These past few days had the potential to be the greatest days of my young, trivial life. But, like the my own grade seven self, it turned out to be an example of depressed, wasted potential. I set up false gods, and I was rebuked, my temple crumbled around me.
A defining characteristic of Greg is his tendency to set up idols, to get stuck on certain people and topics, like a passionate broken record. (now the interesting thing about defining characteristics is they are completely up to the definer. I claim to be fan, but when confronted with greater fans, I shake my head in pity, like a guy speeding on the highway: everyone slower than him is a paranoid granny, and everyone passing him is reckless. - I get passionate about things, but not that passionate, that's all I'm saying.) And this week almost saw the coming together of three of my personal planets. But, somehow the stars got crossed, and tragedy ensued.
I should clarify. To say that three of my jags almost came together makes it sound as if Micheal Jackson somehow resurrected Pierre Trudeau, both dressed up like Dick Tracy, and performed on the Daily Show. This wasn't the case, and those are old examples, as any real Greg fans would know. All one of me. Although to be fair, that would be a show to watch.
I had met a fellow from HarperCollins publishing, and upon telling him my favorite author was one of his, he agreed kindly to give an advance reader's copy of Michael Chabon's new novel, The Yiddish Policemen's Union (may 2007). I metaphorically peed my pants. and literally i think i managed to only let out a few fanatic drops of urine.
Next, I had tickets to a filming of the Colbert Report for Monday, and the plan was to go to New York with some friends over the weekend and come back to the Toronto in time for the Justin Timberlake concert, which I had theoretical tickets for.
I did in fact receive the book. And it has been delightful, challenging and comforting. But my plan to read it on the road while i travelled the stretch of highway, floating from one fantasy realization to another, fell apart. It's sad that the whole world doesn't conform to my whims, especially university schedules and custom officers. My friends couldn't make the trip, which made my going to the Big Apple economically unfeasible, and the tickets with which i would witness the return of Sexy to T.O. were stopped at the border and UPS-ed back to their source.
Hopes are dangerous. Apart from not living up to its potential, there was nothing necessarily wrong about this week, but because of the disappointing string of shattered possibilities, the last few days kind of sucked. So why hope?
Now, I know not going to see a former teen idol shouldn't be the cause for me to write off a cardinal virtue, but it does illustrate the risk involved. The same risk that comes with love, and faith. Maybe that's why those virtues are apparently so important, they have the potential to cause the greatest personal pain on the flip side of their salvation.
Also, I know my desires were trivial. They weren't life changing, I hope. And because of that, there is no real sympathy. Being a fan is a personal endeavor, regardless of what legions matching men stacked into a stadium, or screaming women at raising their hands at the dancers on stage might believe. We worship en mass, but the devotion is personal. And as such, it is a personal hurt when that devotion is compromised. No one can really, truly empathize without a hint of feigned pity that comes off a bit patronizing. And maybe if my idols weren't so momentary, the empathy would be more real. The empathy, I hope, matches the crime. And a concert and show doesn't last all that long.
And when Jesus comes back, tickets to that show won't be lost in the mail. Now, I just need to find hope for that.
Wednesday, January 31, 2007
Tuesday, January 23, 2007
On Heroes
There are certain television programs that capture the imagination of a generation. I remember when I was rolling in my pre-pubescence, with bleached hair and pimples lining my upper lip, one of my older sisters was devoted to The X-files. She was in university, the golden demographic, and she watched the show religiously every Sunday night. She may have even taped some episodes for further study. I don't remember. That show was dark and brooding, it oozed skepticism and distrust towards authority, and it held a promise that there was something greater, something "out there," always ambiguously out of reach. And of course, there was loads of sexual tension. It was the show that defined my sister's generation. They were dark and brooding. They didn't trust authority. They knew their government was holding back from them, and the truth was out there. Can't you just feel the gen-x angst?
My people don't watch The X-files. We have our own angst fuelled television show. We have 24. All the scepticism, but heightened for a post-9/11 world. And we've substituted some of the extemporaneous sexual tension for toe-curling violence and high tension torture scenes.
Now, I'm not a huge fan of 24. I mean, I watch it, but I don't need to watch it. I don't tape it, or go to 24 parties. I don't blog about it...shoot. What I'm saying is that I recognize it as part of my generation, and I appreciate it, but I'm not about to join the cult of Bauer. (Although it would be cool to say i was born in the year of the Bauer, instead of the Boar. That would be a witty headline...anyone anyone).
Truth be told, I'm more in to Batman.
But, and this is the point of this entry, Batman and Jack Bauer are one in the same.
I'm not saying that Jack Bauer dresses up in a cape and cowl and defends Gotham under the mantle of the Bat. That would be preposterous, we all know that's Bruce Wayne. What I'm saying is, as far as pretentious cultural symbols go, Batman and Bauer are the same. But if that's true, what does that say about pop icons epitomizing their generations? Batman was created in the late thirties, and Jack six years ago? It only proves the point that no generation is really all that unique. We only differ insomuch as out culturally defining heroes differ. But do they differ at all? Let's strap on some plastic frame glasses, let our hair lines recede, and wear some sports coat, while we sip hip tea and find out shall we?
One might argue that they differ a great deal. Although their general purpose of ridding the world of terror and crime are similar, Batman feels the need to wear tights and a mask while doing it, whereas Jack Bauer prefers designer jeans and expensive, yet scruffy looking shirts - that hoodie/army jacket number from last season was amazing. Who can judge who looks better while doing their job- Jack might benefit from a good acid resistant cape every now and then, but mask might get in the way of his cell phone use, and blue jeans would inhibit Batman's high flying ninja moves.
Also, it could be noted that they differ in their relation to the law. Jack is a part of the federal bureaucracy, an employee, regardless of how heroic, of the government. Batman is strictly a vigilante. He works outside the law. Sure, he and commissioner Gordon have well developed working relationship, but he's not on the payroll. He's Batman.
That being said, is it really fair to say that Mr. Bauer works within the confines of the law? perhaps technically, but morally? He and the caped crusader are both vigilantes in that regard. Where Batman drops thugs off buildings, catching them at the last second before impact, to loosen their tongues, Jack uses torture: knives in kneecaps, removal of digits, plastic wrap over faces. Which is worse? Who can say? Both get the job done by relying heavily on fear(and a bit of physical trauma). What that says about our culture is impressive. Our Heroes operate by fear, because our world is a scary world, a world where a Hero must transcend certain levels of decency in order to preserve the greater good.
Also, both icons are solitary figures at first glance, but in actuality are surrounded by an extensive support system. When we think of Batman, we usually in the same metaphoric breath think of Robin, his insanely precocious, eternally adolescent sidekick, but we often miss the invaluable aid of Batman's trusted butler, Alfred. He would be nowhere without Alfred. And, for those of the more fanatically nerdy persuasion, Batman has his league of Bat-family minions, whose roster changes and ebbs through the years. You got your Nightwings, your Bat-girls, your Oracles, your Catwomans'. All of them support our hero. As for Jack, he has his disposable team members from CTU- your Tony's, your Chloe's, your Milo's, your Bill Buchanan's. How terrifically poignant that both heroes need support. Truly, whether a masked hero, or a highly trained, deadly government secret operative, no one can make it alone.
Perhaps the most significant similarity is that both of these heroes perform their heroics without the aid of superpowers. Somehow they have trained to be the strongest, quickest, most cunning among their peers. They represent the power of humankind, are symbols of humanity's potential, the extent we can push these bodies of ours. That is what connects them to us, mere mere mortals, they defend us, but ultimately they are us.
We've picked these heroes to define us. Batman has been around for decades, but he has admittedly lost some popularity over time. Jack, on the other keeps getting stronger and stronger. So, are our generational defining heroes actually the same? They answer, in typical pretentious fashion is a resounding, "well, yes and no."
They are cut from the same cloth, the same spandex, but as our world has gotten more terrifying, more violent, our hero has adapted. This must sadden Batman. Which is a pity, because he isn't the happiest fellow to begin with. What makes Batman Batman, isn't the prefix of the Bat. It's his determination to cling to that last syllable of his name. He is a man, and as we've seen over the decades he refuses to abandon his humanity. He will never sink to the level of the criminals he catches. He's never kill. He'll never use a gun. He's above that, somehow, he remains above that.
Jack Bauer isn't. He tortures. He shoots- really well, even while running or in the dark, and he isn't about to stop now because he's running out of time. So their methods will forever separate them, but their function and morality will always bind them as one. Because even with all that killing, Jack somehow manages to have an unerring moral code, regardless of how utilitarian it is. We need Heroes like that. Ones who sacrifice and survive, who wrap themselves up in our fears and darkness, and protects us from them.
And maybe Batman's is dated, his methods unrealistic for our day; maybe even in his darkness and shadows, he's too idealistic to define this generation and it's enemies. And maybe that's a truly sad thought.
But he could still kick Jack Bauer's ass.
Because he's Batman.
My people don't watch The X-files. We have our own angst fuelled television show. We have 24. All the scepticism, but heightened for a post-9/11 world. And we've substituted some of the extemporaneous sexual tension for toe-curling violence and high tension torture scenes.
Now, I'm not a huge fan of 24. I mean, I watch it, but I don't need to watch it. I don't tape it, or go to 24 parties. I don't blog about it...shoot. What I'm saying is that I recognize it as part of my generation, and I appreciate it, but I'm not about to join the cult of Bauer. (Although it would be cool to say i was born in the year of the Bauer, instead of the Boar. That would be a witty headline...anyone anyone).
Truth be told, I'm more in to Batman.
But, and this is the point of this entry, Batman and Jack Bauer are one in the same.
I'm not saying that Jack Bauer dresses up in a cape and cowl and defends Gotham under the mantle of the Bat. That would be preposterous, we all know that's Bruce Wayne. What I'm saying is, as far as pretentious cultural symbols go, Batman and Bauer are the same. But if that's true, what does that say about pop icons epitomizing their generations? Batman was created in the late thirties, and Jack six years ago? It only proves the point that no generation is really all that unique. We only differ insomuch as out culturally defining heroes differ. But do they differ at all? Let's strap on some plastic frame glasses, let our hair lines recede, and wear some sports coat, while we sip hip tea and find out shall we?
One might argue that they differ a great deal. Although their general purpose of ridding the world of terror and crime are similar, Batman feels the need to wear tights and a mask while doing it, whereas Jack Bauer prefers designer jeans and expensive, yet scruffy looking shirts - that hoodie/army jacket number from last season was amazing. Who can judge who looks better while doing their job- Jack might benefit from a good acid resistant cape every now and then, but mask might get in the way of his cell phone use, and blue jeans would inhibit Batman's high flying ninja moves.
Also, it could be noted that they differ in their relation to the law. Jack is a part of the federal bureaucracy, an employee, regardless of how heroic, of the government. Batman is strictly a vigilante. He works outside the law. Sure, he and commissioner Gordon have well developed working relationship, but he's not on the payroll. He's Batman.
That being said, is it really fair to say that Mr. Bauer works within the confines of the law? perhaps technically, but morally? He and the caped crusader are both vigilantes in that regard. Where Batman drops thugs off buildings, catching them at the last second before impact, to loosen their tongues, Jack uses torture: knives in kneecaps, removal of digits, plastic wrap over faces. Which is worse? Who can say? Both get the job done by relying heavily on fear(and a bit of physical trauma). What that says about our culture is impressive. Our Heroes operate by fear, because our world is a scary world, a world where a Hero must transcend certain levels of decency in order to preserve the greater good.
Also, both icons are solitary figures at first glance, but in actuality are surrounded by an extensive support system. When we think of Batman, we usually in the same metaphoric breath think of Robin, his insanely precocious, eternally adolescent sidekick, but we often miss the invaluable aid of Batman's trusted butler, Alfred. He would be nowhere without Alfred. And, for those of the more fanatically nerdy persuasion, Batman has his league of Bat-family minions, whose roster changes and ebbs through the years. You got your Nightwings, your Bat-girls, your Oracles, your Catwomans'. All of them support our hero. As for Jack, he has his disposable team members from CTU- your Tony's, your Chloe's, your Milo's, your Bill Buchanan's. How terrifically poignant that both heroes need support. Truly, whether a masked hero, or a highly trained, deadly government secret operative, no one can make it alone.
Perhaps the most significant similarity is that both of these heroes perform their heroics without the aid of superpowers. Somehow they have trained to be the strongest, quickest, most cunning among their peers. They represent the power of humankind, are symbols of humanity's potential, the extent we can push these bodies of ours. That is what connects them to us, mere mere mortals, they defend us, but ultimately they are us.
We've picked these heroes to define us. Batman has been around for decades, but he has admittedly lost some popularity over time. Jack, on the other keeps getting stronger and stronger. So, are our generational defining heroes actually the same? They answer, in typical pretentious fashion is a resounding, "well, yes and no."
They are cut from the same cloth, the same spandex, but as our world has gotten more terrifying, more violent, our hero has adapted. This must sadden Batman. Which is a pity, because he isn't the happiest fellow to begin with. What makes Batman Batman, isn't the prefix of the Bat. It's his determination to cling to that last syllable of his name. He is a man, and as we've seen over the decades he refuses to abandon his humanity. He will never sink to the level of the criminals he catches. He's never kill. He'll never use a gun. He's above that, somehow, he remains above that.
Jack Bauer isn't. He tortures. He shoots- really well, even while running or in the dark, and he isn't about to stop now because he's running out of time. So their methods will forever separate them, but their function and morality will always bind them as one. Because even with all that killing, Jack somehow manages to have an unerring moral code, regardless of how utilitarian it is. We need Heroes like that. Ones who sacrifice and survive, who wrap themselves up in our fears and darkness, and protects us from them.
And maybe Batman's is dated, his methods unrealistic for our day; maybe even in his darkness and shadows, he's too idealistic to define this generation and it's enemies. And maybe that's a truly sad thought.
But he could still kick Jack Bauer's ass.
Because he's Batman.
Thursday, January 18, 2007
In a Crowd
I don't go to sporting events all that often. It's not that I don't like them, it's just that the identity I chose to adopt when I was going through puberty was strictly non-athletic. Which is kind of a pity because, according to my mother I have the perfect build for swimming, baseball, pole-vault, shotput, and probably tennis, basket-ball volleyball and soccer. Oh, and football. And wrestling. Such wasted potential. The few times I've gone to a Jays game here in Toronto, or happened upon a random basketball game involving my little sister, I've kind of liked it. I didn't feel a nostalgic sense of regret, a longing to be involved, but it provided a good show.
It's infectious how quickly the shouts, cheers and taunts come. I would watch these games with no real emotional investment at all, and yet I would be cheering and shouting like a pro. Like my dreams were coming true and I were relishing every moment of it. I'll admit, part of me was doing it ironically. I'm making a joke with myself, and as always, I think I'm a laugh riot, even if everyone else thinks I'm just a devoted fan- which, secretly, and pathetically, makes it even funnier.
I especially liked to shout conversational encouragement, or use cliche English essay language.
"Despite the failure of your earlier attempts," I'd call, hands cupped around my mouth, "I feel impressed to conjecture that your subsequent pitches will be met with success." I'd continue, still shouting, "Nevertheless, If I'm wrong and a strike out eludes you, It is important to stress that I will still believe in you." I'd repeat that last bit. In fact, "I believe in you" is my absolute cheer.
But, you know what, I don't think my cheering made any difference to the outcome of the game. I don't think the players heard a word of my encouragement, they missed its eloquence. And I probably annoyed the actual fans beside me. I realized this was equally true whether I was among thousands at a baseball game, or among twenty a community league bout. Cheering isn't heard by anyone. Shouting in a crowd of shouters is futile.
But it feels nice to think maybe you'll get attention. It feels important. And just making noise is communal. It connects you with other shouters, even though you somehow remain anonymous and alone. Which is why I'm posting this. I'm shouting my name at a concert, thinking maybe someone will hear me.
Plus, all the cool kids have blogs. And i don't want to be unemployable.
It's infectious how quickly the shouts, cheers and taunts come. I would watch these games with no real emotional investment at all, and yet I would be cheering and shouting like a pro. Like my dreams were coming true and I were relishing every moment of it. I'll admit, part of me was doing it ironically. I'm making a joke with myself, and as always, I think I'm a laugh riot, even if everyone else thinks I'm just a devoted fan- which, secretly, and pathetically, makes it even funnier.
I especially liked to shout conversational encouragement, or use cliche English essay language.
"Despite the failure of your earlier attempts," I'd call, hands cupped around my mouth, "I feel impressed to conjecture that your subsequent pitches will be met with success." I'd continue, still shouting, "Nevertheless, If I'm wrong and a strike out eludes you, It is important to stress that I will still believe in you." I'd repeat that last bit. In fact, "I believe in you" is my absolute cheer.
But, you know what, I don't think my cheering made any difference to the outcome of the game. I don't think the players heard a word of my encouragement, they missed its eloquence. And I probably annoyed the actual fans beside me. I realized this was equally true whether I was among thousands at a baseball game, or among twenty a community league bout. Cheering isn't heard by anyone. Shouting in a crowd of shouters is futile.
But it feels nice to think maybe you'll get attention. It feels important. And just making noise is communal. It connects you with other shouters, even though you somehow remain anonymous and alone. Which is why I'm posting this. I'm shouting my name at a concert, thinking maybe someone will hear me.
Plus, all the cool kids have blogs. And i don't want to be unemployable.
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