So: I came to a conclusion in the days leading up to the election--maybe a week before election night. Not a particularly profound conclusion, but it totally made me re-evaluate my opinion of two prominent personalities.

Mitt Romney is the politician version of Lana Del Ray.

They are both super-rich old-money automatons playing a part to appeal to as many dumb people as possible. Both get--or did get (in Romney's case)--a lot of flack for playing their parts awkwardly. For Lana Del Ray, no one knew if she was being serious or not. Her "art," to say the least, is a hackneyed regurgitation of everything that appeals to lonely 14 year-old girls with Tumblr accounts. Whether she intends to or not, her inability to really sell her hipster pop-star persona--the unoriginal themes in her lyrics, the matter-of-fact crudeness of her presentation--is what makes her such a brilliant deconstruction of everything that the hipster movement has become.

For Romney, it was pretending to be a regular "middle-class" joe and saying things that legitimate middle class people like to hear. For instance, saying he was going to crack down on tax dodgers and rich people who take advantage of offshore loopholes, when that's exactly how he made his millions--well, that an disenfranchising the working class he so adamantly pretended to rally behind.

The humor, in both cases, stems from these two people trying and failing to appear--not normal, but "natural" in the identity they (and likely a team of individuals) crafted for themselves. That is: it would be funny if everyone could see that it's funny. But, alas, Mitt Romney still got a good chunk of the popular and electoral vote and Lana Del Ray still makes money off of...whatever it is she's doing.

I feel kind of bad picking on Del Ray and Mittens, because I kind of admire what they're doing. It all goes back to that one quote, which I'm going to paraphrase because I'm too lazy to look it up: No one ever lost money by underestimating the intelligence of the American people. As apparent, as depressingly obvious as it seems to me, that Mittens and Del Ray aren't the people they play on TV, a substantial number of Americans really do think they are the people they claim to be. Like I said before: Mittens still got a substantial number of votes. And Del Ray is making sweet sweet bread off of her...uh...that thing she does.

It's cynical and perhaps exploitative, but I love it. Both figures are making a name for themselves--never mind the money--by saying exactly what people want to hear. They don't even have to sound sincere or look sincere in their presentation. For Mitt, all he has to do is say "America" a bunch of times, call Obama a "socialist" and say that he cares about the working class and poor. (Which, by the way, did you hear how he says "poor"--it sounds like something he had to consciously work on because, in private, he says it with a cynical sneer as he counts the millions he made off of those "dupes"). A record number of people tuned in to the debates. They saw Mitt's million-dollar Mr. Burns smile. They heard the way he referred to women as things that could be kept in a binder. They heard him say he wanted to cut funding to PBS--America's last truly objective news source who has to be objective because of the funding they get. And they STILL VOTED FOR HIM!

Same with Del Ray. Without doing any actual research, I know that she comes from money. Sure, she lived in a trailer, as she claims. But it wasn't because she couldn't afford to not live in a trailer. It was just her play-pretending to be poor, because...dude, being poor looks like so much fun. And I also know that she previously tried to make it as a "pop" star--with a totally different marketing strategy and image. And because I know these things (not being a fan of Del Ray's), I know that her fans must know these things. They know that she sometimes sings in a reaching-for-sultry-but-sounding-like-a-trans-woman-post-male-hormone-therapy Brooklyn accent, but she doesn't talk that way: and they don't care. And...to tell you the truth. I don't know that I care either. Because, whether or not she is truly doing this for her art, and whether or not she truly has no identity (or maybe just one that we don't see), she is at least projecting back to us--the normal people--who she thinks we are and what we apparently care about. Her and Mittens are basically well-polished E.T.'s holding up a mirror--and we like what we see so much we don't care who's holding the mirror. (Brilliant metaphor, I know).

So, what does this mean in terms of how we accept and define identity as a culture? I don't know. I don't think I have the mind to understand it. In the post-times-infinity-modern era, irony is no longer ironic and everyone is who they aren't, so it's hard to get a good reading on anyone.It's enough to make anyone feel autistic. Granted, politicians are notorious for saying what people want to hear. And part of being a performer is "performing." But now I think it's become acceptable to be who you're not and let who you pretend to be define you and not worry about playing the part convincingly.

not title

I have a horrible tendency to binge-devour content. Pop-culture content. Informational content. Any and all types of content. I am eternally prowling for my next fix--looking for a certain emotional, intellectual or some other kind of response. The trouble, though, is that I feel like I do nothing with this content. Once I see something new, I discard it as "already seen," so that I'm not applying it to anything.

And the thing is: I can't go back and re-experience that stuff. It loses its appeal the second I see it or experience it for the first time. So, in effect, it feels like I'm constantly overwhelming myself with new information but none of it sticks. I am and will always be, it seems, who I was or who I am essentially--before exposure to the content. I think in the same way, I choose words from the same mental wordbank. I'm seeing all this new stuff, reading new books, articles, watching new movies, listening to new music but it's impact is almost always temporary.

I'd like to be one of those people who is able to take every little bit of whatever kind of information, commit it to memory and still feel inspired by it later.

I don't know why I'm stuck in this pattern where I'm constantly chasing the "new." The things I like--whether its art or books or movies--are almost always regurgitations of information I'm already aware of. This ties in to all those cliches you hear about art or poetry--that the really good stuff is just the old stuff reconfigured. I don't lack the ability to look at things I'm already aware of in new and interesting ways. My problem is that I'm constantly searching for new and interesting things--things I've never seen before or experienced.

There are so many experiences to have, I know it's naive of me to think I've "seen everything." Because I haven't. But I'm old enough now, I feel, to have experienced most things and to know that any new sensations are just combinations and variations on things I've experienced before.

the dread subsides

There are two women talking over each other. One, the older one, dominates. Her voice cuts through stronger. The older one is talking about a commercial everyone has seen like no one has seen it. "Remember that commercial?" The younger woman pretends, for whatever reason, that she is only somewhat familiar with the commercial. "Oh, yeah!" The younger woman is being interviewed by the older woman for a job interview. She is sitting with her arms folded on the table. Back straight. Sitting up with good posture. The older woman is talking about anything and everything, treating the younger woman like an old friend. The younger woman plays along because she doesn't know if the casual nature of this conversation means she has the job or if the older woman is just the type of person who talks because she can't help herself.

I've never seen the younger woman outside of this one occasion, but I can tell she doesn't dress this nice all the time--that is: I can tell she dressed up extra special for this interview. The older woman is dressed nice, too--but it looks natural on her, like a second skin.

There is a book somewhere--several books--I'm certain--documenting not only appropriate interview behavior but the natural tendency in humans to defer when they want someone--an employer--to give them what they want--a job. The younger woman is a living, breathing real-life manifestation of the pages of this book. She agrees automatically with everything the older woman says:

"I know!"
"Yes!"
"Exactly!"
"Oh, I'm the same way!"

It must feel good to always agree with someone--to do it automatically, without thinking--without the peskiness of trying to defend your threadbare ego all the time--when agreeing means a betrayal of something essential--a core belief or conviction--that you cling to because, in some way, it dictates who you are.

Generation Why Bother?

I began watching the movie Submarine today. I made it to the twenty minute mark before I decided I was wasting my time. Maybe my reasons for not liking the movie are too personal. I'm sure it's a fine film. But to me: it was painfully obvious that the director/writer (whoever I can point the finger at) was attempting to recreate The Royal Tenenbaums and Harold and Maude without actually offering anything interesting or new.

I understand that, to an extent, everything--every creative work--is a re-hashing and that nothing is truly original. But: I think the problem with my generation is that we refuse to think for ourselves--to find our own voice. Which is why there's such a disgusting proliferation of bad-on-purpsose movies and remakes and B-movies released by A-movie studios made to look like B-movies. I mean I get it. I understand that a lot of these movies are homages: but I don't think an homage alone really means anything. The only thing these movies (and this extends into music and other forms of art right now) are saying, really: is that the people involved really liked how someone did what they're trying to do. And that's not enough to make a compelling product.

I think I first noticed this phenomenon when I saw the movie Super 8, which I knew going into it was a deliberate homage to Steven Spielberg movies from the eighties. What I didn't know going into it, however, was that that was all it was--and nothing more. An homage for the sake of creating an homage. An imperfect mirroring--nostalgia for the sake of nostalgia. The movie succeeded in looking like a Steven Spielberg movie from the eighties. The storyline was similar. There direction was similar. But the movie failed to engage me because it simply was not a compelling film.

I feel the same thing happened with Submarine. If you'd never read the Catcher in the Rye or seen Harold and Maude or watched a Wes Anderson movie: you might think it's an ok movie. But if you've experienced any of the aforementioned things, then I don't see how you couldn't find the movie irritating beyond comprehension.

I have no problem (at least I don't think I do) with creative people wearing their influences on their sleevs. But if that's the only thing they're wearing: then they're naked and I can see them for the uninspired look-at-me hack that they are. And I think that's fair ground to dismiss thier work.

In music: I've noticed a lot of throwback artists. And this is something I started noticing before I noticed it in movies. The point being: it's everywhere now. No one wants to try to say something in a new or unique way. Everyone wants to be super-aware of what they're doing. There is so much pretense in art right now: and that's not a word I throw around just to throw around. Frankly, I don't have the stomach for it.

The thing that makes people watch bad movies (vs. bad-on-purpose movies) like the Room is that those movies had no idea at the time that they were bad. Therefore: they're funny. But when you try to make something bad on purpose or something that looks like something else from a different culture-specific or time-specific context, it just strikes me (and maybe it is just me) as disengenuous. There's no doubt in my mind that what these people are creating is genuine: that they either love or ironically love whatever it is they're referencing, but that doesn't matter because they will never be able to create the original thing again. And they know that: so why do they even bother?

In our current throwback culture, this phenomenon manifests itself in two ways: there are of course the explicit remakes. Then: there are the homage pieces. But it seems like little else is being produced.

I just hate that this is how my generation is going to be remembered culturally: as the generation that couldn't think for themselves. The generation that deliberately defined itself by the way other generations defined themselves. A facsimile generation of twee garbage.

Bottom line: I like a good impersonation as much as the next person. There's an art to recreating a certain mood. A certain atmosphere. A style. But it's not an art that has ever been (until now) taken seriously. When I think of the worst comedians: I often think of the comedians who can only do impressions. Sure, it's a talent. But is it really any more valuable than, say, being able to tie a cherry stem with your tongue or some other natural talent? Why not take advantage of that talent--apply some actual thought to what you're doing--and create something else--something insightful, something honest, human and unique. The only thing honest or human about homages are that they signify on one level that the creative people in charge like something. And...so what? I like stuff, too. I like the Shining. Say I did a shot-for-shot remake of the Shining. Nay. I'll take it one step further: Say the Shining was a painting and I was able to recreate a photo-quality reproduction of that painting. What is the merit in that? Is it enough to make it worth anything. Would anyone pay to see my painting of the Shining vs. the original? Maybe. I don't know. Like I said: mimicry is a talent whose appeal extends only so far. There is little depth to mimicry--to recreating something. And, I imagine, the reason impressionists and the like are never celebrated for too long--are never remembered--is because people see it for what it is: a talent. Nothing more. Someone who is able to take one thing and do it again.

So. I don't know. I like Harold and Maude. I like the Royal Tenenbaums. I like Catcher in the Rye. But those things are all good enough on their own. They don't need to be recreated. They don't need to be rehashed--and rehashed so transparently. But they do get continuously rehashed. Perks of A Wallfower, anyone? I understand why. But I'm sick of people praising these deliberate re-hashing and I refuse to jump on board with the rest of my generation and celebrate things that I've seen done better (or worse, because they were bad on accident) before.

I don’t know why I’ve lately felt so unable to express myself. These little flare-ups happen in regular cycles—about once a month now. And I can usually work through them. Or: they go away. But this one has been the most prolonged. And it hasn’t been limited to expressing myself in writing or being able to articulate my thoughts when I have the time to actually think about how I feel. I can’t express myself verbally either. Or: at least, I don’t think I can.

Is it really all in my head?

I think I psych myself out by over-thinking it: what I intend to say. I can’t just commit to any one opinion. And I’m not one of those people who can just open up their mouth and the words come gushing out. I don’t know how they do it. They make it seem so effortless. It’s not that what they’re saying is profound: or anything I haven’t thought of before. They just always have something to say. It doesn’t matter what they’re responding to. They respond so quickly with a neat little aphorism or candid joke.

My problem is that I have to know exactly what I want to say before I say it. I have to check what I want to say against itself to make sure that what I want to say sounds good. There are times when I can talk somewhat freely—when I don’t feel the intense pressure I normally feel to say something funny or witty or smart. But those instances are very rare.

I used to be able to locate all that nervous energy (not knowing where the conversation would go or how the other person would respond or react to what I would say) but I no longer feel that confident in myself.

This is going to get worse before it gets better. I need a distraction.

I once heard a definition of fashion (or maybe I made it up, I don't know) as seeing how much you can dress like a kindergartner and get away with it. For the most part: I think this is true. But I was thinking about it today, just before slipping into a nap, with tumblr-images of vice-type fashionistas running through my head, and it occurred to me that a lot of what passes as fashionable today mirrors the distinct apparel of retarded people. In fact: it's the one guarantee in fashion: when in doubt, dress like a retard. If you can't imagine a retard wearing it, it's not fashionable.

I'm not just talking about tween-wave fashion (see: the Bieb-machine) which seems to be a mentally-challenged attempt at combining hip-hop and punk styles and succeeding at neither. I'm talking about the things you see models wearing in Vice--in the grainy-on-purpose tumblroids (tumblr/poloaroids...did I seriously just make that up?) I alluded to earlier. Probably because a lot of what these models wear is bought at second-hand stores and at some point was worn unironically by the mentally less-capable: weird t-shirts sporting causes and bands and things in general only retarded people can legitimately appreciate (a Ghostbusters sweater, say, which retarded people wear because they like to wear things with pictures of things they like on them but hipsters wear because: "ohmuhgawd. this sweater is so lame. but i love bill murray and nostalgia's awesome." ); ripped or acid-wash jeans (because they're so unfashionable that they're now fashionable) and ugly sweaters (which anorexic brooklyn-ites wear like heroin shrouds over their skeletal frames but retards wear in earnest--as earnestly as you can wear a sweater). And this rule isn't solely limited to clothes: it also applies to accessories, especially eyewear. There's a certain stock selection of glasses which all retarded people and hipsters seem to choose from: the bigger the frames--the more ostensibly "unstylish"--the more it signals to people that you are either a.) really fucking cool or b.) the kind of guy who angrily shits himself because you don't know any better.

So...new rule for 2012. If I'm about to go out and I can't decide if what I'm wearing is fashionable or not: I'll just ask myself: "Can I imagine a retarded person or a really bratty kindergartener who insists on dressing himself wearing this?"

Or something.

I should also clarify something. It's perfectly acceptable to appreciate Ghostbusters. I appreciate Ghostbusters. The point I was trying to make is that: it's no longer cool to wear anything unironically. Even if I appreciate Ghostbusters, I can't just go out and buy any old Ghostbusters t-shirt. It has to be vintage. And I can't like it that much. It have to have a whatever attitude about it. Otherwise: I look like a fanboy. And liking something in earnest, like a fanboy, isn't cool--which is how retarded people like things. They truly appreciate things in earnest.

A hipster might like something but they'd never actively look for a t-shirt with something they like on it (this is the reason those made-to-look-vintage shirts at Target with bands people actually like on them don't sell--also because they're bands everybody knows and they're not lame enough to be worn ironically). Whereas: a retarded person would wear the Ghostbusters sweater long after the initial Ghostbusters hype to the present day: when it's suddenly cool again to wear a Ghostbusters sweater--or any piece of clothing that smacks of eighties ephemera.

The US government recently shut down Megaupload, which makes me even more distrustful of the record industry and the business side of Hollywood. I think if content distributors made their prices fair--if they didn't gyp the artists themselves out of so much money for their own fucking content and weren't focused so much on making record profits vs. the considerable revenue they already generate, sites like Megaupload wouldn't need to exist.

You can get rid of all the peer-to-peer torrent and rar sites, but I'm still not going to pay $20 for a cd or even more for my favorite show on DVD. I could care less about the packaging.

I want to support the artist/the writers/the directors--all creative hands. But I know that they only receive a very small portion of the money I give when I purchase their products--which aren't really their products at all but the distributors'.

What it all boils down to is that these distribution companies and record labels know they are losing their hold on the consumer dollar. The Internet has made them all but irrelevant. Because: they can no longer control the content we see--the content we want to see. We have other means now of not only finding content but getting it cheaply or at no cost at all. And they like to point to terms like capitalism and free enterprise and make it an argument about American values--but the truth is: they got beat at their own fucking game. If someone offers a product cheaper--if someone offers a product for free--the same product you're trying to sell: then that's where people are going to go to get that product. That's how it works. That's how capitalism remains competitive. And competition is what makes capitalism capitalism. Without competition--you have single entities dominating an entire market. And that's always what these mega-corporations (not just the labels) have sought to achieve. That's why mom and pop start-ups never work--why the current business climate doesn't truly foster growth in smaller sectors--growth for smaller businesses. But because the Internet is such a wild west expanse of content and because it's such an alien medium to these old-fossil tycoons: they're starting to get a little squirmy. They can no longer control everything. This is why Rupert Murdoch gets antsy and pours however many millions into Myspace long after Myspace is even relevant. Because he's so out of touch he doesn't fucking know that Myspace is irrelevant. He's so hellbent on controlling every major media outlet but he has no idea how the Internet works--or how information is generated on the Internet because it's not TV and it's not one of his journalistically irresponsible newspapers.

So: you know what? Fuck him. And fuck the labels, distributors, production companies, etc. We don't need them to make content. We don't need them to make art. Art will be made with or without them. And it will be seen with or without them. We don't need the glitz and glamor of a major Hollywood production to voice what is true and essential. We have places to post videos, to post songs and share content--and now that the labels are encroaching on these mediums (vevo, anyone?) we have even more reason to not give our money to these people.

It does bother me, though, that the US Government shut down Megaupload. Not just because they shut it down, but because it's obvious why they shut it down. Because money talks and I'm sure these industry professionals have lobbyists who paid off members of congress to shut it down. It wasn't just an anti-piracy issue--because it never can be. It's all about the asshole with the most money buying himself the loudest voice and trying to drown out all other voices. And I'll be damned before I'm made to believe it's unconstitutional to rob the entertainment industry of a few measly dollars when they not only make billions but have made their billions by robbing the consumer and the artists themselves.

Fuck 'em.

I'm also worried that this recent legislation was in no small part inspired by the recent SOPA protests: that the protests made sites like Megaupload more visible to people seeking to shut them down. There was of course that video on Youtube with all those stars singing the praises of Megaupload. The video wasn't up for very long before the record companies threw a fit and demanded it be taken down. Which it was, ironically: never mind that whole free speech thing--proving that if you have enough money you can silence anyone. So, I wouldn't doubt that the same people responsible for getting that video removed were also responsible for getting Megaupload shut down. And it's especially unfortunate because this is one of the exact things the anti-SOPA campaign was trying to prevent from happening. So: it makes me wonder. What's the point in protesting things like SOPA or PIPA if they're just going to find other ways to do the exact same things?

It makes me nervous. I know this is wrong. I know it's not right for one entity to have complete control over all intellectual property. But I feel powerless to stop it. But I feel like I have to stop it. Since this is such a personal fucking violation and because it's not fair that these same corporations that promote concepts like capitalism and enterprise are not so secretly seeking to destroy those very things by eliminating all competition.

I guess it's OK to write about it but I feel like I should take more effective action.

I don't know.