You guys don’t understand.

I borrowed a Walkman once — a friend pressed his Walkman on me another time. But this bulky shit hanging off your belt, impeding your movement, and you had to be so careful with it…I mean this was The Age Of Tape, and listening to things wasn’t worth it.

I saw that early.

Oh God, I AM doing the Tony Stark thing now again, ain’t I?

Hey…I don’t mean to.

Let me prove it: you have never heard anything as white as this in your life, I guarantee it. The second time I wore a Walkman it was my friend’s, who pushed it on me so I could hear his favourite Rock Opera, that everyone else he knew hated. He got me extremely stoned, first. Then he kitted me out with the Walkman. He set me to walk around the block, wander the lanes, peek into the yards while I was listening to it. He had lots of money and lots of weed and lots of booze, this guy, and he worried like crazy that people were using him for it…but sometimes he used it, too. So what was the difference? He’s a nice guy, a great guy, a pillar of the community…I still count him as a friend though I haven’t seen him in twenty years, but I make what unemployed writers who are the sons of fire-extinguisher salesmen make, and that isn’t even what poor people make, and so I like him fine but hell if he’s gonna tell me anything…now or then…

But anyway: the Walkman.

Good God, but these things were a pain. You don’t know. So listening to a Rock Opera was just about the only reason anyone would tolerate ‘em. What I was set up with was…

…And I swear you are not going to believe this, but it’s true…

…The first Rock Opera that the band Styx wrote and played. You know: their early stuff.

Understand this now, as I understood it then: “Mr. Roboto” was them getting back to their roots.

Yeah.

So hear my song, Bloggers. Hear it.

…

…So anyway, the business of the Walkman. It had to be a hell of a thing you were listening to on it, for my money, to make it worth the while. Truthfully, it had to be nothing less than a Rock Opera, it had to be nothing less than three bowls-worth…it had to be epic, or it just wasn’t worth it at all. Wandering around downtown by the Capitol 6 multiplex, plugs in your ears…

There’s a reason why I don’t do that anymore, if I ever did. There’s a reason I don’t own an iPod. I saw a ten-year-old kid the other day walking along the railroad tracks with his buds in. I wondered what in the FUCK has to happen for a ten-year-old kid to get a two-hundred-dollar iPod to walk along the tracks with, listening to music he probably doesn’t get, and doesn’t understand. Oh, Bloggers: I’ve lived too long. Apparently there are people out there who are my own age, who can and would drop a couple hundred bucks on an iPod for their young, young child. And I don’t think that’s cool or all right, apparently.

And maybe that’s why I’ve lived too long.

Gotten Scroogey. Get off my lawn. I swear to God I am not trying to do it at all. Jesus, give me some light: I can’t seem to fucking stop.

It’s all Sean’s fault.

…

…So anyway, here’s the thing. Thanks to Sean I’ve gotten to hear “Deltron 3030″ — my own brother’s been a fan of Del for years, and never told me! — I used to listen raptly to “Mistadobalina” in the depths of my very very stoned years! — fucking hell, I wish I could stop doing it, I honestly do — and let me tell you one thing, if I tell you nothing else:

IT TAKES ME BACK THERE.

Back to the days of wandering around downtown, justifying the purchase of the Walkman.

God damn it: it justifies it. This is 2009, and Deltron came out in 2000, so all you folks probably think it’s old school. Let me tell you it is NOT old school. It is the school they tore down to BUILD the old school.

This is music that reaches back into the past, and back into the unconscious. This shit’s ageless and timeless. This shit is some of the most AMAZING shit I have ever smoked, and let me tell you…

IT IS FULLY WALKMANNABLE.

In fact I wish I could get it on tape, so I could listen to it on a cumbersome fucking old shitty WALKMAN — yes that’s how much I love it, that I actively want to listen to it that way: I want to be a delicate music cyborg slithering through the crowds downtown, I want to feel like “Five Years” is pounding in my brain AS I listen to “Deltron”…I want the total experience of the future, that you young kids don’t know, seemed to trickle through charcoal to us in the Eighties…

…Never quite right. Always deferred. We could never finally get there.

Hey, and that’s why there were all those Sci-Fi Rock Operas, right?

Truth is, only Bowie ever did them well, because he kicked them off, and also he knew how to make them…heck, made a mini-career of them…but more on that later, because this is going to be a real long one guys and gals…because I am interested in Del due to being a songwriter, and I have technical things to say about this album. Which is fucking brilliant.

And I’m not just saying that because it so prominently features Kid Koala.

I am saying this is a cross-time tour de force.

Okay, let’s start it up. Get your dorky-looking orange headphones on. Get off the bus.

Let’s start our random teenage walk.

…

You know I tell friends of mine who are not into rap — who don’t have a senseless prejudice against it, but are just not into it — that there is a thing out there called “sci-fi rap opera”…

…And these whitest of whitey-white white guys, these hidebound 70s audiophiles with their Doobie Brothers hair, they all GRIN LIKE THE CANARY-EATING CAT at me when I tell them that. They want it too, you see. They want something that gets started right away, they’ve become jaded about the fancy-shmancy Rock Opera with its awful pretensions…they want something that starts with a bang, like:

“Yo, it’s three-thousand-thirty! I want y’all to meet Deltron Zero!”

Does it hit you right in the face enough, right after that? Easy to say “keep up, or you’ll get left behind”, except that there’s nothing here a person can’t keep up with — the texture of this future is all around us, and you’ve heard of everything in it. Well, wow. The only person ever to front-load a sci-fi pop opera this heavily was Bowie in Ziggy Stardust — if you don’t know what’s going on here right away, you won’t get that album either.

But it’s got something extra to it too…and it gets you ready for it.

“I bounced through a portal…!”

Let me just get back to that in a minute.

The thing is, here is the advantage of rap, here is why all the Rock Operas collapsed so miserably, and why Del soars so high. In an “ordinary” melodic song, there are so many constraints, and there are so few things you can do about them. No matter how poetically sharp you try to get, you can only fly so close to the sun…and you still have to deal with the scan of each line, the scheme of each verse…even in a seven-minute song you can only drop about forty lines tops, because to get a seven-minute song that’s genuinely cohesive/amazing you’re going to have to find a Hendrix to do your guitars anyway — and they’re going to have to branch out into genius-land — or you’re going to lose people.

Not that it can’t be done. It can.

But what’s missing from all that, just because of the musical form, is the thing we call (when we study John Donne) logical density. You can’t build up the texture of a whole world very much in even an extremely-poetic, brilliantly-instrumentalized “ordinary” melodic song…because allusiveness can only accomplish so much, without words to hang it all on!

Believe me, I know!

But in hip-hop the rhymes can come ninety to the minute, and do anything, they can go anywhere, and create anything…for God’s sake they can even be mostly shitty…

…And this is also a strength hip-hop has, that the regular melodic song doesn’t, that the best a “regular” song can get is that it’s very clever but doesn’t cross a line into too clever…so it needs to always be careful to “ground” itself, to not actually be John Donne’s poetry…I mean this is music for the masses, people…!

…But hip-hop can be, and mark me here, as clever as it fucking wants to be, any time it wants to be, because it also doesn’t matter if the rhymes are crude and obvious, I mean of course some of the rhymes are going to be crude and obvious, the whole damn thing is made out of rhyme…!

…So unlike a “conventional” song, it can use any word it needs to: because it can use as many words as it needs to.  And that’s why it’s more egalitarian than any Van Morrison song can ever hope to be, because it doesn’t do “dumbing down”. Doesn’t need to, I would say, in part because it makes more time and space for itself, and its lyrical creativity: the faster the rhymes come the more can be done with them, the more adventurous they can become, and that’s in part because there are no instrumental breaks that rob time from the writing, but rather the breaks are as one with the words, at need…

(Oooh, I had something clever to say, right there. Damn! Lost it. Oh well, we’re gonna be here for a while, maybe it’ll resurface…)

(Oh, whaddaya know Remy, here it is all da time…)

I mean, look folks: this is comics, plain and simple. This is what makes comics great: the pictures and the words are as one. They’re the exact same art. You don’t find that anyplace else. That’s why Alan Moore says comics have so many different “tracks” that can be combined to such wonderful effect…the same reason I’m saying that Kid Koala knocks the shit out of this record. The tracks, the TRACKS…! You can do so much with them. You can make the sound-effects be part of the art. You can use the proscenium to enlarge the subjective size of the screen.  You can draw the eye to a supremely-resonant image, you can bring the sight of the reader to a point of infinite concentration…but I want y’all to stay calm…

Alien annihilation. And here I am right back to it, just like I promised: here’s another thing rap can do that other forms can’t. It can tip the board, and make it work. I bounced through a portal…fuck yeah you did Del, now let’s not waste any time or space, let’s not do conventional transitions, let’s just collide these changes up against each other, let’s make it work as music, let’s not be afraid to slip and slide! In an ordinary melodic song, in a sense you have to tell before you show: the listener has to be prepared for shifts and changes. But not here: this shit bloody well IS Jeet Kune Do, there are no fixed positions, it is hip-hop — you goddamn HOP, for heaven’s sake! I’m not joking, this is the aesthetic of dance: you bring the move, and you blow people away. You don’t set it up in some tedious telegraphed way. You throw it at the receiver in HD: all of a sudden, all at once.  In negative time, the pattern unfolds like a black blossom — aha.

AHA.

I’m telling you: I don’t know why anybody even bothers to make SF movies anymore, now that music is like comics. You can do so much more. There’s so much less waiting around. Screw the budget, screw the rules, you can just make things, and get there with no filler, no delay. Let’s turn the power to the people, damnit.

But anyway…

Back to the music. We’re halfway through the first main track, and the people on the street seem like ghosts to me, transmissions from either the past or the future…or is this the present for real? No way to tell, because this is science-fiction: it’s all just coming in off the shortwave as you fiddle with the dial, and the ionosphere doesn’t give you any guarantees, it just bounces you information…

Quantum jump, and we’re into “Positive Contact”…bit of deja vu, eh folks? And this is straight-up narration, is what this is…you just want to hand the winningly down-singing Del a bunch of discarded SF movie treatments and trashed SF TV pilot proposals, and let him sing ‘em out to a kindergarten class…well, heck, that’s basically what he’s doing, right?

I won’t try to be as comprehensive as Sean. Let’s move on. Oh shit, I did it again, but I can’t help it, it’s like talking about Kirby: his way of thinking gets into your brain…

Oh, and God what’s gonna happen when I try on “Virus”?

I better take a break, before I start creating like a heathen.

Part II is incoming, y’all. Better upgrade my grey matter.

God, I love this record.

Better turn it up. Turn it up, just go walkabout, there’s still a couple hours of daylight left…

…Life must sometimes be played on that base level, Bloggers!

While waiting for the gruesomely long post-to-come, I thought we’d check in on our Darkseid essayists.

Plus our old private local genius Jonathan Burns, who if you missed it in the comments the first time, said this:

***

(I hope Jonathan will pardon me my colourful textual additions, that I put in only to distinguish his magnificent text from my unworthy own)

But then as brilliant as Jonathan is…it’s all about inflection, isn’t it?

So here’s another friend, Mr. Andrew Hickey, who is not afraid to bloody well RUN with a train of thought…and try to beat it…!

And today’s latest:  more freakin’ Panel Madness from our own Marc Burkhardt, and it’s good stuff in my opinion.

See, I told you guys this would be good.

Oh!  And I almost forgot:  our patron saint.  The first one to respond to this…I guess I’m calling it…meme.

My that’s a lovely header you’ve got there, friend.  What’s it of?

Still to come, I hope:  the inestimable RAB, who summed up for me what the New Gods were all about most elegantly, lo these lost Internet months ago…

And maybe one of the Mindless?

I can’t wait to see how they bring it back around to Brendan McCarthy, can you?

NEW POST SOON.

Don’t worry, Bloggers:  at the end here comes a great bloated garish Santa.

Boy, I have been working on this for a while.

Hope you like it when it gets here!

…And so with the final turkey sandwich of October now being fully eaten-up, Bloggers, here’s a thing I had a lot of fun doing over the last week or so: a mini-interview with Geoff Klock, to round off the recent intersection of my blog with his. I confess I really enjoy these blogoverse-only interviews, maybe it’s narcissistic but it gives me a real sense of being part of a community…and sometimes, even quite often, I think “community” is a rather dirty word, but maybe that’s because it gets used so much in so many rather dirty ways?

It is all in how you look at it, I guess. But perhaps names don’t matter so much as the things they refer to, and if they don’t then we don’t need to worry about them so much…I mean “community” may be a good thing or a bad thing, a term used for good or ill…

…But I think the give-and-take of conversation is good wherever you find it, no matter what name it goes under.

So!

Let’s have some, shall we?

***

PLOK: Geoff, I notice a particular (and appealing) item in all your online bios: that before writing “How To” you worked as a night watchman for two years, and read a book a night…and for me, I immediately jump from that to Colin Wilson sleeping rough outside the British Museum while he wrote “The Outsider”. Did you, or do you, feel like you have some “outsider” status in the academic world, or indeed the working world?

GK: My point of reference when I worked that job was the final issue of the Invisibles, where someone says “My Invisible initiation involved three years as a trainee accounts manager. I learned to shovel numbers, go home and dream, get fat on tortillas and Oreos. Then when I was ready, I found them again.” I totally told myself I was an “outsider” — I went to academic conferences as an “independent scholar.” But the thing is I was outside because I wanted to get inside — I was doing this to get into fancy pants grad school. When I got in, I was relieved to be inside. Then I got a job at a community college which sort of puts me outside again, except I am full time and not an adjunct which is more inside something else. Also — my equal interest in poetry and pop culture means that folks that see themselves as high culture folks and pop culture folks can consider me an outsider or an insider. So I guess those terms don’t have much use to me except as a sort of personal psychological boost — at 3am by the water in downtown Manhattan trying to figure out why I dropped out of grad school while wearing a clip on tie and a whistle on a chain I can tell myself I am an outsider-badass completing my Invisibles training and then bounce back to doing something important.

PLOK: Re-reading “How To” a little while ago, I was struck by how much I prefer it to the various pop-philosophy books that seem to be somewhat in vogue lately — I think because it offered me a look into some stuff I was completely unfamiliar with, through the lens of a pop culture I knew well. Maybe in something like the same manner that people manage to plough through The Da Vinci Code because they’re interested in these new ideas they never heard of, despite the atrocious writing? [EDIT: Damn it, I did not mean to imply Geoff's writing was atrocious there! Shit! Actually I found it quite lucid!] Actually I think that’s a major part of the appeal of detective stories too: the exposure to new subcultural knowledge through the familiar tropes of genre fiction. And those are somewhat loopy comparisons, I know, but…most pop-phil books I come across seem to be loaded with arbitrary or off-hand demonstrations of, you know, how to find Platonism in the Simpsons or whatever, and they don’t seem particularly apposite, just a bit perfunctory. “Look, you can find philosophy in everything, it’s actually really interesting you guys!” So, were you consciously choosing a more focussed and off-the-beaten-track kind of pop-phil strategy, or was that just the effect of your academic training, or did it just sort of all fall into your lap one day?

GK: At school I went into a meeting with one of my college supervisors and told him about my dissertation, and he responded “You seem to really like POETRY.” At first it took me by surprise, because I knew so many people writing about poetry, but the more I looked around the more I understood what he meant. A ton of people like some THEORY primarily — some PHILOSOPHY — and then, as part of making it fun or palatable or accessible or as part of making their lives easier they say Look, you can see it in X popular thing. To paraphrase some guy, people say they like poetry or whatever but what they really like is something IN the poetry. I did start life as a philosophy major but some book or some teacher turned me around into looking down on people who did not take seriously the art part first and the idea part second. And I feel like maybe 20 minutes after that happened I started writing the book, with really no sense of anything like what was going on in like cultural studies or whatever, very much a substance over style discipline. I guess in that sense it sort of fell into my lap.

PLOK: I mentioned this to you before, but it always seems to me like you, Douglas Rushkoff, Henry Jenkins et. al. are all in this peculiar no-man’s-land as far as the “fans/pros” divide on the Internet goes…even the “pro critics” like Spurgeon or Noah Berlatzky, or indeed the “semi-pro” critics like Tucker Stone or Abhay Khosla, seem to belong on a continuum with the fans and the creators that the guys with academic credentials are more set apart from…I mean even given that Rushkoff has written a comic book, he’s *still* can’t quite make it onto that ladder, it seems! So, do you feel any of this kind of marginalization going on, for good or bad? Or do you feel that the Internet helps to level all these differences out so much that it really isn’t an issue?

GK: Let me rephrase the question to be sure I understand it (and if I do not let me know): People who write about comics — some are mainly fans, some are mainly professional critics that are more objective and sane, and I and some other people don’t fall well into either category, and when that happens marginalization occurs? There are days when I felt marginalized (like I am not really quoted much in other books about comics) and I always attributed that to the fact that my book was a bit on the pretentious side even when it was making solid observations. There are days when I felt totally central — like when I got to speak at the Met. And if I am marginalized it has to be because I did not really dive into more work on comics: Peter Coogan has this dream that comics is a small field and if you work hard and make connections how hard is it to get to the center of it? Whereas I spread myself too thin at times — I don’t want to write another book on poetry OR comics because I feel like I already did that. I want to write about TV or film or music or GOD or whatever. Except you know life keeps getting in the way somehow. As for the pro/fan divide I AM a fan (or at least I used to be — GOD COMICS KIND OF SUCK RIGHT NOW) but I am trained as a professional critic and no clear side of that debate won, although I do feel like the professional side is all style and the fan side is all the content. I can’t imagine being a movie reviewer who was just assigned movies to go see and write about. I have to wait and see if a thing grabs me — and the thing that pisses people off about me is how often I just don’t give a damn even when it looks like I should (Morrison and Quitely’s Batman for instance). It feels to me like comics for example just are not as exciting as they were a few years ago, but I am open to complaints that I have become jaded or something. But you know — what the hell am I supposed to do about it except keep going to the movies or whatever. I think I got off topic here so I will try to answer your last bit there: I just don’t read comics crit broadly enough to know what the internet does to the fan-pro divide for critics. But I know I like fan-critics because for god sakes let’s start with caring about art first and ideas next. Fans err on the side of being too passionate, whereas critics err on the side of just being totally uninvolved and the fan error is the one I want to be stuck with if I have to be stuck with one.

PLOK: Doesn’t like Morrison and Quitely’s B+R…? STONE THE UNBELIEVER, BRETHREN…! HEY, RUBE…!

…Heh. Well, not to project my own stuff on you, I shouldn’t perhaps have employed the loaded word “marginalization” as I did, to me it means something less like “being excluded” and more like “enjoying a very weird and hard-to-reach vantage point that’s got to be good for something...”

Although sometimes I think that may just be me, the lies I learned to tell myself after my Invisibles training failed…my choosing to believe that being a dilettante is some kind of road to Enlightenment…

Is it just me, though? You make me feel a bit better about my own comforting daily white lies when you say you don’t want to repeat yourself, that instead you want to write on TV or music or movies or God or whatever HITS you…I mean, as far as I can see the customary vision of “success” is the one where you DO repeat yourself, and not only that but it works better each time, and the trick is finding the stuff you can concentrate on as early in life as you can manage, that’ll secure that success for you. But perhaps in these days we don’t need to do that as much as we once did, maybe that’s an outmoded script? More lies, I guess: you say you couldn’t imagine the dreariness of being a film reviewer, just churning out this opinion or that opinion for your daily bread, and yet a million people in your line of work and thought and critical predilection and generational interest would probably jump at the chance to do this, that would be their perfect Elysian snapshot of the ideal life: hip young professor, new movie critic for the local paper, Promethean scenester…cool guy!

So I guess I’m asking…what makes you recoil from that snapshot, if indeed I’ve got it right and you do? Is it something to do with the “poetic” fannish enthusiasm, or the “philosophical” critical training, or both? Or neither?

Or, you know…do I even come close to the mark, here?

GK: I think you are right that the image of success is repeating
yourself with variations: Bloom and Zizek, just to name two writers I
really admire, do that exactly — just sort of say the same thing in
every book for years, with a very slight “development” maybe. I think
the reason I don’t want this for myself is that very early on, like
maybe 8th grade or something, my path got “set” by Zen and the Art of
Motorcycle Maintenance (that, and wanting to be like Chris from
Northern Exposure). That book, which looks very quaint to me now (but
which also predicted my eventual status as a composition instructor)
argued that we are far too specialized, everyone working in little
cubbyholes and not seeing the big picture. Emerson said it better,
about how we are all dwarves or whatever, but that idea really stuck.
So as a kid I wanted to be this sort of general philosopher who could
talk to anybody about anything — the fact that I ended up being the
“comics” guy or the “poetry” guy (and you can see me resisting
specialization by having two things there) was the result of the grad
school machine which simply will not let you leave with a fancy degree
unless it is very specific — and even in my doctoral thesis I covered
poets from Blake to Anne Carson, from England to America, from the
18th Century to the 20th. And I would have gone even more broad except
I am not so good with the foreign languages (though I did shoehorn in
as much Dante as I could). I think one of the people I really admire
is someone like Stephen Soderbergh — the guy seems to be able to make
any kind of movie he wants from star-studded moneymakers like Ocean’s
11, to tiny indie things like The Girlfriend Experience, to long and
political stuff like Che to movies like Solaris where he has to KNOW
he is going to lose money but is going to do it anyway because he has
accumulated enough financial and cultural capital to get away with it.
Getting back to Chris from Northern Exposure I think TV gave me this
image of an intellectual as someone who just knows EVERYTHING, who has
something to add to any subject, and that made me not want to be the
other image of the academic, the guy who just knows this one tiny
corner of the world and misses the big picture. I never thought about
it like this before, and typing it it feels really silly, but there
you go. TV gets right under your skin.

PLOK: I recall someone asked you something like if you would be writing a next book after “How To”, and I believe you replied “well, I kind of figured this blog would be the “next” book”…do you intend “Remarkable” as a project, something that could be thought of as belonging to your body of work, rather than just an online hobby plain and simple? Or am I possibly making you sound like a guy with absurdly over-firm intentions and motivations?

GK: Like the thing about outsider status I just tell myself lies so I can sleep at night and then I tell them to other people sometimes when I forget where I am when I get asked a question. I did say that, and that may have been my intention at some point, but now that just seems like a way of appearing to have a plan and staying active when I do not have such a plan. I see the blog as a place where I can do writing and get feedback on whatever it is, and every writer needs that. I guess I see it now as place where I could begin to write a first draft publicly and get feedback and support or whatever, and I keep telling myself I need to start a long term project there — like the New X-Men issue by issue thing, but longer: at one point I wanted to blog about every episode of LOST and then collect it into a book but then the 5th season of LOST was such a letdown. I still think about doing something big and I have a list of ideas and maybe I will do something but I am just sort of waiting for some project to sucker punch me and fucking DEMAND to be written. I believe I am almost there, but I also tell myself that a lot so maybe more lies?

PLOK: Aha, so LOST screwed you over, strangely I feel the same way about “Survivor”…not joking there, I actually feel like it screwed me over, I admired that show for what I imagined it taught me about the secret inner lives of Americans, and I found it incredibly addictive for just as long as I thought it was doing that, but then it seemed like it became determined to wash that stuff right out of its hair, and in something of a hurry too. Not that it was really being made with me in mind, of course…but I still totally sympathize with the wanting for something to come along and punch you in the gut, and then you’re hoping this thing here will but it just kind of fizzles out instead…never follows through…

So what is it, that gut-punching “something” you’re waiting for? I mean obviously one never specifically knows what it is until the gut-punch actually arrives, but is it possible to ready yourself for it, can you kind of feel out its shape by its absence, to know what it probably would have to do with, or how you would recognize it…what you would recognize in it? You mention TV and movies (I carefully leave out God, lest He screw up my question)…so is it something of modernity you’re looking for, something properly and satisfyingly up-to-date, that you don’t see out there, or that you see being only half-formed or half-accomplished? Can’t help thinking of your New X-Men series in this regard: for most superhero fans, a breath of fresh air, a shock, all the while still being comics, so…you know, here’s this weird-looking thing, but it’s still comics, so deal with it, fanboy…!

So is it that you’re looking for another “New X-Men”, another irruption of “see, or also it can be like this too, you guys!” into tired old formulaic mass-media offerings, that reinvigorates them? Or is that you’d just pretty much be happy with anything that punched you in the gut?

How attached are you to the conventional media channels, as a place to look for new poetry or new philosophy?

GK: I am just waiting for the thing to hit me in the gut and I don’t
care what it is in a way, and I don’t think I even GET to care what it
is because it is like a religious thing — it chooses you, you don’t
choose it. It is like asking me what kind of person I might fall in
love with — I can give you a description of my “type” but it is very
possible to end up loving someone who is not your “type” at all. It IS
possible to ready yourself for it and that is all I do with my time
really. To continue on the sex-relationship theme, I remember this
response of Dan Savage to a reader of his column who wrote in and said
he was 15 and a virgin and wanted to know how to get laid. Dan Savage,
and this always stuck with me, told the kid to FORGET about getting
his 15 year old self laid — no one wants to have sex with a pimply
15 year old — and concentrate on getting his 20 year old self laid:
read books, get active in causes, hit the gym, eat right, work on a
good hygiene routine, talk to people so you have good social skills,
listen, etc. This is what I do now waiting for my next subject to
arrive — I exercise so people will not distrust me for being a brain
on a stick, I keep the website up with the help of guest bloggers
because when something comes I need a strong internet presence
(blogger, facebook, twitter etc), I stay organized and get stuff done
at work so I can successfully find the time to do something when it
arrives and so on. And if that something never comes, all that stuff
is not so bad on its own. And I am pretty attached to conventional
media channels for subjects since I don’t want to speak about someone
so obscure no one knows what I am talking about.

PLOK: One of the more resonant remarks from an online friend that I’ve encountered went something like (I am doing some violence to it here, ’cause it’s late) “some people see Star Wars and they get into Kurosawa, get into movies…other people just want some explanation for why the evil Jedi have red lightsabers…” Awful to misquote it this way, but I’m just trying to batten on a point here, which is that I think there’s a legitimate field of fascination in the autopsy of the butterfly; and yet I also firmly believe the thing fans ought to do is, um, “broaden their fandom” — or use it to understand other fandoms…?

Well, maybe I overstate the case by saying I firmly believe it…I mean I guess I don’t sound very “firm” in that belief…

But I’m thinking of how another friend of mine was heavy into those weird little brightly-coloured Japanese vinyl toys for a while, the thick glossy magazines about them, how Japanese rock bands jumped on the “vinyl toy thing” in their promotions…Japan seems to turn up these new faddish fascinations all the time, like rough diamonds, and yet in the West we’re stuck so heavily on the past…I mean, my latest fascination is a ten-year-old sci-fi rap opera, I’m currently boring EVERYONE I know with my complaints that this isn’t a major part of the way we imbibe SF now, as MUSIC…or alternatively, I mean how wrong is it that the best skateboarding movie we got out of the Eighties was “Repo Man” even though there was no actual skateboarding in it, and the skateboarding movie that was mostly about skateboarding from that time was only “Gleaming The Cube”?

I don’t know, is it that we’re just spending so much time getting into why the bad Jedi have red lightsabers, and not enough time looking for more enriching connections that are more external to our fandom?

GK: I think broadening fandom is exactly what folks should be doing.
That is one of the reasons I like the Planetary as it opened. Before
issue one I had never really thought about the relationship between
the golden age comics and the pulps but after that I went out and read
some pulp novels and they were pretty fun. Planetary had this potential
to point comic book fans to all kinds of other things, but it of course
eventually just kind of petered out for whatever reason. I distrust
the hell out of nostalgia. It feels like the shadow of an experience.
I get that it is comforting, and I find stuff like that comforting,
but then I see people who after a while ONLY listen to the music that
was on when they were between 13 and 17 and that is not what I want
for me. Again, for me, it is all about role models, and one of the
reasons I wanted to be a professor was all the professors I knew were
in their 70s and still saw and talked about in class all the most
recent movies or whatever and they seemed more into the current culture
than my parents who were 30 years younger. I have an irrational fear
of cliched roles we can live in and I just don’t want to be the old
guy who doesn’t get kids today or whatnot — and it is not an easy
thing to do as I get into my 30s and now don’t know who the guest
stars ARE on the most recent Simpsons episodes (and who the hell still
watches the Simpsons anyway). That is what is great about influence
and genre and all that stuff that I like so much — everything you see
points you in 10 different directions to both the past and the future
of the genre and medium and other genres and mediums. Follow those
paths and stay young maybe? And just in case it gets too insular too
much of the snake eating its own tail you can always jump to analogous
stuff, as I did comparing poetry to comics.

Looking at these questions like this I get to thinking about PEOPLE
and broadening from watching stuff to talking to folks, or spending
all this time prepping for some imaginary conversation or social
circle or lecture series or something. And I don’t know what to say
about except it is really good that spending time with books and
movies and comics and poetry and music is an end in itself as well as
a means to an end, because even if I never DO anything else ever
again I won’t say that I have wasted my time.

PLOK: How would you describe yourself as a comics aficionado, or indeed as a pop-culture geek in general: more on the passive or random-sampling side, or more the active “passionate consumer” type? Do you think of yourself as a “highbrow” or a “lowbrow” kind of reader of pop culture, or do you think those distinctions are artificial?

GK: As a comics reader I like prestige-pop — genre stuff that comes out rarely, and is always of very high quality (great writing great art accept no fill-in artists) and that gets shut down when the thing needs to be shut down (rather than continuing as a money-making franchise): I like Hellboy and All Star Superman and Casanova and Frank Miller on Batman and so on. I don’t think there is a name for that kind of comic book fan, but that is what I am. I don’t really care about Superman I care about the 12 issues Morrison and Quitely did. (I am a sucker for the X-Men but not enough to get it if there is not a great team on). I will get comics that have EITHER great art or great writing but not both — but that is just a kind of completist thing (like when I got some Bachalo Spiderman issues, or the recent Batwoman JH Williams III run): I never really emotionally invest in those. But now that I think of TV I am even less sure how to answer because I do emotionally invest in stuff I can see it kind of basically dumb (LOST) as well as “highbrow” TV like the Wire (the Wire is highbrow right?) So I guess I am forced to say that the highbrow lowbrow distinction does not do a good job explaining my pop culture consumption habits.

PLOK: In the great big comics “canon”, such as it is (or rather, such as it *isn’t*), who’s a beloved name that you’re really attracted to, and who’s is a beloved name whose work you’ve never really been able to get into?

GK: I love FRANK MILLER really deeply and I am kind of mildly terrified what kind of horrible things that says about me. That is the comics person I have loved the most and the longest and I do not know what to say to people about it exactly, except, as my wife will tell you, I seem to have a kind of sick hero worship of people that are obviously crazy. I was NEVER able to get into Brubaker. I don’t know what I am doing wrong but I have read a bunch of his stuff and it just leaves me cold. I don’t hate it — I just don’t get what people see in it. Ennis either, but that is more a sense of humor thing I think, we don’t share the same kind.

PLOK: That bit about Frank Miller makes me laugh — I recall you mentioned to me that you don’t “get” politics, that you’d be sitting playing the Hulk video game and your friends would walk in and say oh that Geoff, look at him and his “innocently” violent entertainments, ha ha, and you’d be baffled…

Something like that, wasn’t it?

Hmm, so maybe lowbrow/highbrow really doesn’t do a good job of describing your tastes, because I don’t know if that distinction doesn’t require some sort of quasi-political orientation to start with — e.g. “this is the good stuff because X,Y, and Z; and this is the bad stuff because it isn’t X,Y, and Z and therefore by definition it’s anti-good stuff” — even if you’re not coming right out and saying “liking stuff” is a political act (at least not as far as Batman and Superman go), still I think a lot of people struggle with depoliticizing their idea of their taste, at least to the extent that, you know, they’ve got a guilty pleasure or displeasure according to some code or other, and is that okay, etc. etc. etc. And obviously we’re all hoping it will be okay, that we won’t have to change any of our opinions about what kind of person we are, just because we like something JUST BECAUSE we like it…or dislike it for the same reason…so I think I won’t ask you, as I asked the Mindless Ones, how obligated we are to do something with a favourite artist’s politics, whether that something is to care about it or ignore it or what…but maybe I ought to ask you, while I’ve got you here, how you perceive other people’s dance around those political elements, since you seem reasonably immune to them. Are most of us dancing around, saying weirdly-at-odds stuff a lot of the time? Are we all caught up in justifying our tastes to ourselves, slathering this extra stuff all over it, do we look like maybe we don’t believe everything we believe? Not that I’m asking you to pass judgement on other people’s tastes, but from your Frank-lovin’, Ed-not-gettin’ perspective do you ever see groups of fans getting hot with one another over this comic or that comic, and feel like you’re watching a bunch of manifestoes fighting it out over newly-discovered territory? Like, someone trying to deliver a whole boatload of external consistencies, to an experience that you find more simple or more direct?

GK: That Hulk example you remember exactly right. Academics often
come off like that to me: kill joys, telling me the stuff I like is
actually really bad on this political level. Although a lot of time I
actively ignore how bad the stuff is on that level, it is not that I
don’t KNOW it is bad. I know chicken fried steak with cream gravy is
bad for me. Hell: part of what makes it fun to eat is that I KNOW it
is bad for me. It becomes like the warnings on cigarettes, the thought
that people smoke them because they just have not heard they are
unhealthy. I think you are right about that high low culture split
being a political thing – but the politics people tell me there is
nothing outside politics, nothing outside their thing, to which I fire
back that there is nothing outside my thing, aesthetics, which like
them I claim is the umbrella term, politics being only a form of
aesthetics and round and round we go.

Your point about people hoping the thing they enjoy will be ok,
justifying it as ok, is exactly right. But since I am going to
manipulate the results so All Star Batman and Robin the Boy Wonder is
something I can still read why not just skip the justification and
start with the comic book? And as far as following the politics of
artists goes why on Earth would want to do that? I would not take
political advice from Frank Miller any more than I would medical
advice from him. He is a Batman expert so I read him just to watch
what he does with Batman. See, when everyone else was reading Said I
was reading Walter Pater who said that you should never allow any
ideology, even your OWN, to prevent you from enjoying the hell out of
some good work of art. This is a guy who went to church because he
thought the ceremony was really nice looking, so I think he would have
liked a Frank Miller comic. And as for your “boatload of external
consistencies” Emerson and Whitman, two of my favorite writers, were
big fans of contradicting themselves. Enjoying stuff should come
first: “Damn Consistency” was a title Emerson wrote that he wished he
could have used.

PLOK: A pretty good title for a blog, at that. Well, I wish we could keep this going a little longer, myself, but man it’s difficult to cut and paste all this stuff from email, and try to make it look presentable, and besides longer conversations are exactly what we have blogs for, I guess. So thanks a lot, Geoff, it was a blast — although, wow:

Chris In The Morning?

For me it was Fleishman, all the way.

Oh my God, talk about identifying with a crazy person. Thank goodness we did that last question…!

Before our time today was up.

Really enjoyed this; I shall sacrifice a few bottles of beer to the Mindless Ones tonight for instantiating the inter-blogger interview form. In fact I am already well on my way.

…So there I was, Bloggers, just a few months ago: walking down the street, and suddenly I see this little Japanese lady in these giant wraparound shades zooming past me to the west in her old beat-up dark-blue Corolla, and I thought…

“Yoko?”

There was something amazing about it. Here’s this incredibly ubiquitous car, such a commonplace that you see it all around you even when it isn’t there, and you don’t see it when it is — the very automotive version of a Purloined Letter, the best-selling car ever manufactured by the good people at the Fnord Motor Company…anonymity that puts all the black-tinted windows in all the limousines in the world to utter shame.

Anonymity that, frankly, money and fame can’t buy.

So I shook that sight off. For a while.

But then I got curious, and it was then I found myself bouncing off the walls of the bottomless rabbit-hole.

Because Yoko had actually been in town that weekend.

And she had actually been supposed to appear at the UBC campus to the west, for some kind of peace ceremony at (one presumes) our world-famous Museum of Anthropology, at 6 p.m.

I saw the beat-up piece-of-shit Corolla pass me at about 5:45. When I knew as well as I know my own soul: that it contained week-old spent coffee cups, three inches thick of old Georgia Straight newspapers in the footwells of the back seat, broken cassette tapes and meaningless flyers and superfluous keys on the passenger seat.

So it could have been Yoko…

…If only I could figure out how it could’ve been Yoko. And not that there isn’t a lot of philosophical shit here, because there is…

But how did she get into it?

Not that I mind having Yoko in my life…but for God’s sake I always thought that was a forbidden transaction!

I mean what’s next, Ringo’s my postman?

And believe me I will address all these issues before long…but for now…

Let’s just keep it to this.

Suppose it was Yoko.

Here’s how I see it going down: her limousine fails on Mermaid Avenue…sorry I mean Marpole Avenue of course…

…And her driver goes to find a can of gas.

But time’s ticking.

Yoko waits twenty minutes, and she’s getting anxious: this is Yoko Ono as directed by Martin Scorscese in “After Hours”…she hasn’t had sex in years…

Suddenly a kind of beat-up Toyota Corolla screeches to a halt beside her.

“YOKO? YOKO ONO?”

She says, carefully: “Yes.”

“WE’RE SUCH BIG FANS…!”

…

And so it ends up that the Corolla people end up lending Yoko their car…I mean, like Yoko’s gonna steal your Corolla? So it’s totally safe for them, but Yoko has to deal with the shit of driving once again…she honks at people, she wonders when and if it’s okay to yell obscenities…she’s a vibrant woman, but it’s been a long time since she’s driven. She hopes she doesn’t cause an accident. She’s tense. She wishes Sean or even Julian were here…they’d know what to do. John probably would’ve crashed the car by now and gotten out and gotten in a fistfight with the other driver over the wreckage…John stopped driving when he was about eighteen.

Whereas Yoko drove herself ’til about the age of twenty-four.

You can do this, Yoko.

That Peace Pole isn’t gonna bless itself. The universe just wants to know how much you care, is all. This is a test.

Come on, Yoko. Focus.

People are depending on you.

She just follows the car in front of her, carefully keeping two car-lengths. The car in front of her might at any time just plain PLOW into the ocean, and Yoko would follow…well, no one ever said trust was easy.

Trust…trust…

For weeks afterwards I watch the shipping news — see if some profoundly peaceful little old Japanese lady was found with her Corolla wrapped around an anchor…

Well, the universe tests all of us.

And I think it just may have tested me that day.

You know?

More Olympics?

Yes, more:  as even our city’s crappiest paper reports that work is underway to give municipal police forces the power to enter people’s homes and remove offending signs from their windows.

Seriously:  don’t have the Olympics to your town.  They’re a lousy houseguest.

Tonight, Internet, I saw a Visa commercial starring Morgan Freeman’s voice, extolling the nigh-celestial virtues of the magnificent human triumph of spirit that is the Olympics. In it, he suggests that the Olympics — my Olympics, unfortunately — will “bring everyone everywhere together.”

I think that’s what he says.

I could be wrong — just flying off the handle again, as with the Intrawest news. (I made a spelling error or two there as well — will have to go back and correct it…)

But then again, I really don’t think I am wrong, or flying off the handle…

…Because this really has reached the level of brutal self-parody now, hasn’t it? Christ, I feel like I’m watching Bob Roberts — or should that be Touched By An Angel? I mean what is it, this Olympics thing? Tonight I have written, erased, rewritten and re-erased more words than I care to think about, trying to get to The Place Of Okay about Morgan Freeman coming along to stick his thumb in my eye about how much I should be on my knees in REVERENT AWE before the mighty O…and it’s still not working. I told you before about how every asshole with a J-school certificate from the local community colleges around here tried to prove that the Olympics is a democratizing force while the Beijing Olympics were going on…never have so many of the unqualified preached to the converted so self-servingly! And I think I told you, too, about our Attorney-General swearing up and down that every single economist in the world agrees hosting the Olympics is a Good Thing…

What I am saying is: it’s getting very uncomfortable around here. There’s a spirit of coercion in the air.

So where you might see Morgan Freeman collecting a paycheque, what I see is something different.

I see them coming at me again.

Recently, our beloved provincial government allowed as how it might be a good idea to get a law in place that allows the Vancouver Police to take homeless people off the streets in bad weather. And of course, we’re not stupid. But we don’t talk a whole lot about that.

We KNOW where it’s coming from. And I mean know: I mean there’s no doubt. Everybody knows. So nobody says it. Well, who would they say it to? Why would they bother?

Who could they find, who isn’t already 100% aware of it?

The problem is interesting, though: because the short form of the reason why we’ve got so many people living on the street here, is that we’ve systematically removed every other place for them to be. It’s taken, oh, about twenty-five years or so to do it…but we did it, folks! And now the local paper runs fascinatingly pointless series about “How To Fix The Downtown East Side”…because we may be a small city, but we’ve got people shooting up outside the police station, so ha ha take that, Detroit…!

…When of course everyone already knows how to “fix” it, and we don’t talk about that either.

God, I really wish I knew what they do about homeless people and winter in Winnipeg, you know? I mean that place is cold: if you’re sleeping rough in Winnipeg in the winter, you’re in a Jack London story I think…it isn’t notional, it isn’t probable, you’re pretty much going to die. Am I right, Winnipeggers, Winnipegosians, whatever you’re calling yourselves this week?

So, how do you guys deal with it?

In Vancouver, we don’t do much. There are shelters, but not enough of them; I’ve seen people I pretty much knew were going to die from the cold in winter, the needle in summer, and pretty much in jig time too if they didn’t catch some sort of break or other…and I don’t have any idea what happened to most of them…

I figure you guys must do more: sort of like that story about Churchill I heard, about how no one’s allowed to lock their front doors because, fuck, what if someone was walking down the street and ran into a fucking polar bear? If the house nearest to them has locked their front door, they’re dead, end of story, that’s all, lights out. Right?

But, sorry, I guess we weren’t talking about polar bears. We were talking about the Olympics, and how it’s turning my heart to sugar, my soul to rainbows, and my brains to shit…

Or anyway apparently that’s the plan…

Except that another thing everybody knows about, is that the Olympics isn’t really any good for any of the shit they say it’s good for. Oh, don’t get me wrong: I’ll treasure those memories of when I loved watching the Olympics for as long as I live — when I was a kid I thought they were very meaningful, and then even when I got old enough to see that the fruit was more than half-rotten I still liked watching them…I have friends who’ve been Olympic athletes, friends who’ve been Olympic broadcasters, I think the Olympics is a great idea in fact…!

But it’s only as that idea, that it’s any fucking good for anything under the sun anyway. And that idea’s not this one, any longer. It’s pretty plain. I swear, the vague nondenominational piety that Visa and Morgan Freeman squeeze into this thing like the filling into a Twinkie is insulting on religious grounds as well as nutritional ones…any way you slice it, either they’re trying to give you religion you don’t have, or they’re cheapening the religion you’ve got, and you know just as an aside, you know what the Olympics is really, really not? It’s not that WWI story about Christmas and the soccer game with the helmet, and then they all go back to shooting one another. Really, it isn’t that. That’s how they sell it, but that’s not what it is. There’s no divine grace in the Olympics, no miracles, no redemption…well, what would be the point of having the damn thing if there was? There is no piety in the Olympics, it isn’t a fucking church!

Hell, I’m not even religious, man!

Which is why I really resent that in my city, piety about the Olympics is as compulsory as piety in church. Privately nobody believes; publicly everyone has to make a great show. “Bring everyone, everywhere, together”? Jesus Christ, I’ve never heard lying so shameless, Visa And Morgan Freeman! Seriously, how the fuck do you sleep at night?

How is what my provincial government wants to do any different from what the Chinese government wanted to do?

Oh, you better believe we don’t talk about that. We don’t talk about it because everybody already knows. And you may think that sounds like some basic off-the-rack teenage turtleneck denouncing of the Man, if you like…hey, because you’d be right! That is what it sounds like! That’s exactly what it sounds like!

Just, not what it is. Because it isn’t off-the-rack at all, it’s hand-tailored, every thread and stitch of it. And so I’m not writing this to convince anybody of anything they don’t already believe.

No.

I’m only writing this to tell somebody out there, anybody who would like to know, really, or who hasn’t heard…that, Jesus, but you really do feel it, eh? This ground I’m walking over, it’s intensely compromised, I did not expect it to be this way but it really is…it really is. And I’m implicated in it, whether I like it or not. For my city — for other cities it may be different — this is a hell of a testing ground. The Star Tribe is coming to earth here, touching down in my little window on the wilderness just a couple of months from now…and we are not a very big city, we are not a very old city, we are not a very ready city, for this kind of exposure to the world’s bitter, changing winds, and something fairly wicked this way coming. Morgan Freeman and Visa are busy telling me, through their late night ionospheric transmissions, that not only will it be great and good, but it’ll be my ticket to be part of Glory, to be a part of the ennobling of the human spirit…but I swear to God this is already the WORST Hollywood movie of that type that I have EVER SEEN, and in the end I may have to eat it, but I don’t have to smile about it, and I refuse to be softened up about it. And I kind of wonder if the CBC will even bother playing “The Bishops’ Wife” this Christmas…

Because, well…

It’d seem a bit hypocritical, wouldn’t it?

MAN, I’ve always loved the Olympics. Especially the Winter Olympics. But that was before I knew that in order to love it I also had to believe that it will bring everyone, everywhere, together.

And it won’t.  And they shouldn’t say it will.

And I’m really pissed at Morgan Freeman right now.

And I guess that’s my story.

AND THUS I REVISE.

So here’s the thing: somewhat suspiciously in the wake of Natasha Richardson’s tragic accident, Intrawest resorts have made a couple rules about helmets and skiing. To be fair, if these rules had been in place when poor Ms. Richardson had taken that fateful spill, she would not have been covered by them — she quite likely would not have been wearing a helmet, and so she still would’ve died. So, Intrawest says these rules aren’t because of her — but y’know, maybe they partly are. And, I guess, maybe they’re not.

And it really doesn’t matter anyway.

Because here is a thing that we all should know: that most of the mechanisms of control that take the form of “safety regulations” are for our peace of mind, not our peace of body. Essentially, they’re our excuses: and if anybody is interested in reading a great BIG long number of well-reasoned screeds on this very subject, my friend Bentguy gets like Felix Unger with the fettuchini about it on the regular…he’s also famous for calling up his daughter’s school principal and saying “we’re atheists…so if she comes home talking about the Baby Jesus you can expect my Charter rights to be giving you your next prostate exam…”

But if you want the shorter version, here it is: that the only safety precaution that’s ever had a good record is the one called “knowing what you’re doing”. Me, for example: grew up on boats. Grew up on skis, too, for that matter. Recently I conceived the idea of buying a sailboat and living on it (a good rule of thumb is that boats cost about a thousand dollars a foot…except sailboats can easily be found for a tenth that price, because the divorce rate keeps sailboat prices depressed, it may sound a little ugly but it’s a fact of life), and a friend of mine said “well, that sounds kind of dangerous”. I explained to her that she was what Long John Silver would call a landlubber, and so for her it would be very dangerous indeed…but I’m safer in a sailboat than I am in a car, because I grok boats on a deep cellular level.

And I grok skis the same way, but I’m not for one moment prepared to claim that boating and skiing aren’t both dangerous activities, because they absolutely are. They ABSOLUTELY are. But then so is climbing a set of stairs; in fact if you do the actuarial tables you’ll find that stairs are the most dangerous things in the whole universe.

Which is a bit odd: because, shouldn’t cars be the most dangerous things in the universe?

Of course, they should be. And they would be, were it not that we take such incredible care to educate our children in the matter of alertness to cars. Oh, Bloggers, this could easily be a very large and very digressive post, but since I am just fixing something I shat out the other night in a paroxysm of Scotch (other things from that night may not be so fixable), that will all have to wait for a Part Two…and I did promise you the short version, so suffice it to say that the urban environment is a very finely-tuned one, much more finely-tuned than we ordinarily give it credit for…and it requires a lot of attention.

Stairs enjoy their prodigious kill-rate because we don’t pay attention to them, you see.

Well, we can’t pay scrupulous attention to everything all the time, can we? We must have some mental peace now and then anyway…and in our homes we relax our attention, because that’s what our homes are for. And THAT’s when the damn stairs get you!

And yet nothing can be done about it: because we bloody well need stairs, and also we desperately need times and places in which we do not always have to have our attention tuned-up to potential danger.

But of course there are many activities, dangerous activities even, in which we can find such a time and a place, provided we know what we are doing…

…And skiing is one such activity. Boating’s another. Biking’s yet another.

Why?

What’s the difference?

I think, at just a little bit of a stretch, we could perhaps call it Ashby’s Law — you should click that link, by the way — which as Andrew tells us is all about having more available options, than the total number of things that can possibly go wrong. Now here is a funny thing about sailing, that perhaps explains its extreme historical efficacy: when the boat is under sail, there is really just a handful of things that can go wrong. And by God you can feel it, too: one of the great things about sailing is that it’s tremendously uncomplicated. I mean, so long as you know the things you’re supposed to know, so long as you’ve got the requisite skills, knowledge, and experience, then if you’ve got some wind in the sail YOU ARE GOOD…and what’s more you can know, with sure knowledge, at any given moment how good you are. And this “stability of mode” is where you find your relaxation, I believe — well, it really is no joke, even though it’s what people write crappy essays about on the back page of the Globe and Mail! You feel connected, independent, and capable. All kinds of things — ALL kinds of things! — get less abstract-feeling, and more real. Sailing is really very simple.

So is biking.

And so is skiing.

Well, skiing may be best of all, because there’s only about half-a-dozen total things that can go wrong, and unless two or three of them go wrong at the same time you can always move fast enough to put the other three behind you in a hurry. In sailing I intuit that there’s a critical threshold of things going wrong that is rarely but easily (if that makes any sense) reached, after which you’re basically throwing a Hail Mary. And if you can’t get wind in the sail at all…well, that’s what half the things that can go wrong are made possible by in the first place, that the worst thing that can happen to you is losing the ability to navigate. Engines solve the no-wind problem, for example, but then again having an engine on board magnifies the number of things that can possibly go wrong by about a factor of three.

Hey, I didn’t say it was a loose handful…

And yet it’s still a small system, so the addition of one more element to it is sufficient to deal with the engine-related problems. I speak here of the dinghy…

And of mathematics. Oops, sorry we’re going into a digression after all! Here is the rule of how to tell if you’re having a small gathering of close friends, or a party.

Three is a gathering of close friends.

Four’s a party.

But it’s a small party, and so it’s the best party.

Here’s how it works (I got this, not from any orthodox source like Stephen Leacock or my math teacher, but from Crazy Bucky Fuller): when you measure how many pairs that can be extracted from a certain number of…let’s say people in a living room…you find that if you have only a single person you have NO pairs, when you have two people you have ONE pair, and when you have three people you have THREE pairs.

But when you have four people you have SIX pairs.

Meaning that with the addition of one other person, the number of pairs DOUBLES.

It never happens again. Add another person to the living room and the number of pairs still increases, but it never DOUBLES again. Between the numbers three and four lies a huge leap into emergent complexity…but there’s just one leap. There’s just one opportunity to get MANY more options, than you had before.

And I said it was just an intuition. It is; I can’t prove it represents a cybernetic principle saying, perhaps, “up to a certain point you can increase your options vs. your circumstantial possibilities, but after a certain point that benefit of making the system bigger will at least decrease”…but, look, towing a dinghy’s just a good idea, okay?

But I guess the point is: there is NOTHING in this world that isn’t dangerous. HELMETS are dangerous. People don’t want to believe it, but it’s true: Jesus Christ, you really have to know what you’re about, when you’re messing with a helmet! Because they’re not magic, for God’s sake…!

They’re devices.

Warren Ellis had a great line, in Planetary: “a virus is just an instruction the operator doesn’t want.” How often I have reflected on his wise words, when one of my files has gotten itself deleted! Of course it didn’t “get itself” deleted at all…it’s just that the operator (me) was unfortunately insufficiently skilled to be in complete control of the machine.

The operator’s instruction, in other words, was the instruction the operator didn’t want.

The operator was the virus.

God, you can kill yourself gluing a piece of wood to another piece of wood (believe me)! Parents, teach your children.

And, perhaps more importantly: parents, determine whether a given safety feature or regulation will cause them to learn less. The human person is the best spellchecker, emergency warning system, online resource, heuristic algorithm…the best guesser, too. We’re the hidden source of order that brings the success rate (or survival rate) of our activities up over 50/50. Smart kids, skilled kids, mindful kids…those are safe kids.

Do I get close to it, Matthew?

On the water, I’ve been in a dire situation something like (I estimate) sixty times. Learning experiences, all — surviving number 10 meant I knew how to survive number 59. And I always did survive, because I was well-taught.

Control isn’t the answer.

(goes into Zen-master mode)

[SUDDEN CLAP!]

CONTROL IS AN ILLUSION!

(dives into water)

Hey folks: think I found the best one.

“Well if this happens and is successful, then this Kirby guy can go suck on an egg for pulling this money grubbing bitch move. Personally, maybe its time for Marvel and DC to create new heros and throw the problem ones away for good with the suing families. Its time for change.”

Strangely, I couldn’t agree more — kind of — with the latter sentiment. By all means, let’s have Marvel and DC throw the problem heroes away with the suing families, and create new ones to replace them. LET’S SEE THAT. Oh my God, I’d buy those comics. What do you suppose they’d be like? “Successful Business-Man and his sidekick Loving Father, in final combat with the evil Starbuck Nosering and her Unsuitable Boyfriends!” I rather think her power may be to make Bad Decisions, don’t you? My God, it’s be like “B-12″ all over again (and I still solemnly promise you, that episode’s worth seeing…the most bizarrely satisfying hour of bad TV I have ever endured), just raw, raw, bloody-handed thoughtless self-exposure, pure mortification with red-white-and-blue diapers on it, mess splattered all over the bed for everyone to see. IT WOULD BE WORTH A FORTUNE IN A WEEK, if you could hide it from the helicopters that long. I mean, I think I know a little something about embarrassment; but I’ve never until this day imagined embarrassment at quite that earth-shattering, dare I say cosmic, level. Rarer than anti-hydrogen, more cancerous than plutonium…like a huge unknown galaxy, slowly and majestically spinning in the endless night, made entirely from cat-shit.

Do you ever yearn, nameless message-board commenter?

I never did.

But then — I confess it! — I saw the light.

The light at the end of comics.

Guys, Matthew’s beaten you (and Grant Morrison) to the punch, in his typically Matthewish way…I remember back when I was doing the “What Comics Blog Are You” v.1, one of the questions was “are you all about the superheroes?”, and Matthew’s answer was something a lot like

“YOU HAVE GOT IT DAMN STRAIGHT THAT I AM ALL ABOUT THE SUPERHEROES, BUDDY…!”

I have since concluded that there is sometimes an unusual amount of clarity to be found in that position, and I think Matthew demonstrates that again here.  Matthew, I think you better read “The Pact!”, though.  In fact I’d be very interested to see you review the Fourth World, and besides the way they reprinted them is worth the price of admission alone.  Anyone else want to hear what Matthew thinks about Vykin The Black, or Big Bear, or Billion-Dollar Bates?

Matthew, do we gotta take up a collection plate?!