ASHER ROTH IS

In the DC Comics universe there is an evil space god named Darkseid. Darkseid’s sole purpose is to find the Anti-Life Equation, a formula that, if spoken, drains the free will and sentience from any living thing that hears it. Darkseid aims to use this power to enslave the universe and make all life one under Darkseid.

Recently in the comics, Darkseid found the Equation and pumped it out through speakers all over Earth. The reader is left to decide what they think the Equation sounds like. I could never figure out how a sound could make anyone feel like life was hopeless. How a sound could make someone want to lie down and die. I couldn’t fathom it until today when my friend played me a song he had heard on the radio.

That song was Asher Roth’s I Love College.

Take a minute and listen to the song before you continue.

If Anti-Life is subjective, and each target hears something different based on what they consider to be the most emotionally crushing sound imaginable, I would hear this song. And I would be one with Darkseid.

I promised last week to show you some artists that were following their vision and trying to make the world a brighter place. I hate to get sidetracked on negativity, but I feel like Asher Roth stands in bold opposition to everything that is good and decent. I’m not a prude. There’s nothing wrong with rapping about naked girls and drinking, but Asher Roth is the definition of inanity and the empty-headed fratboy reactionary bullshit that is destroying American culture. He is the Jersey Shore of music.

When Asher Roth was 15 he read about Hip Hop on Wikipedia. He stole a D12 album off of Limewire and listened in stunned and stupid silence. He threw away his Smash Mouth albums. His life made sense. The next day he told all the other eighth graders that he listened to rap now. He bought a Sean Jean shirt. He hung an Emenim and a Two Pac poster in his room. He pretended like he smoked weed before school every morning. His parents worried about him, but concluded that young Asher was just going through a phase.

Eight years later: In an advanced state of arrested development, Roth pens I Love College, chuckling to himself as he writes, “time isn’t wasted when you’re getting wasted.” He is mildly aroused.

One year later: The song is number 12 on the Billboard Top 100. Roth makes love to twelve blonde 18-year-olds on a bed made of $10,000 bills. He finishes and stands naked at his bedroom window, watching the sun go down over the Hollywood Hills. “You bitches best show yourselves out,” he says, “I have to call up my boys Blink-182.”

Ten years later: Asher Roth is the President of the United States.

this man loves college

People make bad songs all the time. That isn’t the problem. The problem is that almost every college kid in America has this on his or her iPod. Last night, millions of 20-somethings got drunk and sang this at the top of their lungs, desperately pretending that the words meant something profound and truthful, something that could justify their aimlessness and intellectual laziness as a legitimate and acceptable way of life. The problem is that a human being wrote the words “don't pass out with your shoes on/And don't leave the house 'til the booze gone/And don't have sex if she's too gone/When it comes to condoms put two on,” and then rapped them to a beat that samples fucking Weezer.

Roth will make millions of dollars off of this song and I want to congratulate him. He knew what the lowest common denominator was and he pursued it like a bloodhound (or a date rapist). He found Anti-Life. Mission Accomplished.

"DO SOMETHING CRAZY DO SOMETHING CRAZY DO SOMETHING CRAZY"

-Walt Whitman, 1853

Our friends are fake

So I found an article from the Times Online called "Facebook, a competition for the most imaginary friends." It seemed sensible to share it since this is indeed a blog about imaginary friends. The author makes the simple point that it is hard for most people to maintain a large group of friends, and that the worry we put on appearing to have lots of friends (especially via facebook and twitter) is a 'universal illusion'. Apparently worrying about having too many friends is called 'polyphilia'.

Maybe all of our friends will one day be imaginary and Sam and I won't have such a hard time dedicating a blog to imaginary friends.

I am the boss of you

I just realized that we can all edit each others' posts.

Max: I am now your editor. You can be as lazy as you want and I'll pick up your slack.

Calvin: WHERE ARE YOU?

Poons Ggod

It is really uncomfortable to acknowledge that most Americans watch countless hours of TV everyday, effectively stifling their brains and leaving themselves up to complacency and exploitation. (Roman bread and circuses anyone?) Anywho, the big hub-ub at my esteemed institution for higher learning is that Snoop Dogg will NOT be performing at Spring Party Weekend. Apparently the $100,000+ price tag was a bit steep. In the wake of the recession, even the Colgate kids are feeling the heart-wrenching effects.

But I will admit that I was excited for Snoop to come because in his contract he stipulates that he be allowed to do meet-and-greets with students. On top of this, there was going to be an organized forum in which he and concerned students would be allowed to discuss current drug policies and race relations. I really admire the fact that he wanted to engage students in some sort of intellectual manner. I guess the drunk masses (which will likely include myself) will just have to digest something else to fill the void.

On Intellectual Laziness, Idiots, and Encouragement

I’m currently stuck in Great Falls on my way back from Chicago. On the trip home, I started and finished reading Empire of Illusion by Chris Hedges (a Colgate alum, just like Max and Calvin will hypothetically be). It addresses the role that junk culture (reality tv, porn, sensationalist media) and hard-line social stratification have in sedating Americans in to inaction while the country falls to pieces in almost every sense of the word at the hands of big business. There is very little I could say about it that would match the amazing level of analysis that Hedges goes in to, so I’ll spare you a long and clumsy dissertation for right now. Everyone should read it. Seriously.

The book has made me keenly aware of how intellectually lazy I’ve been for the past few months. I have a massive amount of plans and ideas that I’ve been embarrassingly slow to act on. My art blog sits completely abandoned and this blog is filled with reactionary rambling and curse words. It’s a hard book to read for somebody who wants to be in the entertainment industry like I do. The industry likes to pump out lowest-common-denominator work to take in the rubes, and that’s something I have no interest in but will actively have to avoid. I’ve always tried my best to be discerning in the media I choose to expose myself to and in what I’ve produced, but I need to tighten the screws a little. If I don’t strive for sincerity, nothing I do can mean anything. I suspect Mr. Hedges would think that I was a lay about with little regard for the benefits of education or the opportunities I’ve been given and a bad attitude, but I’m trying to be a better member of society and you should, too.

Something Empire of Illusion has inspired me to do is to start finding and writing about fine and media artists who are doing things on their own terms, not hurting anyone, and not letting the bottom line get in the way of doing good work. I feel like that’s a pretty common thread I look for in the art I like, so I already have a lot of people lined up to show you. I also plan on pumping out a lot more art, so maybe you’ll like some of that.

I’ve already gotten more response to this blog than I have from Perpetual Motion, as far as followers and reader response goes, so keep it up. I know there are a lot of blogs out there and I don’t really know how many people have actually seen this, but I promise that Max, Calvin, and I are not all of those other bloggers. We’re smart and we won’t post pictures of our babies and little dogs. If you’ve kept up with us so far, please stay with us. I’ll keep contributing and I’ll try to whip Calvin and Max in to shape. We’re lazy and disaffected youth who only know satisfaction from quantifiable rewards, so please keep encouraging us.

Speaking of questionable media sources, read this Butte news anchor’s blog.

On the other side of the coin, here are two blogs from Butte’s intelligentsia that hopefully prove we aren’t all a bunch of cavemen here in The Great Frozen North.

Welcome to the jungle

Big ups to Sam for being accepted to art school in Chicago. It sounds like you're making the transition to Chicago quite well even if you are only currently visiting for a while. And thanks for house-sitting my dog this weekend. My mom said you did a good job. Take it as inspiration for art school.

Speaking of school, the other day in one of my seminars we were discussing a novel in which a Victorian English man goes to the jungle and finds it repulsive because it offends all of his civilized sensibilities. He was 49 at the time, and a very accomplished scientist. He was also a virgin because the spirit of the times told him that sex would interfere with his scientific genius. Even though he hates the jungle at first, he eventually falls in love with it. Someone in the class pointed out that the jungle (in it's lush, untamed, sticky pungency) symbolized a huge vagina and that this 49 year old scientist was just going through his first sexual revolution. So of course the next hour of the class was filled with all the English and sociology majors pontificating on any sort of sexual imagery they could find in the book. It got boring really fast because you can only say nature=sex in so many ways. The point was being beaten to death, so I started rolling my eyes. The girl leading the discussion made a caveat into a discussion on the symbolic capacity of art and objects, and suggested that a black, steel water bottle (like the one I had in front of me) could be taken as a symbol for sexual frustration.

Moral of the story: I don't know if she just randomly chose to equate the water bottle (which was in her direct line of sight) with sexual frustration, or if she was attacking me because she maybe saw me rolling my eyes at her belabored, oh-my-god-I-get-it-by-now-can-we-talk-about-something-else stroke of genius. Either way, I spent the rest of the day worrying that I offended this perfectly nice person whom (who?) I have never really met.

I'm anticipating this story will prompt a barrage of harrassement from Sam at my expense, but it is literally the only interesting thing that has happened to me in the past few days. So I thought I'd share. Once again, I'd like to apologize for the litany of grammatical mistakes in my last post. I don't expect Sam's forgiveness, but will beg for it anyway.

in chicago

it's big and shit, but I was expecting to be slightly more terrified. I'm in the "hip" part of town where everyone wears tight pants and looks sad, so I fit right in. I've been looking for pizza, but I can't find any. We accidentally went to a faux-Hooters sports bar where the waitresses wore kilts and plaid bikini tops. There's a nationwide theater school audition in my hotel, so there are completely absurd theater kids running around and being melodramatic all up in here. There's a guy sitting near me singing show tunes :(((((((

It's pretty much like I expected:

1. There are pictures of the Blues Brothers everywhere. Get over it, Chicago.

2. Some people have cool accents, but less do than I expected.

3. It looks like Gotham City.

4. Loudspeakers on the streets constantly playing Sufjan Stevens.

5. I'm cooler than everyone here.

6. fucking cold

I'm going to get a disposable camera and take some pictures of the rest of my trip. Again, if you're from here, tell me what I must do ASAP.

Max: You're last post was shameful. Proofread that shit.

F- see me after class

PS: Now that more people have looked at our blog, I'd like to resubmit my imaginary friend request. Click the imaginary friend tag on this post for the scoop.