is now a big wig on the city council! He wasn't a real teacher, although he could put on his resume that he had been. His main claim to fame was that he was a decent wrestling coach. I can't even fathom being paid a middle class salary with benefits for doing virtually nothing beyond glorified baby sitting for eight hours a day.

As a matter of fact, I am wondering where the hell peoples parents were during all of this madness? If I had a child and they were coming home with folders filled with crossword puzzles and word searches I'd probably be at the school the next day demanding an explanation. Looking back on it now I have to wonder to myself if I ever really stood a chance.

That's not to say that I avoid all personal responsibility in the matter (my life's fine. I'm just saying), but from the time I entered pre-school my path was aimed in the direction of mediocracy. Kids like me who just hovered in between failing and excelling are just sort of tolerated and forgotten about. Come to think of it there were very few times I can ever remember being personally encouraged or congratulated for anything besides my jump shot.

Not trying to get to deep with all of this. Just thought I'd jot it all down while it was on my mind. It boggles my mind though, how in a country with an endless budget for warfare and imprisonment how the one system that should be the envy of the industrialized world can fail so miserably. Oh wait, maybe that does explain it.