It sure is.
1. Welcome. This is part 1 of what will be the greatest list of 30 assorted musings you've ever read by a guy named Rob who just turned 30. Read a little at a time or read it all at once. Enjoy the links, kill some time, consider shooting me an e-mail to say hello, whatever. Welcome to big me. I mean, BIG ME. Oh yeah, and I'm totally using the intro as #1. Because I'm insecure about my ability to ultimately come up with 30. What are you gonna do about it? Nuthin', that's what.
2. I contend that Michael Jackson was an eccentric gay man tortured and ultimately destroyed by his crazy upbringing and dysfunctional family, the unreasonable demands fostered by his immense talent, and the resulting social and personal handicaps as opposed to the lecherous child molester he's been painted as. Great article written shortly after his passing that made me re-think the way I think of the King of Pop. Oh, and of course this is the Michael Jackson I choose to remember.
3. I received the following text message on the morning of my 30th birthday from my best friend since I was in 5th grade, Shannon Andrews. He wrote:
Happy Birthday! On this day thirty years ago, the world was first introduced to the modern poet Roberto Antonio Vera with his sharp wit and stunning satire. Oh yeah and ten inches of proud Puerto Rican python perpetually prepared to plunder the pussies of all the beautiful bitches in the land. And the world has never been the same. HAPPY BIRTHDAY MOTHER FUCKER!!! :) A wise man once told me you can write anything you want if you end with a smiley face.
Now that's fucking friendship. And love. And awesome. I am both humbled and horny for myself after reading that. Shannon's 30th birthday is ten days from now. Gulp.
4. During my constant travels, I've kept a little "blog scratch pad" for ideas related to things I wanted to write for "Rob at 30". Item #4: The box. I have no idea what that was all about.
5. My friend Blythe, who is a much better writer and blogger than I, wrote this the other day:
1. Welcome. This is part 1 of what will be the greatest list of 30 assorted musings you've ever read by a guy named Rob who just turned 30. Read a little at a time or read it all at once. Enjoy the links, kill some time, consider shooting me an e-mail to say hello, whatever. Welcome to big me. I mean, BIG ME. Oh yeah, and I'm totally using the intro as #1. Because I'm insecure about my ability to ultimately come up with 30. What are you gonna do about it? Nuthin', that's what.
2. I contend that Michael Jackson was an eccentric gay man tortured and ultimately destroyed by his crazy upbringing and dysfunctional family, the unreasonable demands fostered by his immense talent, and the resulting social and personal handicaps as opposed to the lecherous child molester he's been painted as. Great article written shortly after his passing that made me re-think the way I think of the King of Pop. Oh, and of course this is the Michael Jackson I choose to remember.
3. I received the following text message on the morning of my 30th birthday from my best friend since I was in 5th grade, Shannon Andrews. He wrote:
Happy Birthday! On this day thirty years ago, the world was first introduced to the modern poet Roberto Antonio Vera with his sharp wit and stunning satire. Oh yeah and ten inches of proud Puerto Rican python perpetually prepared to plunder the pussies of all the beautiful bitches in the land. And the world has never been the same. HAPPY BIRTHDAY MOTHER FUCKER!!! :) A wise man once told me you can write anything you want if you end with a smiley face.
Now that's fucking friendship. And love. And awesome. I am both humbled and horny for myself after reading that. Shannon's 30th birthday is ten days from now. Gulp.
4. During my constant travels, I've kept a little "blog scratch pad" for ideas related to things I wanted to write for "Rob at 30". Item #4: The box. I have no idea what that was all about.
5. My friend Blythe, who is a much better writer and blogger than I, wrote this the other day:
Yeah, I saw Away We Go. Yes, I want to marry John Krasinski and Michael Cera at the same time, but only as Zooey Deschanel or Jenny Lewis. Sure, I own The Royal Tenenbaums. And I have sex dreams about Luke Wilson that involve Coconut Records. Who doesn't? I am a walking fucking cliche of a mid (late) 20's woman who went to a liberal arts college and fancies herself "open minded" and shops at Anthropologie. FINE.
She then posted this short video (you have to watch or none of this makes sense):
She then posted this short video (you have to watch or none of this makes sense):
I then called Blythe and we had a really kickass conversation about how predictable our supposed "indie" niche youth market actually is. Give a movie trailer some scruffy, borderline hipster-looking actors (I'm talking to you, John Krasinski in "Away We Go"), an "indie" soundtrack (the term "indie" means absolutely NOTHING anymore--especially since it's short for "independent" and very few of these "indie bands" are on labels thrown together by some kids in a basement), an animated/artsy font for the trailer and credits (Juno, Nick and Norah's Infinite Playlist, Away We Go, 500 Days of Summer) and hell--throw in an "Official Sundance Film Festival Selection" stamp and you've GOT "us". And I get sucked in. And I like a lot of these movies. Guess what? If you didn't already know this, I want you to all know that you're NOT as different as you think you are in terms of taste. This goes for movies and music and all of it. These marketing wizzes didn't have to do much to figure "us" out. Accept that what makes you different isn't really about what you like (I used to worship at the altar of the "my taste makes me different" concept). What makes you different is much more complex and is molded and shaped by your unique lives, your internal make-up and your mental and intellectual variances. "Alternative" and "indie" are marketing terms that sucker us into believing that what we like makes us different. It doesn't. Some of us like better things than others for sure, but we're not nearly as alone as we once believed. Get over it. I'm trying to.
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