balding angrily

The other night a friend, a fellow baldy, said to me, “Balding Angrily, eh? Well I’m Balding Happily.” It was the first he’d heard of the blog. I was taken aback about half an inch but dismissed it, knowing it was a joke.

When Andrew Dice Clay got called out for his act, his wife defended him from the accusations of homophobia, racism and misogyny. She said (paraphrasing) “What that is on stage is a character he plays to get laughs. The man that I spend my life with isn’t like that.” I always understood that defense; I think that’s a legitimate position. I also, life everyone else, thought, “Yeah, but…”

• Yeah, but I bet there’s a part of him that is a misogynistic, racist, homophobic asshole.
• Yeah, but even if it is a character, should those things be said for entertainment? What value is added to the world?
• Yeah, but he’s using an ugly character for his own gain. He’s making money perpetuating stereotypes.

Pick any of those or come up with your own “Yeah, but…” Keep it in your head. You’ll use it later.

The name for the blog came to me after some light self-reflection. Think of it as microwave self-reflection. Quick and simple. A kind of reflection that excites the brain cells just enough. I was trying to come up with a name for the blog that was catchy, that someone could easily remember when surfing. I looked at my two favorite blogs, Little. Yellow. Different. and Defective Yeti and felt the words in my mouth. They’re fun phrases to taste, and they’re memorable. I used them as a template.

I knew my bald head would be an image easily exploited, but I needed a phrase. Balding gracefully was easy to remember, but I thought, “I don’t do things gracefully.”* I thought of other -ly words, and after the microwave self-reflection, I came up with balding angrily. I liked the way that tasted. It’s smooth feeling, velvety with a hit of acid that comes with the hard g. So the name of the blog came out of a utilitarian and visceral thing. Easy to remember. Tastes good.

As I say in the about me, I’m not truly angry.** I have my pet peeves, but I don’t hold a whole lot of vinegar. Pick another adjective and you might come closer to the truth: curmudgeonly, acerbic, pessimistic. But not angry. Look at my mascot. That guy’s more annoyed than angry. And even with those other adjectives, I like to think that’s a character I play to get laughs. If ever my curmudgeonly, acerbic, pessimistic manner hurt someone’s feelings, I’d be sad. My goal is to entertain, not offend.

Now hit me with your “Yeah, but…”

• Yeah, but Alex, if you aren’t really so acerbic, how can you do it so well?
• Yeah, but Alex, what good are you doing for the world by assuming this curmudgeonly character?
• Yeah, but Alex, isn’t it just as easy to assume a happy character, one that brings light?

I would answer those questions, but I would have to defend myself. Which would make me angry. I started this post angry and have been using this post to difuse it. Now that it’s gone, I don’t want it back.

Maybe I’ll tell you another time what made me angry. Maybe I won’t. If I do, hooray! You get a prize! If not, suck it.

^{*Somewhere in the code of this site, you’ll see the tag not gracefully. If I had a different Wordpress theme the blog would have a colon name, a sequel name. Balding Angrily: Not Gracefully.}

**Yes, the inspiration also came from Angry White Girl, who I still miss. I frigging loved her.

Yesterday’s post got me thinking about multi-culturalism, and I remembered a story. Jerry will like this story because it makes him look like something other than stinky. He taught me something rather profound. It started with sushi.

Before I met Jerry I considered myself adventurous with food. I had tried and liked both Indian and Ethiopian food. But I never learned to like sushi. So Jerry talked me into sushi one night.

I didn’t dislike it on my first experience, but it was a distinctly different way of experiencing tastes. I grew up with a Cassarole Mama; I’m used to blended, saucy foods. I shared this with Jerry. I said, “This is just strange. Not bad. Just different. It’s like there’s all these distinct tastes in my mouth, and they’re not mixing like I’m used to. They’re staying next to each other, but not informing one another. Well, not informing one another in the way I’m used to.” I’m sure I wasn’t that articulate, but that was the jist.

Jerry said, “That’s the neat part of sushi. It’s kind of an Eastern philosophy of food.”

He continued. “I went to a presentation on multi-culturalism one time. The speaker had this broad, accented voice. And he said, ‘The problem with you Americans is your concept of multi-culturalism. Look at your metaphor. The Melting Pot. You think multi-culturalism is this pot where all these races get thrown in and mixed around until you’re this…this marmalade.’ And with ‘marmalade’ he dragged it out like marmil-laaahd. ‘Everything is the same, and the tastes are diluted until it tastes like I don’t know what.’”

Here I imagine this speaker to have the voice of Robert Guillaume from The Lion King and with “marmil-laaahd” he waved his hands with their jointed fingers in front of Jerry’s face like two Kabuki fans.

Still quoting the speaker, Jerry said, “‘Look at the Eastern philosophy of multi-culturalism. Look at the Yin-Yang. The white and the black, they stay distinct. They exist next to each other, but they do not mix. But they also do not exist apart.’”

“‘Don’t misunderstand. I’m not saying separate but equal or that the races should be segregated. I’m saying, look at it like a mosaic. You have all these distinct colors, each brilliant on their own, and when they come together they make a sparkling thing.’”

I think about this whenever I think about issues of race. I also think about it whenever I eat sushi, which I now love. See, Jerry is very smart. And he’s a good teacher.

Now here’s a picture of him being a spastic dork in a hammock.

The Dallas Independent School District is in dire need of teachers. Any teachers. All teachers. Do you have a pulse? We want you to teach.

If you haven’t gleaned by now, I’m one of the guys that wag my finger at the suburbanites. They drive minivans! Or worse! Hummers! Their kids are on coke! Their football players are rapists! They’re eating up precious land with their shitty houses! They’re diverting resources away from the needy! They’re short-sighted! They’re giving their children hair extensions and boob-jobs!

Yet, as soon as I saw the amount of positions needing to be filled, I started looking at the job boards of the suburban cities. It was barely a conscious decision. It went thusly.

1. I looked at the huge list of positions available, including a position to teach English AP, the position I most want to hold.
2. I said, “Whoa.”
3. I started looking elsewhere.

You’re saying, “But Alex. Wouldn’t a lot of positions available make the DISD a desirable place to work?” Yes, in theory. Being a curmudgeon, many job openings mean fewer interviews in which I lie about liking people.

However, add in the “If it sounds too good to be true, it usually is” factor, the mark of a true curmudgeon. And then add in a latent, ne’er-to-be-admitted racism - the kind of reverse-backwards-flipped-and-griddled ironic racism of well-meaning but caustic white liberals - the kind of racism that makes one think about locking the car doors when driving through a rough part of town, not do it, then do it, then undo it, then turn to the spouse and say with an irony turned back on itself so many times that one can’t decide if one’s being purposefully ironic or accidentally sincere, “Look at all the people different from us. They make me nervous.” - add all that in, and then you’ll understand where step 3 (above) came from.

Now you’re asking, “At what point did you start looking for a teaching job?” I’m looking - in theory. I’ve created a construct of me as an English teacher, Mr. Sloan, my 12th grade English teacher, to be exact. And I’m trying to find my job. It doesn’t matter to me that I have no teacher’s training or college-level English education. I thought it would be best, more prudent, to find the job I want and then educate myself to that level. I’m assuming that they’ll keep the jobs open for me if I ask real nice.

But back to my self-flagellation. I’m shitty. I’m scared. I’m a scared, white liberal who knows exactly where his next meal is coming from. At the expense of children who are in need of a good teacher.*

*In my construct, I’m John Keating. John Keating teaching a multicultural soup. I’m teaching to the waiting room for a casting call for an 80s Benetton ad.** And they’re calling me “Captain, My Captain,” each in a different language.

**For some reason I imagine my multicultural students with shaved heads, wearing Buddhist robes.

Please, please, please, please. Someone buy me one. (via Gizmodo)

Yesterday we went and saw this.

Last weekend we went here.

And got our toes nibbled on by these.

And ate lots of this. And this. And this. And this. And very little of this.

And drove and drove and drove across this.

In one of these.

Oh. We also flew in one of these.

And though I wanted to smoke one of these, I didn’t get the chance.

If I had, it would have been only my second time. Alas, these were around.

This is the last I do of these because I don’t want for the website to be dedicated to this game. If you wish to follow along, you can download Nick’s mix. You can also read Magnus’s comments where you would normally find Magnus. His review will give a better feel for these tracks because they’re all very personal.

Track 1

• :02 Starts out with some solid, hard beats, and some possibly ironic piano playing.
• :25 Then the strangled voice comes in. This voice isn’t unpleasant. I might be able to listen to an album of this guys singing.
• 1:05 Some falsetto. What’s this song about? “I am my father’s son?” And how does it relate to “I wish I was a little girl so I could root myself in the shower?”
• 1:55 Some rough guitar solos. Lots of dirtiness to this track. I’m refraining from the word grunge because it’s too specifically linked with the 90s Seattle scene. But if the word grunge hadn’t been co-opted by that ultimately paper-thin “movement,” it would apply to this track.
• 2:40 Overall, not bad, but not to my tastes. I like the noisiness, the dirtiness, and the feedback. But it doesn’t hit me in a personal way.

Track 2

• :00 I like the understated opening. The higher guitar hitting the arpeggios is very nice. It sounds like a dreamy night under the stars.
• :24 This is a really nice waltz. Ethereal but it doesn’t take shit from anybody. It stands on firmly planted feet with those assured drums.
• 1:55 The third time I heard this I was watching a runner, and I started to imagine this as a soundtrack behind a race scene. It has that triumph-filled-with-pain feeling.
• 3:08 Changed key signatures to 4/4.
• 3:27 This is the real triumphant pain theme, and they’re doing a nice job of transitioning from 3/4 to 4/4 with the 3-3-2 beats. Someone’s been studying their text books.
• 4:57 Now we’re at the final run to the tape. The lead runner, our hero, knows he’s going to win, but he feels the intense pain in his chins and lungs.
• 5:37 The dénouement. Overall, beautiful track.

Track 3

• :01 “Mele Kalikimaka is the thing to say…”
• :17 This voice is smooth. It puts me at ease, but at ease in a pub where I’m never fully at ease. I’m comfortable in a alcohol-induced way.
• 1:28 Nick, you really like a waltz. I can imagine you can show your partner around the dance floor.
• 2:18 Not enough can be said about the Hawaiian-by-the-sea feel to this track - the trumpet, the ukulele-sounding instrument. The accordion is a little out of place for Hawaii, but it still feels tropical.
• 3:31 I feel like he took some lessons from Peter Gabriel and just started mumbling word-like sounds into the microphone.
• 4:32 Very cool long coda that strips out the drums and strings, leaving it to the trumpet and accordion - a really brave way to end a track.

Track 4

• :00 Where are my glowsticks? I NEED MY GLOWSTICKS!
• :20 UH-UH-UH!!!
• :37 I told a friend one time that there are some tracks that just make you want to fuck. This is one of those.
• 1:03 Fuck underwater, to be specific.
• 1:24 I can do without the chorus. Or they could’ve found a stronger chorus because the lead singer overpowers the back-up.
• 2:15 This is “Under the Sea” from The Little Mermaid as interpreted by The Prodigy.
• 2:58 Seriously, the back-up monks need to go.
• 3:16 If you can’t tell, I really appreciate a thought out ending. That final guitar scratch is perfect for this track.

Track 5

• Because this song is pretty much a stand-up routine, I can’t really live-blog it. Once you’ve heard the jokes, a fourth or fifth listen doesn’t reveal anything more. I really like the “Kiss” motif around 1:27 and later. I also liked the “team-building exercise” T-Shirt because Jerry used to lead team-building exercises. I like to think that he’s singing to one of Jerry’s students. Since I know some of the females he’s taught, I like to picture these particularly frumpy people.

Track 6

• :03 If I would respond to this track I would respond with something from Björk’s Selmasongs. It has that everyday-noises-as-rhythm-section philosophy.
• :56 These ethereal voices are definitely not Björk-like. I feel like I’m underwater with this track.
• 1:24 This track sounds like it came from either a Sofia Coppola or John Hughes movie. I can see a young Alan Ruck looking deep into a pointillist masterpiece in front of this song.
• 2:32 The key signature changes. Things I’ve learned about Nick from this mix: he likes waltzes, songs that change time signatures midway through, and music that have a water feeling to them.
• 3:32 The Beach Boys have nothing on these guys.
• 3:49 You know what they say about water in dreams, don’t you? It’s all about the sex. So, Nick is obsessed with sex; it’s so obvious.
• 4:36 “Sixth floor: swimsuits, snorkels, underwater masks, tropical fish”

Track 7

• :03 Sorry, Nick, this is my least favorite song of the group. I really like positive messages in raps à la Common, but this song just lays there.
• 1:05 I do appreciate how you connected to Wowser’s song with the saxophone. That’s a brilliant connection.
• 2:18 This is about the time I go to sleep. See, in Wowser’s track the soothing sounds were welcome. This is boring interrupted by some guy rapping with false bravado.
• 3:22 But it’s blessedly short.

John’s up next. John, do you want to publish to this website or to Magnus? Magnus, will you have our friend be a guest blogger on your site?