Terrified and Inebriated.

10 Mar

Hello nearest and dearest.  It feels so great to be back with a new show.  Tune in and listen to me and my first guest Lucas Koski discussing pressing issues like dating rituals, alcoholism, and Herbert Hoover.  Also, I would like to offer the warmest appreciation for my new audio specialist Patrick Blomquist.  I think you are going to like him.

Guitar Hero

18 Nov

 

I had a conversation with a friend the other day that slowly burned into inspiration.  He told me that new versions of Guitar Hero would actually begin teaching people how to play real guitars.  I now realize that this is a key development in the race for humanities success.  We will have a game that teaches us how to do something even more rewarding. Pleasure squared.

Millions of imaginary “guitar heroes” becoming actual guitar heroes.

We could have a march to Washington and then provide our own entertainment. Rock and roll forever.

 

 

 

The Internet is Dead

13 Nov

It started happening a couple weeks ago. Me; my brilliant, beloved friends; and almost everyone I know was feeling insecure and old.  Upon noticing the trend I began to grasp and struggle for answers.  Personally, I can always come up with a laundry list of shortcomings for my individual despair.  But, when it is happening to everyone else, there must be some undiscovered reason.  I would like to humbly offer an explanation.

 

Why has everyone been feeling helpless, old, and inadequate? Was it the election? The muddy trudge from late 20’s to early 30’s? Perhaps negative energy waves produced from Dick Cheney’s secret bunker? Though popular choices, I believe that it is the new packaging of an old foe that has caused our collective depression.  The answer is advertising.  Internet advertising has finally advanced beyond it’s relative infancy.  The days of avoiding all pop-ups and stealing ad-free entertainment are gone for me and the rest of the masses.  I once could watch hours of music videos without ever being reminded that I don’t have the cash to afford the latest whatever. Don Draper never mentions the mirror image message behind the pitch.  Every ad is a variation on a common theme.  You’re fat. You’re poor. You’re lost. And the only thing that can free you from this prison of personal inadequacy is the next product… and the next… and the next.

The good people of this world need to get smarter and more elusive.  We have had a glimpse of the intellectual paradise of infinite information without the attached message of infinite guilt.  All blessed internet cowboys must become quicker on the trigger.  We must remember that nearly every advertisement is a dark cloud over our third eye. We already pay 30-80 dollars a month for the information superhighway.  No need to pay with precious attention from our consciousness. Don’t listen to this bigger, stronger, faster bullshit.  We are already stronger than we will ever know.

Enter witty “Go Vote” slogan here

2 Nov

Is there an election today?

I can’t remember exactly but I think we are supposed to vote or something.  There is this vague recollection in the far corners of my brain that I am supposed to do something allegedly righteous every two years.  Um… I guess I will do it.  I am finding the puppet on the left 0.01% more appealing than the one on the right.  Perhaps I spread this passion through canvassing.

(dave knocks at the door and patiently waits with clipboard)

Drunk out of work dad (DOWD): Oh God… are you here to foreclose?

Dave Good: No way Jose… I am so not down with the Man.

DOWD: In that case do you have any cigarettes? I need to curb my appetite, the kids and I survive on recalled Diet Mountain Dew.

Dave Good: (hands over a cig) Let me light that for you.  I was wondering… do you plan on voting for the Christian with the bachelors degree or the guy with a law degree that is just pretending to be Christian?

DOWD: Well… The first one is a bit more like me.

Dave Good: I know… but please consider voting for the second one.  He is a bit more like me.

DOWD: Does it really matter?

Dave Good: The lawyer asshole will actually save you a little more money than the fake good-ole boy.  Please just try to look past the fact that the lawyer asshole hates you and your kind.  The good-ole boy just loves you for your constant willing exploitation.

DOWD: Holy shit. You should run for office.

Dave Good: Look at my car! You know I am way to poor to actually “participate”

(they both laugh heartily and scrounge the house for liquor)

Don’t forget to vote today.  Again, I do recommend the puppet on the left.

Return to the Twilight Zone

3 Sep

Am I back?

Who is the president?

What city do I live in?

That was a close one… Somehow I got sucked into some bizarre alternate dimension where smart kind people respected each other, and we all looked forward with hope to a blessed, exciting, and sustainable future. It must have been some kind of dream.  Needless to say, It feels so good to be back inside our mutual reality tunnel of loneliness and cynicism.  Wherever I went was so positive and rejuvenating that I was starting to forget who I really was.

Speaking of multi-layered realities, I find the best way to mess with your own universe is to change up your media stream. Most of us are constantly pulled along by a current of online and cable television experiences.  Even if that isn’t how you roll in particular, any consistent media habit can become psychically confining. Personally, I like to shift into alternate media universes whenever possible. For example, when I moved to Minneapolis and was at my absolute poorest, I could not really afford cable or internet. What I could afford was an unlimited movie pass at the nearest Hollywood Video.  This amazing place had become the repository for the remaining catalogs of numerous and constantly-closing local branches.  While the majority of the country was flipping channels, I was tearing through a near-infinite catalog of forgotten gems.  I watched over 100 titles in the first 30 days alone (much of unemployment is about passing the time).  Everyday, I was digging through a physical world of DVDs when the rest of America was pointing and clicking pointing and clicking. Almost nothing I watched was less than 5 years old (including Ultimate Fighting Championships 25-60).

When I did get out of the house with enough cash to cover two beers and two tips, I would find my perspective in debates and conversations becoming more and more unique.  It is amazing what an alternate media stream will do to ideas about “consensus opinion.”  My unique source list provided me with well-researched ideas that were lost to those swimming in the mainstream soup. Surprisingly, many 20 year old ideas are quite relevant.  Some of them even make status updates and blogs seem like juvenile indicators of the downfall of civilization.  Apparently a life of reading books, talking and thinking could be even more effective than blandly pawing an iPad. Before I get too far ahead of myself, let me give an example.

Once I was three months and about 250 titles in (my work/social life was improving), I started watching “The Twilight Zone”.  Don’t know if you have seen it, but it was the foundation for things like “Twin Peaks” and “Lost.” It is the classic dark horse for best television show ever. Still, reliving these old shows was not the most mind-blowing aspect of my viewing experience.  What really took me by surprise were the old public service announcements and commercials at the end of every episode (did TV used to only have 30 seconds of commercials per show?).  What I cannot forget was a PSA-like precursor to “Rock the Vote.” Here is what happens; an animated anthropomorphic spokesthing comes out to a repetitive jingle.  I can’t remember the exact lyrics but it was along the lines of don’t forget to vote for your favorite candidate blah dee blah blah blah. Then the anthropomorphic spokesthing proceeds to the poorly drawn ballot boxes and makes its selection.  The choice of who to vote for was between six potential candidates.  Each fake choice was presented with absolutely equal value.  I sat stunned on the only chair in my sparse apartment.

Six!? Are you kidding me!? 50 years ago a public representation of political choice included 6 motherfucking options. To me, that seems to indicate a 66% drop in personal freedom. Today, we don’t even pretend that we have more than two bullshit choices. Even when that rare third party does make a go of it, they are usually accused of attempting to destroy democracy (see Ralph Nader).  Or, they reconsider and join one of the two mainstream parties even though they barely fit in (see Ron Paul).  I am so sick of the pervasive illusion of choice.  Every election cycle we endure constant news, advertising, and infotainment, and it all boils down to Democrat or Republican, Coke or Pepsi, beef or pork, Bud or Miller, Marlboro or Camel, Viagra or Cialis, Xanax or Zoloft, et cetera, et cetera, et cetera.

This is what happens when you get out of the mainstream current.  Suddenly ideas that should be obvious seem to bolt down from the heavens.

You realize that constantly choosing the lesser of two evils is basically a lost cause.

You realize that freedom is a battle that must be won again and again (someone that wasn’t me said that).

Your new reality insists that there are not two sides to every story, there are many, and pretending freedom is represented by a simple “one or the other” is pointless and exhausting.  During times like these I want to go back to the Twilight Zone.  I want the world that creator Rod Serling thought was cruel and bizarre.  I can’t imagine what his response would be to this one.  Sometimes the only way to move forward is to take a breath and look back.

Podcast delivered!

10 Aug

In this short preliminary podcast The Dave Good Show covers personal responsibility, activism, selling out, and why he roots for losing teams. All discussions of relationships have been removed due to extreme controversy.  Dave Good strongly recommends that you tune in and get tuned up.

Click here to  listen: Episode 1

Austin Peace Rally

Podcasts of the Dave Good Show will be available to download on iTunes shortly.
All featured music by Strength.

Inception Part II: Why Lebron Intentionally Hurt Cleveland

5 Aug

I can think of at least one major negative, even devastating, everyday reality for a teenage basketball prodigy.  When you are a prodigy, people will attempt to put their dreams inside of you.  Every person a generation ahead thinks,“If only I could combine my experience with your god given gifts. We could really make a difference.” They tell you how you should play and how you should be. “Support this charity, Lebron.” “Care only about winning, Lebron.” “Don’t make mistakes X, Y, and Z like I did.” Most of all, they insist that they truly love the real you.  It doesn’t take a college education to intuit that really, they don’t.

 (Bill Haber/Associated Press)

(Former) Cleveland Cavaliers basketball star LeBron James scrapes paint from a window in the Lower 9th Ward of New Orleans on Feb. 15, 2008. NBA players in town for the All-Star Game took a day to work on community service projects to help with the recovery from Hurricane Katrina. (Bill Haber/Associated Press)

It’s not that the people (coaches, mentors, employers, public) don’t love you at all but the love they offer is totally conditional. They love you only if you become that person they want you to be.  They love you only if you take on their dreams as your own.  As any fan of Inception can tell you, this is impossible.  Transferring dreams is like blowing smoke into a soap bubble.  A love-starved prodigy will do whatever it takes to accommodate. He will walk it and talk it as best he can. He will constantly repeat words that reflect a coach’s or mentor’s life experience rather than his own.  He will try to accommodate the dreams of an entire city, but inside his true self will long to fulfill the teenage dreams he has always been told to ignore.  Every time he passes up an opportunity to get drunk or stupid in favor of cutting the ribbon at a youth center the rage will steadily begin to grow.

From the moment he changed from boy to adolescent, Lebron struggled to be the “man” Cleveland wanted him to be.  None of us can imagine the pressure of being “chosen” to save a dying city.  It is cruel to force someone into the role of messiah.  There is no way that a 13-year-old Lebron chose to take on a challenge that the civic leadership was clearly failing to overcome.  How could a 16-year-old Lebron know what was happening to him?  How could 21-year-old Lebron explain he wasn’t basketball Jesus? Even if he did, (perhaps he tried) no one would have listened.  He was now the living breathing embodiment of deeply held hopes and aspirations. They just kept blowing smoke and the walls of the bubble got thinner and thinner.

courtesy of TheFabEmpire.com.

Lebron James Parties it up in D.C.

Eventually, the real Lebron could no longer take it.  He had to end the charade.  More than that, he needed to express his anger. He isn’t a messiah or a man-child.  He is a 25-year-old kid that wants to get laid and party.  He doesn’t have much in the way of genuine life experience.  Maybe after he makes a few mistakes (he has gotten a good start) he can earn enough character to make a real difference in this world.  Uplifting the industrial Midwest is not a realistic goal for an barely grown athlete.  He has another 50 years to make his mark and define his legacy. Real sustainable social/cultural changes takes at least that long and it sure as hell has to come from the heart.  Anyone can give $100k to charity, but it takes a real man to make sure that charity does permanent good. The only way Lebron could get Cleveland to understand was through a rude and childish act of passive aggression (the bubble had to burst). When you have been crowded into a corner of fake philanthropy perhaps the only way out is a spit filled fuck you. He is a kid and he doesn’t know shit… but he has to learn that on his own. Shallowness is his god given right.  For greatness to be real, it must come from within.

The truth always does bring the funny

4 Aug

A classic Bill Hicks joke loosely translated:

If you think that drugs have never done any good for anybody, do me a favor. Take all those rock and roll records you love so much and burn them. Everyone that made that music? Really fucking high.  The Beatles were so high that they had to scrape Ringo off the ceiling with a broom.

I love this joke.  The truth always does bring the funny. After repeated viewings of Dave Chappelle’s block party, I have developed a companion joke.

If you think that Christianity has never done any good for anybody, do me a favor. Take all those hip-hop albums you love so much and throw them out the fucking window.  All those revolutionary poets you love so much? Really high on Jesus.  Before every show Common, Kanye, and Talib form a prayer circle and get seriously wasted on everlasting love.

Is that funny?

Call Centered

28 Jul

Dead of winter, the economy was sucking, and I was telephone fundraising for a large non-profit. The pressure was building at mid-month and we were behind schedule for our goal.  I was new at the job and had not done similar work in at least 5 years. Everyday a fundraiser starts with zero and my pile of leads was dwindling.  Reluctantly, I turned to the one pink stack I had yet to touch. Two words were written bold face above every name, address, and phone number.  Those words were: “Lapsed Seniors.”

1-800-822-9919

I didn’t even like calling current seniors. Asking the aging for money felt like constantly forgetting my grandmother’s birthday.  Guilt is the enemy of the fundraiser and the typical, supportive, retired educator easily induced annoying bouts of self-criticism.  Regardless, we needed the money and I started pounding out the phone numbers.  What happened next was entirely unexpected and unprecedented. For the next forty-five minutes every single person I called was dead.

I am not an asshole. I would immediately offer sincere condolences and gratitude for what I am sure was a lifetime of charity.  Then I would steady myself, take a deep cleansing breath, and call another dead person.  After the first seven minutes I was casually contemplating my own mortality.  After the next seven I was acutely aware that our lifetimes were nothing more than insignificant blinks in the infinite eyes of Universe. What happened after the next seven? Something very strange… every time I hung up the phone I had to take a good 30 seconds and laugh my ass off. Not only was my job hopeless; life was hopeless. I laughed hard at the grand joke God had played on us all. Every minute after that was a minute closer to my own death.

I had now been at work for nearly an hour and hadn’t reached a single living resident.  Thankfully, I had scheduled the next hour for youthful, healthy, regular contributors. After a brisk walk around the building, I reset myself to begin anew.  I was calling for a Mister, but a kind professional woman picked up the phone. This is what she said: “I’m sorry he can’t come to the phone right now. His legs were recently amputated.” Immediately I descended into a sad pensive silence. I seriously considered allowing myself to cry. My Universe was now an absurd circus of cruel disappointment.  The message was clear: death, dismemberment, and worse are only waiting for the right moment to pounce.

An observer would have seen a man lost deep in the carpeted textures of his shared cubicle. My soul was quiet and listening to an internal voice speaking simple eternal words. “Fuck it, Dave Good… Fuck it. Fuck guilt, fuck money, fuck pain, and fuck death. Fuck. It. All.” For the next few hours I lived in a world without fear. When someone answered the phone, we were the only two people in the world. Our conversations were blessed and sincere.  We spoke about the greater purposes of life and the true nature of beauty.  Then clearly, peacefully, and fearlessly, they relinquished the numbers of an accepted major credit card.

The Dave Good Show thanks you for your continued and generous support.

The Golden Light of Michele Bachmann

27 Jul

One of the primary reasons I tell good stories is because I know when to hop in the back seat and go along with someone else’s ride.

One of these days was this past Saturday when I ended up attending a Chicago concert in Stillwater, MN. It was a summer festival brought to Small Town America with the assistance of many corporate and military sponsors. The show was delayed by hours, so I spent a large amount of time lounging in a shade-less field, drinking tall boys, and sweating myself into a pleasant oblivion.  Admittedly I was drinking with a bit of diligence and purpose: I needed to kill off any possibility of higher thought because the surroundings were quite distressing to my urban intellectual sensibilities.  Children were engaged in a push-up contest at the Air Force tent.  The cops were showing off a stable of German Shepherds.  Attendees were pelting baseballs at an ironically impervious poster of Osama Bin Laden. Unfortunately, the all Anheuser Busch beer selection came with a hefty $6 price tag.  Even after handing over my 3rd twenty I was still sober enough to listen to the MC read off the list of 40-odd sponsors.  Three received cheers and applause. One was Michelob Golden Light. Another was Congresswoman Michele Bachmann. I will mention the third one later.

My remaining active brains cells could only come to one seemingly obvious solution.  Michele Bachmann must be quite similar to at 16oz. tallboy of Michelob Golden Light.  I watched some YouTube clips: We Now Have a Total Gangster Government, and Bachmann: “Not All Cultures are Equal” and I am still just as confused by her as ever.  Perhaps an investigation of my personal emotional response to the Michelob Golden Light product design will prove illuminating.

"God Light"

As far as I can tell, Michelob Golden Light is trying to be the first beer Jesus drinks when he finally returns to Earth.  It is white with gold and silver trim. The top and bottom of the can are so reflective that you appear to be holding a staff of divine power.  You could put wheels on it, make it bulletproof and then use it to drive the Pope in a parade. No can of beer can touch the majestic and regal Christianity of a Mic Golden Light.

However, inside that can is the same nearly indistinguishable intoxicant that is inside every other AB product.  It is not bringing you closer to Jesus; it is bringing you closer to your own death.  Golden light doesn’t enlighten, it intoxicates; it get’s you drunk on a fake representation of salvation.  This artificial godliness is nothing next to the real thing.  When “the supreme being” was read of as a sponsor, (yes he was) the response was intense, joyous, and uproarious.  If Jesus is real, he isn’t in a can… and he definitely is not in congress. All we can know for sure, is that he is a strong supporter of classic rock.

These are only impressions… advertising these days is incredibly successful at tapping into our deepest emotions and prejudices.   Personally, I recommend ignoring the packaging and making choices based on the holy trinity of price, size, and alcohol content. I had more to say about this, but my final thoughts drowned in the final drops of Bud Tallboy #9.

All I can remember is the aging remaining members of Chicago singing the line “I’m addicted to you baby… You’re a hard habit to break”