‘Tis the season, amirite? The world abounds with lit up neighborhoods, cheerful holiday music, and cookies everywhere. Drunken uncles that seem creepy eleven months out of the year are suddenly embraced for their comic relief at family functions. The unemployment rate for obese, elderly men takes a sudden, if temporary, drop as the demand for mall Santa talent spikes. And to be perfectly honest, I actually enjoy the lights, music, shitfaced family and especially the cookies. However, there are a few things in this world, no matter how filled with joy I am, that really set me off. And it’s not even normal shit. The following are just a sampling of the things that make me unreasonably angry.
Before you start on me, yes I know that there are better options. I’m sure Spotify or last.fm or MusicalDickInYourEar are all fine and dandy. But Pandora is free, and I’ve had it for three years, and I’m lazy as shit. But here’s the thing, Pandora…YES I’M STILL FUCKING LISTENING! There is no goddamn reason to keep timing out every hour. Oh, what’s that? You pay for every song you play, and you refuse to play to an empty room? Tell you what, I’ll pay for that upgrade when you quit playing the same three Mumford and Sons songs over and over and over. Did you know they have two whole albums out now? It’s true! And how many damn times do I have to give Dave Matthews Band “thumbs down” before you QUIT PLAYING DAVE MATTHEWS BAND? I know they have 13 different live versions of every song. But you would think after three years, I would be close to vetoing all of them. Nope. Which leads me to…
Dave Matthews Band
First of all, let me say, I get it. I understand that some people really dig this music, and to be fair, there are actually a few songs that I will catch myself singing along to. Musically it’s not exactly my cup of tea, and Dave Matthews’ voice grates on me, but to each their own. I suppose my real, unreasonable, irrational hatred stems from their diehard groupie fans, of which I am friends with many. I hear this, without fail, at least twice a year: “Hey man, I’m going to catch Dave next week at (insert venue here.)” Oh really? Are you going to catch “Dave”? Are you and “Dave” boys all of the sudden? You and “Dave” gonna chillax, maybe have yourself a little jam sesh? You know there are like 10 other members in the band besides your precious “Dave,” right?
(Quick side note: I have a friend from California who was actually employed as a seat filler for the short lived VH1 Music Awards back in 2000. When Dave Matthews Band got up to receive an award, he and some others filled the seats while the band was on stage. When the band arrived back at their seats, a drunken Dave Matthews cussed out my friend and his coworkers for being in their seats, calling my buddy a “dumbfuck.” So seriously, fuck “Dave.”)
Racial Thunder Stealers
I have a very unique ethnic heritage. My maternal grandparents were originally from Mexico, while my paternal grandparents both hail from Canada. This officially makes me and my family the only Mexican Canadians that I know of, and it’s a great talking point. This officially allows me to use both “ese” and “eh” in the same sentence. But you can’t do it, because that would be racist. And as much as I dislike racists, I met a guy last week who really pissed me off. As I was recounting my racial background, some asshole story-topper pipes up with “well, my dad is Mexican, and my mom is Inuit.” The fuck? Apparently, dude is half Mexican, half Eskimo or some shit. People even started calling him the “Mexskimo.” A nickname bestowed upon him from my own friends within ten minutes of meeting this guy. All the sudden, people are asking him about igloos and mush dogs and not having sunlight, while I’m all like “hey guys, who wants to learn about the history of Tim Horton’s?”
Having To “Prove” Myself
Let’s say you’re on a basketball team. Maybe not a starter, but a solid sixth man. You deliver when called upon; you’re a great team player, and even help to promote the team in the community. Maybe you’ve even hit a few huge clutch shots in big situations, and the fans are clamoring for you to be moved into the starting lineup. But despite all of this, your name doesn’t even show up in the game day program. Maybe the coach refers to you as a “friend of the team.” Despite all of the big plays you’ve made, and the effort you’ve put towards the team, you don’t even make the first cut of the season’s highlight tape. (Don’t worry; the bullshit director’s cut gave you a one sentence shout-out.)
Eventually, a few of the big time players don’t show up for practice as often as they should. Production slips, and the coach needs to inject new energy into the lineup. He offers you your own locker, along with a featured role in the offense. But here’s the catch: you’re still on “tryout” status. You and two other guys, both more talented than yourself, essentially receive a string of 10 day contracts in order to “prove” yourselves. I know that this hypothetical situation would make me unreasonably angry, what about you?
On second thought, in this case I’m not sure the anger would be all that unreasonable.
So yeah…happy holidays everyone!