Crossing the Road

Earlier this year I visited some friends in Vermont. Some from college and a friend who moved up to Brattleboro in the past year. It was partly a bit of my reconstruction of self after my horrid March and also a visit back to the old college-land. In fact I was there graduation weekend, unbeknown to any of us till Sunday night as we heard people next to us talk about graduation. I have only been back to Vermont four times in the years since graduating so many years ago and never been back to my college campus since the day after graduating. I just have no desire to go back. This seems so strange to compare to the days where I was deeply in love with my school. But now I see it as the past and better left there. I am glad that I went, for the friends I made there, and who it help make me, but my Alma Mater holds no sway over me now.

Yet when I was there it was nearly all consuming, as I assume most college experiences are. Though my school was so isolated - on top of a mountain in southern Vermont, four miles away from the nearest store (town was a much further 30 minutes away) with no TV reception and the Internet only hit in the middle of my junior year - I think it might have been a bit more all consuming than most schools. After graduating, it was beyond disorienting to burst forth into the standard world from the microcosm college was. And I think this readjustment period sort of soured me on ever going back.

One of the things that consumed me while in Vermont that did not deal with school was the desire to see a moose in the wild. It was one of those things I talked to long since forgotten high school friends about during those last few weeks of school when everyone knows 'nothing here really matters.' And while I did not run through the woods with infrared glasses looking for one, I was always on the lookout, when not studying. But in all my years on a mountain in the middle of nowhere, with many forages into deeper nowhere, nothing, no moose. Well until I was on campus the day before graduation paying my last respects and saying goodbyes to friends. After leaving everyone behind I walked alone among the small number of buildings and let the memories steep inside of me.

This was enough, I thought, so rather than going to that last party - I was a bit too melancholy - I went to my car and began to drive the 11 miles home. Down the mountain I descended, flooded with memories, when all of a sudden it hit me that I had never seen that moose I longed to see. It really flung me into a mood of despondency. All the world was in front of me, but one of my simple desires, that basically had to be done in the wilds of Vermont, was unfinished. The foreboding of this did not sit well with me.

So downward I rode, until I neared the last wind in the road, past that garden supply place and then I slammed on the breaks, stalling my car, as a 8+ ft moose slowly ambled its way about 40 ft in front of me. It's large horns catching the shine of my headlights and flicking it back to me. All I could think of was 'I'm dead, I'm dead, so dead....' as I skidded towards this immense beast. But the moose just scampered up the embankment on the opposite side of the road, like I was not even there. My car came to a stop and all I could hear was the blood rushing throughout my body as I sat there motionless. But rather than think about how close I had come to almost dying, I just sat in awe that i had finally seen the moose I longed to see.

Taking significance from random acts such as this is a fairly silly game to play, but I was convinced that this moment held great significance. I am not sure if this helped me on my path away from school. but just the experience was a great end cap to my college experience.

So in May of this year I had my second meeting of a beast on the roads of Vermont. As my two of my college friends and I traveled towards Greenfield Massachusetts, we passed a gigantic turtle who was slowly making its way across the road. We feared for its life. So we stopped and I got out to help, what turned out to be a very angry snapping turtle. It was as wide as an over sized serving platter and about half a foot tall. The thing's mouth was about double the size of the turtle, or so seemed when it stuck out its head to try and bite me. And its claws, man, they were enormous. As much as I was determined to see a moose so many years earlier, I knew I wanted to help get this turtle to safety.

So I found a stick and tried to push it from behind. It just hissed and dug those mammoth claws into the pavement. As I danced around the turtle - always keeping out of its jaw range - trying to think of what to do next, it jumped. I wish that there was a photo of my face, as my friends Megan and Becks said it was priceless. I then tried to get the thing to bite the stick, but s/he was having nothing to do with that. Megan gave me something from the car to help, I am 90% sure it was part of some blinds, but no matter, as it was equally ineffective.

All the while two cars passed, watching me make a bit of an ass of myself. This all ,likely took a little more than five minutes. And then, after much work and an ample amount of fancy foot work to help this beast of a reptile avoid getting squashed, I gave up. The turtle did not want or need my help. In fact the thing only had ten feet or so to move to get off the road when i got there, and by the time I was 'done' I had likely put it back a foot or two more. And as we drove away it quickly moved off the road and was out of harms way before it disappeared from view.

And where I tried to not take away meaning from my moose crossing, this experience was too perfect not to see the metaphors dripping off it. The obvious lesson: do not help those that do not want to be helped. Not only had I wasted the turtle's time, I wasted my own, my friends, etc... I have always valued efficiency, and this little side trip to our day was the antithesis of that. I have to sit here and think where the impetus of my initial reasoning of helping the turtle came from. And as I sit here today I am pretty sure that it was done more to make myself feel good - "I saved a turtle today!" - than to actually save the turtle. And this disturbs me. Deeply. Or maybe, I am just a bit sad from the obvious rejection from the turtle.

While I do not think the universe was communicating with me directly with these separate episodes of animal crossings, it is hard to walk away from them without letting the moments resonate. They are experiences that occurred, and to not take away something from each would be silly. And really, if they had happened inversely, would the understanding I took away from each be different? Does it always just mirror the place I am in my life right now? It is certainly is interesting to hypothesize about, but that is all I can do. After all, it is hard to argue the open ended, nearly infinite hopefulness aspect of the moose crossing had a sort of Dr Suess's Oh, The Places You'll Go! Such a perfect occasion to happen right before a graduation. While the turtle crossing seems to echo a rejection of many earlier held beliefs that just the desire to do 'good' will make the world a better place.

What is a Hipster?

A while back I was at a bar with some of my guy friends. Per normal, we were all cracking wise with one another, calling each other offensive names, talking ill about one another's manhood, etc, etc... Hell, I might have even threatened to use a pen to puncture some one's liver. Obviously, it was a jolly good time, and fun was had by all.

Well at least until some idiot played both Journey and Chicago on the jukebox (some idiot might have been two idiots, but idiocy was in full effect, for sure). Once I heard Journey and nearly everyone in the bar singing along with Steve Perry as he belted out "Don't Stop Believing," I sort of clutched my head and wondered if existence (not just mine, but collective) was worth such agony. Then some of my buddies sang along or tried to justify Chicago as a good band up to a point (somewhere between the albums 3 and 6 (the data was inconclusive) - yes, this band offered such an original musical voice that they could only think to name their albums after continuous numbers....), or that one of them stated, with a deserved sense of shame, that he played his Chicago 17 cassette till the tape broke, at that point I might have even exclaimed, in piercing falsetto no less, for all to hear: "What the fuck is wrong with my friends!?!?!?"

I am not exactly sure when it was realized that we were deeply entrenched in a hipster bar, or rather a bar full of hipsters, but it was readily apparent as soon as these songs started playing. And in fact one of my friends asked "What exactly is a hipster?" And well, we tried to answer it. But, there was no real conclusive notion on just what a hipster was or even who qualifies for such distinction. Truth be told, I am sure some people would label me a hipster. In fact, much to my dismay, I was once deemed "VonDutch" by someone, who never met me, just from what neighborhood I live in. The definition and meaning is what they call quite fluid, if you will.

But really, we were clearly at the older end of the age spectrum for the bar, and these songs were mainly recorded before the majority of these hipper than thou Williamsburg/Greenpoint hipsters were born. So, it was obviously not an ever supple massage from the gangrened hand of nostalgia that prompted the collective hipster love of these songs. Nor do I think it is the oft maligned and horribly misused irony. In fact in discussing what the hell was wrong with a world that sings along to Steve Perry and the boys, the first word that came up in our informal discussion on the subject was just that: irony. Now, I take much issue with this word, as recent events in human history - and yes I am looking right at you Ms Alanis Morissette! - have made any true definition of this word problematic at best. Bad luck does not equal irony. My fist raising to the use of the term irony took the discussion towards "camp". And really I have to say that is a great window to use to look at the current hipster phenomenon.

So I took what we discussed that evening and further tossed the idea around in my head and have come to some conclusions (be they right or wrong) on the ever important subject: what makes a hipster?

Before I begin, it is beyond lazy thinking to claim all that a hipster does is ironic due to a major totem in the attire of the hipster: the classic ironic t-shirt. I can not say I am surprised that most people attach the irony flag to the hipster and all they do, it is easy after all. But, it fails to capture the true archetype of the hipster. And I must say archetype might be too strong a term, as hipster is more of an aesthetic than an idealized model. Thus the easy marriage with camp. Or at least i hope my fellow bar goers were singing through a camp imbued microphone. And just what is this camp I speak of? Well, camp is defined as "banality, vulgarity, or artificiality when deliberately affected or when appreciated for its humor". And this is the lens that seemingly reflects the hipster worldview - seriousness need not apply.

Much like the punk/dandy/b'hoy/etc before, the hipster takes aim at culture and tries to deconstruct it though his/her accouterments. Only where those subcultural fetishists subverted the dominant culture though their exaggerated image, the hipster embraces pieces of the dominant culture, even if only just the fringes. There is no single cultural impulse that bonds disparate hipsters together, aside from what each fetishist queues up in their camp drawer. As a group (which clearly has no collective agenda, so i am only classifying them as a group in a general sense), hipsters seem to cling to particular moments of pop culture with just their finger tips, afraid to grasp at the whole trend (appearing as a normal, for lack of a better term, or in antiquated parlance: "a square") and afraid to let go and fall into cultural anonymity.

In fact, how i have chosen to see the hipster is that of a lurker or cultural shadow. The individual hipster finds disparate threads in the numerous streams of culture available to them and assembles them in their own affected way. This pastiche of symbols and signals is often an affront to those who adapt a more streamlined way of viewing and interacting with pop cultural forms. The easiest way of seeing this amazingly large chasm between the hipster and non hipster is to compare a sieve and a vase.

A non-hipster displays his/her cultural mementos as flowers in a vase, showcasing their affections in grandiose arrangements for all the world to see (think sports fans who drown themselves in the plumage of their team's colors). Weather they do this out of reverence to the team/sport/town/player/etc... or a combination of any or all of these things is not as important as doing this out of a high affinity to something in the greater cultural milieu. And while they might reject a rival team, they do not dismiss parts of the culture they choose to embody.

The hipster is not immune to this need to strut up and down their personal runway with their ruffled feathers broadcasting their affections. Only with the hipster, they replace the vase with a sieve and fill it with a general multitude of cultural products and even by-products. When the sieve is full, and the desperate forms are finely arranged, nearly ready to be set on the mantle next to the aforementioned vase, the arrangement is pounded down, letting the unneeded debris seep out, leaving only a shadow or dream like hazy memory of meaning. The sieve is then repacked and pounded down even further, letting the unwanted implications and significance of the idea/song/design/wftever leak out the sieve's holes, like maple tress crying syrup. This cycle loops continuously and whatever amalgamation is left, which may be quite different at any specific time, only has significance for the individual doing so, making any collective meaning or critique moot.

So, at the core of the hipster phenomenon is that of broken context. In funneling pieces from a multitude of sources, the hipster tosses away any notion of authenticity. For instance the John Deere trucker hat that might be collaged into his/her outward dress no longer implies a love for a brand of tractors and outdoor equipment, it is just a detatched piece of something else. What the new meaning is would be as varied as the number of people who don the cap. Hence, a common language of images and signs is made useless .

To bring this back to camp, the artifice of the hipster affronts sensibilities that deem authenticity important. Camp is about forcing the real into the unreal and creating new meaning from ubiquity. The lack of seriousness or reverence the hipster displays for cultural forms/products/wtfever confuses and confounds those seeking logical outcomes. Through the use of camp and the ever streamlined remnants of a cultural sieve, collective meaning is tossed aside for style. And as much as I find it disheartening to say, what better cultural impulse for this age of mass apprehension, where polar opposites swing into fashion at nearly the speed of just opening the drapes; thus, the impetuous of the hipster does make some sense. And the lack of critique becomes a critique in and of itself. That said, I still find the style over substance to be inadequate and a bit repulsive. And no, I have not been back to the bar that started this since that night (which is quite a shame as I really liked that place). My new rule in life is to avoid mass sing-a-longs at all costs (not to mention my "No Journey" rule), it reminds me too much of group think. This of course throughs a wrench into everything I have written above, but in classic hipster fashion recreation and reformulation is key; and thus, my analysis will be (if it is not already) as moot as.... [insert continuous loop here].

What the Hell is the Purpose of this Blog???

So, I used to write on this here blog pretty frequently. Then in March of this past year I nearly died of the flu, right after I caught the chicken pox - no this is not a joke, it was a really bad month.... I am sure I have a good story in all of it, but that is not for telling now. Now is for figuring out what the hell I should be doing in this space and others online.

As I embraced my mortality these past few months I have really had to reassess my life and all that there is to it. And now it is finally this blog's time to get assessment. I started it to look at all forms of popular culture, but mainly comic books. At least that was the idea. But really it lacked focus and became fairly unmanageable quite quickly. And in my new worldview, that just will not work.

So from here on out, this blog will mainly be a space for things that I want to say, expect more of essays like The Knowing Wink of Nostalgia and Annihilating Melancholia and the odd rant or even rarer show of love for something.

This however does not mean that I am giving up talking about comics. I am just doing so over at a new space called Trade Waiting where I will review TPBs and Graphic Novels and discuss any and concerns about comics. Just no floppies! See the first post for more info.

And I will also be highlighting other blogs and web finds on my tumblr-esque google reader "not quite a blog" blog.

And of course there is my Twitter account for keeping up with my daily missives, if you are interested.

And let me be the first to say that this hardly seems like I am streamlining my life, which is something that I really aim to do. But this really helps me compartmentalize and focus on things and hopefully be more productive. But if all this seems a bit much for you, there is the all purpose clearing house friendfeed, where all the above will be collected.

Of course this all assumes that people will want to follow me, but you are reading this far so.... But also feel free to detach yourself from any or all this, it really is just to record a lot of my thoughts etc. Mainly these writings are for me, but this is often where one can find out those things I normally keep bundled and sealed away from normal human consumption.

So feel free to add any or all of these to your RSS readers or follow along when ever you feel like it. And I really hope that it will be, even though it might not look like it, more efficient and focused.

As for how often one can expect updates, well there is no definitive measure but here are some good assumptions:

Tales From the Mutliverse: One, maybe two times a week
Trade Waiting: Two or Three times a week for reviews, plus any other comments on the comic book world.
"not quite a blog": A few times daily
Twitter: Usually at least daily, though sometimes life takes over
friendfeed: As often as all the above are updated

And yes, updates are a coming at all the above, this is not just a shallow ruse....

Vegangelicals

Vegangelicals. WTF is that?

Well Vegan Bits posted what is quite possibly the best post on the subject.

Every movement has those that want to steam power you into their way of thinking. I always think this type of person needs to have others agree with them as their value stems more from others than from within. Vegangelicals are the fanatical vegans that try to make everyone feel horrible about themselves if they do not behave/think/eat like them. They are Brownshirts whose only goal in life seems to be "making the trains run on time".

I was completely unaware of this term, but not the type, until the NY Times published an article 2 weeks ago, I Love You, but You eat Meat. The Urban Vegan was quoted using it saying, “I’m not a vegangelical. He’s an adult and I respect his choices just as he respects mine, ” describing how she is able to live with and love an omnivore. I feel in love with it immediately. She recently posted another great bit on her blog about how her using the term has caused a small uproar from other vegans. She rightly puts them in their place.

If you could not guess from this post so far, I am vegan, have been now for over 17 years. But about 7 years ago I stopped ever referring to myself as vegan as I was utterly sick of the associations people were making with me, comparing me to some holier-than-thou vegan they had met that immediately soured their opinion on the concept entirely. So, as I am less than fanatical, I have been a vegetarian that does not eat any animal products ever since.

My goal is to consume what my values afford me, and let everyone else do the same. Would I mind if someone felt my values were great and wanted to join up and follow them, hell no. But preaching and/or demanding that others follow my way of thinking is about as appealing ever going back to eating meat; thus, the Vegan Bits piece made me extremely happy as they put many of my feelings on the subject into words. Words I have been far too lazy to ever type out. The idea that anyone can change anyones mind through intimidation has always seemed silly to me. Actions are emulated, force and intimidation only begets resistance.

Live they way your body/mind tells you to and let others do the same.

Cyborgs are Bloody Real

In Brittan anyway (hence the bloody). This story is all sorts of awesome.

I am not sure if I am more impressed with the grafting of machine to man or that colors have sounds.

Now since I am not really a fan of say purple, does that mean that purple sounds like The Eagles or Van Morrison? hmmmmmm.....

As if one Needed Another Reason to Hate the Farm "Subsidy" Bill...

Celsias has pointed out yet another reason. I thought I was pretty up to date on the horrors of this agra-business mega money grab, but it simply slipped my attention that 75% of all subsidies go towards the production of meat and dairy.

I was planning a rant the size of Mongolia, but it just became a mishmash of profanity and images of me pummeling my head against/into/through multiple surfaces. So I will leave that alone. But please, do read the insanity above.

Via I'm Seeing Green

Like that Twilight Zone where Elliot Gould stops being able to read...

I am at an amazing loss about what the hell Amazon just recommended me. But, they thought it was so important to email me this.

I have so many questions about this one. So here goes (and really, you should check out that link first, well maybe not as I am sure you will be lost either way):

1. So is this a "Individual Use DVD Copy*" so that one will not become addicted to it through over use?

2. I guess shopping addiction will only be covered after further purchases are made: "It is strongly suggested that this be used with the Self-Esteem and Goal Setting track, so for those that own the SEGS track already, this is the appropriate purchase for addictions. If the SEGS is not owned, we would suggest either the combination of SEGS and Addictions or the Addictions (Comprehensive) title."

3. WTbloodyF does SEGS even suggest? Yes, I assume that it refers to "Self-Esteem and Goal Setting", but how does one own a SEGS? I can see it now: "Mannnnnn, I soooooo own my goal setting ability. No one can take that away from me...." Why do those wonderful self help meeting scenes from Fight Club keep popping up in my mind?

4. I sure hope this comes with its own RFID tag, as "it is illegal to loan this material to others".

The wankery of this product makes my head spin in perma-revolution.

And the biggest and best question I have for Amazon: WTF did I buy at one point in time that suggests this might be appropriate for me? I mean was it all the kids books from when I was a teacher, the graphic novels I have purchased over the years, or was it that I spent awhile combing through the rice cooker options a week or so back?

According to the email I once upon a time rated a movie, Foxes and therefore I obviously am a prime target for such dependency that I need to look to self help DVDs. The head boggles in ways I have previously found unimaginable....


As for the Foxes, it was a pretty good movie, or at least I thought so when I saw it 15 or so years ago. But be careful, the enjoyment of this film could label you an adict.

These Sort of Need to be Mine

If I ever wore French cuff shirts these would be a mandatory accoutrement.

Maybe I need to start.

I am pretty sure that with these, I would be able to fend off bullets like Wonder Woman and her wrist bands.

If this was 2nd, What was 1st?

I now really, really want this lamp. What a great idea to power it from the ambient nature of gravity.

But seriously, if this this took second place, what was first? The mind boggles at its awesomeness.

Project Implicit

Stop whatever you are doing and check this out: Project Implicit®. Also this is very time consuming, so do the click-click thing when you have ample time, as you will need it.

To say that I was anything other than utterly fascinated would be a big fat lie. It is a sort of test to see if you have deep seated sublimated prejudices, and really who does not. I have some issues with the methodology of it, which I will discuss latter, but I dare say that the results seem fairly accurate, at least for me. What do you folks think of this?

Found via The Morning News, which if you are not reading, you really should be.

My Favorite News Story of the Month

What is it about snow white animals that drives fascination. I think the only think cooler than this moose would be photos of a yeti or a sasquatch. And make sure you check out all the photos, this is am amazing beast.

Silence

Yes, I know I have been a bit quieter than I would like, but I caught the chicken pox and sitting up writing has not really been on my to do list.

I have quite few posts in the works, so fret not people. And more posts about comics too!!!

I might love comic books a bit too much....

But in the future look for some words following up on my melancholia post, the conclusion of the best comic series of the 00s, Y - The Last Man, the genius of Kyle Baker, and some pretty piss poor new albums. And I hope less excuses....

And maybe I will kick my ass enough to rekindle my Manhunter posts. That book really is quite good and it is a shame it is on hiatus.

Please tell me how this is a good idea

Oh My God. Vile, so vile that my initial thought was a bit on the inappropriate side. I sort of wondered if using more nukes in WW II would have stopped this travesty.

Now, I am of the mind that it was the nukes that created this, as if any non-radiated country, hell individual could have created this.

These are true snacks for the apocalypse.

Cocktail Madness

I really have to wonder what gets one to think that alcohol induced breakfast cereal is a good idea. I mean I strive for originality in the kitchen and never like to see creativity limited in any way, but this just seems a bit too out there for me.

I mean if people are enjoying it then good for Mr. Freeman and his cocktail pedigree, I am just not going to partake. I would however like to Go to Tailor and imbibe on his more normal cocktails though. Normal in that you actually drink them, what with his pumpernickel raisin infused scotch, lemon verbena rum, and whatnot, they seem like they would be far from normal.