The Playlist - WTITYB (Whatever, Tell It To Your Blog)

Around the world, Road Rage has been officially recognized by the Psychological community (I mean, I assume it has …), but to this day, I still wonder why Elevator Rage hasn’t received the psychological stamp of approval (or whatever those guys do in their lab coats once they’ve discovered some new social dysfunction by probing people with sticks).

Taking the elevators in the Viacom building where I work 9 out of 10 times is an excruciating experience. The lack of etiquette and practical thought and the superabundance of people compels me to hold back every instinct I have to murder everyone around me.

I can’t stab fast enough. First off, 5-6 people in an elevator maximum! What is wrong with you people, I don’t care if this is New York and you’re used to being invaded, anything more is intruding my personal space and is completely unacceptable and uncivilized.

I love it when there’s 9-10 people in an elevator car, yet instead of waiting for one of the 6 other cars that will shortly arrive with a little patience, a gaggle of Viacom employees will waddle aboard without any concern for those sardines already jammed inside.

The astounding lack of concern for personal space disturbs me to no end. I’m not a germaphobe or a hypochondriac in the least; I just don’t want your smelly ass so close to me, is that so hard to fucking grasp?

Still, no matter what, the mindless drones board the ship two by two like it’s the only ark in town. It drives me nuts. This is my subtle campaign for other Viacom employees taking the elevators. Have some respect for your fellow man and don’t stuff yourself into elevators. Your job is likely very lax and you’re likely not in a hurry and look, the cheese fries aren’t lgoing anywhere in the cafeteria.

Calm down, deep breath!

I should talk. When I’m somehow trapped in an elevator with a surplus of co-workers and co-people, I just want to snap. I have a physical reaction and sometimes I think I’m going to faint from being so annoyed and put-out.

It’s awful. I get off early if I have to, it’s just irrational behavior. WAIT FOR THE NEXT CAR FOR THE LOVE OF GOD!

*How the hell do you turn these stupid Friendster notices off that i SPECIFICALLY had unchecked when i started this thing? Desperate for hits, huh Friendster? Thanks for nothing.

I know I said i wouldn’t write about music here, but…

It’s in people’s nature to follow whatever supposedly represents their sub-culture in any given week, but sometimes you just need to clear the decks of posturing insular irony (Artic Foxes’ "I Know You Look Good On the Dance Floor" sounds like it was written at a Bloc Party show where the band formed 4 months ago) and meta indie rock topics and splash your face with sincerity. Now in our age of hyper-awareness, earnestness can be pretty awkward and conspicuous. We’re so used to some sort of pose, cheeky stance or form of aloofness that keeps a comfortable distance from feeling anything real, which makes my co-worker Benjamin Wagner pretty brave. I dig when anyone swims against the current of the trends and he does so via an acoustic, hopeful sound maybe somewhere between U2 and Ryan Adams. Beyond his artistic motivations of communicating something honest, I’m hoping a bit of his intentions are to convert the skeptical and make them feel the discomfort of guilelessness. This might make him and his new record, Heartland, a little out of step with the LES – where he played a driving and heartfelt set late last night to a devoted crowd – but better to be a face in the crowd than livestock in need of gruel and a clue, no? I should probably take this opportunity to link to Arye’s blog, bringbacksincerity.com since, it’s so appropos (oh the irony, he wrote about the Anarctic Polar Bears).

I thought this article about Spanish Telenovelas in the New York Times this weekend was interesting. Telenovelas are essentially just Spanish Soap Operas, but seemingly a thousand times more campy and unbearable. The utilize the most ludicrous and preposterous plot devices and yet, audiences seem to still buy the stories and moreover, continue to find them fascinating and utterly addictive. The reason I have an ounce of understanding about Telenovelas is because my mom has been obsessed with them for years.

My mother is the typically doting ethnic mother that would lie about any atrocities and murders her sons committed if it kept them out of trouble. She would slap the Pope, perjure herself in front of Jesus, tell my high school principal to go fuck himself if they dared claim I was a bad seed in any way (which I was, but no, not her angel).

Anyhow, the big annoyance/amusement for me is that my mother shuts down during Telenovela time. I could come in the room with my arm cut off, blood streaming everywhere and say, “Mom, savage dogs are attacking the neighborhood, they’ve killed Eric and brutally maimed me!,” and she’ll respond, “Shhhh! There’s soup in the fridge, heat it yourself.”

This is a woman who is doting to a fault. All I have to do is think about entertaining the idea of eating and there a gush of wind that blows past me, a blur I can’t make out and then a hot meal in front of my face. After I take a bite, she asks, “do you want seconds?”

But when a Telenovela is on, forget about it. Our family can’t get a crumb let alone a 911 emergency call if one of us accidentally fell and cracked our heads open.

Now I’m not implying in any way that I should get meals at the drop of the hat– far from it. I’m explicitly trying to convey the power of the Telenovela to the world of ‘Gringos’ that can’t possibly understand how a person will betray all of their basic human instincts all for the sake of some super-schmaltzy melodrama.

It’s basically like Crack for Spanish housewives (though my mom works and has 3 children to take care of: my two brothers and my dad).