Don't Talk To Me About ProblemsCommentary • drugs • ISSUE 37•10 • Mar 21, 2001 By Jim Anchower – The Cruise Hola, amigos. What's the deal behind your steering wheel? I know it's been a long time since I rapped at ya, but I've had some shit to contend with. I was supposed to write this column last Wednesday, but I did a few too many one-hitters and wound up spending the whole afternoon trying to figure out what was making this horrible smell under my sink. I pulled out all the rusty tools and bottles of Windex from under it and wound up finding a dead mouse. I was like, "Shit! Mouse!" Then, I was like, "Shit! Dead thing!" But that wasn't the end of it. After seeing the mouse, I started thinking all these deep thoughts about how, in a way, we're all like mice, and how that could have been me under the sink. It freaked me out for a few days. I had to call in sick to work and everything. Not that calling in sick was a huge deal. I'm getting sick of that damn job, anyway. But you know what? I'm not gonna bitch about that anymore. During those days I stayed home, I came to the realization that I bitch too much about stuff. From now on, I decided, I was gonna be a man of action. If something comes along that I don't like, I deal with it. Pow! Just like that. For example, let's say I scope out a parking space in front of the White Hen and some guy whips in from out of nowhere and takes it. What do I do? As a man of action, I simply find another parking space and key the guy's car. See? I don't cry like a baby about the problem, I take concrete steps to deal with it. I got a long list of problems to deal with. Like, what the hell is the deal with all the crappy rock these days? It's all watered-down wimped-out bullshit. I tell ya, some people I come across are all like, "I love Third Eye Blind," or whatever. These feebs wouldn't know a hot Randy Rhoads guitar lick if he was to come back from the dead, knock on the door, and deliver it in person. I only got one solution when somebody says they like that Eve's Vertical Matchbox shit, and that is to kick 'em out of my car so they can walk home and think about the error of their ways. But they'd have to be riding with me for that to happen, and there's no way I'd even let a puss like that in my car in the first place. Another problem I got is high gas prices. My cousin Matt fought in Iran so we could have low gas prices, and I gotta pay $1.40 a gallon? Milk costs, well, something like that, and that stuff doesn't even grow in the ground like oil. If you want my opinion, high gas prices are for suckers. But, again, I'm not just sitting around bellyaching about it, I'm taking action by siphoning gas out of my neighbor's car. I ain't paying for gas until it goes back down to around a buck. That's action for you! People drive like morons, too. But while, in the past, I would just gripe about it to Ron and Wes, now I just lay on my horn whenever someone does something stupid. And, if it's warm out, I yell something, too. At Spencer Gifts, they got this awesome sign you can put in your car window that says things like, "Nice Job, Asshole!" and other stuff like that when you come across some idiot driver. Next time I'm at the mall, I'm picking one up for sure. Another problem that's been bothering me for a long time is that when I go to a store to pick up a pack of rolling papers, the clerk always looks at me like I'm just gonna use it to smoke weed. I mean, yeah, that is what I'm going to use it for, but I sure don't need some creepy clerk staring at me like I got an extra head. Next time that happens, the new Jim is going to grab a handful of Zig-Zag packs from the counter and throw them on the floor and say, "Now you've really got something to stare at, old man!" I also have sloppy friends that don't have any respect for me or my space. Ron in particular is always eating my food and leaving crumbs all over my couch and car seat. I'm not the cleanest person, but Ron eats about half what he gets in his mouth, and the other half winds up in places I gotta sit. Then he complains about how he never gets a chance to pick the music when we're cruising. Man, that guy is the biggest whiner in the world. Okay, I just want to make something clear. All this stuff I'm saying, it's not bitching. I'm just passing along my story. And as far as me calling Ron a dumb-ass, hey, that's just the plain truth. It's no different than if I'd said the sky is blue or that Jimmy Page is the world's greatest musician. It's an unarguable fact. No one can take that away.