John F***ing Rabon Analyzes Country Lyrics: Alone With You

Alone With You, by Jake Owen



I don't see you laugh
You don't call me back
But you kiss me when you're drunk

Well, Jake, I gotta say...yeah, that's not a good sign.

I don't know your friends
Don't know where you've been
Why are you the one I want

Probably because you don't know shit about her and she's good in bed. Get to know her and you'll find out she's married...or just a really boring person when she's not downing tequila shooters.

Don't put your lips up to my mouth and tell me you can't stay

She won't. She can't talk with her tongue in your mouth. Duh.

Don't slip your hand under my shirt and tell me it's okay

But it probably is okay...you know...to her. And to every other guy she does that to.

Don't say it doesn't matter cause it's gonna matter to me

I think you don't understand the concept of the "fuck buddy", Jake.

I can't be alone with
You've got me out on the edge every time you call
And i know it would kill me if I fall
I can't be alone with you

I'm not understanding the issue. If you don't want the booty call, don't answer the phone and go back to masturbating.
Man...you ever think to just flat out ask her where you stand instead of singing whiney lyrics?

Please don't chain that door

Literally chain the door, like in a hotel room? Or is that a metaphor for the door on her heart? Can you spell "metaphor"?

I can't win this war
Your body's like a pill I shouldn't take

What...like Midol?

Don't say you love me cause you know you're gonna love me and leave

Wait a second. You know what? After rereading these lyrics...this sounds a girl singing about a douchebag guy who is using her. Yeah...completely. Jake Owen singing about some chick doing it to him while he battles with it emotionally inside his head...creeps me the fuck out, I'll be honest.

Oh shit. He's...singing about a dude. There's no pronouns in the song. Ahhhh...okay...Hey Jake, my bad...good luck with that guy.

In retrospect, I should have figured this out from the V-neck T-shirt and Fabio hair.

Inspiration

There are few people that truly inspire me. Louis CK is one of those people...and so is a guy named Ze Frank.

From March 2006 to March 2007, Ze created a daily video blog that was creative, intelligent and fucking funny. He was ahead of his time...and now he's back. Here's the first video of his return, "A Show With Ze Frank":



"This is an invocation for anyone who hasn’t begun, Who’s stuck in a terrible place between 0 and 1. Let me realize that my past failures that follow through are no indication of my future performance – they’re just healthy little fires that are gonna warm up my ass."

Amen to that. I needed a jolt from someone I respect and admire...who isn't afraid to put it all out there because they can...and that's not dead. I gots a lot of dead heroes. Feh.

What have I been inspired to do is the real question. For now, I know I need to write...here...in my comedy notebook...fuck, even on Twitter. Facebook status updates and Twitter are frustrating because they appeal to our lack of attention span, and seriously, I am so much better in long form. 15-45 minute comedy set trumps 5-7 every day in my mind. It's why I hate comedy contests.

Ah yes...stand-up. It would be nice to do that again regularly. I've used the understandable excuse of, "I work nights...I can't really do that right now." But I can make an effort can't I? This past year had a really important purpose: stability. Get back into the world as a functional member of society and not as a junkie. Yay, me. It's has its ups and downs, but here I am.

And there's one thing that I know. I am not like a lot of you. I see your pics and updates on Facebook...you and your kids...your career...your house...all that. I will probably be broke the rest of my life...401K can suck it. I don't think I'm ever going to settle down like that. In my head, I'm a fucking artist and a lost soul that wanders, restlessly. I don't think it's better than suburbia...just different.

So what now? Well, I'm gonna blog regularly, that's for sure. I'm going to get back on stage soon as shit. Time to quit putting off other things too, like finding a job during the day so I don't stay up so late and sleep all day.

Oh yeah...I need to quit fucking smoking, man.

Anyway...thank you, Ze Frank. Like you said, "life isn’t just a sequence of waiting for things to be done."

Onward through the fog, yeah?


UPDATE: Btw, I don't necessarily think I'm a GOOD artist, but I technically consider the bullshit that churns in my head and that is occasionally spit out into the world to be art.

That Moment

I get off work at night, and I skate home (on a skateboard...so stop the mental image of me on rollerblades). There are a few blocks that are a bit shady at night, and I wouldn't recommend most people walking around there alone. I, however, am completely comfortable traveling through them.

And I know why. It's the same reason I had no problem living on the west side of S.A. for a while. It's because I used to go to dark, horrible spots in Austin to score. In retrospect, I really put myself in questionable situations...but I didn't care, because I needed junk.

There was a moment that I'd like to share. One night, I contacted my guy to meet later than usual. He had me meet him at these stairs that lead from the I-35 overpass to the edge of Town Lake. I got there, and as I expected I had to wait a bit for him to show up.

It was creepy and pitch black there. I kept looking to make sure there wasn't anyone around. I started thinking about what I was taught as a kid...don't talk to strangers...don't go to certain places in the big city at night...watch out for "bad guys"...the ones in the shadows looking for an easy target or a score...

And I looked at myself. I was unshaven, dirty, strung-out, wearing a hoodie, and carrying a knife and a skateboard. I was standing in the dark, waiting to get drugs. I thought, holy shit, I'm that guy. Nobody wants to rob a sick, desperate and armed junkie. I can even imagine thugs in a car I skated or walked by saying, "Lock your door, holmes..."

It's just something I was thinking about recently that makes me appreciate where I am right now and what I have that much more. I intend to start performing again, by the way...but I'm no rush. I still have a long way to go to get back on track.

Ask Uncle Cranky: Yes, I'm Back

Uncle Cranky is not a professional therapist, nor does he have a doctorate in ANYTHING. He is a divorced alcoholic felon border-lining on bankruptcy, which means he has the life experience to tell you the truth without bullshitting you.
The following letters originally sent to Dear Abby.

DEAR ABBY: I recently started dating a wonderful man, but there's one problem: On several of our dates he was dressed like he was staying home to watch TV -- wearing dirty pajama-type shorts, ripped T-shirts, stuff I'd barely wear even if I were home sick.

I have gently tried to suggest he wear something else, but he has no concerns about his appearance. Any ideas? -- BAFFLED IN BALTIMORE

Dear "Baffled":
You live in Baltimore. I believe ironed shirts are like fucking kryptonite to guys there who would actually date you. Be happy with what you have, or get the hell out of that horrible city.
Uncle Cranky

DEAR ABBY: Before I met my boyfriend, "Cory," he had a married female friend he'd go out with -- dancing, dinner, movies, etc. He says there was no sex involved, and I believe him. He has asked me to be friends with her and her husband, and I have tried.
However, whenever she's around Cory, they ignore everyone else. She even tried to go on vacation with us! What really upset me was when Cory thought it was OK to ask if "we" could go out with her! It's like she has always been in our relationship.
I have told him they are (and have been) having a non-sexual affair. He's a wonderful man otherwise, and I know he loves me. How can I get her out of our lives? -- FEELING LIKE A THIRD WHEEL

Dear "Third Wheel":
He's banging her. Deal accordingly.
Uncle Cranky

DEAR ABBY: My mother and I had a debate about who should pay for dates. She thinks the man should pay, especially if sex is involved because "you don't want to give it away for free."
I disagree. I say the man should pay for the first, and maybe the second date. After that, they can agree to alternate.
I have been seeing a wonderful guy for about six months. I'm pretty sure I make more money than he does, but even if I didn't, I don't feel the need to be supported. I don't agree the guy should always have to pay. Times have changed since my mother dated. What's the general consensus on the subject these days? -- INDEPENDENT WOMAN IN MARYLAND

Dear "Woman":
Is this really the biggest problem you have right now? Why don't you turn on the news and see the turmoil, pain and death happening around the world and then go fuck yourself. You can pay for your self-copulation if that makes you feel better. It shouldn't.
Uncle Cranky

You Know What Sucks?

What you are "supposed to do" is not necessarily the right thing or best thing for you. Everybody is different. That's not what sucks.

It is very easy for me to be told to do something and then immediately react with, "Hey, suck me, I'm going to do it anyway."

Things I'm not supposed to do because "they might or will be bad for me" immediately appeals to me. I think in a lot of cases, the majority is full of shit and my opinions and decisions rule.

Here's "What Sucks": I have proof on file in multiple Counties in Texas that...I should of just did what I was supposed to.

Once again, like everything else, it's a balance. I have to find a balance between what will help me grow and evolve and what will turn me into a fucking brain-dead waste of space. What good is being clean and sober if you're a clean and sober boring zombie prick?

"God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference." The Serenity Prayer.

I'd rather it say, "God, or whoever...grant me the clarity to figure out how to take the things I cannot change and use it to my advantage so that I am in power of my own life and I don't have to come begging to you or someone else for every little fucking thing. But if it's out of my hands, let me accept that shit and let it go. Otherwise, empower my ass so I don't have to whine in a fucking meeting every day for the rest of my life."

Addicts/alcoholics are powerless, we're told. I, however, think no one is powerless if you have knowledge, will, and determination to get out of your hole. It's unfortunately very easy to just climb back into that hole and lay down for a while longer.

Find a balance. Still working on that.

That was me venting. I think more people struggling with recovery should be honest completely and do the same. Or shit, find your own recovery path.

Yes...I am still going to meetings. And I get something from each one. I'm off to bed now. Gotta hit one of those tomorrow.

"Honesty like this makes me grow a big rubbery one."

John vs San Antonio Driver, Chapter 1

I rode my bike home after work Wednesday night. I rode down Culebra, which has two lanes, and a lady in her sporty white car got right behind me and started honking. It's late...there's no traffic. She can go around, so I just ignore her.
She pulled up next to me, and I looked over at her. She was on the phone but stopped her conversation to yell at me.

"Get on the sidewalk! Get the fuck out of the way! I could have hit you!"

(I have lights on my bike. You can't miss me.)

She kept going as I silently rode along.

"What do you think you're doing? Jesus!"

I looked at her as she drove next to me and said, "It's not safe to talk on the phone while you're being a cunt."

She drove off.

I Am Not My Job.

"Getting fired is the best thing that could happen to any of us. That way, we'd quit treading water and do something with our lives." -- Tyler Durden

Even as a veteran comedian, I am apparently not a good fit as a "host" on the Riverwalk in San Antonio. I say "host" because the job is actually "mindless and loud barker". By being fired after a day and a half, what the manager basically meant by not being a good fit for the job is that I did not repeat the designated phrases enough and at top volume, annoyingly drawing attention to myself. Okay, I can live with that.

What I found hard to live with was that this was the first job I was able to find after months of looking. I felt this was going to be the start I needed to get back on my feet, financially speaking. Nope.

Before June 2010, I had never been fired before. Losing this latest job was my third firing in a year. Needless to say, I did not feel very hopeful.

In retrospect, that job would have broken me in about two weeks. I am not a dancing monkey...or, at least, not anymore. I didn't pull back from the bottom to wear a sign that there's a burger special for lunch.

Before I go into my current employment status, I need to go back about 12 years. It almost seems like my views on life and work have been building since then.

1999/2000. I'm working at Apple Computer...education sales. I see three movies within a year with some common themes: "Fight Club", "American Beauty" and "Office Space". I come to the realization that the money I was making at Apple didn't make cubicle life any less shitty. I endured for a few more years (laid off in 2003).

2004. I start working at NCsoft, customer service at a video game company. Cool people, nice atmosphere and not having a drinking policy (seriously) allowed me to enjoy that job for a few years. In the end, though, I felt trapped in my cloth-covered box assisting people I didn't like with meaningless problems. Did I do anything about it? Of course not. I grew accustomed to the lifestyle...the hours...the pay. I mean, come on, I had a drug habit that needed funding.

You can't hit bottom if you're managing to stay afloat. Luckily, I finally got fired and things went to shit. I was left with no unemployment benefits and a felony on my record...enjoy job hunting and competing with teens and college grads, you 30-something burnout!

May, 2011. I came out of a 90-day treatment center in a Zen state, hopeful and upbeat. I had the support of family again and my girl Isla. I was motivated to start a new job. But I knew one thing: I didn't want to work in an office farm again. The felony on my record helped keep me out of these jobs in case I was tempted by the impressively mediocre pay.

Job hunting was brutal. I applied everywhere I could, regardless of what the position was. I tried to doctor my resume or creatively fluff up applications...nothing.

In the aftermath of losing the "host" job, I reflected on my work history. I also focused specifically on "Fight Club", both the book and movie for a little inspiration. I really felt the urge to do some fucking labor...to actually DO SOMETHING for once...not talk on the phone to jackasses while I surfed the 'net. "We wash your clothes, we cook your meals...we watch you while you sleep. Do not fuck with us." I thought, fuck it, let's get into a kitchen. I'll wash some dishes.

Isla said something to me at the same time I made this decision...about how she liked that she and I didn't always do what we were "supposed to". That really stuck with me. I'm supposed to dress up for interviews. I'm supposed to go get a shirt and tie. I should shave. I don't think I will.

I walked into a particular restaurant after seeing a new ad for dishwasher posted the night before on Craigslist. I was there when they opened, and I was the second person interviewed. The chef who interviewed me was as unshaven as me that morning. Criminal background never came up...but what was important was if I could start that same day. Yes, I said. The guy interviewed before me could start the next day. Tough shit, guy. I was in...three-day trial to see how it goes.

Any idiot can wash dishes. Being a "dishwasher" means putting endless plates, pots and pans into racks and running them through the machine fast and efficiently. Scrub quickly, put them up and reuse the racks. Hurry, more is coming. I got the fuck kicked out of me that first night. Nobody in that kitchen thought I would come back.

I came back the second night, mostly out of spite. The manager was almost surprised to see me. I worked as hard as I could and became overwhelmed by Friday night dining. I needed two other people to help me finish everything. However, I learned from those guys the right way to do the damn job (no training, btw). Don't clean the dishes so much before putting them in the machine...this ain't the p.o.s. dishwasher your mom owns, respect the industrial strength dishwashing machine.

The third night (Saturday) was mine. I had a game plan and finished the night without any help. Hooray. My hands and feet ached, I had little cuts on my fingers...my whole body was sore. But I prevailed...and I kept the job.

I've almost been there a month. That calm state I had is back now...the no-job stress is gone. I've got my shift down to a science, and I can even ride my bike a few miles after a shift home without tiring. I'm mentally and physically fit at my job.

When I work, I don't answer to a bitchy customer or an immediate supervisor. The dish pit is mine. I own it. It's me and my thoughts for 5-7 hours. I get to see fruits of my labor every night by end of shift. I'm not feeling my soul die in a cloth-covered box. I feel...free. I get paid shit, but I don't care.

"Free." At the moment, I have the job that I wanted. I get to feel alive and watch people around me zombie-stagger to work. I get to live my little "Fight Club" wannabe life (sans getting punched in the face weekly).

"May I never be complete."

"May I never be content."

I need to remember those...because I don't want to get comfortable or complacent. I don't want to be "married" to the job and just keep doing it until life has to separate me from it. I have to grow...evolve. Come August 1st I'm living with the girl I love and start a new chapter in my...our lives. I want to give her everything and take care of things. Who knows what job I'll take next. I just don't want it to define me...or rob me of will and creativity.

Until then...I get to be all Zen in everyone's little hostile face.



**** Update: See my rebuttal, I Am My Job.