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Seth Barnes
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| Seth Barnes can be reached at barnesseth@hotmail.com
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Articles by this Author
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ICONOCLAST BLAST
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I must come clean. I am a bumbling fool, a jolly, clueless bumpkin. Contently, I’ve been going about my life lacking even the slightest understanding of the motivation, desire and emotional makeup of every woman on planet earth.
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ICONOCLAST BLAST
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Since the New York Times reported on a high-level governmental wiretapping program in mid-December, the media has gleefully spouted off across the airwaves and in print with blustery, sanctimonious hand wringing about the legality of these actions. Is there any place in a democracy for covert surveillance? Have we come to the point in the War on Terror where citizens have no choice but to forfeit a certain amount of personal privacy? What is the full extent of this classified monitoring program?
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ICONOCLAST BLAST
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Forget about Iraq. Forget about the Jack Abramoff lobbying scandal, Ford Motor Company’s plans to lay off 30,000 workers, or even the fact that Angelina Jolie and Brad Pitt are on the verge of eliminating world poverty. In fact, forget about any of the newsworthy topics that usually fill these opinion pages because there’s a hard news story right here in Santa Monica that can’t be beat.
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ICONOCLAST BLAST
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I live near Santa Monica High School. Since I moved last summer, I’ve found almost all the students who walk by my house at the beginning and end of the school day to be courteous, pleasant and respectful of the neighborhood. On streetsweeping mornings, there are a few wily young men who seem to have a special knack for poaching the last available parking spot from me as I drive wildly around the block, but perhaps I need to brush up my skills in this area — or move the godforsaken car the night before.
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ICONOCLAST BLAST
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I don’t have children. I’m not a teacher, and I stridently ignore the little people incessantly playing portable videogames in every public place imaginable. But I’ve just found out that I’m seriously in the dark about a modern phenomenon: I thought those little people were “kids.” Well buster, they’re not. Those are “Tweens,” the latest American sensation.
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ICONOCLAST BLAST
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I am here to make a plea. As a concerned member of the human community, an advocate for peace, and a supporter of non-violent conflict resolution, I ask that the men’s grooming industry agree to an immediate ceasefire. I implore them to dismantle the sophisticated weaponry that stands, at this very moment, on hair-trigger alert. The arms race cannot continue. I beg: Do not develop a shaving device with six blades.
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ICONOCLAST BLAST
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What does the term “guest worker” mean to you? Given the flurry of recent protests, rallies, and walkouts in response to the pending immigration debate in Congress, I’m sure most folks are familiar with this little piece of verbiage. As euphemisms go, it’s right up there with “climate change” and “tax relief.” These clever tweaks on the language expertly take the most contentious, divisive issues and scrub them clean. Tax relief? Who could be against alleviating a radical, bloated tithe imposed on all of us by wasteful state and local governments? Climate change? Obviously, that’s the natural, inevitable process of global temperature escalation.
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ICONOCLAST BLAST
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I approached my golf ball grimacing like a hardened professional. Something was amiss.
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ICONOCLAST BLAST
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When I moved to Los Angeles from the East Coast last summer, I knew the transition wouldn’t be easy. I was leaving a lot of family and friends behind. The day I moved into my new apartment I made a promise: I would be vigilant — possibly to the point of being annoying — about staying in touch.
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ICONOCLAST BLAST
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I never thought I’d say it, but I’m going to miss the “Ashes and Snow” installation down by the Santa Monica Pier. Look, I just don’t have a good feel for art, especially contemporary art. Especially art so modern that it depicts humans and animals doing funny things together in the desert with a faux Lion King soundtrack blaring in the background. Call me a philistine, but when I spend a couple hours in a warehouse of dilapidated shipping containers, I need something concrete — a narrative, hot dogs and beer, a basketball game — to keep my attention.
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ICONOCLAST BLAST
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The summer months are here. As we speak, across our great land, Americans of all shapes and sizes will head outdoors to fire up the grill and enjoy the pleasant weather with friends, family and neighbors. In recent years, negative press about the mind-boggling obesity of many Americans and ethical concerns about eating the charred remains of what used to be lovable, breathing creatures have changed the timbre of many weekend barbecues.
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ICONOCLAST BLAST
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Becoming a medical professional used to be the highest calling a young man or woman could aspire towards. Only after years of toil in the elite echelons of academia could one even consider embarking upon this storied path.
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ICONOCLAST BLAST
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At this point, almost a full decade into the Internet era and a solid 25 years since joggers hit the asphalt en masse, you know the drill.
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ICONOCLAST BLAST
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ICONOCLAST BLAST
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Everyone loves a good whining fit once in a while. In a postmodern world where openly displaying unconscious angst is encouraged and often lauded as a terrific release of negative energy, never has there been such an incentive to pitch a fit. Showing your emotions or losing your cool is healthy. You can’t keep all that rage bottled up inside. You might burst! So by all means, take it out on somebody. Preferably a meek, innocent and defenseless bystander.
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ICONOCLAST BLAST
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The modern world is indebted to the visionary willpower of inventors. It’s hard to imagine living without the industrial, medical and technological advancements that have made our everyday lives increasingly convenient and enjoyable. And some inventions have literally extended the life expectancies for millions across the globe.
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ICONOCLAST BLAST
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The road outside my rural New England home was pretty quiet while I was growing up. On Halloween a couple of aimless teenagers might smash a beer can or ring some trees with toilet paper. If they were really feisty, you might find a demolished pumpkin the next day.
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ICONOCLAST BLAST
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It’s a good time to be a pet in the United States. Our little furry friends are receiving love and attention at a rate heretofore unseen in the history of our country. You can barely go a day without reading a news report on all-time high ownership rates. Americans spend billions of dollars a year on their pets. I must say I’m envious. It’s not acceptable for a grown man to spend all day sleeping on the floor waking up only to scarf down a bowl of food followed by an after-dinner chew on a squeaky toy. For a pet, this is the norm.
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ICONOCLAST BLAST
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A dark secret lies inside our kitchen cupboard. Whenever an unknowing guest opens these doors they pause, a look of panicked astonishment washing over them. They’ve discovered our secret weapons cache, our shameful tribute to classic American excess. We are coffee mug addicts.
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ICONOCLAST BLAST
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Fall is a special time. Our youth return to school eager to expand their minds and explore the far reaches of institutional learning. Lazy, hazy summer gives way to the familiar ebb and flow of the everyday routine. In the mountains, the forest is washed over with crisp, fluorescent reds, oranges and yellows. Many of us spend our days strolling through a pumpkin patch sipping mulled cider, a fashionable sweater tucked neatly over our shoulders, a professional model flirtatiously holding our hand.
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ICONOCLAST BLAST
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If you’re a smoker, you’ve probably gotten the message at this point. You know, the fact that you’re a hideous piece of scum, a social leper who virtually needs to be followed at gunpoint by the government to make sure your insanely destructive habit doesn’t kill you and everyone in your immediate vicinity. You’re aware of all that, right?
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ICONOCLAST BLAST
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Los Angeles isn’t a bicycling paradise. Acres of sprawl, miles of concrete hardtop, and occasional choking smog don’t lend themselves to adventures on two wheels.
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ICONOCLAST BLAST
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Thanksgiving is a time to stand aside and recognize our blessings and good fortune. For one day, we look back instead of forward. We hit the pause button on our frenetic lives and acknowledge this bounteous, complex drama we call life.
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ICONOCLAST BLAST
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It’s that time of year again. No, I’m not talking about the yearly bonanza of conspicuous consumption, otherwise known as the holiday season. And those religious observations (I think they’re called “Christmas” and “Hanukkah”) that some people still celebrate between trips to the mall and all-nighters on Amazon.com? I’m not talking about those either. The tradition I’m really excited about is the release of the annual list of Dangerous Toys That Will Probably Kill Your Child.
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ICONOCLAST BLAST
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The end of the calendar year brings out the pundits and prognosticators. In the final weeks of December, you can’t go near the Internet, the newspaper or television without running into some smarty pants dissecting and detailing the major events of the previous year.
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ICONOCLAST BLAST
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We’re in the midst of a revolution. Didn’t you know? The clunky cell phone in your pocket that felt pretty darn futuristic just a few years ago is about to morph into something totally amazing, something that will markedly improve the quality of your day-to-day existence.
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ICONOCLAST BLAST
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I had an unpleasant realization the other day. I was reading a newspaper story about what has become a classic Hollywood story: A movie studio executive was under fire because profits were down. Corporate headquarters was piping mad because his division was dragging down the overall performance of the media conglomerate. This fellow needed to make changes and improvements, pronto, or his bosses were going to can him Donnie Trump style.
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