Friday, March 16, 2012

i WISH i was in dixie...

War On Racism starts today: The Lohan-Diggs Initiative. Find somebody of a different hue you’d love to see naked (or, if you feel ready for universal love, shag till your spinal column snaps), then keep that image in mind as you encounter said hue(s) in real life. Note: those of you who are virulent racists may keep photos in your pockets for review.

Since racism tends to be fueled by self-hatred I’d like to take a moment to tell the Deep South: It’s OK. We know you actually love us. Everybody loves black folks. We remind you of Snickers Bars, what’s not to love? We know you know slavery was not cool. Not cool at all. Short sighted planning on the management’s part, we get that, we’ve all been there. I’d grease up my big, black Mandingo chest and hug every one of ya if I could. Let go the guilt, let go the ancestral shame. Cast aside that reactionary Safety Mechanism O’ Doom and join us.

Take my hand, Deep South. Let me take you to Love Land. Clarence, and I’m a Scorpio…

Let me float this by you: after a while you won’t be able to breed any more pig-eyed, sphincter-tight progeny willing to carry your psychosis forward. Gotta be blunt here, brothers: you’re obsolete. Even Racism 2.O is an obviously detectable virus; hell, even Norton Anti-Virus blocks it, and we know Norton ain’t for shit. Your numbers are dwindling. Your kids are learning Spanglish. Your oldest son’s got a black girlfriend. So’s your oldest daughter, and when she and Vanessa get married they plan to adopt an Asian child (still hot on the market). So I ask, what does it profit you to sell “2012: Don’t Re-Nig” bumper stickers (kudos on the wordplay, by the way), or introduce legislation that you know will disproportionately target the poor and historically disenfranchised without offering viable alternatives?

Nobody, not even Sarah Palin, is stupid because they want to be. Not deep down. But human beings are Cling-Ons, holding to whatever scrap bumps against them when they feel they’re floating in perilous waters. When they feel threatened. But you’re holding onto a false assumption. We’re not after your jobs (yeah we are), your women (yeah we are), or the America you want to take back (Kraft Mac-n-Cheese uses Rap in their jingles; you’ve already lost, son)— these things are not yours to own in the first place. This ain’t a game of marbles where you can just gather yours up and go home. We earn the jobs same as you. “Your” women are not possessions to direct (that’s a big one to get through your heads, so we’ll wait). When you’re a kid and you know you’ve done wrong you do one of two things: Blame somebody else, or punch your little brother. Ever since 1863 a segment of this nation’s been blaming the blacks, the browns, the reds, the yellows, and the effete Northern sympathizers for absolutely nothing. Oh, they’re blaming them…but have no idea for precisely what. Shame, brothers, makes the mind foolish. Keeps you stupid and unpopular. The Lohan-Diggs Initiative will grow you up fast if you let it.

We’re not kids anymore. If someone wants to indoctrinate you in stupidity, shake it off. That’s what growing up means. “When I was a child I behaved as a child. When I became a man I cast off childish things.”

Grow the hell up, my peoples. The Lohan-Diggs Initiative ain’t PG-13.

Tuesday, March 13, 2012

The Stoopid People

I’m one of the stupid people. Set up: I’m brushing my teeth. There’s a candle lit. The Wife loves candles, but this one’s strong enough to kill insects. So I flash-decide to blow it out. I lean over and do so. Using a mouth full of toothpaste. Damn.

I’m one of the stupid people. My brothers and I – well, we were young lads at the time but still old enough to know the particulars of gasoline— we’re home alone for a spot one afternoon. We notice that water’s gotten all over the top of the gas can Daddy kept in a leaky storage cabinet off the kitchen. Mind you, the can itself is sealed watertight. Dinged and bent metal can. We’ve heard our father cuss about water in his gas tank enough times to know that bad gas is not a joke; apparently one drop of water could kill a station wagon, so we decide to test the gas by pouring a bit into a saucer (in the kitchen sink, mind you— safety first, science second; the opened can was at least a good 12 inches away). Once in the saucer. . .we drop a match on it. Explosions galore. Flame whooshes up to sear the paint off the upper sink cabinet, older brother snatches the can away from the ignition point, making sure to liberally sprinkle us younger ones, next older bro manages to slap the faucet on while we’re all gonna die, the 2 youngest have now flown so fast out of the kitchen that they met their younger selves. In the midst of all this I achieved a higher state of being and remember thinking in capital letters well before internet communication, OH. SHIT.

Fire got put out. Cabinetry was smoky and fucked. Mama and Daddy would be home twenty minutes, tops. We boys were smoky and fucked. No amount of painting, cleaning, airing out the kitchen, and knowing their babies were alive and well would cover the fact we’d potentially burned the kitchen down. Our being fucked was reinforced by my oldest brother (he might have been 16 at the time) waiting till after we’d finished the immediate clean up to say, “Yep, that gas was still good.” Damn.

As one of the stupid people I feel compelled to apologize for all the idiocy you’ve faced today. It was surely a lot. There was the dumbass that waited to put his left turn signal on until the light turned green, effectively trapping you behind him. There was the kid who thought it’d be manly to shatter a glass bottle in front of your house while you weren’t home. Then that woman, the way she called your phone all pissy and indignant about the level of service your company provided. If only she’d dialed the right number. I feel you. I feel responsible. How can I stop your pain?

Watch this. It’ll do.

The Most Astounding Fact from Max Schlickenmeyer on Vimeo.

Saturday, March 3, 2012

The Avengers

There is cool, and then there is the Heavenly Host sitting in primo seats waiting for the lights to go down. Some folks don’t realize that all human evolution was designed to bring us to this point: an “Avengers” movie (Marvel Comics, not Ms. Peele), written by someone who can write, directed by someone who can direct, and crewed by people who get it.

Put on some Depends then watch this preview.

People misunderstand superhero comics. It ain’t about testosterone, tights n tits. It’s about possibilities. Fire up a kid’s imagination and you create a small god. Even as a kid I knew grown folks with superpowers beating each other to high hell was goofy. I didn’t read comics for the fights (well, sometimes; Hulk versus Thor was always good for leveling a few mountains, and Wolverine versus Wendigo: classic), I read comics for the What If factor of life. What if there was a being who consumed planetary energy for food? What if you had the Power Cosmic? What if a person could develop a cool armored suit and defend those who needed defending? Who would these people be on the inside, and how could they teach me to be me? Myths, my friends. Spiderman, Hulk, Batman, Valkyrie, Storm, Jean Gray, Moira McTaggert having to hunt her own son—these were the stories that fired the imagination. They created a small god.

Me. Hey there.

You’re able to read this via an astounding web because of small gods. You’re able to keep in touch with hundreds of people around the world while you’re at work because of small gods. You’re able to watch television at a bus stop, make love to your significant other without touching them, and travel at speeds faster than a speeding bullet because of small gods. Evolution rides on technology, be it genetic or mechanical. As kids, we left comic shops with brown bags full of wonder and we asked ourselves, ‘What if this was real?’ I would have pushed my brother in front of a bus just to see Spiderman swing down and save him. I would have died from the utter cool of it.

And the Avengers are the ultimate cool. The Avengers wasn’t the best comic. They couldn’t touch the X-Men for sheer power of story line. Didn’t have Spiderman’s universal appeal. What they had was star power. They were the cool kids all gathered at the cool table being cool as shit but cool about it. Not douche cool. Captain America. Iron Man. The Hulk. Thor. The Vision. The Wasp. Scarlet Witch. Their roster changed all the time, but just seeing Captain America, Iron Man and Thor in the same comic? Hellz yeah. And they all had each other’s backs. In a fight they were a well-oiled machine, playing off one another’s strengths. Watch that preview again, a little more glee pee won’t hurt you. The scene where the Hulk catches Iron Man before shell head plows into a building? That’s the Avengers. When Iron Man rounds another building and tells his team he’s bringing the party to them, while the Midgard Serpent is hot on his heels? You just know that there are some heroes about to do what needs be done no matter what. This movie looks like what my imagination used to conjure up back in the day. This movie just might be the first and last true superhero movie. This movie, my friends, is what the Mayans had circled on their calendar. When you go see it I’m sure there’ll be a few Mayans buying popcorn.

Save a seat for me at the back of the theater. I’ll be the kid grinning ear to ear.