The intellectual equivalent of a ham sandwich.

Posts tagged ‘concern’

A Letter to the Deftones

Dear Deftones,

How are you today? I hope you are well. I wanted to write to express a few concerns I have and I even have a suggestion! Of course you are free to ignore it but maybe I will be like that little girl who supposedly wrote Lincoln about his mustache and I can help lead you to even greater things.

Note: I am not a little girl, nor do I sometimes think I am.

On Saturday, May 31st, I saw you perform live in Houston at the Free Press Summer Fest (FPSF). One good note: the crowd seemed to love you. Another good note: You did not accidentally say “hello Boston!” or “how’s everyone feeling, Alberta?”

I was at the concert because my fiance is a fan, so I have the benefit of an outsiders perspective here.

At one point my fiance turned to me and said, “oh this was my favorite song when I was in high school!” and I said, “this is a different song than the last one?” Sure, YOU might not find this funny, and neither did anyone else around me … But let me explain the joke! I said this because you seem to scream a lot. Do you lack confidence in your singing voice? Try some lessons. Maybe you’re already a good singer and are screaming as a rebellion against your parents? Try therapy. Whatever it is, we can get you singing lyrics in no time!

My concern is this: are you not aware of different state’s laws concerning marijuana? I ask because at one point you said, “smoke more weed, mother f***ers” (by the way, language, mister!). If you had been playing in Colorado, this would be ok, it’s no different than saying “eat more apples, mother f***ers” (maybe a little strong of a healthy suggestion, but apples ARE delicious). What I’m getting at is that in Texas recreational marijuana use is still not legal, so just keep that in mind!

But hey, if you are comfortable with who you are, by all means, keep at it!


A Concerned Parent

When Balthasar was eleven, his adored pet cat, Mitsou, ran away. He made forty ink drawings detailing his memories of the animal and his fruitless search for her. In the last, he stands alone, crying.

The New Yorker (Google search of ‘Balthus Mitsou’)



I want to go ahead and write down some thoughts I have about our son. If, at the end of this, I decide I have said some things that are worth your time to read – this paper will still be sitting on my desk.

I am worried about our dear Balthasar. He made it clear that he wanted a cat, and when I suggested a fish because it would be easier to keep he strongly objected. I maintained that a fish would be a good introduction to owning a pet, because, as I recall myself saying, “if they die it’s no big deal, and they can’t run away.” I am not saying this to point out that I was right, but just as a way for you to recognize that this letter has some credibility. As we discussed, I didn’t say some phrase like, “I was right.” I am just trying to establish my legitimacy as a source of sound thinking.

The point of this is not about me, but about our son. He really needs a hobby. Have you been in his room this week? It’s getting weird. He was at thirty-two drawings of, as he described it, “the world’s most desperate situation outside a Russian winter.” It’s poetic, which I like, but it’s also a tad melodramatic. How could we have such a child? I am an art historian and you are a painter … Our child, at a vibrant eleven years, should be the very picture of level-headed, honest, and plain-speaking grace.

Am I perhaps pushing him too hard? Could I be at fault in this? Maybe I should cut down on symbolic dinners. Two nights ago he told me he would not like any water with his dinner, but instead red wine, because he felt that the muddied colors represented his tortured soul. “Papa, water would represent an epiphany … But I am without the clarity necessary for such an event. I fear that life is confusing, and only by freezing it do I feel the delights of an epiphany. But, by freezing it I am only lying to myself, I am creating a false sense of enlightenment.” Of course, by saying this, he had actually ended up justifying the case for him having water with dinner. Because of the layers of confusion this was causing – clarity only in stating that he felt he had no clarity – I was forced to boil a shoe in red wine and feed that to him for dinner. Is this bad parenting?

No, I stand by that action. Self-doubt in an artist can be beautiful, representative of what people feel … Self-doubt in a parent is damaging. I must continue to stride forward with the same gusto as always.

And for you, my sentiments are the same. Our son, despite our best intentions, has taken on this flair for the sensational from who knows where.

One request though, would you ask your poet lover to mentor our son in poetry? I really do think he has a knack for it.


My Zombie Roomy (8/16/11)

Remember when the Zombie was going through a weird weight-concerned phase? Well, it’s back. Only now it’s me who is concerned.

The Zombie has put on a lot of weight, and not like a human would. The Zombie has started carrying a backpack at all times, and it is insanely full. I don’t know what is in that thing but it must be from some fancy backpack shop like REI because how has it not broken?

I tried to look what is inside one time but he got angry and swatted me away. I told him I respect his privacy and wouldn’t look. He responded by offering a dance fight (our traditional Friday night thing if I’ve got no other plans). We danced for a while and I felt a lot better.

Until I noticed the jumbo-sized bottle of Gatorade with a hand in it.

However, I love a good joke, so I took out a bottle of regular Gatorade and said cheers, and the Zombie ate a hand while I drank Gatorade. Dance fights make me so thirsty.

It’s disconcerting how ok I am with the Zombie’s eating habits. I had sworn to myself that I wouldn’t let the Zombie eat in my house but now I allowed him to break that rule. We’ll see how this pans out.

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