American Psycho has me freaking out

I'm reading the book American Psycho, by Bret Easton Ellis. I've got 96 pages to go before I'm finished, and I really don't know if I should continue.

The book came into my possession a few weeks ago while my boyfriend and I were walking to Prospect Park. American Psycho, along with The Sun Also Rises and I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings, were lying on the sidewalk, laid in a neat row and presumably free for the taking. Though it had rained a hour or so prior, the books were dry and intact.

I had read about American Psycho in a book I own, 1001 Books You Must Read Before You Die. I liked the movie (starring Christian Bale), and since the book was an absolute must-read, I plucked it from the ground (I took the Hemingway novel as well; since I own Caged Bird, I left it for another lucky bookworm).

Last Saturday the bf and I were packing up supplies for a sailing trip, and since I'd left the book I was already reading (Me Talk Pretty One Day by David Sedaris) at my apartment, I brought American Psycho with me; when I finally began reading it, I was instantly drawn in. It was fast-paced and provocative, detailing a world where money and image mean everything while at the same time mean nothing. For the first 100 pages or so, there was no violence - just tedious descriptions of 80's yuppie fashion and the vapidity of a life that, though priviledged, made me sigh with relief because I have no connection to it.

But then the gruesome stuff started to take place. At first, the bloody murders were tolerable - though it disgusted me when Patrick Bateman would murder a bum and his dog, I eagerly took it all in, my mouth agape with shock. After a murder more tedious descriptions of name-brand clothing and upscale dining would soften the horror I felt. But then the murders became more frequent, violent and depraved, and now I'm actually thinking that I have made a serious mistake by picking up this book. Part of me wants to keep on reading - 1001 Books says American Psycho "must continue to be read," if for anything because it is a warning, or a powerful statement on how capitalism kills the innocence of the soul, or something...and also, I've got 96 pages to go - I'm almost done with it and I need to see how it ends.

But I'm having nightmares. Last night I dreamed that Patrick Bateman (looking like Christian Bale) wooed me with his looks and charm then tried to kill my family and me with butcher knives. I awoke thoroughly freaked out, and I can remember thinking in my dream "this is all because you are reading that fucking book."

Tonight I was walking my dog, and though I've walked him in my neighborhood (not to mention run errands and gone jogging,) at night a million times before, it was frightening. If the dog wasn't with me, I wouldn't have gone out at all. The entire time, I kept thinking someone was watching me and scenarios kept running through my mind - what would I do if accosted by a psychopath? Would my dog attack him? Should I just run? What about my dog, should I hold onto his leash to make sure he comes with me, or let go of it and just hope he follows? What if the psychopath got my dog, should I run or try to save him? At one point - and I'm almost too ashamed to admit this - I started walking in a zig-zag thinking that by doing so, it would be harder for some lunatic with a sniper rifle to shoot me.

And the worst part is, I can't even be comforted by reminding myself that it's just a work of fiction because the sick shit written in this book does happen. Maybe not in its exact form, but there are crazy people out there who need to control and need to kill, and their methods are revolting and torturous. Hell, maybe someone has read American Psycho and reenacted one or more of the murders described. That wouldn't surprise me in the least.

I'm really wondering if I'm going to have severe trust issues after reading American Psycho, and my paranoia of the everyday has been tripled. Or quadrupled. I don't know, all I know is that I'm freaked out by everyone. And my boyfriend is out of town, so I don't have anyone to relate my fears to:( Except for my readers. I guess that's why I'm writing this.

Then again, maybe this excessive fear will just last for tonight, and another week or so. Maybe the intensity of the violence will wane, and I'll come out stronger for reading it. But I cannot in good conscience recommend this book. It's sick. The detail Ellis writes with is, for lack of a better word, illuminating. But the word illuminating connotes a wonderful discovery, and there is nothing wonderful about this book. Or maybe there is. I don't know, I'll tell you when my stomach stops churning. Ugh, I'm even scared of what will happen if I have a kid and my kid wants to read this book - I certainly don't want him or her to, but how will I stop it? How can I censor them? Oh jeez, I need to chill out.

If anything, American Psycho has made me see the need to legalize prostitution. Many of Bateman's victims are prostitutes, and the same holds true for the non-fiction world; ladies- and gents-of-the-night are often the most victimized group of people. Prostitution should be legalized, therefore monitored, to prevent further horrors from afflicting sex workers. I'm so convinced of this right now that I'm going to start looking into some pro-sex worker organizations. Seriously, I'm on it.

Ok, I think I'm done incoherently rambling. I'll probably stay up til 3 am to finish the book, and then stay up the remainder of the night clutching a baseball bat. Gosh, how lucky I was to find this book randomly laying on the ground; God must have been smiling on me that day! (douchebag)

VIP tickets are for suckers

This past Sunday the bf and I went to All Points West, a music festival headlined by Jack Johnson and Radiohead. My bf is friends with the bodyguard of a very famous set of sisters, so he was able to procure us two VIP passes free of charge. When we went to the venue on Sunday and picked up our tickets, we were ecstatic to find the them waiting for us, as if we had hobnobbed with Jack Johnson and his manager ourselves! Maybe that's what was in store for us! Our heads (well, mine) swirled with glitzy thoughts of watching the artists perform ten feet away while standing in the wings of the stage.

But that was not what happened...at all. These VIP tickets, which cost $50 more than the general admission tickets, weren't shit. Or were shit. And here I am to expound the reasons why the extra price is totally not worth the "perks" promised by VIP tickets.

Nevermind that it started raining as soon as we got through the VIP entrance, which had a marginally shorter line than where the general admission peeps waited. Confused as to where the VIP section was, where there was free champagne and hors d' oeuvres waiting for us, we slipped into the nearest beer garden. But it's hard to drink beer while being pelted with globules of water, so we draped ourselves in $2 garbage bags and went in search of the other VIPers. Where WAS the section designated for the elite? Where would we find shelter from the rain while conversating with Cat Power and her roadies? Where would I chat up other celebs partaking in the festival?

We asked a worker where the VIP section was, and he pointed to somewhere in the distance. Our gaze followed his finger...many, many yards away from the stages and festivities sat a remote cluster of tents, closed off from the public.

That doesn't make sense, I thought. Why would the artists trudge all the way from the stage to the far-removed VIP area? I don't even see the tour busses. But we walked over to what we presumed the promised land.

The "promised land," we soon found, consisted of three cramped tents brimming with VIPers seeking shelter from the weather. The few couches alotted were piled with people lounging, bored by being forced to watch the concert from a couple of monitors. In lieu of champagne and hor d'oeuvres, there was a BBQ vendor charging $17 for a pulled pork sandwich and $4 for a 20 oz. bottle of Pepsi. Though it was freezing, a shoddy AC bathed us in chilly air. Because we had arrived to the VIP section late, we were left with no room to sit.

I was shocked. THIS was what an extra $50 afforded you? A few rickety tents with our own food vendor charging exhorbitant prices? Since the tickets were free, I was able to roll with it, but I couldn't help but think what fools the other patrons must have felt like.

I thought maybe the VIP stages would make up for the dismal VIP section, so we waited out the rain, then ventured back to the festival. We came to find that the VIP stages were nothing but an elevated platform roughly 50' x 40' in size, 40 feet back from the stage. And it was packed. At maybe 5 feet higher than the ground, it didn't afford us that much better of a view.

So we watched a bit of Ben Harper's set from the platform, then traipsed back to the VIP area to use the bathroom (I will say, the lines for the toilet were pretty short). We got back to the stage area as Jack Johnson was performing, and the bf wanted to try out the VIP stage again. But just as we approached it, a worker said, "No more! It's full!"

Wha-whaaaat? We, who had presumably paid at total of $140 per ticket for one day of festival, would not even be aloud in the VIP section, which we had presumably paid for?????? My bf was livid - it was total bullshit! That moment effectively jaded us both on VIP ticket-holding; it's for suckers.

Oh and also: the beer system was bogus. It worked like this: There were four beer gardens, removed from the stages, and you could only drink your beer in the garden. Once you presented your ID to the workers, they marked your hand with a purple Sharpie and wrapped an orange band around your wrist with 5 tabs hanging off of it. The 5 tabs signified the five beers you were allowed to drink while at the festival - for every beer you purchased, they ripped off a tab. Once you'd had your five beers (and what beer drinker WOULDN'T imbibe five beers at an all-day festival?), that was it. If you were lucky enough to find a worker sympathetic to your tab-less plight, they would sell you another wristband for $20. Yeah, fucking classy.

But fuck you, greedy festival workers, my bf was sly and found a way around your bullshit rules: He tore his empty wristband off and scrubbed the permanent marker off his hand. When he went to procure another band, the bartender questioned why his skin was raw and red, but with little to prove my bf was putting one over on him, he gave him another band. Still, we had to pay $7 a beer.

Also: the festival workers were ratting out the ganja smokers! I saw one kid get pulled from the crowd and escorted out by 5 state troopers because he was puffing on a joint. I'm not a big mary jane connoisseur, but even I thought the kid was written a bad check. You should feel safer at an outdoor music festival than in your own home to smoke some reefer.

In all, what saved us from being totally pissed off at All Points West was the fact that our tickets were free (and Jack Johnson's set was wonderful). But when it comes to my own money, I will never buy VIP tickets, and I will never go to the APW festival again. Festivals are nothing but corporate greed these days, anyhow. I wish it was 1969 so I could go to Woodstock and roll around in the mud with hippies.

Though your music is brilliant, your greed is ruining my fond memories!

"How much money does Led Zeppelin need that people imagine a shitty car whizzing by when they hear their songs?" - Trent Reznor

Ok, that's not an exact quote, it's the gist of what I remember reading in a 2002 issue of Rolling Stone. It was such a funny and poignant comment that I remembered it six years later, and I wanted to use it for this post, even if I am committing some form of libel.

Because I am cheap and poor, I still use an old-school iPod shuffle, these days available for $20 bucks in the Apple store bargain bin. But what it lacks in size it makes up for in size (memory vs. weight, sillies!) Also, without a screen to tell me what song is playing, every song is like a fresh, Christmas-morn gift. Morose Beck followed by groovy Dead is like bawling your eyes out at a good movie, and immediately afterwards seeing a skateboarder crack his nuts on a guardrail.

So my iPod constantly surprises me with music that I unintentionally uploaded to it. This was the case with INXS's "New Sensation," a poppy tune from a much-loved 80's band. When it played on my iPod today, I was at first elated and energized, but the feeling quickly left me - instead of imagining Michael Hutchence's beautiful visage crooning the lyrics, all I could think about was a fucking Bally's commercial.

People sweating on stair-steppers, be-spandexed trainers giving the thumbs-up, and lots of close-ups on abnormally taut abs - ahhhh! The image was more visceral than the actual music video. I had to skip the song; listening to it was actually churning my stomach.

And what a fucking shame. When I was little, my mother's greatest loves were cleaning the house and jamming out to INXS (my father could rot with his tools for all she cared). So we'd grab the mop buckets, crank up the stereo, and let the rockin' songs of INXS guide our soapy rags over the messy counter and dusty bookshelves. Maybe not a noteable memory to some, but an important one to me.

But now that's all been overshadowed by the Bally commercial and INXS's filthy greed. Why'd you do it, INXS? Hutchence has been dead for several years now, so he had nothing to do with the leasing of your rights - would it have never happened if he were still alive?

INXS isn't the only perpetrator to grant some corporate conglomerate the rights to their songs. Here's is a list I compiled SANS INTERNET SEARCH:

The Cars, "Just What I Needed" - granted rights to Circuit City
Heart, "Barracuda" - some car company that's shilling a van
Whoever sang "Fly Like an Eagle" (The Eagles?), "Fly Like an Eagle" - US Postal Service
Led Zeppelin, "Whole Lotta Love" - some car company

Hmmm, can't think of anymore off the top of my head. But there's more, I tell ya!

It's different, though, if a band leases rights to a movie; it doesn't bother me a bit. I guess that's because I regard movies as works of art, and the music is there to stylize the art, not convince me to waste my money on a crappy product...even though movie studios are just as guilty of trying to sell me crap. Hum...

Then again, I have loved - and actually bought - music that I heard from a commercial, like The Greenskeepers "Vagabond," the song used to promote the Liberty City Grand Theft Auto game. Boo-urns to this whole argument - I'm more contradictory than McCain, or the Bible.

Should I just forgive these aging artists for allowing companies to prey upon consumers with their music? Ok, I forgive you, but it doesn't change the fact that when I hear your commercialized tunes on the radio or iPod, I opt not to listen; in fact, I get soured on the other songs in your library, too.

If I don't blog again in four days, call the cops!

So tonight is the night.

After work, I will briefly visit my boyfriend at his apartment, maybe even have dinner with him.

Then I will go to my apartment, and ask the roomie if we can have a chat.

Then it will be said: "Roomie, I am moving out in January."

!!!

Actually, I'm probably making a bigger deal out of this than I should be. I'm starting to psyche myself out. This is in no way a big deal...unless he ends up having some sort of nervous breakdown, which, knowing my roommate, there's a 75% of that happening.

I'll try to take pictures so as to best capture the moment then blog about it. No, I'm kidding.

But I will tell you all what happens (so long as he doesn't murder me when I tell him the news).

Keep me in your Thoughts and Prayers, folks!

Frig, maybe I should make time to see Apocalypto

Throughout time, earth-dwellers have been convinced that the end of the world is near. I could list some examples of Chicken Littles, but frankly, there are too many. So here's a link - click it and see just how often humans have been convinced that the world's demise was on the horizon.

That mentality kind of makes sense - the thought that the world could all of a sudden blow up, or be hit by a comet, or succumb to plague is freakin' terrifying, therefore gripping. But all this apocalyptic fear is further proof that humans are by nature raging narcissists. Really? You think that your society is so special as to require God's wrath? Your society is that much more perverse, gluttonous and immoral than any other society that ever existed to deserve obliteration? Gah, get over yourselves already!

That said - did you guys know that the world is going to end in 2012? For real this time! The History Channel says so!

The Maya were a nation of people that lived in what is now Mexico, Guatemala and Belize between 300 and 1000 AD. They had very advanced concepts of time and astronomy (far more than the Romans or Egyptians), and had designed their own calendar that not only documented their existence, but extended all the way into the 21st century.

But their calendar curiously ends in the year 2012. This may be because the calendar designer got tired - hey, it happens - but there is an astronomical event taking place in the year 2012 that is backing up the belief that the world will end.

On December 21, 2012, the planets will align, an occurrence that has yet to happen during the time of man.

No one knows what will happen, but even scientists are convinced that something will happen. Perhaps on catastrophic levels, perhaps not.

Many believe that this proven astronomical occurrence compounded with the end date of the Mayan Calendar is evidence that our time on earth is near an end, and how typical - the world is going to end right before Christmas and my birthday. Boo-urns. Yikes, this narcissism is hard to keep in check.

So what shall we do? I'm sure that as 2012 approaches, you all will be hearing more about this "prophecy" as well as this planetary phenomenon, and you will start to get antsy, much like the Y2K scare. Stock up on water and food? Guns? Gold? What WILL be the desired commodity when humankind is uniformly under fire?

Yeah, I'm pretty sure that on December 21, 2012, the desired commodity will be the latest Tickle Me Elmo. Or the PS5! I'm standing in line for mine right now. Stupid apocalypse better not ruin my Christmas!

USA Today article, "Does Maya Calendar Predict 2012 Apocalypse?"

History Channel, "Decoding the Past"