March 31, 2011
At some point clarity lost its legitimacy to subtlety, and ironic disaffection and apathy became the cultural currency of the hip. Never having been hip, or subtle, it is hard to say when which gave way to what (which actually is hard to say), but the end result was irony becoming the key social moderator. About the same time reading became not so popular, which is a bit of problem when your locus of cool is a fairly slippery esoteric concept. What are the retro clad and bearded masses to do?
In an effort to keep the smug barista and spoken word poetry industry from grinding to a halt Beats Entropy is going to drop a little knowledge.
Let us define our terms:
Irony= when the result of an action is contrary to the desired or expected effect or contrary to some intrinsic quality (real or inferred).
Things entirely devoid of irony
It gets dark at night
Surrender is a word of French extraction.
Ugly people are often sad
Now I could get all fancy and suss out all the gradations of irony through a series of complex logical syllogisms, but we both know that sort of academic hokum proves nothing. The only legitimate method of exploring such a topic is a peer reviewed, toast backed, scale from 1-20. Let’s get down to business.
Beats Entropy Irony Scale:
February 21, 2011
While I am not a religious man I believe that faith is the largest part of self: identity is pulled from gossamer strands of supposition woven into an assumptive web strong enough to suspend disbelief. An overstatement? Quite possibly. Overwritten? Most assuredly. But the point stands: Empiricism is the lazy man’s retreat. True understanding of the world must be derived first principle through a combination wit, intuition, and rhetorical hustle. Proof is artful transmission of belief, nothing more.
It is with this mind I present you: Logically unsupportable beliefs I have…and stand by.
Let’s get down to business.
The Claim: Coffee keeps milk from spoiling
January 20, 2011
This girl once said that I could only see women as hopeful shapes on the horizon. That up close I saw too little of myself to hide my disappointment. I’m paraphrasing a little. A proper transcription would be artlessly and unfair. It stung. I hated feeling solved and ordinary. I suspect she wanted me to argue. To push for something that left us less diminished. And I would have, but I couldn’t understand that she was asking, tell me why I’m different. And she was.
January 4, 2011
Last night I reached and turned in a clockwise search for the borders of our bed, where soft skin and cold feet set the limit to my sprawl. But there was none, no limit and no center, so I spun and wondered at the space. The time it took to sleep and the rise of unfamiliar springs against my back; how light she must have been.
November 4, 2010
I rarely go out. The dictates of my gym job and domestic inertia keep me in a fairly tight home-work orbit. This Halloween, however, I grew a fine old-timey moustache for my Turn of the century Irish Strike Breaker costume and felt the need to show it off in unfamiliar confines. My buddy Ben suggested crashing a stranger’s house party, I obliged.
The first half of the night was pleasantly unremarkable.
The conversations were light, bouncy, and forgettable. Until I met Chris(1); a young man enjoying a brief island of freedom between recent and forthcoming incarcerations. I learned of his legal woes in a fast moving five minute chat that began as workout advice, transitioned into recounting of his troubled youth, and culminated in the revelation that he was soon to return to the joint for continued indiscretions.
A better (or less lubricated) person would have taken that moment to bid him good luck and started up a less challenging conversation with the stocky lass in a cruelly unaware Strawberry Shortcake costume. But I was drinking. And I like to give advice. So I confided in him a largely fabricated criminal past and proceeded to advise him on how to survive in prison…which in the moment I felt wholly qualified to do.
It went as such.
September 6, 2010
June 17, 2010
I’ve been asked to murder my tree on the grounds that it is too tall and a foreigner. While I could bring myself to fell a towering Dutchman, or Dutch Elm, this particular tree has done me great kindness and asked nothing in return. Sally, however, feels differently. Read the rest of this entry »