Black Flag. Santa Ana. Mourning the Dead. Mythical Carnitas Burrito w/ Bloody Legend Behind It.
I love Santa Ana. It’s the fucking best….no seriously. For those of you only semi-familiar with the glory of SOUTHERN California, maybe you’ve heard of it…the city of Santa Ana, not the southern region of the state, dipshit. And for all of you chill brah’s and wannabe reality stars in South County, you’re arrogant, and you’re missing out. Fyi, just like in Newport Beach, there’s cocaine, Red Bull, top shelf vodka and exploitable women to consume here too. No need to get anxious as the thought, but I assure you, you’ll find plenty of BMW’s, Benz’ and Audi’s to hit with flyers to the pimp & ho you’re throwing at Sutra next Saturday, too. Just go to Main Place Mall, seriously. If you find a late 2000’s black 328 with a dent on the rear, passenger side fender, and Angels licence plate frames, you don’t want to get near it. I’ve heard rumors that in the Santa Ana area there’s a car fitting that description, and if you touch it, hair gel will never work for you again for the rest of your life. Not sure how or why….guess it’s cursed. (It is)
Things aren’t how you think they are out here in mi barrio, pendejo. Pinche guey.
See that above? Yeah I have a weird, guilty sort of boner, too. No really, that was just a joke…funny…I was kidding. These people are nihilists, Donnie, they’re nothing to be afraid of.
Oh yeah, Walter? You sure about that, big guy?
Me, I’m afraid because if reality TV, the E Network and TMZ are allowed to keep doing what they do, this is where we’re all headed. You may be thinking to yourself, “Don’t think so man, it’s not my thing. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’d like to get back being smarter than the average American.”
Okay, cool……fair enough. Not sure that the quip at the end was really necessary, but at least he’s on the right track. Here’s my reply though. I know I’m good, and if you’re reading this….or anything at all, you’re good too. But are your kids? All this crap is fairly recent. Are you in your 30’s? Do you have a 1-year-old daughter crawling around the floor in front of you right now? Look at her. Look how beautiful she is. Think about the years ahead and the bond you’ll be forging. Imagine her first day of school and how proud of her you’ll be……
I’ll give you a couple more seconds….
Amazing feeling right? Now stop fucking around and go find a surgeon that’ll work on babies, STAT. Get the fuck up and go get her a boobjob, because in 2027, with inflation factored in, a procedure like that is going to be so mindblowingly expensive that if you don’t, sucking dicks and doing anal will be the only way she’ll be able to afford it. Yeah, you’ll do your best to raise her with decent values, but you and I both know that more and more in this society its the friends and the TV that raise our kids. Your daughter’s friends are all going to be whores, so it’s safe to assume she’s going to be a whore too. Turn on the TV right now and tell me what you see. Is it whores? Of course it is. Remember back to the early 90’s, and television shows we watched then. The only whores we had, doing whore things, were the ones on MTV’s the Real World*. How far have we come since Beth was an unattractive lesbian? I’ll tell you. Beth is an even more unattractive lesbian…..and there are whores everywhere, too… Listen, I’m your friend, only trying to prevent your daughter from becoming a whore when she’s 17. You’re not going to make enough money to take care of that augmentation in the future, so you might as well do it now as a damage-control measure. The TV’s going to raise your little angel anyway, and if you don’t get proactive, she’s gonna be blowing crackheads before you can say,
“Oh my God, I fucking hate everything about you for putting those thoughts in my head!” she’s going to be a whore. I’m doing you a favor, you broke bastard.
*If you were to make a map of American culture over the last 30 years and then did some connecting-of-the-dots, you would find that the Real World was to blame for ALL OF THIS. It was a Trojan Horse. It came in looking great…a little dangerous, but still under control, like the ideal college girlfriend. Reality TV…..fame and popularity as a practical career option…….13 year old’s dressing like Jenna Jameson….and more than anything else, the amount of “dumb” that’s infected us…all of it leads back to the Real World. I’m going to build a motherfucking terminator and send it to 1990, or whatever the exact year was, and have it make friends with the main producer’s wisecracking delinquent son who rides a motorcycle. It’ll be a father-type figure to the kid, and the kid can teach the big lug how to feel…..and then its gonna……you got the point.
Yeah fucking right. My terminator won’t make those same mistakes….matter of fact there won’t even be any terminators. I’m going to put 17-year old ME on a time machine and send him to whatever year it is your daughter starts doing anal to fund the plastic surgery you didn’t provide for her when she was a baby. Since I don’t understand all the facets of time travel, I might have already fucked your daughter. You broke bastard.
Check it out. Here is the dilemma that 10%’ers living in Orange County, like Mike Apathy, deal with. If brain surgeons, like the ones in the picture a few paragraphs up, would just change into some normal clothes and stop putting all that shit on their faces, they’d actually be very pretty and we wouldn’t focus on how stupid they are because they wouldn’t be such obvious targets. Think about it. This part of the article could be over already. When you factor in what the rest of the country has to offer, there’s no place like home. Not saying there aren’t any other hot spots out there, but c’mon… (Beauty is obviously subjective, i.e. someone’s BJ technique or somebody finding a pile of garbage, sprinkling dog shit on it, spraypainting it and calling it art……Ladies, do your special guy a solid, and click this hotlink. SFW, not-trolling, I promise.) Just so we’re clear, I’m talking about the generally accepted standard for beauty that permeates 2011 Western Culture…If you don’t know what I’m talking about, go to the supermarket checkout and look at the cover of US Weekly.
So….the chicks in the picture…. What also wouldn’t hurt them is if they ditched Mr. Junior VP. If you live in Orange County, ask yourself if you’ve ever met this guy. This one just spent his entire profitsharing bonus on:
Eightball of Cocaine
Bottle Service at the Nightclub
Expensive Hotel Room
Steaks, Cigars and Whiskey with the Other Young Alec Baldwin-in-Glengary-Glenross Dickheads From Work
“Who’s Glen? I sure as shit don’t know anybody named Gary, that’s a gay-guy name like Bruce. Are you talking about Ross from Friends? That dude’s a whiny bitch. We like Boiler Room. We wanna be like Boiler Room….and Fast and Furious.”
With that rollcall of fun, our young white champion’s going to have a hell of a night. He’ll get one or more of them back to his suite with no real problem, afterall he’s a Junior Exec! I doubt that the occupation really even mattered much; he paid for everything, acted like a prick and looked a certain way, he was “in” right from the beginning. Back at the hotel, he reached into his pocket, popped a Viagra for his wicked case of coke-dick and 30 minutes later he was pounding away looking at myself in the mirror like Patrick Bateman while he does it. She pretends to enjoy herself, moaning intermittently and thinks about the color pink (this is assuming she entered this arrangement willingly, and the roofies weren’t needed).
Mike Apathy is not 100% Superficial. Why should I care that these girls don’t dress in the style that I find attractive. Why do I care if they don’t like the same books or music I do. Why should I care that her stockbroker dad has a BUSH ’04 sticker on the fridge in his garage? All good points right? But being interested in more than just tits, what happens when I ask her what her thoughts are about the Brouwer–Hilbert Controversy and I get a blank stare with her head cocked to the side, and silence in return…I suppose I’d pause, confused. It’s not like I was asking her to speak ancient Greek with perfect pronunciation, and then walk me through the military conquests of the 2nd Ming Dynasty. I have no fucking idea how many Ming Dynasties China had, even if there were more than 1….so save your corrections f or your FACE. No really, I’ve had conversations with girls like these, I went to Foothill HS in Tustin (can’t say I graduated from Foothill…), and if you went there or have heard about the place, there’s no need for me to explain myself. If you didn’t or haven’t, go watch some 90210 reruns. So I’m standing there with a headache, while she gets back to texing…AnD tYpInG LiKe ThIs, PrObAbLy. In this situation, it’s probably safe to assume that the book’s cover is pretty indicative of it’s content, or more accurately, lack thereof. I know there are exceptions to the rule, but the lot of them shouldn’t be outside of the kitchen anyway, so really, what’s the point?
If I may, you can, thank you, I’d like to reiterate the point of to each their own.
Hot? Hell yeah they are. Completely and utterly worthless as human beings? Hell yeah they are.
If you’re a dude living in Orange County (focusing on the beach cities primarily) who doesn’t fit the mold, it’s possible that one of these over-compensating-because-their-confusing-and-very-secret-homosexual-leanings-contradict-everything-their-ex-HS-football-star-turned-corrupt-lawyer-fathers-taught-them-as-a-kid juiceheads might ironically call you a “faggot”, take their shirt off in the middle of the bar and try to fight you…I have always found it HILARIOUS when one of these types will take their shirt off before a fight, only to expose these flawless shimmering abs that almost look like a makeup artist actually did some shadowing work on them. It happens every time, I swear to you…I’ll accept bets if we’re ever in the situation, that one of them does. And I’ll need the money too, because after Brody shoves a Jae ger bottle up my ass, I’m going to need it to help with the ER bill.
Also, I’m not saying that this is the only shit people find attractive here. In most societies, the dominant alpha-types, dictate these things. Plenty of us would just as soon fight one of their coked-up boyfriends, completely willing to risk that ER visit, than have to make conversation with one of these girls for 30 minutes, and are fine with that. My wife, the Chief Domestic Officer, or CDO as I usually call her, is stunning. She’s gorgeous and she comes nowhere close to fitting the superficial mold that’s preferred by so many around here, and she’s hotter because of it. And you know what the real shame is? Because she’s 32 years old and doesn’t look exactly as she did when she was 21, she sometimes wonders if I find her attractive, or whether she’s even attractive at all anymore (for the readers of this site who ar e in the Apathy Family Inner Circle, you know how freaking absurd this is right? I mean just because I always ask her to put on a school girl outfit in the bedroom….actually lets not go there….she reads these posts sometimes, and I don’t want to have to stick a Jaeger bottle up my dog’s ass and steal his Angels blanket away from him…you know, his girlfriend, because she divorced me for outlining our exploits in the boo-dwar.
Just to drive the point home that not all of us share the same values and tastes as our friends from the pictures in examples #1 & #2…or Ahmadinejad for that matter, check this out:
A quick question first, though; what’s the reading equivalent of telling someone, “EARMUFFS!” so they won’t read a certain lines from something they’re reading that you’re writing??? Like this:
Mike: “Ummmm……uhhhhh….Hey Babe?”
CDO: “What’s up?”
CDO: “Holy shit, I’m blind! What the fuck is happening to me?!?!?!”
Mike: “Yeah that’s right. You didn’t know I was a Level 7 Mage, did you? Who’s the man now?! (hi-fives the dog…gives him back his blanket)
That last sentence will be the thing she’s most upset with about this if she reads it. She’ll call BS on the dog siding with me and giving me a hi-five. She’ll tell me that I’m full of crap and only wrote that to sound cool, to which I’ll smugly reply,
“How cool can a guy sound if he’s just told the world he’s a Level 7 Mage? Besides, Prose before ho’s.”
Also, I have no clue if a Level 7 Mage is impressive or not, or if it even exists. If not, I’m a Level Infiniti Undefeatable Elfdwarfwizardbarbarian that defies the rules of your shit, just like my shits sometimes defies the rules (upper-deckers), so I’m not someone to be trifled with.
Moving on with my point.
One of the prettiest women I’ve seen or spoken to over the last 10 years was a stripper at the old Mr. J’s off the 55 fwy, who had a T-Rex arm. Yes. A fucking stripper with a T-Rex arm. From now on, you can never call Mike Apathy an asshole again, lest you be proven a liar by this post. Then again, this is while I was knee-deep in my ecstasy phase; selling it…mostly swallowing it, so take that for what it’s worth. But yeah….stripper with a T-Rex arm. Beat that. Your pregnant stripper during the dayshift at Cheetah’s ain’t so impressive anymore is it?
On Saturday night, a week ago, (I’ve been at this article for a week) a bunch of us loaded up into to my shitbox and drove to Santa Ana for two reasons. Santa Ana, which I think is actually the Algonquin phrase meaning, “The Good Land”, has no shortage of people at public pools who wear jean shorts and tshirts when they swim. Death, the act of dying, is revered and put up on a pedestal in most Latin cultures. Our hilariously sombrero’d friends from the all-night burrito joint just south of California brought their centuries-old traditions of Dia (Dios?) de los Muertos up here with them when they drove their covered wagons across the desert. They decided to root-up and come to America after watching a bootlegged VHS of “American Tale”, dubbed in Spanish. Also, there was an evil chewing gum baron, Mr. Chiclet (pronounced Cheek-Lay) who wanted to impose his diabolical plan to replace all Mexican chewing gum with his own strange brand. In my opinion, we should be grateful to these folks for doing so. The uptight white people in OC can bitch all they want about tighter border security and losing “Hard-Working American” jobs to migrants. (Really, you rich motherfucker? You’re gonna let your son, Harold Winthorp III, go out and pick fruit in 90 degree heat for a summer job, for less than minimum wage? Fuck you. Winthorp right? Yeah….pretty sure I saw that name on the side of a trendy upscale grocer in Laguna that sells $7 lattes and carries OC Metro. Prick.) Trust me…we NEED them here. They’re glorious, slow roasted Carnitas is far from the only thing they contribute. Music. Hot women. Positive attitude. Strong work ethic. Optimism. I could keep going. Not apologising for being white, like some far-lefties do, everyone’s fucked, basically. And obviously there are negatives, too. But, it’s just that the diversity is more important to the area than a lot of us Happy Days-looking folks can always manage to remember. Getting off topic again……… Jesus, Mike. ADD much?
- Dia de los Muertos Celebration in the Artists’ Village in Downtown Santa Ana
- One of the art galleries in the Village had a show going on that night; different artists’ interpretations of Black Flag’s iconic imagery. Yes. That fucking Black Flag. Hell the fuck yeah.
So…….title of the post. I mentioned mythical Carnitas. Shit…this post is already getting out of hand faster than pouring a glass of water on a gremlin, but this is serious stuff and I must keep moving forward. Also, my apologies if you’ve already pinched off your turd and were thinking you’d just finish the article before you got up. Listen, you need to decide if you’re gonna keep reading and risk that your legs might fall asleep because you’ve been sitting awkwardly on the toilet for too long or to wipe your ass. I’d say shit or get off the pot, but you’ve already shat, and I’d love for you to stay on the pot, to finish the article. Listen…..it’s not that much longer. You’ll be done in a minute, you can wash your hands and clean the sand out of your vagina when you’re through. C’mon, you Nancy. I’ve been wr iting this thing for 7 FUCKING DAYS. You can finish this up in 15 minutes. We’re in this together!!! If you need to bail, do it now because shit’s* about to get real, Son!
*relevant-to- topic poop joke
We should frame this by discussing some Aztec folklore.
Chicomecoatl*: The Serpent Goddess of Maize
File Under: Aztec Religion, Mythology
*And fuck all if I can tell you how to pronounce that name
In Aztec mythology, Chicomecoatl “Seven snakes”, was the Aztec goddess of maize during the Middle Culture period. She is sometimes called “goddess of nourishment”, a goddess of plenty and the female aspect of corn. Every September a young girl representing Chicomecoatl was sacrificed. The priests decapitated the girl, collected her blood and poured it over a figurine of the goddess. The corpse was then flayed and the skin was worn by a priest.
She is regarded as the female counterpart of the maize god Cinteotl, their symbol being an ear of corn. She is occasionally called Xilonen, (“the hairy one”, which referred to the hairs on unshucked maize), who was married also to Tezcatlipoca.
She often appeared with attributes of Chalchiuhtlicue, such as her headdress and the short lines rubbing down her cheeks. She is usually distinguished by being shown carrying ears of maize. She is shown in three different forms:
As a young girl carrying flowers
As a woman who brings death with her embraces
As a mother who uses the sun as a shield
Moving on…She was the wife and counterpart of Cinteotl, God of the Maize Temples. In those days, during every harvest season, a young girl impersonating Chicomecoatl would be ritually sacrificed. First she would be decapitated, then have her blood poured over a statue of Chicomecoatl. Afterwards, her headless corpse would be ritually flayed and her skin would be worn by a priest of Chicomecoatl…..I’m totally plagiarizing this from it’s Wiki, btw, and while just now reading that and learning about this for the first time (but not the first time, because that contradicts part of this story a little ways down) I’m picturing an Aztec Priest doing the Silence of the Lambs’ Buffalo Bill-Dance??? I wonder if those bastards had a really good, creepy, 80’s-ish sounding music to listen to at the party. Actually….listen to this while you read the rest of this section….which I’m thinking could’ve been separated into separate chapters with a legitimate table of contents, and picture the towel guy at your local carwash butt-naked and war-painted, rocking a ceremonial headdress and doing the “wanna fuck me…I’d fuck me/dick-tuck” dance into the mirror.
Quick Note: Yes. So, I’d be willing to bet, another be? Yes, another bet, most of you didn’t know it was a female singing this song. I looked it up a long time ago, can’t recall the reason. She was pretty much a no-name cab driver in NYC when blah blah blah….seriously though, her backstory is kind of weird, which fits nicely with the theme of the song, Google it. The little part about her never recording anything else and basically disappearing adds to it…SPOOKY
HEY LOOK, TITS!!!!!!!
Wake up, back to the story……we’re almost there. Sorry your leg is asleep.
Sorry, there aren’t any tits. If by chance there were any beach meatheads that made it along this far, they’re gone now, that’s for sure. Probably the only reason they kept reading actually.
“This guy talks to much…what a fag….sure hope there’s tits soon.”
The same practice of sacrifice would occur at the festival of Hueytozoztli* when an impersonator would be sacrificed to encourage the growth of young corn. During Hueytozoztli, war captives would be killed by arrow sacrifice.
*Seriously, I can’t make this shit up…Hueytozoztli is the title of the first News record after Hey Lewis joined. Maaaaaannnnnn…..I can’t lie to you. It’s not a the name of a News album. Not even the real name of the thing I’m trying to describe, that I was too shitty to research. The Goddess and the sacrifice to yield a better harvest, though? Totally legit. I didn’t make that shit up. The Huey Lewis joke? Absolutely. You know, as long as I’m cleaning out the closet, pretty much the entire next part is all bullshit, too. My apologies to those suffering from tingly legs. Another thing; I spelled it “Boo-Dwar” on purpose back there.
Part of the legend was told to me by the ice cream truck guy back when I was a boy. I’ve been obsessed with it for most of my life. If you’re new to the Hamstring and don’t know, I’m a pretty big fan of burritos. You could say that I’m obsessed. The following is that part:
During one of these rituals, the girl they sacrificed was the daughter of a simple maize farmer. That year the Aztec People experienced a catastrophically bad harvest. Not so-so bad, but the plane has just crashed into the side of the mountain, Dude-bad. They’re going to kill that nice lady, Walter.
He was a humble man, with not much to offer anyone economically. And frankly, neither did he have any other way he could better the village situation, although the fact that his daughter was getting scammed on by….actually, sit tight…getting ahead of myself. His daughter was the only child that his wife bore him before she passed away in the great Mel Gibson Apocolypto Scaffolding Disaster of 1962. The movie was filmed on location in their village. On a shoot-day, a set-piece fell on her and killed her instantly*. Pretty shitty….
*Rumor has it that Mel Gibson actually rigged the piece intentionally because he overheard her placing a phone order at a Jewish Deli.
His daughter was thought to be the most…actually scratch that. She WAS the most beautiful girl in the entire Aztec Empire and had recently done a photo shoot for Lowrider Magazine. El Grande Jefe, the Empire’s High Priest or whatever, saw her on MySpace and started hooking up with her, and shortly after, moved into their garage. Why did the leader of an empire move into a garage, you ask? Hen’s make Roosters do weird stuff, Homie.
Not long after…you know how these things are…one thing led to another…and…well, they needed to hurry up and get married in 9 months or Farmer-Dad was gonna go out to the garage while Jefe Grande was working on the car, with a bunch of his ex-con cousins and…I don’t really know the particulars, but then again I’m not a doctor. My apologies.
I’m getting bored and I want to wrap this up….
Yadda Yadda Yadda, great selfless gesture by daughter, initial WTF? reaction by El Jefe Grande and Farmer-Dad……Hot naked Lowrider model does a strip tease…Bloody human sacrifice…..Vengeful god is pleased and hands them a magic Carnitas burrito for providing the only sacrifice worthy….next harvest is plentiful….Everybody gets laid.
All week leading up to the Artist Village last Saturday (Bet you forgot I was even talking about that, didn’t you.), I was pretty much banking on street vendors selling tacos, churros maybe, and a mythical Carnitas burrito with a bloody, but hopefully kind of funny legend behind it, you get the point.
While everyone else was like, “Lets get a beer, lets get a beer…”, I found out right away, my fate. No special food. Nothing. My fucking neighbor came by this morning (it’s Saturday now, I’m proofreading before I post, the neighbor thing was today) and sold me 4 delicious homemade tamales for 5 bucks, and there’s nothing to be found at a festival in DOWNTOWN SANTA ANA??? Bullshit. Carnitas pero no. Porque no Carnitas? Miguel Apatio vara esperar Carnitas burrito. No es bueno. Muy no es bueno.
But….on the bright side, Del Taco’s new one is really effing good…no BS. I live near a D-Tox too, so all is good back in el Barrio. Had one just the other night. It wasn’t molded from the hands of a powerful Aztec goddess using the blood of a radical heyna, but seriously, it was really good. I might have one tonight.
EDIT: I did end up having one that night
One last thing before we get to the gallery and look at the pictures I took…which came out AWESOME.
Remember the image all the way up at the top of the post? The punk kids in the hoodies? I don’t think you do. Look at it real quick. I’ll wait. I was driving by the cemetery the other day and saw these two fraggles walking by as I was going home. I raced into my carport, ignoring the speedbumps, pulled up, ran in, dropped off what I was taking home, hopped right back into my car and headed back to catch up with them. I screeched the car to a stop, probably freaked them out a little in the process…like who’s this Penn State Coach listening to really loud techno music?
“It’s not techno you little shit, it’s Drum ‘n Bass. Fuck. But yeah…that’s cool…you guys like xBox? Well hop on in. I have one in my dingy, pay-by-the-hour motel room over off of 1st St. I’ll even change the music for you….now listen to this Q. Lazarus song.”
Too soon for the Penn State crack??? For someone who has dealt with, first hand, the emotional pain, and who knows what kind of lasting psychological effects those types of actions can have??? Not too soon by a longshot. Goddamnit, I want to go off on a 1000 word sidebar SO bad right now…..the fact that Joe Pa might be basically as shitty and reprehensible as the superpower religion that rhymes with Schmaschmlischmism, is really hard for me to get my head around. That last joke about the hotel room…xBox, etc. had me laughing to myself in my head, but now, after this shit @ Penn State, it doesn’t feel right. Not going to cut it though. Love me? Love my flaws, too.
So, I pulled over like a weirdo and asked if I could snap their pic for the Hamstring. They were cool with it, if not a little awkward, but that’s fine. I was too at that age. We all were. Sorry guys, but in these next few sentences, I might get a little mushy. Sometimes I need to remind myself the following:
“Men cry too, Lebowski. Men cry too.”
The teenage punk kids I harassed on Sunday reminded me of Me, Stizzle and Tyler when we were in our teens, minus my dumb hair. Really dumb hair. Seriously though, I fucking love it when I see kids like this. In the most innocent way possible, It makes me feel warm inside, kind of like when Tyler listens to Elliott Smith and cries by himself in his dark room. FYI, Tyler’s not a photographer, so think Winona Ryder in Beetleguise-style “Dark Room.”
When I started writing this article last Monday, I had no intention of turning it into my longest post yet. Honestly, I just thought I was going to post some pics and bitch about no vendors selling street tacos. Serioulsy….how gringo am I, to expect these people to sell refreshments at what is basically a wake they hold annually, every November, to mourn their passed loved ones. And if any folks out there in Internet Land were kind of thinking the same thing, well I was just kidding when I wrote that part about feeling bad for being hungry. You think Christian Bale’s character in Empire of the Sun felt bad because he was hungry? Shit no he didn’t, he complained his annoying British ass off, too. Dia de los Muertos is a celebration. It has live music being played on a huge-ass stage, with dancin g. I’m pretty sure I saw Lou Bega singing that Mambo #5 song to passers-by for change. Anywhere that dude is has got to be a par-tay, nah mean? Seriously….you thought his suit USED to be baggy? You should see his skinny ass now…..shoulda wrote a Mambo #6…anything. Either way, the event is referred to as a CELEBRATION. Celebrations in Santa Ana have Mexican food. End of story. Well, not end of story. I’m realizing that this is probably my most ADD posting yet. This has been more like a multi-volume editorial on how to blog like an asshole, but conveniently all in one place and at the same time.
It just occurred to me that, this closing is going to bring this thing around full-circle. And it’s about time because we’re at 4894 words (as of whenever it was that I wrote this part), and WordPress just sent me a text, telling me to shut the fuck up because they’re running out of bandwidth, and because they’re assholes. I hope all my babbling about beauty standards and other bullshit might start to make a little sense after the following thoughts. It’s actually starting to make sense to me for the first time now, so we’re pretty much riding in the same lowered 1980 Chevy Caprice Classic.
To me, something as simple as seeing the punk/hardcore/doom metal/who the hell knows anymore-kids/fraggles (I refer to scruffy teenagers as fraggles) walking by and just doing nothing…walking…is part of what makes Santa Ana great for me. You’re not going to find the authentic ones in other parts of the county. Here, in Orange County, seeing them…the authentic ones…and you can tell if they are, doesn’t happen as much as I remember it. Kids like these, and we know, Tyler and I were two of them, passionately DON’T-GIVE-A-FUCK about your money, who you know, your beach house, how hot your model-GF is, your car or your job title even if they/we couldn’t articulate why exactly. They look/we looked this way to let you know up front, so you’d stay the fuck away.
Orange County is one of the wealthiest places in our fine country, which by default makes it one of the most obnoxiously rich places in the world, period. I think we forget that fact sometimes. Either way, with wealth comes greed and deceit and it creates these roles we seem to relish playing. The roles are force-fed to us from day 1, and they’re assigned to us by people we could call the Have’s. These are people who profit by keeping the rest of us, The Have-Not’s, happy and in our place, thinking about Jaeger…texting…drunk sex….the color pink. It’s all to keep us dumb and apathetic at the same time. And if you buy into it, you’re a 90%’er. YOU’RE ONE OF THEM.
Corporations run everything, and I mean everything, and convince us to be good Americans and buy shit, buy shit, buy bigger more expensive shit and then buy some more shit after we just took a shit…and we’ll never run out of shit. Don’t worry, we’ll outsource the labor to 10 year olds in 3rd World Nations like our southern neighbors, working under conditions that were shit even for the Dark Ages.
“But fuck them because their skin is brown, their food is weird, and didn’t they smuggle drugs into this country???
Yes, they smuggled the drugs that you purposefully gave them to smuggle into this country.
“Just wait another second. Didn’t those guys blow up some buildings, or some other important stuff???”
Yes, after you secretly funded them and then trained them how to do it.
There’s plenty more that will make me vomit if I keep going on like this… Speaking of vomit, ask me about Stizzle’s ability to walk, hold a conversation and puke his guts out all at the same time…cool stuff.
Being in the artists village in Downtown Santa Ana and seeing these two high school aged crusty Hardcore kids over this last weekend reminded me that there’s still a part of Orange County that doesn’t fit the phony ideal that’s in my face everywhere I look…a nook, if you will, concerned about all this horror, but can still get together and make each other feel good about the place that we’re in and not feel like the need to hate it as much, if even for a few hours. These things reminded me that not everything has to fit the ideal. It’s a reminder that a 32 year-old corporate job-working and BMW-owning ex-punker needs to have more often. Tyler might use the term, “thinks differently” to describe it. It might seem obvious to some, but when these impossible-to-live-up-to-values are constantly shoved into your mouth o r at one’s job at a very conservative, Republican-dominated (I’m talking Neo-Cons, not the badass Republicans of our granfathers…and Abe Lincoln, who was probably a homosexual. Seriously. The Gay Republican Party calls themselves the Log Cabin Party. Why? Do some Google searches on it, fascinating shit…see if you can find the VICE Magazine article on the topic, published at least 10-12 years ago…wild stuff.) industry like finance; it’s easier than you think to lose sight of the bigger picture. Or as the Descendents refer to it, “ALL.”
Where else in Orange County can an aging ex-punker who’s pissed off at himself every fucking day that he’s not as outwardly frustrated and angry, or isn’t doing enough anymore to try to change things as he was when he was the same age as these kids, experience a nostalgic night with Black Flag, facepainted mourners walking the streets and authentic Day of the Dead/skulls/art everywhere? Don’t really know why, but like those high heels and Elliott Smith for Tyler, it just made me feel right.
*Actually, I’m probably more angry now because I know what the hell I’m talking about (debatable). Teenage me didn’t know jack shit…I can’t speak for you guys, but at 32 I can comprehend and understand things that a naive, slogan-screaming teenager with a cliché Darby Crash mohawk can’t…and that’s a good thing…some things, if I really understood them at that age, things I’m cognizant of now, would have been simply too much…My teenage years were hard enough.
By the way, the DJ at the gallery was playing these fantastic old punk and hardcore records. You know the ones I’m talking about…the good ones. The ones we grew up on. The ones that people like me, or maybe you, need to listen too more often. You know which ones I’m talking about.
As a plot device for this article, I took the bus to work today (yeah right) and read part of this articles draft to a wino who thought he was Sam Elliott. My mom always used to tell me;
“Son, you will always find at least ONE creepy-drunk-loser-weirdo on the bus.”
Funny, I could never find him…. But that was before today. I know he thought he was Sam Elliot because his shirt read,
“HOWDY, I’M COMPLETELY INSANE AND FIRMLY BELIEVE THAT I AM SAM ELLIOTT, AND NOT A DRUNK HOBO THAT GETS FROM TOWN TO TOWN ON THE GREYHOUNDS, THEN SHORTLY RUNNING OUT MY WELCOME NO MATTER WHERE I GO. WHY DON’T YOU GIVE ME SOMETHING THAT YOU’RE WRITING…MAYBE FOR A SHITTY WEBSITE YOU RUN THAT NOBODY CARES ABOUT AND PROBABLY NEVER WILL. I’LL READ IT IN MY REALLY COOL DEEP VOICE. YA’LL KNOW THE ONE.”
Gotta say, guys….Seemed pretty legit to me…..plus, anybody that can fit that much CAPS TEXT onto a tshirt is fucking talented. Here’s the feedback he gave to me:
“I don’t know about you, but I take comfort in that. It’s good knowin’ it’s tucked into Orange County, Santa Ana, takin’ her easy for all us sinners. Shoosh. I sure hope Tyler had a good birthday, doing whatever lame shit he was doing when he should have been in Santa Ana with Mike, on his 4 month sober bday. Well, that about does her, wraps her all up. Things seem to have worked out pretty good for Mike and Tyler, and it was a pretty good story, don’t ya think? Made me laugh to beat the band. Parts, anyway. I didn’t like seein’ Mike left with out the mythical Carnitas from that Lowrider Model Goddess. But then, I happen to know that the Del Taco Carnitas he mentioned earlier is pretty gosh darned good, too. I guess that’s the way the whole darned human comedy keeps perpetuatin’ it-self, down through the generations, westward the wagons, across the sands a time until we– aw, look at me, I’m ramblin’ again. Wal, uh hope you folks enjoyed yourselves. Catch ya later on down the trail. One last thing before I ask this bartender for a sarsaparilla; Don’t worry about all yer cussin’, Mike. A little strong language never hurt any folks I ever met. But, do you gotta write about baseball so darned much?”
Good stuff people.
So speaking of good stuff, the gallery, that was really the entire point at the beginning, is coming in a separate post. This one’s getting too long, and I’m getting too delirious. Here’s a taste though. Be on the look out for the rest sometime tomorrow. In the meantime, try to get some sleep. Enjoy.
P.S. – The lineups on these fliers are incredible. Flag, Descendents, Husker Du in the same place at the same time. Wow. They’re originals, btw, from some Canadian dude’s personal collection (Ron “Chavo” Reyes???) and not reprinted. I’m pretty stoked about that….then again, I collect vinyl and I write a blog.
Santa Ana, Artists Village, 11.5.11.
Aside from the rad shit I’ve written about for the last however long its been, there’s something else special about this date (11.5.11 is also my 4 months of sobriety). Today is Tyler’s birthday. Wish him a happy belated 30th if you can. He’s not in his 20’s anymore, so the party’s over. Poor schmuck.
For the Birthday Boy, our young punk rock friends from the pic, that crazy hobo from the bus and finally, last but not least, the city of Santa Ana. Stay classy.
This is xMIGUELAPATIOx signing off.
*Just so you know, I’m at 7016 words. Previously the longest was at 2050ish. Damn.