"Those who can, do. Those who can’t, bitch about it on the Internet." -Simon, from The Book of Simon
Some bios list credentials, such as: Education BFA in Illustration, Massachusetts College of Art Occupation Former Production Slave, Ballantine Books Comics Credits Columnist, Writer, Artist, Editor Etc…
And some bios tell a story, such as: I can remember sitting in front of my television one morning, watching the old Batman show, when Julie Newmar appeared in that skintight black leather outfit as Catwoman. It was my first boy/girl thing. >A year later I was in kindergarten telling Katherine Burke that I loved her. It’s pretty much been a string of stupid mistakes ever since…
Still other bios state an intent, such as: This is a series of essays illustrating the life of one particular struggling artist as he plods through the world and occasionally bumps into some interesting shit.
But most bios just sit to the right of the column and are never looked at. So ignore this space and just read the damn column already…
As I’ve mentioned before in this column, the idea of having kids is something that scares the shit out of my ass. But recently I’ve been thinking about it from an angle other than my own selfishness. Like some people I can’t imagine bringing a kid into today’s world. And it’s not because of some global terrorism or the ruin of our environment. What really scares me is that my kid would one day have to go to school. Not because I think he or she would end up on drugs or suffer a poor education. No, if the kid was anything like me and had to face the school society of the future they’d probably end up with a gun in their hand. And I wouldn’t blame them.
I’m A Loser Baby, So Why Don’t You Kill Me Sunday night I was watching the Showtime movie Bang Bang, You’re Dead, based on the stage play of the same name. Ignoring the fact that it casts Ben Foster, the worst actor of this new generation of teen thespians, it was actually a pretty powerful film. Yes, it was manipulative and obvious, but it was also nice to see it address things from an angle that you don’t always see. It was followed by a panel discussion that, naturally, completely ruined any progress the movie might have made toward a viable dialogue.
The problem is, of course, school shootings. Funny that no one really talks about them as much anymore. The media has moved on to it’s next frenzy, shark attacks or child abductions, whatever the soup du jour happens to be. But the fact that shark attacks and kid swipings have actually been on a steady decline should be proof enough that step one is to ignore the media. If it bleeds it leads. Which is why I can’t be bothered to watch a nightly newscast that considers Justin Timberlake dating Alyssa Milano, tragedy though it may be, real news.
Watching the movie I sat there thinking, finally they’ve shown the real source of the problem. It’s not just disaffection and isolation or bad parenting. What it really comes down to is bullying. The movie showed an inkling of the sadistic things that kids do to each other. For once the problem wasn’t blamed on Marilyn Manson or Eminem. It was the captain of the football team. Finally some reality.
Then they switched to the panel discussion and it became all about the parents. America is a society so consumed by ego and self-image that the natural response to any problem is to blame yourself or to think you can solve it. But here’s a clue; it’s not all about you. Yes, it would be nice if we had better parents, one’s who could spend more time with their kids. But that’s only a small part of the puzzle. Teenagers are always going to feel isolated from their parents. That’s part of growing up. And no matter how much interest you show and how much you try to be their buddy, you will never fully be allowed into your kid’s world.
So, if sitting down at the dinner table to share the day’s stories with your kids isn’t the solution, what is? And the answer is physics. I don’t want to oversimplify a complex problem, but for every action there is an equal and opposite reaction. Don’t try and save the kids at risk, create a society where they aren’t at risk to begin with. The one useful fact that was brought up in the film and glossed over in the panel discussion was that bullying has drastically increased in frequency and severity over the last ten years. Maybe if we got rid of the bullies we wouldn’t have kids shooting the head cheerleader at lunch. Take away the action and there’s no reaction. But that would mean destroying the Cult of Beauty. And America doesn’t want that.
Happiness Is A Warm Gun Over sixty percent of Americans are overweight. Yet, turn on the television and you’ll have to do some serious searching to a find any plus sizes represented. Our top rated television show is Friends; six skinny, beautiful people living in huge New York apartments safe from crime and black people. MTV’s The Real World is now set in a Las Vegas hotel where the people have the job of planning parties.
And it’s not just what we see on our screen. Every year funding for school arts programs is being cut, while football and hockey continue apace. The year after I graduated from high school the photography elective was eliminated in my school. While I was still there we had trouble scrounging up the cash to get the rights for a school musical and students had to provide their own lined paper for essay tests. But the hockey team got to go to Montreal for a long weekend and sneak into strip clubs.
Our priorities are seriously out of whack. Our society has become so much about being cool and beautiful and conformist that we actually blame the outsiders for not wanting to join the party. If a kid would rather listen to Slipknot than O-Town then he’s obviously a problem and needs to be ridiculed. It’s only once he’s had enough and one of the pretty people is covered in blood that we pay attention to him. That sound coming from the gun isn’t a bullet firing. It’s a kid screaming the only way you’ll listen, "I’m a person too."
I played football and basketball briefly when I was younger because it was the only way my dad would have something to talk to me about. After a game, as my arm ached from being tackled, as I wondered why any intelligent lifeform would subject themselves to such pain, my dad would go on and on about the game and what it was like when he played. He talked to me. But when I was Pollonius in a college production of Hamlet all he could say was, "I don’t get this theater stuff."
So, yes, I had my family issues. There was shit there because my father couldn’t relate to me. In the beginning I made somewhat of an effort to be what he wanted. Once I decided to be my own person that tenuous connection was forever broken. But you know what, I dealt with it. It hurt some, but it was just one thing. Moreover it made me feel better to be who I wanted instead of struggling to achieve his image of who I should be. It didn’t push me over the edge. No, what really fucked me up was going to school everyday. I haven’t spoken to my father in three years and it rarely ever bothers me. But I’m eight years out of college and the mindfuck that place did on me still affects my daily life.
I spent the first two years of high school and six years before that trying to be accepted by the popular crowd. My Sophomore year I sat through every lunch as Nils Weeks spat and drooled food on me in front of everyone. Stand up for myself? But he was the star of the football team and I was the class clown. First I’d get my ass kicked and then I’d get blamed, because it could never be his fault. So I sat there and let him dribble Ring Ding bits out of his mouth and onto my shirt.
Junior year I sat in English class as Gary Prescott jabbed pencils into my back, repeatedly asking, "Dude, does that hurt?" while blood trickled out of the tiny puncture wounds. Tell the teacher? Are you serious? Gary was known amongst the students as a crazy fighter who wouldn’t let up until you were pulped. No way was I going to risk that because I tattled on him. Just endure the pain and hope he gets bored. Of course, he never did.
There were plenty of other stories like that. And that was eight years ago. If bullying has gotten worse since then I can’t even imagine what a kid like me would have to deal with everyday. I’ll admit it. I sympathize with the shooters. I applaud them. When I was their age it never occurred to me to get a gun, probably because I didn’t have access to one or know how to get one. But I know I spent a lot of time with my friend Steve concocting vicious, elaborate revenge scenarios. If we’d had the resources or pushed just a small bit further then maybe we would have been just like those kids in Columbine. Hell, we already had the trenchcoats.
You’re never going to eliminate bullies. One argument is that all kids get teased. And that’s true. Life needs a certain degree of pain and suffering to make you a stronger person. But there should be a line. And it seems like this country is allowing that line to get pushed further and further back as we allow the pretty and the popular to take command. And according to statistics, the beautiful people are in the minority. So much for democracy. But then, this is a country that has a president who didn’t win the election taking us into a war we don’t want. Maybe I’ll move to Canada.
From The Monkey House a/k/a Simon Wouldn’t do it over again for anything
The Random: Went shopping for clothes last week at H&M. The men’s underwear section has become predominately thong. Is this our future? Even more reason for me not to have a son.
