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All In Gold...Can't Put Money in Music or the Market
All In Gold...Can't Put Money in Music or the Market
09/18/08 at 12:54 PM by Adam Pfleider
I am Jack's complete stress across his brain.

I'm about to be a graduate, with around $12,000 in student loans, $3,000 in credit card debt (due to my beat-up car and medical expenses), and about to buy a used car adding more payments to yet another card.

Every morning I wake up now, the entire financial world is sinking. I don't know whether to be scared, or to slip into a self induced comma and wake up in the year 2038 when Disney has finally taken over and at least every ride to work is an exciting and magical adventure.

To my knowledge, this whole thing is the equivalent of me handing another person an I.O.U.-- I don't have money, but I'm lending it as well. Then to hear that the Feds are on their way to giving yet another I.O.U. to the industry that dug their own grave, I'm slowly preparing for my self induced nap.

I am Jack's confusion.

By the time this post, it will be 3 p.m. my time, 4 p.m. your time, 1 p.m. their time and 2 p.m. for gamblers and Grizzly Adams.

Me, you, and Ol' Grizzly may be sinking with the ship by this time tomorrow, well, today if you're currently reading this.

Seth Werkheiser and Geoff Rickly are now the next celebrity boxing.

I would have to quite possibly agree with both of them. To Mr. Rickly (whom, if you read my weekly blog, have not heard back from as of yet), I completely agree that a Black Flag or a Refused does not exist for my generation. I agree with that because of what Mr. Werkheiser has said about internal social change before consumer change. We create what we buy, we buy into it and then we must live with our decision until something else excites us again. Where are all your childhood toys. Probably sold at a garage sale, right?

Why does Hanna Montana exist? When I was asked this in my sociology class, I said because Britney Spears has collapsed into herself like a dying star, but truly because that's what kids that age latch onto, and always have. Yes, I owned the New Kids on the Block cassette when I was a kid-- because I was a kid.

No one cares about you under the market when you reach past 24. Only two years after me. All anyone cares about is what show you are watching. The industry knows you'll continue to go to the movies, and continue to buy music, just now through a different medium, because that's the cool thing to do.

The book, based on the blog, Stuff White People Like: A Definitive Guide to the Unique Taste of Millions, should be renamed: Stuff White People Buy Into Because of Their Friends or Stuff Hipsters Hate You For Liking. We buy into what we "think" to be different and creative, and then the process cycles when we get bored and pick up on another thing. I guess before we know it, we're greedily making millions and the floor falls out from under us. The Feds come, and we become the best Socialist an I.O.U. slip can buy.

I wasn't afraid of what is coming, I still may not be, and all the teeny bopper mallrats at Hot Topic probably aren't worried either. They have their parent's credit card while dad is weeping over a cheap bottle of scotch.

Where is the music to pull us out? Where is the revolutionaries that Mr. Rickly speaks of? Does Zach De La Rocha need to knock on everyone's door and say, "Hey guys, let's getting going! And when we finish, I'll take everyone for pizza and ice cream!"

I am Jack's deaf ear. I am Jack's selective hearing.

We don't have the capital to support ourselves. Maybe we shouldn't have invested in the Six Million Dollar Man. I know we shouldn't invest in the industry that screwed itself over. Then again, that industry made Mr. Rickly's band, among others, huge stars. We ate it up, and now that the sweet icing taste bitter, we have to drink the taste away into a self induced comma.

My first final journalism project restarts itself at 7 a.m. this morning, I'm supposed to be done with all four mayoral candidate interviews by 12:30 p.m. before my only class, for which will end and this would be posted. I will end up at The Chimes, with a beer, thinking about my day-- whether I failed or succeeded, staring at the news informing me something else went under at 3 p.m.

I am Jack's unaware state.

I hate politics. I am a drone to funds that are non-existent. I am not a revolutionary.

I am Jack's day in and day out.
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