Axle of Apathy

For the most part, my opinion of the average American is largely shaped by the fact that many of your average Americans bought tickets to see GnR in 2002 with Axl's rag tag team of misfits and ne'erdowells, with the mindset that as long as its called GnR it will be the real deal.

Sure, Axl's the only one left, but so what. It's GnR, dyuude.

I'll suppose, for the sake of argument, that many were recent fans who came to love the band after the original line-up splintered and felt that the 2002 tour was their chance to finally hear the songs in an arena, pay $8 for flat beer, $6 for nachos, and $40 for t-shirts.

It is this blind faith...natch, super-size denail that seems to inhabit the psyche of these fans and, for that matter, most Americans in general.

I have surmised that denial is such a large part of who we are and why we as a nation act the way we do. It is as if truth means so little to us these days that there is no outrage upon knowing that there is no Peter Criss or Ace Frehley beneath the familiar make-up as we ceremoniously buy our tickets to the latest Kiss Kash-Grab World Tour.

Or that Britney's mic isn't plugged into anything more substantial (or amplified) than her ass crack.

Or that Michael Jackson has become a sick, sadly self-mutilated cartoon cut-out of his former self.

Or that R. Kelly has some serious issues and, hey, isn't it great that he and Jackson found the time to collaborate musically? Wow.

Or that Eminem is hailed as the great white hope and for being an innovator in the rap world and, well, everytime I see him, all he does is flip the bird and moon people from the safety of his dozen-man posse. Kinda like the tiny white dude who taunts you, knowing that the entire football team has his back. Catch him alone, though, and that tiny white dude is quiet as a motherfucker. Jumpy, too.

The simple truth is that we Americans who think nothing of cutting each other off on the highway, taking a cell phone call in the middle of a movie, or running little league umpires out of town on a rail for costing little Jimmy his shot at a cheap plastic trophy are unwilling to accept that we as humans are falling short.

And those who feel the need to adorn themselves with tattoos, fake boobs, penile implants, eyebrow rings, or more make-up than Tammy Faye Bakker back in the good ol' PTL days think that accessorizing themselves will disguise the awful truth...

which is...

that Axl ain't never gonna finish that album because, everyday, he wakes up, listens to the songs, and realizes it ain't Guns n Roses.