Sometimes you can't help yourself

As I was sitting quietly, eyeing my movie collection while my daughter wathced her 53rd consecutive episode of "Let's See How Long Until Dad Flushes His Head Down The Toilet", I noticed that I have one or two questionable selections in my cinema library. I then moved to my rather large music selection and found quite a few more. These pieces of work that I gladly spent money on (sometimes) are nothing more than guilty pleasures. When viewed by a friend, my movie and music collections are met with raucous applause and sometimes a high five. Obviously, the titles in question were either overlooked or just brushed aside with a strong pity and never mentioned. I, however, will call my lame ass out right now.

When asked, I will gladly provide the movies and musical artists that have helped shape my life and growth as a musician and writer. I must say, no one has ever argued any of my top picks. They change in order from time to time but the big ones are always mentioned. In cinema, it's major influential movies like The Godfather, Shawshank Redemption, Pulp Fiction, Reservoir Dogs, Brave Heart, Saving Private Ryan. With music, it's Tool, Deftones, Miles Davis, Notorious BIG. The music picks are always scrutinized by old, angry folks. The same self righteous mopes that claim all of the musical artists worth mentioning debuted before the eighties. Neglecting bands like Metallica, U2, REM and an entire genre called RAP that, just in case you haven't noticed, is the top selling genre of music since the new millenium began.

I've always been proud of the list that makes up the people and the work that has blown my hair back throughout the years but I've discovered a few...not as strong examples of what I enjoy listening to and watching. My dvd rack is chock full of awesomeness. Indeed, I have alphebetized each title, because I'm half pecker head, and the first couple of movies are American Beauty, American Gangster and Anchorman. This fine pattern continues through most of the rack but there is one glaring choice that has me questioning my dignity. "The Chronicles Of Riddick". I know this is a top pick for many comic book fanatics, but when analyzing this movie, it becomes hard to find the strengths in it. BUT I WILL ALWAYS WATCH IT WHEN IT'S ON! Can't get enough of it as a matter of fact. I don't care how corny it is. I don't care how many times my wife asks me if I'll be engaging in a "Dungeons and Dragons" orgy afterwards while wearing my King Limpdick crown and holding a staff that resembles my poor judgement, I will be more than happy to view this feature film over and over again.

Another guilty pleasure when it comes to film...Airborne. That stupid ass movie about the SOCAL kid who moves to Cincinatti for a school year and has difficulty blending in and gains everyone's trust and respect by rollerblading. I've eyed my bottle of painkillers while watching this movie, thinking that there is no turning back so I might aswell ghost myself. A friend of mine claims that "Groundhog Day" is his but I actually think that is a legitimate movie to like. Mine all suck and are a source of great shame.

My musical selections that cause an eyebrow raise are just as bad. Limp Bizkit...need I say more. This band single handedly killed a genre, or sub-genre, whatever you want to call it. The whole rap-core movement was crushed when the singer of the band that was supposedly in the forefront proved to be cheesier than a Green Bay, Wisconsin bowel movement. Weak lyrics (sorry Fred) and he got played by Christina Aguilera in front of the whole world. We all cringed when we saw the horrible, awkward interaction between them at a photo shoot. Limp Bizkit's music, I will always stand by. I genuinely think it's pretty bad ass but the vocals make me hope that no one can tell I'm listening to Limp Bizkit in my car.

Filter is another band that is featured on my ipod. One or two songs from their first three albums have made the cut despite the fact that during each chorus I step back, look at myself and can't help but think I'm challenged in some way. I had the terrible misfortune of catching them live many years ago and it became readily apparent that all the effects a studio can provide to enhance the sound of one man's voice were all exhausted while recording a Filter album. Now, ask if, when I'm making one of my patented play lists on my ipod if I neglect to put, at least, one Filter song...NOPE! "American Cliche" is my favorite and I make pee pees in my pants whenever it's on. I always fail to mention that I listen to Filter when I'm in the company of musician friends. It may or may not be fun to get ridiculed and bitch slapped in Brooklyn.

I have quickly grown to love this fault. This type of evidence can and will be used against me in a court of coolness and decency but I embrace the guilty charge. I believe stuff like this keeps one balanced. Everyone can use a touch of cheese in their life and by all means, say it loud and say it proud. It's ok, even Jesus had days like this.

It's soccer sunday and I got sauce stains on my shirt!

I can't help but give a grin to all my proud friends who shit on my soccer loving ways. "You can't even use your hands." "I can't get interested in a sport that can end in a 0-0 tie." All I respond with is, "Take a set of cleats to the knee or ankle and holla back, youngin". Sure, that 8 out of ten times you see a soccer player hit the ground he's completely full of shit. Can you blame him though? He's trying to give his team the advantage and, furthermore, have one of the opposition sent back home to sulk in his own agony. It may get a little too spicy for my taste when some twat falls to the ground and holds up the game for ten minutes, grabbing his face like he just took a shot from Noah Flusterfist, DDS with poor depth perception. Meanwhile, they've showed the replay twelve times and no contact was made. I get it, no self respecting, American athlete would ever do anything to compromise the integrity of his sport or club or his own legacy. Right?

My inspiration for today came when watching some of the post game commentary on Fox Soccer and even though they weren't the team featured in the match, my boys in Napoli were the story. The commentators praised the team's success this season and apparent return to some small amount of glory. Growing up, we were always paying attention to the Italian channel on Sunday. Napoli were a force to be reckoned with, year in and year out. Two league titles, an Italian Cup, a Super Italian Cup (served with capicola and prosciutto) and a UEFA CUP. All these between 1986 and 1991. The most successful southern Italian team in history. The main focus through these years was the fact that we had Maradona, my #2 player of all time. You could call me a homer for this and I'll admit that if he'd played with Milan or Juventus he'd probably be as far down as #7 or #8. His arrival brought the first championships to a team south of Rome. He was almost as big as Jesus over there and for those of you who haven't been, JC and the crew are pretty big in that area.

Unfortunately, the team completely fell to shit after a string of tough seasons. They lost all the big names. Maradona, Gianfranco Zola, Daniel Fonseca, Ciro Ferrara and the Corleone Family. They went back and forth between the first and second league and in 2004 they went flat ass bankrupt with a debt of over 70 million euro. Nice. The pride of possibly the most culturally and socially picked on city in the country was squashed. Not that the city didn't deserve a little bit of the shit that was thrown at them but, have a run in with an Italian from any other part of the country then claim to be from Napoli, watch the reaction. Next to the Sicilians we got quite the rep. When Maradona signed with the team in 1984 a Neopolitan newspaper printed this fine piece of journalistic savvy regarding the city's problems and the big addition to the soccer team. " We have no mayor, no housing, no schools, no busing, no money or ideas but we have Maradona."

There is much speculation as to how the team came to be so far down shit's creek without a paddle or boat that there actually was no team at one point. Considering the city they represent had the same problem due to incompetence that would make George W look like the next Field's Medal winner and corruption that strengthens the stereo-type of Italian morals, it shouldn't be hard to figure out how a legend dropped from the face of the planet for a few years. But guess who's back?

Napoli spent two seasons in Italy's third league, Serie C1. They were promoted to Serie B after a strong showing and it only took them one season to get back to Serie A. In their first season they finished eighth. Keep in mind there are twenty teams and the bottom three get dropped to a lower league. They qualified for a European Tournament the following season and thanks to a strong performance, qualified for the UEFA Cup a year after that. As I sit here, they stand strong in third place with five matches left. No championships will come this season but I can't help but notice friends and family who live there, posting on FaceBook and Twitter regarding the team and how they are doing an entire people proud. They're the type of team everyone wants to love. No quit, high energy, no added baggage...yet. They score over a third of their goals within the last fifteen minutes of a game, having crushed many giants this year, listen closely for northern Italian sobbing, and have a shot at the Champions League for next season. Forza Napoli! Now don't go and fuck it all up again.

My Long Awaited Response

It's been quite some time since a friend of mine shared a comment made to him by someone within his inner circle of trusted folks. The whole story has actually kept me up at night...here and there. I really wanted to offer words of wisdom but I was so irate at the time, the only words that would come out were those of the four letter variety and just a whole lot of tough, New York slang. It really bothers me when I know that the situation calls for some fine advice delivered in poetic fashion and all that comes out is, "Yeah, fuck that asshole. He's a sack of shit anyway." We've got to be coming up on six or seven months since that night and I knew that, one day before my demise, I would find the right words to respond to what was said.

My friend, like me, is an artist. Musician, writer, actor, painter...whatever. The comment made was based on the fact that my friend has not hit "the big time" yet. Meanwhile, other people within the circle of friends have made quite the name for themselves. One of these people played a character in a movie some years ago and I'll put money on the fact that if you mention the character's name to anyone between the ages of sixteen and fifty, they'll know exactly who you are talking about. Half of those people will know the actor's real name and half of those people will call themselves a "big fan". Like I stated, I really had nothing of substance to say at the time I was told. I guess I needed the better part of a year to come up with something that satisfied my pride.

Here it is. Our friend who made himself a star and can't walk down the street without being hassled, gave up something. It's nice that he still rakes in cash from his role and it has led to more work, we're all genuinely happy for him but what does he carry around with him now? Here's my point. Every artist starts out somewhere. For me, it was a basement on Long Island when I sat down behind a drum set for the first time. The initial passion came from the basic need for attention. A lot of artists are going to rip into me but be honest, whether you act, sing, paint, shit in public...the first step is screaming, "Look at me!" If you didn't have that egotistic outlook, you wouldn't be doing this. I don't care how much of a shy guy Kurt Cobain was. He wrote music then he recorded that music and then he sold that music. If he didn't know what he was getting into when he signed the independant record deal, he sure as shit knew by the time he signed with a major label and released "NEVERMIND". Without the balls to want to show everyone what you can do and perform; that's a key word here, PERFORM; you don't chase the dream. Period. End of story. You never get on that stage or in front of that camera or sit in front of a blank canvas. I don't care how noble and deep you are. You do this because you know you're good enough to be recognized.

Now, I'm not saying that this simple human fault is all there is. Absolutley not. Once you've gone a decent way down the rabbit hole and have learned some pretty cool tricks and technique, it becomes more about the art and the growth one goes through as the artist. When you're young, you look at the great artists and think, "I wanna be there. I can do that." Visualizing a snap shot filled walk down the red carpet or tossing your drum sticks to the loving audience. After some time and maturation, that's maturation you sicko, you view the greats as the standard when it comes to technique, growth and the level of mastery in your respective craft. As a drummer I am in awe, absolute awe, of men like Danny Carey and Narada Michael Walden. As a writer it's all about Hunter Thompson, Neil Simon and Kerouac. Just like all my actor friends have their greats. Deniro, Brando, Day Lewis, etc. You view your heroes as a measuring stick. It's not about the money anymore. Sure it would be great to make a living writing for stage and screen. Overall that is the goal but once you die there isn't anything measured in terms of monetary wealth or fame. If I cross over and there's any mention of money, I'll be fighting my way back.

This is what our famous friend can't claim anymore. Not one aspiring artist will look back and say, "Hey, that guy really brought it. I wanna be like that." He will not be a measuring stick and he won't be recognized as he recognized his heroes. Now keep in mind that this person is quite talented and has done a few things which are well deserved of a strong applause but remember the initial comment made. It had everything to do with money, fame and stature within the entertainment industry and nothing to do with talent. My friend who was the recipient of the comment has worked until he was mentally, physically and emotionally exhausted to grow as an artist. There is no limit, and he's proved this, to how far he'll go to become the one that is looked at as the standard, the measuring stick, the hero. He never folded and took the money for work that would compromise his integrity and on one or two occasions, a stroke of shit luck took a great opportunity and squashed it. It's never about the money. If it was, you'd all know him by now and would probably be sick of him.

Regarding our famous friend, I'm not calling him a sell out. As a matter of fact, he's far from it. He was approached with an opportunity and he grabbed it with both hands and ran with it. That's what you do. At no point do I think he stays awake, in bed, flustered about his decision. If he does, he shouldn't. He furthered his career and kept the ball rolling which is a boat load more than I can say for other artists.

It is a thin line one walks between self respect and success. Especially in this business. I believe there are more artists who work for the love of it rather than the paycheck but most of the time it appears to be just that. All you can do is trudge along, never stop paying attention to what's worth your attention and remember you are just a part of the whole. There's always more to learn.