8:45pm. Another day is almost gone, and I have no idea where it went.

I love Kurt. I hate Courtney. Lovers of Courtney are haters of justice.

Can anyone tell me why regular Colgate toothpaste is white, but Colgate Ultra Plus Whitening is blue in color? I don’t mean the physical why. That is clear enough; FD&C blue number 1 is plainly listed there on the package, under “inactive ingredients.”

No, I am asking for the philosophical reasons behind this decision. It doesn’t seem like it would be necessary from a chemical standpoint, and it seems ridiculous from a psychological one. Wouldn’t you want your whitening toothpaste to be white?

Part of the attraction of Colgate for me has always been it’s no-nonsense feeling. Scrubbing with Colgate has always felt like, well, scrubbing. An act of cleansing. Colgate has always had that harsh mint taste—the whitening product retains this—but now, in color at least, my favorite toothpaste brand is starting to emulate those other, lesser, bubblegummy types. This cannot bode well.

“Religion is the opiate of the masses,” Karl Marx famously stated. Today he would be more mistaken and out of touch than ever, in more ways than he would realize.

For the proverbial “opiate” isn’t detested any more as an escape from reality and responsibility; it is instead glorified and sought after as the very point of life itself. If we don’t all chase illicit narcotics—many of us do—we seek the opiate in other forms: extreme (and otherwise) sports, body modification, the mosh pit, woman (or man) chasing, and more. All of these provide the endorphin rush old-school opioids might pay for, with the added benefit of a rebellious image a Chinese Boxer might envy.

For the less motivated, a myriad of options are still available. The classic couch potato can add web-surfing to his list of escape routes, and there’s always that old standby, booze!, if the channels run thin.

Set above all these, however, is that ultimate and perfected form of self-gratification: shopping. Every purchase is a proxy rush, as effective a bridging stimulus as the whistle any good Pavlovian trainer uses on his animals. While none of us seem to live the lifestyle we want, we can all ease the cognitive dissonance inherent in our desires by consuming the symbols of those lifestyles. Every time we pick up that t-shirt, that cd, or that latte, we proclaim another plank put down on that infinite bridge we’re building toward our perfect selves.

Compared to any of the above entertainments, religion just falls flat, or worse. Because if this author’s experience is any indication, religion just tends to exacerbate the problem of self-image; it just provides more, and harder, things to fail at. If that wasn’t bad enough, Christianity’s inherent critique of materialism means that I won’t approach sainthood no matter how many glow-in-the-dark crucifixes I buy.

With all the options available, choosing religion as your opiate isn’t just kicking it old school; it’s pure anachronism. The milk of religion that came from mother’s teat went sour long ago. Which, finally, suggests a solution to my search for a new slogan:

angst dei :: eight days past its expiration date

Then this chick comes up to me and she’s all, like,”Hey, don’t you like Sarah McLachlan?”

And I’m like, “yeah, WHATEVER!”

CUZ THIS IS MY UNITED STATES OF WHATEVER!

A female friend accused me, yesterday, of being hostile, or, at least, dismissive of female artists. The discussion started around books but her opinion, she said, was really based on my musical tastes. I told her I’d think about what she said, because I don’t like having unexamined assumptions.

What follows is a list, not comprehensive but robust, of female musicians or female-fronted bands I like, dislike, or feel neutral about, in no particular order.

Like

• hole
• kim gordon (sonic youth and solo)
• the fastbacks
• the donnas
• the go-gos
• joan jett
• blondie
• cyndi lauper
• crass
• the breeders
• the shirelles
• the ronettes
• the cardigans
• pizzicato five
• the angoras
• jewel
• cat power
• garbage
• bjork
• elastica
• mazzy star
• cowboy junkies
• no doubt
• save ferris
• the distillers
• nina hagen
• sleater kinney
• frente!
• lisa loeb
• the pretenders
• aretha franklin
• the carpenters
• and, of course, miley yamamoto

Dislike

• sarah mclachlan
• avril lavigne
• alanis morrisette
• meredith brooks
• tori amos
• tracy bonham
• britney spears
• evanescence
• republica
• joan osborne
• sinead o’connor

Neutral

• melissa etheridge
• pat benatar
• hart
• lita ford
• christina aguilera
• bananarama
• pj harvey
• enya
• pink
• kelly osborne
• natalie merchant
• the cranberries
• liz phair
• l7
• bow wow wow
• madonna
• x
• the b-52s

Now, this list doesn’t necessarily mean anything. For one thing, I compiled it in my defense, really, and I’m a stooge with vested interests in the institutional-government-corporate patriarchal hegemony. My ‘like’ list is filled with what some might call tomboys—I just call them, and respect them for being, strong women. My ‘dislike’ list, though much smaller, is dense with, perhaps, girly-girl artists.

But how can I defend myself against such an assertion? Not by a stranger—which would be easy to dismiss—but by a friend? Only examine my conscience, and try to present some evidence to the contrary. Or admit I’m wrong. I just don’t feel misogynist. I think this list is some defense against broader claims of such.

Really, she said that I go almost all the way—I stand up for women, try to be fair, but at that last moment—of embracing women’s feelings, I stop. I say they’re whining, need to get over themselves, etc.

I’m gonna say right now that I think I do this regardless of the gender of the artist. This is why I dislike Staind and the Dave Matthews Band.

But I’ll continue to ponder this subject, and I know I have a few books to read.

Eat it, Creed. Eat it.

Do it. Do it just to fill the void. Do it just to to fill the spaces in between. Do it just to kill the time you might otherwise have used. Do it just because. Do it just because you do.

CAUSE THIS IS MY UNITED STATES OF WHATEVER!

It’s a lot less complicated than you’re making it, Mackenzie.Only three steps, really:

1. Get naked.
2. Get a meat cleaver.
3. Chop away.

If all you want is a piece of ass, you already are one!