Generously

The new 30 Seconds to Mars song, and I use “song” generously, is not good. That is a simple and literal sentence, efficient yet flat and lacking resonance. I’m now going to extract the core idea behind it into hyperbole and overstatement for dramatic effect (in other words, par for the course, Dear Reader). This thing is an audio plague. The Geneva Convention forbids playing it to prisoners of war. It contains trans fats. This song is the hunter who shot Bambi’s mom. It asks women at the bar what their “sign” is. God sent it to Pharaoh so he would release the Hebrews. The band should be quarantined in a biohazard shelter for producing it, and I use “band” generously. What were these people thinking? I also use “people” generously.

If you skip to 5:57 on this YouTube video, I’m pretty sure you will see the new Tim Schafer game “Brutal Legend” sum up what 30 Seconds has become better than I ever could:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZGMb8SG6WHo

Take a long hard look, Jared Leto. It’s you. Now I’m not here to rain on your parade necessarily. I mean let’s face it, my friend, you collect a paycheck and sell records, and right now anyone doing that deserves credit. But your music is bad, and that stings because I fought long and hard for your first record. Sure the lyrics were dumb, sure it was pretentious, but it had something, and I stood by you! Your follow-up taught me that such behavior was a silly mistake, and I quietly excused myself from the room. But it looks like your third record is going to be so amazingly awful that everyone’s going to start saying, “Hey, didn’t Andrew tell me that band wasn’t that bad? What an idiot!” In ten years, you’re going to be putting me through so much misery I’ll have to move to a different country and change my name.

Yes, I was wrong about you, 30 Seconds to Mars. I’ve been wrong many times, it’s a function of being loud-mouthed. Here are other examples:

1. Hand sanitizer. It’s great, but it turns out my conviction that it should replace bar soap is medically unsound. In cases of general cleanliness it rocks, but if anything visible is on your hands, it can’t help you.

2. Kings of Leon. Are actually fine, I heard “Notion” and liked it a lot. “Sex on Fire” can still fall in a well and die, though.

3. Playstation 3. Used to be an embarrassment, and I maintain that it was, but with this incredible price drop and a slew of exclusive titles, it has become a respectable investment. If you bought one at launch, I mock and deride you. If you buy one now, I can understand that. Talk about rallying in the fourth quarter.

4. Good Charlotte. I was under the impression no one cared about this band. Turns out they sold 2 million records last time they released something. I guess it was just wishful thinking.

5. Silversun Pickups. I mean, I would have sworn that was a chick on lead vocals. We already talked about this one.

For a full and detailed account of my capacity to say things not based in reality, consult my wife’s recently published three-edition encyclopedia: “What is He Talking About: A Reference Guide to Andrew Being Wrong.” I just opened randomly to page 175…no sorry, it’s actually page 1,750. We seem to have finally reached “B.” Hmm, what have we here? Let me just scroll through, “Batman is real and I met him,” “Batman is real and I AM him,” “Brackets denote subtraction in algebra,” “Big Brothers Big Sisters is an adoption agency,” man there is good stuff in here.

Actually, that joke is unfair to my wife, who spends a huge chunk of her daily life nodding politely while I make crap up. What makes it even worse is that there are these select few things I randomly end up correct about, and then I’m reinforced in my behavior. I’m still jones-ing from the time I said Michael Clarke Duncan was the voice over guy in the “Subway” commercials and then he actually was. That was years ago. It wasn’t even that Corelyn entirely disagreed with me, she just took issue with my certainty. I stated my opinion, she replied that it was possible but his voice type is likely easy to mimic. My reply was simply, “Nope.” What commenced from there was a discussion that lingered on the nature of being “so sure” until we had basically summarized Descartes’ early work: “You can’t just know! That could be anybody!” I remember my exact words after she said this: “I know I’m right. It’s him.” I chuckle at it presently, but at the time I couldn’t fathom what the problem was. It may be that I am more like Corelyn now then I was then, and I see it from her perspective. As usual, it was not the thing itself, but the way I went about it. I wouldn’t wiggle, I wouldn’t accept the possibility of something else, I had zero factual data and a two-second impression (which I formed while not even paying attention) and yet I was talking down to the whole room. Yes, there were other people in the room, every single one agreed with her, I still wouldn’t budge.

No joke, this topic became a sore one. For months we could not talk about it, and I wish I was kidding. The day we finally looked it up was an absolute nadir for Corelyn, and for me perhaps the sweetest victory I have ever tasted. It was like morning dew, Dear Reader. I remember the look on her face as she gazed at the Heavens, and I realized she was no longer displeased with me—her beef was with God. “Explain yourself,” she seemed to be thinking, much in the same way the prophets of old watched Babylonian kings prosper and demanded satisfaction. It didn’t help that I was doing a little victory jig around the room, and repeatedly exclaiming “Touchdown” while holding my arms straight up at either side of my head. Sometimes, it’s just worth it to be in the dog house for a little bit.