I wrote this incredibly long blog post about Star Wars.
Not posting it. (Yet?)
The most interesting thing that came out of writing 42 inches of ramblings on fucking Star Wars - something I never, ever in my life expected I would do - was that I feel an intense shame at loving something so cliche. Even something as simple, universal, and super duper neato as Star Wars.
Instead of posting I berated myself for looking into things too deeply, for being embarrassed because I care about something. I'm not proud to love something childhood-defining like Star Wars anymore. I feel trite and generic and unsuitable, I feel the premature (and totally unlikely) slings and barbs from millions of internet strangers who will judge me for the banality of my mind and HOLY MOTHBALLS am I afraid of being wrong and being judged by those who are more worthy of attention. I'm afraid of being pigeonholed into a girl who does things to impress people instead of a person who wants to do them. I'm afraid of being a fraud. No, that's a lie. I'm afraid of people thinking I'm a fraud.
I know I am not a fraud.
Now I'm mad about something that hasn't happened yet. ACCEPT THE WAY I VIEW MYSELF WITHOUT PROOF, PEOPLE. I AM SPECIAL. I DEMAND YOU BELIEVE THAT I WROTE THIS THING THAT WOULD ESTABLISH AN OPINION, BUT I AM NOT SHARING THAT OPINION WITH YOU.
Maybe
I'm adhered to old personality traits to an unhealthy degree, identifying with
a self that brought me so much social discomfort that I won't let go out
of sheer obstinence (fuck you, word derivations, this is way better than
obstinateness) or for fear of losing my identity, when in reality identity is
something we create rather than succumb to. We build upon our natural tendencies and choose to show people what we are comfortable showing.
The identity that I've created for myself, it appears, is built upon anger, bitterness, humor, otherness. I'm sure of who I am but really unsure as to why. That's why is Star Wars is relevant.
Obviously this is not really about Star Wars at all, it's about every form of entertainment I gravitate towards and how I allow them to shape my perception of myself and the world. But it's also about how I allow my feelings about these stories shape how I see myself, it's about how I congratulate myself because I value specific things. That's fucked. (It's okay if I'm lonely, I am a "good" judge of television shows!)
Please allow me to nerd out:
Right now nerds are a hot topic (well, let's be honest, nerds have been a hot topic for years) because of the obvious things: the generation of people who grew up feeling shame for loving things now resent the universal acceptance younger fans have in society and the world at large. Since the elders have been trained to feel shame for their very existence, they now feel it for resenting these young fans because this is what they wanted for themselves, and they worked hard to make things easier for the next generation of "nerds", who aren't even nerds anymore because nerds are "overly intellectual, obsessive, or socially impaired," and nerdy interests are no longer things that make one a social outcast. The elders are jealous.
So instead of admitting the above paragraph is for true, elder nerds call the newcomers fake and phony, which is fucking stupid. It's a purely selfish thing.
It's purely selfish and narcissistic for me to refuse to give a reader the chance to make a decision about me, as a person, unless I've guided them strategically towards that decision. It makes me controlling.
I've never wanted to write about the topic of nerds. There are people out there that are better suited for those writings, people that are respected, people who beat the topic into the foundation of the internet, people who do not need someone to validate their expertise. Besides, who wants to read my thoughts on that crap? Throwing more water in the rat soup will yield more soup, but it doesn't improve the taste.
Fuck it. I'm going to post my thoughts on this shit because I fucking damn well want to, and I don't care if it bores you. Once I started to believe I was abnormal and wrong as a person I turned paranoid. No more.
This year for Lent: I am giving up guilt and shame.
...
Showing posts with label The Last Unicorn. Show all posts
Showing posts with label The Last Unicorn. Show all posts
Wednesday, February 13, 2013
Thursday, April 8, 2010
Nerding Out - Squared
"What, dear father, are you talking about? Look at this. LOOK." I violently pound the computer screen with my finger.
"Hey, don't touch-" Dad flicks my hand.
"Gaaahhhh, stop it." I flick him back.
"Do you have to touch everything?"
"Yes. Okay, seriously, THE LAST UNICORN is being made into a graphic novel and Peter S. Beagle is going to be there."
My dad shakes his head. "Chick stuff."
"Oh. Em. Eff. Gee. The Last Unicorn is one of the GREATEST STORIES EVER TOLD."
"Is not. You're delusional."
"Is so, and...you're bad at parenting."
"Stupid movie."
"Is not."
"You know, the biggest regret of my life is introducing you to movies. You waste all of your time on garbage."
"Worst dad ever. Can't you just support what I love?"
"Maybe if you tried loving something else."
"What, like The White Shadow? 'I'll be behind you every step of the way like a white shadow' or whatever? Come on."
He laughs. "Okay, that show great, okay? Great."
"Neil Gaiman's going to be there."
"Great." (Great is an oddly spelled word, don't you think?)
I squint at him. "You think Mr. Graham could get us tickets for the Kick Ass premiere?"
"Honey, I don't think I have that much pull with him."
"Pssssh, don't hurt to ask."
"No, really, I just don't feel comfortable asking. And with Jamie, it does hurt to ask. Guys are asking him for favors all the time. And I'm on his good side and I want to keep it that way, okay? And that's the end of that." My dad has been buying comics from Mr. Graham for like 25 years. I used to board comics at his store back when I was like ten or eleven while my dad helped him with accounting stuff, and Mr. Graham would slip me scandalously-packaged candy and overstocked comics.
And that is why I crave Devil Girl chocolate bars whenever people talk about Excalibur. Which is like, you know. All the time. I mean, just yesterday I overheard my coworkers reminiscing about the good old days when Shadowcat and had a pet spacedragon and lived in Great Britain with Nightcrawler and that freak parallel-universe girlspawn of Jean-and-Scott.
Okay, actually? They were discussing Precious, and I tuned them out because that movie looks stupid. I did not tell them it looked stupid, not outright. But they made the mistake of asking my opinion, which I gave uninhibited. I should really know by now that when I don't care about something everyone is fucking personally offended.
You'd think I ran over their baby with a lawnmower or something.
When some people hear that you don't care about something they love, they mortar corners in your wake and rip your stance ad hominem. After awhile, you begin to associate That Thing You Didn't Care About In The First Place with nothing but anger and fightin' words, which evolves into hate just because of rabid packs of fans who erroneously attribute words like "awesome" to things that are super mediocre (I'm looking at you, Dave Matthews Band and Avatar and Dan Brown and Ryan Gosling and 3D movies).
Perhaps, and I don't know if this has ever gotten through your oatmeal-and-shreddy-hambone retardo skulls, but perhaps you and I just have different opinions. This is fucking America. We're allowed opinions. Oh, everyone except for you. Because your opinion, by the way, is dumb.
Back at the ranch after my long, long digression:
"I guess I understand," I mope to my dad, "but you're still lame." (I almost forgot how this all started).
Basically Mr. Graham got my dad like superbackstagepasses for this thing. At first I was afraid of being not quite fangirl enough to go, but I'm geeking out over Chicago's first big comic convention.
I am a superdork.
...
"Hey, don't touch-" Dad flicks my hand.
"Gaaahhhh, stop it." I flick him back.
"Do you have to touch everything?"
"Yes. Okay, seriously, THE LAST UNICORN is being made into a graphic novel and Peter S. Beagle is going to be there."
My dad shakes his head. "Chick stuff."
"Oh. Em. Eff. Gee. The Last Unicorn is one of the GREATEST STORIES EVER TOLD."
"Is not. You're delusional."
"Is so, and...you're bad at parenting."
"Stupid movie."
"Is not."
"You know, the biggest regret of my life is introducing you to movies. You waste all of your time on garbage."
"Worst dad ever. Can't you just support what I love?"
"Maybe if you tried loving something else."
"What, like The White Shadow? 'I'll be behind you every step of the way like a white shadow' or whatever? Come on."
He laughs. "Okay, that show great, okay? Great."
"Neil Gaiman's going to be there."
"Great." (Great is an oddly spelled word, don't you think?)
I squint at him. "You think Mr. Graham could get us tickets for the Kick Ass premiere?"
"Honey, I don't think I have that much pull with him."
"Pssssh, don't hurt to ask."
"No, really, I just don't feel comfortable asking. And with Jamie, it does hurt to ask. Guys are asking him for favors all the time. And I'm on his good side and I want to keep it that way, okay? And that's the end of that." My dad has been buying comics from Mr. Graham for like 25 years. I used to board comics at his store back when I was like ten or eleven while my dad helped him with accounting stuff, and Mr. Graham would slip me scandalously-packaged candy and overstocked comics.
And that is why I crave Devil Girl chocolate bars whenever people talk about Excalibur. Which is like, you know. All the time. I mean, just yesterday I overheard my coworkers reminiscing about the good old days when Shadowcat and had a pet spacedragon and lived in Great Britain with Nightcrawler and that freak parallel-universe girlspawn of Jean-and-Scott.
Okay, actually? They were discussing Precious, and I tuned them out because that movie looks stupid. I did not tell them it looked stupid, not outright. But they made the mistake of asking my opinion, which I gave uninhibited. I should really know by now that when I don't care about something everyone is fucking personally offended.
You'd think I ran over their baby with a lawnmower or something.
When some people hear that you don't care about something they love, they mortar corners in your wake and rip your stance ad hominem. After awhile, you begin to associate That Thing You Didn't Care About In The First Place with nothing but anger and fightin' words, which evolves into hate just because of rabid packs of fans who erroneously attribute words like "awesome" to things that are super mediocre (I'm looking at you, Dave Matthews Band and Avatar and Dan Brown and Ryan Gosling and 3D movies).
Perhaps, and I don't know if this has ever gotten through your oatmeal-and-shreddy-hambone retardo skulls, but perhaps you and I just have different opinions. This is fucking America. We're allowed opinions. Oh, everyone except for you. Because your opinion, by the way, is dumb.
Back at the ranch after my long, long digression:
"I guess I understand," I mope to my dad, "but you're still lame." (I almost forgot how this all started).
Basically Mr. Graham got my dad like superbackstagepasses for this thing. At first I was afraid of being not quite fangirl enough to go, but I'm geeking out over Chicago's first big comic convention.
I am a superdork.
...
Friday, July 24, 2009
Points to be Pointed Out.
Point the First:
Muffy: Going to see Frank Black at Wicker Park Fest on Saturday! You in?
Me: Totally.
Muffy: YAY Snowwhite is in town
Me: Awesome. Oh, and also, the hipsters are going to dress up like zombies and do the Thriller walk down Division tomorrow night.
Muffy: Nice. Why?
Me: I dunno. Because they're hipsters, and they're starved for individuality. So they gather en masse and dress alike and walk with synchronized dance moves. I'm thinking about dressing up like a gang banger from "Beat It" and getting in a knife fight. This would prove four things: (1) I ain't no fucking follower, (2) I ruin lives, (3) blades don't need reloading, and (4) zombies are sooooo 2008, while I live in the future.
Point the Second:
The zombie craze is boggling. I mean, yes, blood/violence/brains/yar. It's not like the vampire craze, diligently resurfacing every couple of years, fading away slowly, only to be shoved back into the spotlight by some new book or television show.
Zombies were dead for a long while (you can't kill the undead (Double parentheses! (Triple! (If it's not math, should I still use brackets? (I have decided no))))), with the exception of the occasional resurfacing of George Romero, but then that goddamn 28 Days Later came out in 2002, and then The Zombie Survival Guide, and all of a sudden it's BRAAAAAIIIINNNNSSS and so on, and they just won't go away. I got no probs with the zombs, I guess. But I'm really, really getting sick of it.
It's the wierdest genre trend ever (from the standpoint of cultural shifts - because zombies are totally not wierd) seven years strong, and getting stronger by the minute. I just want it to fade away like when everyone was annoyingly obsessed with pirates. Let's make cowboys cool again, huh? I know, I know. Cowboys are jerks. Whatever, you guys are jerks.
Point the Third:
Oh, the hipsters. Every single thing about myself that I don't like (that yearning to be unique, getting angry when people assume I'm a johnny-come-lately, a distaste for average, talking about doing instead of doing), they assault to the extreme. It's nice having them around.
Here's the thing: what makes people unique is not saying, "I'm kind of unique." You must just be unique. Telling me you're unique proves nothing, because you give the impression that you're just like everyone else that thinks they're unique. Drives me nuts. Same thing with "free spirit." People who say they're free spirits rarely, rarely are. They're too preoccupied with trying to be a free spirit, negating the entire mindset behind spiriting free.
Calling yourself a nerd or a free spirit or a princess doesn't make you those things: you must just be them. More importantly, why do you have to be one at all?
Point the Fourth:
This is the type of stupid bullshit that keeps me up until four in the morning on a Thursday, furiously painting my apartment and trying not to focus on Die Hard. I always watch the Die Hard movies when I'm doing things that take hours, like Orange-Glowing the floor or painting the walls harbor blue. Kind of like how I always watch Star Wars when I'm sick, and The Last Unicorn when I lose something. Dude, and I am not gonna lie, I am a big fucking fan of harbor blue. Also, I can't believe I just actually googled and linked the paint code. It looks much brighter and darker than that on my walls. Wow, I am a douchebag.
...
Muffy: Going to see Frank Black at Wicker Park Fest on Saturday! You in?
Me: Totally.
Muffy: YAY Snowwhite is in town
Me: Awesome. Oh, and also, the hipsters are going to dress up like zombies and do the Thriller walk down Division tomorrow night.
Muffy: Nice. Why?
Me: I dunno. Because they're hipsters, and they're starved for individuality. So they gather en masse and dress alike and walk with synchronized dance moves. I'm thinking about dressing up like a gang banger from "Beat It" and getting in a knife fight. This would prove four things: (1) I ain't no fucking follower, (2) I ruin lives, (3) blades don't need reloading, and (4) zombies are sooooo 2008, while I live in the future.
Point the Second:
The zombie craze is boggling. I mean, yes, blood/violence/brains/yar. It's not like the vampire craze, diligently resurfacing every couple of years, fading away slowly, only to be shoved back into the spotlight by some new book or television show.
Zombies were dead for a long while (you can't kill the undead (Double parentheses! (Triple! (If it's not math, should I still use brackets? (I have decided no))))), with the exception of the occasional resurfacing of George Romero, but then that goddamn 28 Days Later came out in 2002, and then The Zombie Survival Guide, and all of a sudden it's BRAAAAAIIIINNNNSSS and so on, and they just won't go away. I got no probs with the zombs, I guess. But I'm really, really getting sick of it.
It's the wierdest genre trend ever (from the standpoint of cultural shifts - because zombies are totally not wierd) seven years strong, and getting stronger by the minute. I just want it to fade away like when everyone was annoyingly obsessed with pirates. Let's make cowboys cool again, huh? I know, I know. Cowboys are jerks. Whatever, you guys are jerks.
Point the Third:
Oh, the hipsters. Every single thing about myself that I don't like (that yearning to be unique, getting angry when people assume I'm a johnny-come-lately, a distaste for average, talking about doing instead of doing), they assault to the extreme. It's nice having them around.
Here's the thing: what makes people unique is not saying, "I'm kind of unique." You must just be unique. Telling me you're unique proves nothing, because you give the impression that you're just like everyone else that thinks they're unique. Drives me nuts. Same thing with "free spirit." People who say they're free spirits rarely, rarely are. They're too preoccupied with trying to be a free spirit, negating the entire mindset behind spiriting free.
Calling yourself a nerd or a free spirit or a princess doesn't make you those things: you must just be them. More importantly, why do you have to be one at all?
Point the Fourth:
This is the type of stupid bullshit that keeps me up until four in the morning on a Thursday, furiously painting my apartment and trying not to focus on Die Hard. I always watch the Die Hard movies when I'm doing things that take hours, like Orange-Glowing the floor or painting the walls harbor blue. Kind of like how I always watch Star Wars when I'm sick, and The Last Unicorn when I lose something. Dude, and I am not gonna lie, I am a big fucking fan of harbor blue. Also, I can't believe I just actually googled and linked the paint code. It looks much brighter and darker than that on my walls. Wow, I am a douchebag.
...
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