Noah Nelson's Mental Clearing House.
Reposts may or may not be endorsements, use your bloody judgment. (@noahjnelson)
This one goes out to all the pubescent boys (of any age) who are cheering on the theft of private photos of actresses this weekend:
You do realize that the perps who did this are sewer dwellers from the deep web, right? The same type of creeps—if not the exact same creeps—who stole your parents’ credit card information during the Target breach.
You know that those crimes—like this one—make a case in the court of popular opinion for more draconian regulation of the Internet. That this incident, along with the harassment of women online by those who dishonor the word “gamer” and the trolling of Robin Williams’ daughter, will be used by politicians to push the next version of SOPA.
I guess you don’t care about actual freedom: freedom from surveilence, the freedom of self-determination, and actual freedom of speech if you can’t use what little voice you have to shit all over others because they—what? Make you feel inadepuate?
Guess what? We all feel inadequate. Not just now and then. All the goddamn time. That’s no reason to be a dick, and it’s certanly no reason to go cheering on a bunch of digital mobsters because you see the theft of titty pics as some kind of Robin Hood trip.
Here’s some self-interest for you, since I know none of this altruistic crap is going to work:
You see, most of you are going to get lucky one day. Some gal is going to overlook your many, many flaws—much like a lady overlooked mine for a while—and she’s going to take a chance on you.
What she’s not going to do is send you any nude selfies, because that shit just became passe.
So way to go, deep web assholes: you just crapped on cybersex for the rest of us. I’d day “I hope you’re happy,” but I know you are. Instead I’ll just go hate myself for a while now that I have to root for the FBI.
It’s a long holiday weekend. Friends are coming over. One of them and I will be hitting Costco in the early afternoon to get all the supplies.
There will be cooking, and cocktails, and quite possibly cookies as well.
In all likelihood I will not have to use my (fictional) AK.
Today will be a good day.
Thanks to how much I loved the tone of Grant Morrison’s Multiversity I picked up a collection of his last big superhero corssover work Final Crisis last night. I hadn’t read the series since it first came out, when I picked it up month to month.
I had never read the whole of it in the order he intended—five tie-in issues are included in the trade paperback along with the core miniseries, all for $20—which definitely made for a more coherent read than my first go round.
There are even more tie-ins than what are included in the book, but the problem with Final Crisis is two-fold:
First, it is far too poetic for the literal-minded fanboys of the world to deal with. Fanboys such as myself who like a splash or 9 of philosohical metaness with their adolescent power fantasies eat this stuff up. Unfortunately some of those literal-minded fanboys are also the Powers That Be in the comic book industry. The sweeping changes that a book called FINAL CRISIS should bring done got unbroughten.
Which ties-into the second problem: the damn thing feels truncated. While that’s actually written into the text in the back half of the story—there’s a line about weeks getting compressed into days—there’s whole chunks of the setting that feel like they could have been explored in depth by other writers.
I know that’s actually part of the charm of these over-the-top comics: the endless musing about what’s going on the gutters between panels, but to see so many fun ideas get placed in the toybox and then be passed over for more of the same old, same old is somewhat depressing.
I don’t have much time for people who fixate on realistic critiques of billionaires who dress up in fetishwear to fight crime or whose imagination can’t come up with a better solution than breaking the villian’s neck. I’m here for the weird ideas and the truths of the human heart that hide behind spandex targets.
The thing that makes villains scary—whether they are on the silver screen or running around with us in the asylum of the real world—is not the depth of the atrocities they commit. Those are causes for horror and revulsion.
The fear comes from the recognition that with the right set of circumstances, from brain chemistry through inciting incident, we could be the monster. It might not be as simple as “one bad day” or “one screw loose” but sometimes it is clear that the societal web that keeps us all from preying upon each other is very thin indeed.
Being human means that we all have the capacity for great kindness and hideous cruelty. It is too easy to look at those who have more wealth, less wealth, a different skin color, gender, sexual preference and see the Terrible Other. All too easy when the truth is we all have a little monster inside us.