More Than Words
Adolescence, for boys, is a time of unlimited possibility—the possibility to excel in sports, the possibility to shine in the classroom, and the possibility to get laid through one’s ability to play acoustic guitar. The latter, in most cases, is easily the most viable. (Sports require the willingness to practice, and book-smarts require the desire and interest to succeed in school.) The only requirements for acoustic guitar hero-dom are an acoustic guitar and an unfettered love for eighties and nineties hair ballads. One hair ballad in particular: Extreme’s “More Than Words.”
I am usually opposed to narratives describing the “look in [someone]’s eyes,” but I’ll be damned if I haven’t seen stars in the peepers of every pubescent teenage boy I’ve ever seen pick up an acoustic guitar before he’s started plucking “More Than Words.” (The only other eyes I’ve ever ascribed adjectives to: Zachary’s drunken wolf-orbs before he molests Zebastian on every morning of every tour.) And I’ll be damned twice-over if every boy who’s played “More Than Words” wasn’t thinking this is it, this is where my life gets good, this is where I touch breast. There’s something about that song that evokes a trancelike state upon he whose fingers possess the know-how to pluck it… It’s a confidence in the normally unconfident, a vivaciousness in the normally flaccid, a libido in the normally impotent. It’s the soundtrack that never was to the beach-[American] football scene of Point Break. It’s a hundred thousand barely-hairy teenage scrotums screaming out, “FEMALES OF THE WORLD, PAY ATTENTION TO ME!”
It’s a desire to rock the world as its never been rocked before. (Even though the world has been rocked that way since July 19, 1990.)
Perhaps the most amazing thing about this entire "More Than Words" lifestyle is its ability to be summarized in a specific haircut. It's long, but not too-long, shaggy, but not too-shaggy, kempt, yet unkempt. Clean, but not really.
Ladies and Gentlemen, after months of yearning and poor hygiene, I finally possess this haircut. I'm officially naming it the Extreme II, or the Soft Rock. PAY ATTENTION TO ME!
Photos coming soon…
xxxooo,
Ben Lee
I am usually opposed to narratives describing the “look in [someone]’s eyes,” but I’ll be damned if I haven’t seen stars in the peepers of every pubescent teenage boy I’ve ever seen pick up an acoustic guitar before he’s started plucking “More Than Words.” (The only other eyes I’ve ever ascribed adjectives to: Zachary’s drunken wolf-orbs before he molests Zebastian on every morning of every tour.) And I’ll be damned twice-over if every boy who’s played “More Than Words” wasn’t thinking this is it, this is where my life gets good, this is where I touch breast. There’s something about that song that evokes a trancelike state upon he whose fingers possess the know-how to pluck it… It’s a confidence in the normally unconfident, a vivaciousness in the normally flaccid, a libido in the normally impotent. It’s the soundtrack that never was to the beach-[American] football scene of Point Break. It’s a hundred thousand barely-hairy teenage scrotums screaming out, “FEMALES OF THE WORLD, PAY ATTENTION TO ME!”
It’s a desire to rock the world as its never been rocked before. (Even though the world has been rocked that way since July 19, 1990.)
Perhaps the most amazing thing about this entire "More Than Words" lifestyle is its ability to be summarized in a specific haircut. It's long, but not too-long, shaggy, but not too-shaggy, kempt, yet unkempt. Clean, but not really.
Ladies and Gentlemen, after months of yearning and poor hygiene, I finally possess this haircut. I'm officially naming it the Extreme II, or the Soft Rock. PAY ATTENTION TO ME!
Photos coming soon…
xxxooo,
Ben Lee
posted by BLOOD AMBITION 2008 at 2:44 AM
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