Miserable Retail Slave

Country Girls/Guys – And Why I’m Running in the Opposite Direction

by Josh

Every one of us (more or less) have faced some kind of heartbreak in our lives. Even us here at MRS; I’d like to think me and my brethren (Paulie, RFP, can I get a witness?) have become seasoned vets as far as getting burned. And as a single guy myself, I’m constantly weighing options in the game of love like Gerry Kasparov or Bobby Fischer when it comes to making moves. Who do I talk to, where do I go, how do I present myself?

Most girls I talk to, however, imply that it takes a certain type of impulse in order to succeed.

And by now you might be wondering how this article fits in the MRS world; this is a blog about movies and shows and music, not your own drama!

In that case, let me introduce you to my little friends Carrie Underwood and Jaron & The Long Road To Love.

We get two glimpses of how “real Americans” and “real country people” handle heartbreak in contemporary America with these songs:

Artist: Carrie Underwood

Song: Before He Cheats

Carrie Underwood: If I knew someone personally who was dating Ms. Underwood, I’d tell him to get the hell out of there before she talks with her friends about gossip. This woman will straight-up wreck your vehicle, slash holes in the tires (as opposed to stabbing or puncturing), carve her name in the seats, smash the glass fixtures…for the sake of argument, and because of the fame this woman boasts, let’s use her as the case study for girls.

…I imagine Underwood to be watching Mad Max 3 and getting inspiration from Tina Turner in a post-apocalyptic world as the men are drinking beer and playing bathroom polo in the roadhouse nearby.

Artist: Jaron & the Long Road to Love

Song: Pray For You

Jaron: This guy is actually pretty passive-aggressive with his angst. At first glance, he’s a regular Christian man who hasn’t been to church since God knows when (see what I did there?), and instead of doing something drastic, he’s praying to God. But he’s pretty ballsy with his statements: he’s actually asking God to commit to a series of “unfortunate” incidents to his ex in an attempt to make him feel better. While I assume that he feels better about this decision, I’d wager that he’s playing with death on this. Summoning God to smite one girl that jilted you or hurt you? I’d say that this is a representative for a case study of the boys.

So we have vandalism versus karma.

Let me underline all this by saying that I in no way think these songs are good, or for that matter, comedic. Nothing is funny about someone’s tire blowing out at 110mph or vandalizing an expensive vehicle (what is it with these people and vehicles…?). But it kinda makes you think before you decide to hit the rural areas for the ladies/men. I think that, depending on what gets vandalized, felonies are brought into consideration. Not to mention SHE CARVED HER NAME IN THE SEAT. No lawyer in the world would take that case, especially after a song is written about it. Also, trying to use the Lord for bad can backfire pretty harshly (if you indeed believe in God, all you skeptics out there).

As for me, after listening to country radio for the first time in literally years and hearing these songs, I think I’ll space it out another 7-8-odd years before I tune in again. I’ll certainly avoid the bars for awhile, too. If “real Americans” are listening to this garbage and internalizing these messages, I’m probably gonna wake up to a ransacked house if I don’t return a phone call.

~Josh

by Abe

(Disclaimer: Due to the controversial subject matter the following article does not reflect the views or opinions of Miserable Retail Slave© as a whole.)

What can I say? I am a late bloomer. I have always marched at my own clumsy, desynchronized beat. Whether it was learning to walk (I skipped crawling), losing my virginity (don’t ask) or graduating college (still haven’t) I have never been one to fall into line. So naturally, developing a smoking habit was no different. At 27 years old I decided to try my hand at the world’s most glamorous addiction. It was the logical decision, what else could I do to make myself appear much more cool and self assured? I already give off that laid back look from my lack of personal upkeep, so why not add a new angle? Why not give myself an edge?

Striking that match and inhaling a cocktail of carcinogens made the world of difference. I could feel the transformation in my body, my lungs screaming at me “What the hell are you doing you god damned idiot? Now we are going to be no better off than your liver!” beyond that there was something more. Deep down I could feel this coolness stirring inside me, brewing ready to boil over. This was the time to exhale a steam cloud of smoke tip my head back and say “…aaaah smooth” in the most convincing relaxed voice ever imagined. I belonged on a sailboat on the crystal blue ocean with smiling girls hanging all over me, or in a pool hall with a cocky smirk on my face chalking my cue with all of my friends behind me, laughing like it was the best time of their lives, each with their own lit cigarette in hand. At that moment I was the protagonist in 80’s cinema, or the cunning villain in 90’s cinema and beyond.

(Figure 1A: L: R William Hurt, Kathleen Turner.) 1981, Body Heat. At one point in American cinema the brash sexy lead was seen smoking cigarettes, a trait now exclusive to villains and idiots.

That coolness manifested into raw sexual energy and I noticed what few women that were actually in the establishment shifting uncomfortably in their seats and lose focus of their conversations with their dates with each puff I took. It would not surprise me the least bit if Cheri, the bartender had to wipe down the seats as well as the tables that night. I don’t want to mislead anyone about cigarettes here. Even though I was smoking and I was experiencing werewolf-like changes, my batting average remained the same: all strikeouts. I am no scientist but the rejection may have been from the lack of personal upkeep I mentioned earlier, or my slight huskiness.

Although my charm had escalated with interesting new quirks like coughing wretchedly mid-sentence, wheezing when I laughed or when I ascended staircases with four steps or more, there were also more alarming side effects. Weeks into my new habit I started having frequent nose bleeds. There was even what appeared to pieces of my organs floating in the bowl after I would poop. For a while I assumed this was normal. I tallied this up to another tax on being cool through the use of tobacco products. I mean I was breathing in hot fiery smoke deep into my airway, like a dragon. It took a man to harness that power. This is when I found out about the fire safety chemicals. I was talking to some friends of mine who had been sucking on hellfire much longer than me. It started out as innocent chatter, but their raspy hoarse voices awoke me into the reality I was now living. It went something like this short play:

Me: (dragging cool and deep on a cigarette) Man, we look cool, don’t we?

Them: (hoarsely like studs) Yeah man, but you are retarded for starting to smoke.

Me: Well yeah, but these things are so smooth and addictive, plus I look so moody and interesting. I look like a writer who has a lot of problems and is in dire need of a woman’s touch.

Them: Well that and the fact that this has always been our angle, man. You have always been so cool without cigarettes. Our only chance to be cool was when we’d come over here to the bar and light up our cigarettes. Now we all look moody and interesting, and if all of us are smoking, and we all look interesting that just makes us plain and boring, and really quite gross.

Me: (dragging off of my cigarette with a dark contemplative look on my face) Yeah, but because I drink so much I am at the bar on nights you guys aren’t and then I am the only mysterious one in here. Do you know how cool and dangerously appealing I am when I am here on a Tuesday drinking by myself and smoking?

Them: You are an idiot.

Me: (exhaling a massive cloud of gray smoke)

Them: Plus you started a highly addictive habit after legislation made tobacco companies spray these bad ass cigarettes with a nasty chemical that prevents them from smoldering long after they are put down.

Me: (handsomely smashing my cigarette into an ashtray with authority and dramatic flair) What!?! They sprayed chemicals onto these sweet satisfying cigarettes? So you guys aren’t getting nosebleeds or shitting out bits and pieces of organs you most probably need because all we do is smoke and drink?

Them: Well some of us do, but some of us also have built up some sort of weird tolerance to them after years and years of smoking.

by RFP

"I learned long ago that happiness comes in the form of little moments for me. I think it's time I file away these memories with those other windows of happiness and let go."

Those are the words I typed, half-drunk and life-weary, almost a month ago today.

It's taken every one of those 30 days and at least one H-bomb of an emotional revelation to finally get to the place where "good bye" is the only thing that's left to say.

When the person you thought was the gold standard starts to show the tarnish of reality, it really makes you think about....well, I don't have the time and you don't have to patience to read everything that's racing through my head.

Don't get me wrong. Even the shitty times of the last year were a gift that I never expected to get. So I am not bitter. I am not really mad. I am just numb, you know?

So what's the point of all this? Why this quite vague, but somewhat translucent pithy emotional release to a roomful of strangers and some close friends? 

I'm getting there.

People never say it, but I can see it in their eyes when I talk about this site or my other online writing endeavors: who cares?

Who cares about The Best Sitcoms of All Time or The Top Ten Lost Moments or whatever? Why debate about which band is better: Candlebox or The Doors? (Candlebox, if you're wondering)? Why worry about stupid entertainment crap that doesn't really impact anyone?

The answer is simple, it's why I always wanted to start a website, it's why I love to write and will continue to do so for the rest of my life.

It's a release. It's an escape.

The world is too scary and fucked up and uncertain. Sometimes focusing on the stupid things is the only things that gets you through. 

It's true that a song can't change the world, but it might be able to change a person. How many people in the world have been saved by a 3 and a half minute pop song about love?

How many have contemplated suicide, but latched onto a particular song or band to carry them through? How many kids on the street have heard a rap song and have been inspired to get out of the ghetto? How many have picked up a guitar after hearing "Sweet Child O' Mine" to pursue a dream?

I'm rambling and all over the place, but hopefully what I am saying is making sense. 

I hope it makes sense.

Something has to make sense at this point. 

-RFP

A Vague Account.

by RFP

I have met some people that have never seen 'Star Wars' all the way through. I have met some people that haven't seen a single second of it.

It's alright if you can't tell me the difference between a Greedo and a Tatooine, but to have never experienced an American Cultural Institution that is widely acknowledged as one of the best pieces of science fiction ever committed to the silver screen...well, that just seems crazy to me.

I mean, how could you have NEVER seen Star Wars. When I was a kid, the USA network showed the Holy Trilogy in consecutive order every Christmas Day. It got to be that Jesus Christ, Santa Claus, and Luke Skywalker were synonymous with Christmas in my young, nerdy mind. 

And if you didn't catch on Christmas, they were bound to show them all at some point 360 other days out of the year. It was either Star Wars or Kindergarten Cop every time you turned on the USA network.

ANYWAY.

My point, since by now you are wondering what the hell Yoda has to do with Ryan Gosling, is that The Notebook has become a sort of institution in itself. Not on a Star Wars level, but you know what I mean. Everyone has seemed to have seen it and everyone has an opinion.

Especially women.

How much kleenex has been sacrificed in the name of Nicholas Sparks' paint-by-numbers romance?

Because, you bring up The Notebook around a woman and they will invariably say, "Aww. I love the notebook." And then they always add, "I cried."

They seem proud of it, Like it's a badge of honor. The only other movie I can think of that it's universally acceptable to admit to crying whilst viewing is Ol Yeller. And that's a dog movie. It's understandable. 

But what is about this flick, that causes such a reaction in women? Does Nicholas Sparks sadistically cackle while he bathes in the salty tears of 3 million broken-hearted women?

I don't know, so I had to find out.

So, during a cold and snowy night, I dimmed the lights, popped in The Notebook, and kept a box of kleenex nearby, just in case of a severe emotional breakdown.

I jotted some notes down, while I watched, so let me see if I can decipher the blurry ink on my tear-stained paper.

• I remember when Ryan Gosling was on the kids TV show, Young Hercules. He played a young Hercules.
• Now he's all growed-up, fornicating and carrying on. Where does the time go?
• That river with all the ducks is awesome. I would definitely go there and take lots of pictures for my Facebook page. But I would not feed the ducks. I would be fearful of causing a duck frenzy.