2001-07-10 - 3:08 p.m.
More juicy rock �n roll gossip from the dudes at Buddyhead:
Fred Durst doesn�t have back problems. The real story is that he porked another member of the BIZkit�s girlfriend and that they are possibly breaking up over the matter. We couldn�t have planned it better ourselves. More on this real soon.
Now that�s a VH-1 Behind the Music I�d like to see.
Isn�t Fred a little young to be having a midlife crisis? That�s what I�m wondering. You�d think that with all the chyx out there who�d jump at the chance to stiffen His Limpness he�d have no need to go poaching on his bandmates. And what sort of wussy rock band falls apart over this sort of thing, anyway? Mick Jagger and Keith Richard slept with hundreds of the same women and you didn�t see the Stones break up, did you? Would that they had.
This reminds me of something I was going to write about last week. I�m sure I�ll eat my words here in about ten years, but I�ve decided that the "midlife crisis," the very concept of it, is a fabrication cooked up by the therapy industry--in cahoots with the auto industry, divorce lawyers and the manufacturers of cheap cologne and Viagra--to make a pile off of the silly bourgeois insecurities of the North American male. (I have no proof, obviously, but that�s never stopped a good conspiracy theory before.)
Currently, among my friends and relations, there are two married couples in their 40s on the verge of splitting up because the husband woke up one morning and decided they were unhappy--or "unfulfilled" or "not fully actualized" or whateverthefuck the latest touchy-feely New Agey term is for taking all the good things in your life and flushing them down the toilet because you�re a neurotic flake. That�s certainly what it looks like from where I�m sitting. These two dudes don�t have an awful lot in common, but they do have loving wives, beautiful children, and lives that are enviable in many other ways ... and they�re both pissing it all away for no good reason. Dorks.
If either of them dares to try and justify themselves to me, I already know what I�m going to tell them: "Right now, at this very moment, there are people who�ve lost their children to violence or disease, people dying of cancer, people sleeping on the streets. There are also people who are living in war zones, dying of malnutrition, being tortured in some dungeon somewhere, or all of the above. Go tell one of them how �unfulfilled� you are."
We�re a nation of brass ring chasers. No matter how good we�ve got it, we always want something else. This is why I�m in favor of completely open immigration policies--the U.S. needs a constant influx of people who have better things to do than whine about their "issues." If the Mexican border were ever sealed, we�d all collapse under the weight of all our existential garbage and eventually the whole continent north of the Rio Grande would dissolve into a gigantic puddle of quivering white glop. It�d smell really bad, too.
But maybe I�m not one to talk. I should probably hold off on taking over the world until I�ve made it safely to age 60 or so. The last thing I want is to have all of humanity groveling at my feet, only to sigh wistfully and say, "Is that all there is?"
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