A Guide to Nothing: A rant about my neighbor, albeit a small one.

I find the fact that my new neighbor's horrible hip-hop music is vibrating my DWG books off my shelves to be painfully, joyously ironic. A signal for how this generation's pursuit of idiocy is destroying their grip (if there ever was one) on intellectual prowess.

Or maybe I'm just pissed off that this bloke won't turn off his bloody subwoofer.

What would Dickens think of auto-tune?

A Guide to Sad Bastards: Part One, Anton Chekhov

Before diving into the slightly boring-because-normal life of Senor Wispy Beard here, let's define Sad Bastard. A Sad Bastard (a la High Fidelity) is one for whom life is so tragic and difficult..or so normal and trivial, or so happy and fun you have to skip in a field of daisies...that they have to pour forth thoughts on the page. These thoughts are usually heartbreakingly tragic, normal, or joyous. So basically, a Sad Bastard writes about anything and everything, and some how makes your heart ache. They also like to make straight faces in photographs.

It is important that you read the Sad Bastards (a group which includes the Dead White Guys) for personal betterment blah blah blah. Or so you don't sound like an ignoramous at your next informal beatnik gathering (are there still beatniks? are you out there? Beatniks is pimps, too- go on brush your shoulders off). However, it is also important to know a few KEY points about them in order to sound like a REAL fan.

Anton Pavlovich Chekhov. Hard to be a Sad Bastard when you start your life off with such a bad-ass name. So- key points to help you not make an ass out of yourself in conversation:

1. Was a full-time physician. Once said "Medicine is my lawful wife, literature is my mistress." Sorta feel sorry for his patients...here, Mr. Hibidyhoo, hold your liver while I write this haiku..

2. Never wrote haikus. Largely considered to be the father of the modern (non-sermonizing) short story. By modern we mean objective and non-hysterical. At least that's what I mean.

3. Had a wife named Olga because damn it feels good to be a Russian gangster. J/K- wasn't a gangster. But he did live in a different town from his wife because commitment scared him like a little boy.

4. Died of tuberculosis. Hope it was as endearing as Doc Holliday at the end of Tombstone.

5. Wrote plays, really awesome great [insert synonym here] plays. To sound extra smart you can bring up how he was sooo upset that no director ever brought out the true comedy of his plays. Fact is, they ain't funny. They're sad as hell. Because he was a (all together now) SAD BASTARD.

That's about it. I'm a fan of the five point list, as you can see. This knowledge should prevent your COMPLETE shame and embarrassment. Unless you have some for another reason I don't know about, in which case, can't help you there. Try writing about it.

Catcher in the Rye: 5 Reasons Why Holden Caulfield Needs A Beating

I know, I know, J.D. Salinger just died. To take issue with his hallowed alter-ego at such a time as this is literary sacrilege! But, we'll be committing a lot of that here at Dead White Guys- the one place where the stuff everyone thinks about the classics is brought out and aired like so much intellectual dirty laundry. So, as an introduction- five reasons why Holden needs a good old fashioned beat down.

1. Because of the stupid hunting hat. It DOES look dumb. You're not a hunter, so wearing that hat makes you a...can you guess-PHONY!

2. Because not everyone who touches you is gay. You're not that cute.

3. Because in the future, teenagers everywhere will use YOU as a justification for incessant whining.

4. Because you took money from your little sister like a pansy. A pansy little girl.

5. Because no child wants you to catch them, in the rye or otherwise. That would imply maturity, of which you have none.

Two stars out of your mom.