2 April 2006
Man does not live on beer alone. Too bad. Even the addition of hockey to brew guzzling is not quite enough for a full life. A perfect life, perhaps, but not a full one.
A man has to load up on some culture to say he has had a full life. That does not necessarily mean going to museums or listening to Mahler. Culture is paddling around a lake in a float tube listening to the hungry buzz of dragonflies and the far off smoke of chain saws.
I'm for popular culture. I think it can and should be transformative. It does not have to be the heaps of dog shit we are expected to lap up like gravy by heartless motherfucking corporations who care for nothing other than numbing. distracting and robbing you of every last penny you earn in life doing your boring job.
So I was in for a treat when I walked in the door of my local dog food store today. The dog food people had sold Sonja the wrong kind of dog food (there was no seal meat in it!) so I had returned to the store for an exchange. From a radio in the store a Buzzcocks song played. I asked the young clerk, "What's with the Buzzcocks?" It is not easy to work the word "cocks" into everyday conversation with strange women, I sure as fuck was not going to let the opportunity go by untaken.
The clerk told me, smiling, "It's Virgin Radio on the satellite. We have to be careful because sometimes they use language our customers don't all want to hear."
I pursed my lips and told her in all seriousness, "They better not use any motherfucking bad language when I am in the store." The clerk laughed. Young people today are great - they do not give a fuck.
Today a far off corporation who used to sell overpriced cds in Dope City before they fucked off back to England with their stacks of money, made my day with a snatched minute or two of the Buzzcocks.