You're Fired.

So I think I got fired for the first ever time ever. I think of myself as a pretty prudent, hard working individual, sometimes susceptible to bouts of insubordination, but in the end I put in my time and do solid work, I think. I love to write, especially about weird shit that I encounter or experience so I jumped at a chance to write for a startup magazine through a business that I have followed and supported for a long time. The articles entailed that I write features interviewing artists or weird contemporary trends and culture. It seemed like a perfect fit.  I'm not 100% sure that me being fired is a done deal, but my editor hasn't emailed me back in a few weeks and the artist interview I have set up for this week isn't responding after expressing great enthusiasm through email exchanges. 

Granted, most of the shit I have sent in to the editor have been kind of off-kilter stuff that most people would find revolting. Thus far, I have written articles/interviews on an ex-street fighter, a felony convicted marijuana dealer, a fanatic gun collector, a swinging couple, and a Chinese prostitute. Obviously these people wanted to remain anonymous, so the required two to three images per article were kind of out of the question. What most people find weird, I find fascinating. The underbelly of society has always intrigued me, that these people have somehow fallen beneath the path of normality and now live in a world that most people will never experience and never understand. What they do is normal to them.

But I don't think that's what necessarily sealed the deal. My first interview was with an artist I've looked up to and respected for a long time. I went into the interview not only as a writer, but as an avid fan. It took me about three emails just to get him to respond, only with the reply of  "i'm a little bit interviewed out right now, i'll only do it if you ask good questions, if not forget it." Okay fine, understandable, the man has a full plate and probably has been asked the same stupid ass questions a million times. Long story short, he gave answers which were hateful, arrogant, egotistical, and without a grain of humility. His answer to: What advice would you give to any aspiring artists was "Go fuck yourselves" among other illuminating gems. He has just lost a devoted fan. If anyone wants any of art that I have acquired of his on the cheapsky, inquire within.

With the interview section, I wrote an intro and basically called him an asshole, because that's what he came off as. I sent in the article and haven't heard back from the editor since. And to conclude, that is why I think I have been fired and probably blackballed from the company/gallery/magazine for life. For calling someone I used to look up to an asshole. 

None of the articles have been published, maybe they are too outlandish or my writing/interviewing style sucks. I'm not quite sure. The editor has never critiqued or said anything besides asking why I never send the required images. So these things are just sitting in my hard drive probably never having the opportunity to seeing the light of day. So I'm just going to post them one by one up here. I will start with the ex street brawler interview, enjoy.

Modern Day Cowboy

Living in a city like San Francisco, like any international city, where crime is relatively low (in most areas) and people are accepting of differences and eccentricities, it is a little haven away from what the world really is. A bubble of daily life, a hodgepodge of people zipping through the streets, unawares of anything else besides the new fashionable political/environmental/business/celebrity gossip topic. Not ever really knowing what danger and chance really are.The only battles fought now are through commerce, conference rooms oftentimes referred to as war rooms, fighting with words and money, the most cultured of warfare.

Our country was built upon manifest destiny, a striving to West across the vastness of middle America, where treachery and loneliness abounded. It is easy to forget that, living in a city: people have nice safe little lives, visit quaint cafes, sit at the park, and tour galleries on First Thursday walks. A little city of atmosphere and culture.

What happened to men being men? I don't mean the glamorized lifestyle of rappers and gangster type shit, but knowing how to use your hands, standing in the face of confrontation, not backing out when shit hits the fan. Most people prefer their safe little bubbles, putting money down on a mortgage, decorating their condos, voting for their party. The roamers and cowboys of the West are a thing long forgotten, only to be seen portrayed by the likes of John Wayne and the Marlboro man.

I met Q back in college. He is a menacing man who walks with a lumbering gait, shoulders always hunched aggressively forward like a cagefighter entering the ring. He is the type of person you would avoid making eye contact with if passing down a narrow sidewalk. His knuckles are calloused and hard from years of abuse, on his left shoulder is "V" shaped scar, a souvenir from a brawl a few years back. Despite the outwardly intimidating appearance, he is a loyal friend, university educated with a degree in bioscience, and a stolid force in even the most compromising situations.

He grew up fighting in the streets of Ramona, a city outside of San Diego, fighting for pride, fighting with his hands, fighting for everything that was not given to him. Comparatively, most men are nancy boys. I'm not advocating violence, I just lack respect for any man who has never fought and stood up for anything before, to have been built without a spine, raised on education and culture alone. Many people forget that when shit goes awry, we still must fight, and we must know how. 

We meet at a dive bar in Ramona, his local hangout. The place is filled with hicks who give me side glances, we order Coors Light.

On his education:

"I'm the first one in my family with a college degree. To most fucking people out here, that's amazing. My grandfather left me a trust to pay for college and without it, I don't think I would have gone, I would either have ended up in the army, jail, or dead. I fucking love science, its the answer to how everything works. I actually really enjoyed being in college, it was definitely different from where I grew up. I'm still trying to apply to pharmacy school, but right now I'm just working as a substitute teacher and a nurse."

On women/marriage:

"Fuck marriage. It's about the stupidest thing any man can do to himself. My friend Tyler who I use to run with got his girl pregnant a few years back and all he ever does now is work and take care of his kids. Doesn't have a fucking life. And you know what's happening now? He's getting a fucking divorce and has to pay child support. Fucking idiot. I don't think I'll ever be in a relationship, every time I fuck a girl I just don't like her anymore. The only thing I can see myself doing is having a girl from each country in the world, have myself an international family."

On growing up:

"It was never easy having nothing. My parents didn't give a shit what I did. They were pretty fucked up themselves in the head. In the streets, everyone hated everyone else. You stuck to your group and they were family. We were never a gang, we didn't carry weapons or nothing. We fought everyone, the blacks, Mexicans, and the other trailer trash kids. I supported myself by selling 40's and weed to other kids. It wasn't about territory, or whatever the fuck gangs fight for now."

On fighting:

"We just liked to fight, if someone said some shit to you and you didn't like it, you took care of it or you're going to be known as a pussy. Fuck, we fought for the stupidest reasons, but it was what it was." He says this with a grin. "There's nothing like coming out of a fight with your hands all cut up from the other guy's face. We use to set up fights and just go at it. I've been in so many fights now I don't even remember them all. Most people won't fight you unless they're drunk or have somebody else there to back them up. Fuck that."

"People will hear about you from other towns, about how you're good with your hands so you have to fight them. We used to set them up at a buddy's back yard. Sometimes people would put money down."

"I've only been knocked out cold once. That's when I was young and stupid and thought that I could take on anybody. This Mexican dude down the street was talking all kinds of shit and I got right up in his face and he knocked me on my ass. I don't get up in anyone's face anymore. I learned my lesson after that."

Every few years, he'll take off to a new country and bring a backpack. He'll travel for months, doing odd jobs to support himself, picking fruit, bouncing at bars, anything to feed and travel for a week or two. Living on the road, always in seek of adventure and danger. In a sense, it is a very pointless life, with no direction nor meaning. But he lives on whim, with no discretion of where he will go. It is the very epitome of what cultured men have been taught not to do. He is free of any constraints and obligations and was probably better to have been born into a different era. 

He doesn't express shame or regret for the things he has done, merely citing "I would not have survived else wise." It is easy for society to judge men of his character, but where can one go, when life offers no respite for the calling of the primeval. Modern life is often constraining and rigid, lacking in men's needs to beat their chests and plunder. The city with all its artificial edifices are not enough for men like Q. There must be more.