In A Way, I Feel You; In Another Way, Fuck Off

If It Feels Good Do It is a song by Sloan, a group of four white guys from Halifax, Nova Scotia. Some sample lyrics:

If it feels good do it
Even if you shouldn’t
Don’t let people mess you around

Gangsta Gangsta is a song by NWA, a group of four black guys out of Los Angeles, California. Some sample lyrics:

‘Cause I’m the type of nigga that’s built to last
If ya fuck with me I’ll put a foot on yo ass
See I don’t give a fuck ‘cause I keep bailin’
Yo, what the fuck are they sayin’?

Now, all things being equal, which group do you suppose a 30-something white guy would sport on a header atop a blog titled “If It Feels Good Do It”?

Mm-hmm.

Ian Bowman: unless you are straight outta Compton, or a crazy motherfucker named Ice Cube, I’m going to suggest, directly off the top, without reading a single post, that you change your header – not because there’s anything inherently wrong with a white guy listening to 80s-style gangsta-rap, but because it doesn’t make a lick of sense, and even less so after reading your blog. As a man who knows a thing or two about not making sense, believe me when I tell you that there is a bleak, yawning chasm between “dude, you crazy” and “what?”

Sometimes “what?” works; other times it’s like choking a plastic doll with a knife between your teeth while standing in front of a ferris-wheel: nonsense for the sake of nonsense.

Here’s the thing: your first post was great. Truly. You’ve got this straight-ahead style of writing that reeks of sly humour and self-awareness, and this post showed that you could make something out of nothing, and that’s talent. So, what happened? You thought it a better use of skills to write umpteen-Burning Man posts? You got drunk, you got high, it was rad. Right, got it. Who gives a fuck?

[shrug]

Reading your blog is like enduring a tale of self-actualization gone awry. At some point, you stopped trying to entertain and started trying to impress, and tearing up the crowd at karaoke by killing I Started A Joke with a devastating falsetto isn’t the same as belting out Creed songs as if they had meaning. Stop pretending you’re Scott Stapp and get on with it.

Look, Bowman, I understand: I’ve written more than my fair share of self-congratulatory tripe, and I’ve alienated scores of readers with my unapologetic braggadocio. I, however, have not vlogged shirtless, nor have I related text-messages of people wanting to fuck me; why would I? I assume my fuckability is self-evident from what I write alone, and it’s unfortunate that you and I differ in our respective beliefs in that regard.

When you actually write, it’s good, for the most part; when you indulge in what my old writing teacher called “navel-gazing”, it’s an atrocity of masturbatory bullshit, and really, really, incredibly annoying. There’s tongue in cheek, and then there’s taking a picture of your tongue to put it online in the hope that someone will see it and think it’s hot; there’s funny narcissism and pointless narcissism, and far too often it sounds like you’re trying to convince yourself that you’re worthy of either.

You have “absolutely no long-term goals whatsoever”? Fair enough. How about, in the short-term, you put a little more effort into this thing - it could be better, and absolutely, positively should be better than it is.



It's a moose - love it.