THINGS I LIKE: Barry Ween, Boy Genius

Over the past decade or so, I’ve reviewed CDs and movies and books for a few websites and local newspapers. I’ve been criticized by people for only giving favorable reviews, but there’s a good reason for that: as a freelance writer, I decided that rather than waste my time experiencing things that I don’t enjoy (and then re-experiencing them while reviewing them), I would focus on things that I like, and try to spread the word about good stuff.  Although, I must admit that bashing entertainment that sucks is really fun, sometimes…

“In The Sun Also RisesErnest Hemingway describes genius as the ability to learn at a greater velocity. For a suicidal drunk with a pathological fear of latent homosexuality, Papa did all right.” 

-Barry Ween

The characters are simple enough: a ten-year-old super-genius and his very average (slightly hyperactive, obsessed with the idea of sex, and a big fan of apes) best friend Jeremy. The concept springs from there: what would happen if the experiments of a junior mad scientist went awry? (Answer: hilarity)

Written and illustrated by Judd Winick – better known as either a DC comics writer or former cast member of The Real World, depending on how old you are — Barry Ween Boy Genius is a great example of why I love comic books.  The jokes are enhanced by the illustrations.  The action scenes flow surprisingly well for a “humor” comic. It’s easy enough, reading any of the volumes, to remember and relive what it was like to be an adolescent kid (even if I didn’t occasionally blow the Earth out of its orbit, or turn my babysitters into giant monkeys).

The magic of Barry, for me, is in the balance of cynical, often misanthropic and usually non-sequitur humor (find me a better line than “Jesus was a fan of Leg Show“) and serious consideration of what it would mean to be a ten-year-old with an IQ of 350. As a young “gifted” kid (and yeah, “gifted” and “special” aren’t too far apart), Barry would have been my role model — a comic-book superhero without the spandex, but with plenty of attitude to make up for it.

You can compare the Barry Ween volumes to any number of things — South Park meets Calvin & Hobbes in a meth-fueled car wreck with Dexter’s Lab — but none of those really does the gathered mini-series justice.  It’s got elements of all those things, but — as evidenced especially by the ending of the fourth volume — it has heart, and Winick is not afraid to show it.

onibk_341Finally out a few weeks ago is The Big Book of Barry Ween, Boy Genius, a collection of all four volumes of the comic.  Highly recommended for anyone looking for a good gateway into graphic literature, or just a really good laugh.

Return to abstract ramblings…

I wish this post could be appropriately titled, “Return to Charlotte Rampling.”

Welcome, once again, to the USS Insomniactive.  Today, we’ll be heading down the stream of consciousness.  Strap in and have a few shots.  This could get hairy.  Or really boring.

Depends on perspective.

Early, I thought this:

There is a vast chasm between seeking answers and seeking the answer you want to hear, and chasms impede progress.

And I’m surprised that I never thought it sooner, as it is as applicable to myself (even today, but especially years ago) as it is to anyone that may or may not have inspired the thought.  If you seek out advice, the source of advice is important; not only for the quality of what you will get out of it, but also for knowing what to expect.  Some people will treat a depressed person like a china doll, and tell them exactly what (they think) the depressed person wants  to hear. Some people will tell them bluntly what (they think) they need to hear.

Is one any worse than the other?  I still think that the chasm between the two impedes progress from the sad state to the content, or even happy, state.  It’s not that you can’t cross a chasm, but it takes a lot more time and effort.

Keeping in mind, too, that advice comes from the mouths of humans, and us humans?  We don’t know shit.

On a lot of levels, I’m guessing that there are no definitive answers, nothing quantifiable in a scientific manner.  I argue that if there were, we’d know about “The Answer” by now.

Depression — like anger — is like a warm blanket you got from a British colonial soldier.  It’s comfortable, and warm, and easy to justify hiding inside.  And eventually, it will kill you, because that blanket is diseased, soaked in tuberculosis or syphillis or whatever the current rage is. The trick to beating depression is fighting it, not giving in to it.

Not to suggest that it’s easy, or so matter of fact.  That’s why I chose the word “fighting.”  In time, as you become more practiced and conditioned, fighting becomes easier, but the potential for pain is inherent.

You learn to live with it.

I’m not as sanctimonious as I seem, I think.  Because I’ll tell you up front, the more I know, the more I realize that I know jackshit about fuck-all.  Because I can pass on what I’ve learned from my experiences over 37 years, but I still have trouble remembering my own advice sometimes.  And even remembering, I sometimes choose to ignore. I sometimes  like the cold comfort of withdrawing into my own head and reminding myself of how much better it could be, of how much better it was, of how much the here and now sucks. That’s easy, like falling asleep in the snow instead of pushing on to salvation.

But somewhere in the back of my head, I always know.  Even if I don’t know anything, in the end.

And I realize that there is no universal answer, because the answer — and the question that compels it — is ultimately derived not just from the question but also from all the life experiences that have shaped and affected the seeker from day zero.  It’s contextual.  If it wasn’t, then maybe seeing a psychologist would work for everyone, or taking Effexor, or listening to cinematic music and reading Vonnegut.  But none of these works for everyone.

The best we can do is suggest what has worked for us, offering a path of exploration for the seeker, understanding that theirs might be a different path, and that there is no right or wrong in it.

Also: never try to quantify anyone’s emotions, especially in comparison with your own.  It is impossible — impossible — to know how anyone feels.  You have only your own point of reference for that, and that automatically colors your comparison. Yes, you and I are looking at the same sky, but we can never be sure that we perceive the colo blue the same way.  Every situation affects us differently, you and I, and you can never say that I have it easier or harder, because you have no idea that I see things in the same colors and tones that you do.

At the same time, don’t hesitate to offer advice just because you’ve never gone through X situation.  Maybe you’ve never been divorced, but you have broken up with someone, or felt heartbreak when your dog died. Maybe you’ve never lost your best friend or spouse, but you might have lost a parent or  sibling.

On some level, it becomes a twisted version of method acting.  You place yourself in what you imagine is a comparative place of emotional reaction, and you pass on what you’ve learned, what worked to get you through that moment. Maybe it helps, maybe it doesn’t, but you never know if you don’t try.

Most important of all, though, is reminding yourself day in and out that you can’t be responsible for anyone else’s actions or reactions or — especially — feelings.  If you live to make someone else happy, ultimately, you will fail.  And worse, what will you do when they leave or die?  What will you live for then?

We come into this world alone.  We go out alone, and we invariably spend a fair amount of time in between alone. And you know, that’s okay.  It has to be.

You can’t fix anyone’s problems for them, and you shouldn’t allow others to expect that of you.  All you can do is offer them a path, and hope that there is something from your pain and hard work and seeking that perhaps points them in the right direction for their own solutions.

I’m hungry. Someone get me some lunch.

Notes from a wedding

Random thoughts from this weekend:

  • One of James’ groomsmen went to school from an early age with John Cena.  Apparently, he’s a really nice guy.
  • The B&A Warehouse has a grits bar available for parties and wedding receptions.  If you ever invite me to something at B&A and don’t offer the grits bar, I will protest.  Loudly.  Hungrily, even.
  • Rawlins (the bride) looked beautiful.  I finally realized why I’ve had a crush on my little brother’s girlfriend for years and years — the uncanny resemblance to Tina Fey.
  • I guess in a town this small, it’s no real surprise to eventually cross paths with a given group repeatedly, but there was a whole lot of Indian Springs in my weekend.
  • Wade’s new girl is pretty hot. Apparently smart, and successful, too, but whatever.
  • Interesting cross: my brother, me, and his friends, and the bride’s family’s friends.  I kept hearing Billy’ Joel’s UPTOWN GIRL all weekend.  It was weird.
  • Having all three siblings and the parents in one place is way too rare, but maybe the more special when it happens.

Congratulations, James and Rawlins.  You guys deserved every minute of it.

Eyes Forward

I was never much good at goodbyes.

I made this statement the other night to a friend of mine at the bar, sort of a warning statement.  Her uncle had just died, and I was letting her know that — I think not so much due to any sort of autistic or social-custom unawareness, but more owing to my acceptance of death (some would say my inability to attach to anything or anyone) — while I’m good at being “strong” (it’s not really being strong if it doesn’t bother you, though, right?) for others, I have a tendency to say inappropriate things.

Like, really inappropriate.  Moreso than usual — not that what I’m saying is wrong, but my timing, she could use a little work. So, usually, I say nothing, because it’s safer.

It’s a bad combination of having a really black, often tasteless sense of humor, and being perfectly okay with the idea of death.  Mine, yours, my wife’s and siblings’ and friends.  It’s gonna happen to us all, sooner or later, so why not be okay with it?  Appreciate what you have while you have it instead of wasting your time obsessing about the inevitable unknown.  And it’s not a religious thing at all — while I imagine that this is the one life we’ve got, who am I to say?  Maybe the Hindus are right, maybe the Christians are, and maybe there’s something awaiting us that no one has even conceived of yet.  No, I’m just okay with what I know.

I’m not the only one.  I’m sure that there are different reasons, a different source of being okay with it (probably spiritual), but I know that there are others who are capable of detaching themselves from those in their lives, of realizing that you were you before they came into your life and you can continue to be.  People that would rather celebrate the lives that touched theirs instead of dwelling on what they’ve lost.

(Some of this  probably sounds unnecessarily harsh, and probably tinged with a little Asperger’s; I’m not implying that people that mourn or have difficulty continuing on after the loss of a loved one are weak or otherwise inferior.  But I am aware that my words read that way; I’m just tired of wrestling with what I’m trying to say to change it again)

I walked/drove away from the memorial service for my friend Jill on Saturday a week ago, and I wasn’t down, or wistfully nostalgic, or any of the usual states that you might associate post-memorial/funeral.  In fact, I felt really good about life.  The service was a celebration of Jill’s life, a recounting of stories about what made Jill special, mentions of everything that she had to overcome and how she never gave up or looked away from the future, even until the end.

It was very life-affirming, to be uncharacteristic.

The one thing that stands out to me, that Dave repeated a couple of times, was that Jill didn’t want to be remembered for having Leukemia or Guillain Barre syndrome.  And it’s hard, sometimes, to not remember people as they were at the end — cancer victim, suicide, murder victim.  I’ve known many people who have died, and many of them still come attached to a label of finality, at least on the surface. But I suspect that – more than anyone I know – I won’t relate Jill to Leukemia, but rather a forward-looking strength and perserverence that allowed her to appreciate life more than far too many more circumstance-fortunate people that I’ve known.

Midnight Sun

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RdTduSstXVM]

When you have a screwed up (at least, according to the norms of the world) sleeping schedule, the idea of a day that doesn’t end for weeks doesn’t really seem all that disorienting.  Watching Stellan Skarsgård (and, later, Al Pacino) increasingly lose hold on their touch with reality always puzzled me.

I used to have dreams of driving through parts of town with friends long absent. The sun said high noon, but the radio announcer’s voice said it was 2 AM, and the music that followed always sounded like a midday dream.

EINTKAEILFACBS

  • Topics ideas?
    • Speculation
    • Condition -> Value
    • Saving for bigger things
    • Trading (barter)
    • Supply and Demand
    • Short term vs Long Term
    • Enjoying the Investment
  • Need outline.
  • Possibly find an economics expert?
  • History / bio introduction
    • Rebecca’s store in Dothan
    • skull fracture / grocery bag of Janice’s husband’s comics
      • X-Men #98, Green Lantern/Green Arrow
    • spinner racks
    • Murv / Great Escape on Broadway
    • Curious George’s
    • recession of ’08-’09 / mention of comics as recession proof investment

Need inspiration?

The world is filled with magic and miracles.  You don’t have to look for the Virgin Mary’s face in a flood-scarred wall.  Just look to doctors that figure out ways to rebuild the severe physical destruction of domestic abuse, and the human spirit that perseveres and pushes on, and can still laugh.

If you can’t find inspiration in this, you’re less human than public perception of me.  And if you can watch this and still complain about your life, then eat a steaming bag of cancerAIDS and go watch Twilight again.

Read more at http://abcnews.go.com/Health/MindMoodNews/Story?id=7535591&page=1