Who loves losers? Uh, who doesn't? Oh, a lot of people... Well, fuck me...

Everybody loves a loser…

You guys/gals ever notice how awesome Steve Winwood is?  If you don’t, you should.  Take some time and appreciate the man, his hair, his videos, his keyboard prowess, but mostly, his insanely catchy and wonderfully-constructed songs.  Use five minutes of your weekend to listen to THIS SHIT.  He even gets all grammatical on our asses by correctly saying “an Higher Love.”  I could (and frequently do) listen to this on repeat in the car when I’m feeling down.  Some days it’s “Valerie,” some days it’s “Back in the High Life” but Mr. Winwood is frequently in the mix of the pick-me-up-playlist.  As is THIS SONG.  Man, sorry what was I going to talk about, again?  Oh yeah, something I know quite a bit about:  Losing.  (aside:  God, I hope people didn’t think I was going to use Steve Winwood as my segue into losing and losers… No, I’m talking about me.  Sorry, that intro was confusing as shit but it’s Friday Night, which, if you’re keeping score at home, is for the Drinkers and I’m definitely partaking in that social more (mor-“A”, or mor-“eh” for our Canadian friends, which is also, incidentally, how they order another beer).  If I was a professional writer I wouldn’t have been so MISLEADING but I’m not, so fuck it, and on with the show!)

What I wanted to talk about today, which isn’t “today” in the same sense to me as it is to you, since who knows when you will be reading this (if anyone reads this shit at all to begin with), was the idea and societal perceptions of LOSING.  There’s a distinct fear of LOSING, a perceived hatred/shame toward LOSERS and this insane idea that LOSING is completely unacceptable and the absolute worst thing that can happen to a person or group of persons (or people?  Not sure, don’t care).  People have become deathly afraid to be WRONG, to LOSE or to FAIL.  I’ve watched people waste and/or ruin their lives because of an intense fear of LOSING or FAILURE.  I understand that a lot of these feelings are the products of other, deeper issues; that this is an effect, not the cause.  I get that.  But I don’t.  Or I guess I should say, I don’t understand that.  My brain, addled as it may be, or perhaps because of said addling, doesn’t work like that.  There are a lot of reasons that it doesn’t work like that, which, if you really want to know, feel free to ask me at a later date and I might tell you (booze always helps!).  But, it’s heartbreaking to see people’s lives controlled by the fear of LOSING or FAILURE.  Just for the record (and because nobody fucking asked) my biggest fears are: 

1. Driving my car off a cliff and plummeting to an untimely and grotesque, fiery death, AND
2. Missing out on Packers games (which is why I support, and fully endorse, Football on Your Phone.

Oh, and not doing something great, original, influential and memorable with my life.  But, I will accomplish this with the release of my second album (and the double-secret forthcoming Kindears album; wait, I just mentioned it, FUCK!), so I’m not too worried about this one anymore…

One of the things I’ve noticed over the years, is that the growing disdain people feel towards LOSING/FAILURE has slowly morphed into an entire era where people are simply avoiding putting themselves into a situation where LOSING/FAILURE is possible and/or likely.  I do not believe this is an entirely new concept but it has been subsequently reinforced by our modern culture, most specifically, with the dreaded “Hipsters” (Wooo, scary sound effect, but not too scary because “I’m too fuckin’ cool to care anyways” he said in his best hipster, aka Michael Cera, voice).  They’ve subsequently decided that none of them want to be losers, and henceforth, in order to erase losers, you must also erase winners and, thusly, everyone is equal and the same.  Yay!  What a fun world we live in, where no one is good and no one is bad, we’re all just stuck in the same boring ass, fucking Hipster Purgatory.

Now, I think the best example of the fear of LOSING, and the subsequent damage it can cause, is probably the Cleveland Browns.  They’ve fallen into the Fear of Losing Death Spiral, where:

Fear of Losing = Changes = Losing = More Changes = More Losing = Fear of Losing

And on and on, repeating like the two fucking chords of a half-hour Phish jam.  Teams are more likely to get stuck in this holding pattern than to get out.  The inverse is also true with teams like the Packers and the Patriots.  Just as in nature, it takes more time, and more importantly, energy to stop and start anew than it does to keep moving in the same direction.  That’s what makes what the Oakland (as of now) Raiders have done even more admirable.  They could have easily replaced Reggie McKenzie (Ted Thompson disciple), burned down the operation and started over a couple times, as the Browns have done, and continued to win 3-5 games each year for the forseeable future.  Instead, they kept him around for the third (and now fourth and fifth) season.  Browns fans, you might already be confused as I’m guessing you didn’t know GM’s and coach’s contracts could go beyond 2 years, but they can.  Was it rough on the Raiders, and moreso the fans, for a spell?  Yes, of course.  Did the Raiders fans cry out for change?  I’m certain many did.  Did they let the howl of the wolves deter them from their overall plan?  No.  In fact, fuck no.  Because teams can’t turn things around without a great effort.  But now the Raiders have a legitimate chance of making the playoffs this season and the Browns, well, they have RGIII…

I know many of you are thinking that, ultimately, these decisions come from the top down, from ownership, and you’d be right…  Sort of.  Of course, these egocentric (and generally not football-minded or football-smart) billionaires are generally impatient pricks.  If they were good at waiting around, being patient, always giving the benefit of the doubt, being kind and gentle, forgiving and caring, they probably wouldn’t be successful billionaires.  God knows, that hasn’t worked for me – though I’m not really THAT patient, kind or any of the other shit, anyways.  These men are accustomed to winning, and winning largely and frequently.  Again, very much so unlike me.  Losing, and responding to said losses, has made me who I am today.  My favorite story about LOSING is a tale about how awesome my brother is.  For years growing up, we played a lot of chess.  We played almost every single day.  Now, just so you know, I was 15 or 16 when we started and my brother was 7 or 8.  I refused to just let him win.  Was it mean to beat him every time?  Maybe, but I didn’t think he would learn the nuances of the game properly if I didn’t play him for real.  So, after losing hundreds of games, he finally won.  He beat me.  He was like 1-500 in his career but I’ll never forget it.  I couldn’t have been prouder of him.  It felt like a monumental moment.  I know he felt it too.  He went on to start a chess club in High School and I’m sure he was the best player on the team.  And, I’m positively certain, he would fucking destroy me if we played today.  Did he like losing all those games?  I can’t imagine he did, but now he’s a better player than I ever could be.  Losses can often be the building blocks to winning.  But these billionaire cocksuckers (yes, I’m jealous.  I want one of those blue stripy shirts with the white collar so everyone knows I’m both rich and a douchebag) are defined by winning; they don’t lose often and they don’t lose well.  But the other half of that is the fact that they intensely hate being perceived as LOSERS.  So, when the fans and the critics and the media start labeling THEIR team as LOSERS, being the vain and egocentric people they are, they DEMAND CHANGE.  Someone must be held accountable and FIRED.  LOSING is UNACCEPTABLE!  Except, obviously, if winning were easy, we’d all be doing it; just like we’d all be billionaires if we could.  This is the subtle fact that seems to elude them.  So, because in our modern culture, driven heavily by the Hipster movement, people can’t stand LOSING, the owners have become much more impatient and more frequently force change upon their LOSING team and, thusly, perpetuate the LOSING, which, of course, perpetuates the Fear of Losing Death Spiral.  So, yes, Cleveland, you can probably, and rightfully so, blame Hipsters and impatient Billionaires for your pain and suffering. 

P.S. – If you start a class-action lawsuit, I want in.  Anything to stop this Hipster takeover.  It’s worse than the fucking hippies in the sixties.  They don’t stand for anything, they just hate everything; especially winning and losing.  Perhaps, someday, we’ll all be boring and mediocre but until then, I’d rather the whole world wasn’t just like Cleveland…

P.P.S. – I originally had this epiphany (or rant, as my girlfriend likes to say) before the Cavaliers won the NBA Title.  I spoke lots of ill toward the Browns, because, well, they suck.  But, for the record, I wholly supported LeBron defeating the mighty Warriors, which I feel are the quintessential Hipster team.  LeBron is a once in a lifetime athlete, built to specs most of us can’t even read or even if we could, we wouldn’t fucking comprehend or know how to put them together.  He is most definitely from another planet.  That’s probably why people love Steph Curry so much.  They love Steph because he seems the most like us “normal” humans.  He’s not sculpted by His own hands and chosen by God to wreak havoc on the basketball world while we all bask in his undeniable glory.  But that’s the greatest fucking thing about sports.  I relish watching these genetic freaks and glorious humans achieve things beyond our wildest imagination (ex.  THIS MUTHAFUCKING SHIT!!!!!).  Step back 3’s be damned.  That shit is real.  Like, for fucking real.  Seriously.  Except that it isn’t real, except in LeBron James’ world.  And, Hipsters be damned, that’s the world I want to live in, eternally and with all the grace of God.  God bless you, LeBron James.  God bless you…

Is he having a laugh? He's having a laugh... aka Drinking Playlist

Who likes drinking alone?  Come share a drink and a laugh with me…

OK, I know what you’re thinking.  How do I know?  Because I’m just that fucking awesome.  You’re thinking:  “It’s Friday night and I’m at home, drinking alone, and though I cannot be partying with Bradley Wik, I want to listen to the same music as he so as to feel closer to his majestic ass.  I want to dance to the same rhythms and sing the same choruses, full tilt and off-key and fucking hammered.  I want to occupy the same mental, and metaphysical, plane as this exulted mutherfucker.  I want to dance as he dances, full of spirit and without inhibitions, mesmerized by the music, my hips in sync with the bass, my body moving so effortlessly with the melodies, wholly enveloped in the magical, mystical and pseudo-religious manner in which music can possess us.  I want to feel as Bradley feels and see what Bradley sees and hear what Bradley hears.  I wish that someday I might physically reconcile these sensations with the actuality of his presence, though undeserving I may be.  I would be made whole by such a divine meeting as this.  I would then be afforded the luxury to die, contented, unlike so many of my brethren (and sisthren?).  My time on earth will have come full circle and I should pass ever so fulfilled, ready for what may lie beyond our feeble comprehension.  And when Peter should ask “Are you ready?”  I will know I am complete and satiated with my earthly existence, with nothing left to look back on and wonder about.  I will know the apex of joy and relish in the knowledge that I reached the highest of highs.  There is nothing left on earth for me, should I be allowed to ingest, for one night, the same musical epiphanies, at the same moment in time, as Bradley Wik…”  Or, something like that, I’m sure…

So, without getting into my infamous verbosity on subjects which seem to interest no one but me, I present you (three scotches in, mind you; catch up fuckers) my playlist for tonight:

1. Bruce Hornsby and the Range – Every Little Kiss

Gotta start out light and fun.  I could listen to this whole album every time I put it on, but, alas, I need to move on to:

2. Cyndi Lauper – She Bop

Keep the rhythm moving forward.  The bass line alone is worth the price of admission

3. Phil Collins – Sussudio

Don’t even get me started on how much I love this song…  Thanks for not getting me started.  Watch the damn music video which will help explain the inexplicable love I have for Phil and this tune

4. Steve Winwood – Valerie

I hemmed and hawed between this and “Talking Back to the Night” landing on the better chorus

5. Yaz – Only You

This song breaks my fucking heart every time.  And now, thanks to Ricky Gervais, I can’t help but think about “The Office” special every time I hear it.  Of course, I’m referring to the orginal and not that bastardization, “The (American) Office”

6. Luke Bryan – Country Girl (Shake It For Me)

Now, four drinks in, I can’t resist the lunacy and sheer, manic fun of a Luke Bryan song; “Strip it Down” excluded

7. Florida Georgia Line – This Is How We Roll (feat. Luke Bryan)

Seriously, what is better than FGL AND Luke Bryan…  I’m fucking serious, what is?

8. Modest Mouse – Talking Shit About A Pretty Sunset

As every drunk knows, eventually the sentimentality bug will get you.  This is what that little fucker wanted today

9. Angel Haze – New York

Enough of that sentimental shit.  Fuck, this a sick beat with one of my favorite MC’s lighting it up, rough…

10.  The B-52’s – Quiche Lorraine

I am getting pretty drunk, after all

11.  Bob Marley – Redemption Song

Seriously, try and outrun the sentimentality bug.  It’s seemingly everywhere after five drinks.  This song always reminds me of High School and speech class and, of course, smoking lots of, err, “cigarettes”

12.  Fiona Apple – Hot Knife

Just… What the fuck?!… Every damn time, unbelievable…

13.  Kanye West and Jay-Z – Niggas in Paris

This would be the most fun anyone can have with music, except for:

14.  Dexy’s Midnight Runners – Come on Eileen

      The undisputed champ, located at the intersection of drinking and music…

The Sidewalk Cafe, ellipsis. Wait, did I just say "ellipsis" or did I type it? It's tired in here...

What in the world were we doing at three AM… aka hanging with the waitresses, the walls and the weirdos (too many ellipsis’? ellipsises? ellipsis…)

Some people were looking to disappear, most were already gone.  Being new, it wasn’t really my place to make blanket assumptions, but I think it was fairly safe to say that one of the main draws of this place was the masquerade of it all.  For fucks sake, even I was wearing sunglasses at two-thirty in the morning, trying to not pass out/fall asleep, which would happen from time to time, hiding diligently, in plain sight, from everyone left, but mostly, from myself.  It was eerily simplistic to fall into the mystique and adapt to the scene being played out, week after week.  It was, in its own way, the sort of thing that all of these people (and there was definitely a very specific type of person who enjoyed this) were looking for, after years of being disenfranchised with the distinct lack of effort and non-existent aura most places strive to project.  This, it seemed, even in its own contrived, but still genuine on some level, way filled a desire to go back in time and experience something that we all knew (well, most of us knew) we were doomed to search for, unsatiated, on and on, with an unrelenting and crippling passion should we continue down our respective, and all-consuming, current paths.

For those seven to eight hours (no fucking joke), it was our world, much the same as an actor might get lost playing a character, amongst strangers and friends and people desperately seeking solace from the storm, whatever that may be to them, oblivious to reality.  I know, because I am one of them, that there is a multitude of people who simply cannot function in the type of world our begetters built.  Our brains are addled with dreams and deficiencies, and the way we are meant to exist day to day doesn’t quite compute.  It simply, no matter how you play with the numbers, won’t add up to a meaningful sum.  So, I get it.  I wanted it to exist, just as much as the rest of them.  But, still, I couldn’t fucking stand it.  Something about it just didn’t feel right.  Something was missing, but maybe that was part of the mystique.  Either way, I loved, and completely hated, the Sidewalk Café…

The Missteps of a Misspent Youth... aka trying to cover all the bad memories (yet another ellipsis)

“What the fuck are we supposed to do now that we’ve wasted our youth?”

None of us were so far gone that we didn’t know where this was headed.  For us, it was more of a fucked-up survival mode.  The co-dependence had started to take its toll and I could tell it was almost over.  Half of me wished it would continue, on and on, repeating and spinning in infinity until my earthly body conceded and released what was left of my heavenly spirit, if anything, to explore the consequences of my time here on our wonderful blue planet; I was addicted to the chaos and hoped to live in it as long as I could.  The other half of me was relieved that the end was in sight, the self-destruction nearly complete.  The tug-of-war that had been raging had finally begun to move toward the latter.  I was quite looking forward to the long-awaited deep breath I could finally take, my head being above water for the first time in years.  I couldn’t count the days spent longfully gazing at the shoreline but refusing to put oar to water in any attempt to return to the place I once knew so well; but it was nearly time.  To be sure, I was never worried, a feeling I’m certain was shared amongst us, about what would happen after we crash-landed back to reality.  I knew, since the beginning, again, something I feel was mutual between us all, except for Alyosha, that we, without the production of a formal “goodbye,” would never speak to each other again.  Instead, we would look back on this with a very unique and singular combination of fondness and disdain saved specifically for circumstances like this.  Many people have an “adult” enough disposition to look back on the missteps of a misspent youth fondly and with an eye towards the lessons learned.  But, because of the depth and severity of the fucked-up-ness of this all, we would be afforded no life lessons, no fond remembrances, nothing but the raw emotion we probably still haven’t grown up enough to digest fully.  There’s certainly a part of me that will never recover from, or condone, the way I behaved during those years; and I’ve the scars to remind me, should I ever hope, and be willing, to forget.  I have a distinct memory, one of those moments I’ll never forget, though I doubt I would recognize the girl I “loved” who made these comments, even if she was standing next to me at a Portishead reunion tour (her favorite band to fuck to), of asking her why she was covering her body with tattoos.  She simply and succinctly stated “It’s to cover all the bad memories.”  I hope, someday, to do the same.  Tragedy might be universal and unavoidable as a human, but great tragedy, the kind of which is said to inspire great art, is hard to understand; and even harder for those involved.

As Dostoevsky once wrote:  “Pain and suffering are always inevitable for a large intelligence and a deep heart.  The really great men must, I think, have great sadness on earth…”

Editors note:  I am not, in any way, implying that I, or any of the other fictitious characters, are in any way “great men.”  However, if you should like to to think of me as a “really great man,” I would not try to dissuade you.