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Advice Crush: Dear Boogie

August 25, 2010

Dear Boogie,
You seem like a reasonable fellow, so I ask you: What the fuck is wrong with people?

I’m successful at what I do. I work hard. I paid my dues. I have heart. But there is always some fucktard trying to attach themselves to everyone else’s hard work, mine included. They do nothing but sashay into the party Paris Hilton-style. They contribute nothing except showing up and running their mouths.

One sycophant that rises to the top of the shit pile is a poser in the rock scene who likes to taut that they will “make things happen” but is really a massive attention whore with an unoriginal “look” stolen out of the ’80s (and a few kids at home waiting for their parent to grow up). I see some seemingly cool people have bought into this kind of super lameness. Is it time to call out the fakers? Or are we supposed to just watch people get played?

I Liked You When I Didn’t Know You Then I Got To Know You And I Didn’t Like You

Dear I Liked You,
Ah, to call out the phony or not – quite a quandary. It reminds me of a story from my childhood.

When I was about 10, I absolutely hated wearing socks under my sneakers. Obviously, my mother didn’t approve of this foot-odor-increasing fashion choice. Every day before school, my mother and I would have a knock-down drag-out half-hour argument about wearing socks. Being keeper of the Nintendo, my mother would always manage to get the fucking socks on my fucking feet, but it was a Pyrrhic victory at best. Every morning was simply horrible. These hosiery-centered conflicts were ruining my mom’s life. One morning, she just had enough. I refused to wear socks and my mother refused to have the fight. So, I went to school with no socks. The next day, I woke up and immediately put socks on. No fight, no fuss, no nothing. My mother was amazed and asked me why.

I got a blister.

The psychologist Jean Piaget once wrote “Every time you teach someone something, you deny them a chance to learn it themselves.” As much as we want to save people from the big talkers and phonies of the world, how would they learn? And that’s a lesson that every young scenester must learn. Because the bars and parties are full of “managers” and “promoters” that just want to hang around and put their name on something and take a cut of the door. We need to call on our sixth sense to tell the realsies from the fakesies. (This is also true with breasts.) And as Piaget noted, we learn much more from a blister than a piece of advice, no matter how well-intended. And yes, I am aware of the irony of writing an advice column advising you not to advise people.

I understand your desire to squash this poser like the talent-free fleabag that he sounds like, but the best move is to let him dig his own grave. The more people he disappoints, the more his legend of impotence grows. After a while, true colors always show. This is a small town and shit gets around. It’s best to focus on positivity and good people who have proven themselves, and embark on kick-ass projects with said people. Leave the posing to the posers. As painful as it may be, bite your tongue, stand back and watch it happen. That way, you don’t get any of the puss on you when that blister finally pops.

Soundtrack to your misery: I, Pistol “Pretty Little Liar”

Need more psychological blisters popped? Shoot Brendan an email at or fill out the anonymous submission form below:

One Comment
  1. Hear, Hear!

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