Dancin' with Mr. Brownstone
Every Lent, I give myself a pep talk regarding my (annual) "sacrifice." Knowing that I must do something to better myself and/or those around me, my mind is quickly flooded with images of my friends and family grimmicing after my abuse of coloful four-letter words. My pep talk leads to "serious" dedication and focus, which is usually abandoned after Ash Wednesday mass, when some dude cuts me off on Dodge street.
I have tried rubber bands adorning my wrists, giving those closest to me the green light to snap the bands as hard as they can after each swear. I would try a swear jar, but I don't have any money. What am I going to do, write I.O.U.s?
Right about the time I first break my lenten promise, I try to flashback in time and discover why I curse so much.
That Crazy Mr. Brownstone
I was sitting in my bedroom the first time I remember hearing the f-bomb. My mom, always encouraging my love of listening to music, bought me the brand new single by a thrashing new band, Guns 'N' Roses. "Welcome to the Jungle" was arguably the hardest, most intense song I had heard up to that point, but it was the B side to "Jungle" that threw me for a loop.
"Mr Brownstone" would never reach popular airwaves, but it will be forever engrained in my mind as the first time I heard "Mother F-bomb." I guess I knew words like that existed, but I sure as hell had never heard them at St. Pius X/St. Leo grade school. I remember knowing that the song was "bad", and if my mom got a hold of that tape, I would miss out on any more music by Axel and the boys for a long, long time.
Hide it in a different cassette case. Problem solved. Mom and Dad wouldn't expect to find "Mr. Brownstone" in my Huey Lewis and the News "Fore!" cassette case. I would always put "Brownstone" back in the "Fore!" case immediately after listening, for fear that the tape would get into authoritative hands I would have to grow up in a world without Slash and the rest of G'N'R. Plus, I would have missed out on "Patience" and the "Use Your Illusion" eras, which would have been sad for everyone involved.
Like Ozzy Said, "Don't Blame Me"
I don't blame the music. I can't -- I love music too much to attribute my problems to the songs and bands that helped shape my formative years. When I get sad or angry, I don't blame it on Kurt Cobain or Dead Prez. When I get happy, I don't thank Dave Matthews or George Clinton. I blame everyone else (that's a shock).
I crave attention, and what better way to be noticed than lace your conversations with stinging adjectives. It's not just me -- this type of behavior is everywhere. Music, movies, sports, etc. I can't help it if I want to get a word in edgewise, right? Come to think of it, maybe the use of such harsh words will eventually be drowned out by intellectual communication. It will be such a shock to hear quality conversation, people will be enamored and crave more.
Regardless, I always love hearing "Mr. Brownstone", and maybe that's the problem. Maybe, deep down in the recesses of my soul, I think "Mother F-bomb" is still as cool as it was to me when I was a 7-year-old. Maybe I listened to too many guys like Axel Rose, and not enough guys like Huey Lewis. Or maybe, people should just stop cutting me off on Dodge street.
I have tried rubber bands adorning my wrists, giving those closest to me the green light to snap the bands as hard as they can after each swear. I would try a swear jar, but I don't have any money. What am I going to do, write I.O.U.s?
Right about the time I first break my lenten promise, I try to flashback in time and discover why I curse so much.
That Crazy Mr. Brownstone
I was sitting in my bedroom the first time I remember hearing the f-bomb. My mom, always encouraging my love of listening to music, bought me the brand new single by a thrashing new band, Guns 'N' Roses. "Welcome to the Jungle" was arguably the hardest, most intense song I had heard up to that point, but it was the B side to "Jungle" that threw me for a loop.
"Mr Brownstone" would never reach popular airwaves, but it will be forever engrained in my mind as the first time I heard "Mother F-bomb." I guess I knew words like that existed, but I sure as hell had never heard them at St. Pius X/St. Leo grade school. I remember knowing that the song was "bad", and if my mom got a hold of that tape, I would miss out on any more music by Axel and the boys for a long, long time.
Hide it in a different cassette case. Problem solved. Mom and Dad wouldn't expect to find "Mr. Brownstone" in my Huey Lewis and the News "Fore!" cassette case. I would always put "Brownstone" back in the "Fore!" case immediately after listening, for fear that the tape would get into authoritative hands I would have to grow up in a world without Slash and the rest of G'N'R. Plus, I would have missed out on "Patience" and the "Use Your Illusion" eras, which would have been sad for everyone involved.
Like Ozzy Said, "Don't Blame Me"
I don't blame the music. I can't -- I love music too much to attribute my problems to the songs and bands that helped shape my formative years. When I get sad or angry, I don't blame it on Kurt Cobain or Dead Prez. When I get happy, I don't thank Dave Matthews or George Clinton. I blame everyone else (that's a shock).
I crave attention, and what better way to be noticed than lace your conversations with stinging adjectives. It's not just me -- this type of behavior is everywhere. Music, movies, sports, etc. I can't help it if I want to get a word in edgewise, right? Come to think of it, maybe the use of such harsh words will eventually be drowned out by intellectual communication. It will be such a shock to hear quality conversation, people will be enamored and crave more.
Regardless, I always love hearing "Mr. Brownstone", and maybe that's the problem. Maybe, deep down in the recesses of my soul, I think "Mother F-bomb" is still as cool as it was to me when I was a 7-year-old. Maybe I listened to too many guys like Axel Rose, and not enough guys like Huey Lewis. Or maybe, people should just stop cutting me off on Dodge street.
posted by Creighton Otter at 8:13 PM
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