Capital of Nasty Vol. 06 Issue 06

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Capital of Nasty

 · 5 years ago

  

Capital of Nasty Electronic Magazine 
Volume VI, Issue 6, AD MMI 
Monday, July 9, 2001 
ISSN 1482-0471 
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I'm back trying to build my datapanik site. I'm using GoLive now,  
which is better than Dreamweaver. Which is to say that I feel like I  
only have one testicle locked in a vice now. 

I'm just trying to do simple things like make the horizontal line  
that appears in GoLive also show up in a browser. Believe me, I'm  
not doing ANYTHING ambitious. Of course it would probably be easier  
if I were trying to make the whole thing spin and puke walnuts. 

-- Adam 

------------------------------------------- 

Morbus 9:25 PM: not good. i'm searching around on the net for people  
i used to know, and the closest match for this one chick is "J. W.  
was last seen alive" <g>... 

------------------------------------------- 

1.  Editorial 
2.  Socio-Political Themes in The Smurfs 
3.  Took and developed "old time" sepia photos of tourists on  
Cannery Row 

------------------------------------------- 

This week's Golden Testicle award: 

They call him... Bruce 

http://www.card1004.com/card/bsjj/53.swf 

------------------------------------------- 

1. Editorial 
By Leandro Asnaghi-Nicastro 

The Trilogy of Cattle. 

THE QUESTION IS: WHAT HAS YOUR LIVESTOCK DONE FOR CANADA? 

Apparently May 15th was the deadline to fill in your Canada Census  
form.  The volunteers came by and left the forms on my door.  My  
immediate reaction was to leave it outside for a few days, hoping it  
would go away.  It didn’t. 

Eventually, tired of seeing it hanging off my doorknob, I took it  
inside. 

Now, I should specify that I had every intention to fill in the  
blanks of the many questions Canada Census had to ask this year.   
However, when I was going through it and got to the “How many  
tractors do you own?” on page 12, (followed by many questions about  
livestock, land and related), I knew this was going to be more than  
a five minute job. 

So I set it aside on my kitchen table where it disappeared beneath  
heaps of shit that is on it and I promptly forgot.  May 15th came  
and left, without me ever thinking about it twice. 

The neo-fascist police of volunteers that ran the show of course did  
not let this go by unnoticed and began filling my voice mail with  
messages, which I promptly ignored.  If there is one thing I am bad  
at, is listening to my answering machine.  In fact, if someone were  
to call me to inform me that a member of my family had passed away,  
and left a message, I’d find out about it probably two months after  
the funeral. 

Naturally, seeing the lack of results in voice mails, they began  
posting notes on my door.  I should perhaps mention that now we’re  
somewhere along the end of June, a month and a half after the  
deadline.  I open the door and find this note stating that I failed  
to fill in the form, and that I may be in for some trouble, like 3  
months in jail, unless I comply immediately. 

Picture this, arrested for not filling my census. 
“What are you in for?” 
“Armed robbery.  You?” 
“Aggravated assault.  What about the new guy?” 
“Failed to fill in my census”. 
I may as well just unzip my pants and bend over at that point. 

I digress.  Feeling rather upset for my lack of patriotism, with  
Jeff nagging at me for not doing my part as a good Canadian, I call  
the number listed in the threat notice.  Neo-fascistic policewoman  
answers the phone and I take a moment and contemplate at how many  
times I’ve taken people’s ability to speak English properly, for  
granted. 
  
The questions are standard procedure: name, last name, where do you  
live, how many live in your cramped apartment.  Some have to be  
repeated a few times, just so I can get the gist of what she’s  
asking. 

And when I think we’re almost done, the farming questions pop up  
again. 
“Do you own a tractor?” 
“No” (Yes, I use it to go to work every day) 
“Do you own livestock in your premises?” 
“With me?” 
“Yes” 
“In my bachelour apartment?” 
“Yes” 
“My tiny, cramped little bachelour apartment?” 
“Yes!  Sir, please answer the question!” 
“No, I do not”. 
“Okay, next question, how many acres of land...” 

You can see my state of total confusion at this point.  I just wish  
I did have the recordings of small, furry hoofed animals bleating so  
I could scream at the top of my lungs “STOP CHEWING AT THE TELEPHONE  
CABLE!” 

Then again, government types are the last people on earth that have  
a sense of humour, and they may just take you seriously. 

I SCREW YOU 

I had a rather annoying night.  ICQ blew up on my computer and  
refused to work.  But that’s okay because ICQ is one of those  
programmes that will crash in a glorious ball of flame for no  
apparent reason.  The latest version takes 16 MB of RAM, it’s filled  
with the most useless shyte ever (which you’ll never use), craps all  
over your registry, and now it has the added bonus of advertising  
(unless you install the “patch”). 

We have AOL to thank for first ruining Netscrape, and now ICQ. 

So I kept working, when other applications began showing the same  
symptoms of death and would refuse to run again.  That’s one thing I  
love about Windows over Linux.  With the former, every so many  
months, the machine explodes and it takes everything with it.  With  
Linux, you set it up once, turn it on and forget about it. 

So I go through the process of reinstalling everything, discovering  
the power supply fan meanwhile has failed, fix that, can’t get the  
sound card to work anymore, and when I do, the network card stops  
working.  A night of great hilarity let me tell you. 

Eventually, I am sitting in front of a computer, with more pieces on  
the floor than I have originally started with, but it works.  It’s  
one of those moments where you ask how an install on the same  
machine, using the same old copy of Windows95B, is never the same  
twice. 

My ten year old Macs are more reliable than this. 

After reinstalling essential programmes, I decide to install ICQ 98,  
but the re-registration fails, with Error #101.  I try a few more  
times, and eventually give up.  Why you need to re-register on the  
ICQ network after an install makes no sense to me, but I suppose it  
is a way to prevent you from using older ICQ installs.  Thanks AOL. 

The next morning I try again, and it is still not working.  Unsure  
at what to do, I drop by the chat-channel on the ICQ pages, where  
you can ask for help. 

You should go and spend some quality time there, for it’s quite an  
amazing little place.  There I met a bunch of people that whenever  
they have spare time, sit there and help others figure out their ICQ  
problems. 

Now, that wouldn’t be so bad, but it seems that these folks actually  
live there: The frustrated MSCE that feels guilty bad-mouthing  
Windows. 
The teen-mother that at the first chance she’s got will complain at  
how she’s got no time to find a job because of her kid.  (Two things  
for you: there is this amazing invention called Condoms, and if you  
have the time to waste here, you definitely have time to find a  
job). 
The “I write English like a retard and say ‘LOL’ a lot, but I really  
can’t help you” kid from Australia. 
And it’s not like they work for ICQ, AOL or Mirabilis.  They just  
hang out there and answer questions to troubled ICQ users.  All day  
long. 

Of course the numb-nuts that live on the channel ejaculate their cut  
and paste answer that Error #101 means the database is being worked  
on. 

You’re prolly wondering where “cattle” comes along this story.  It  
does.  Just be patient and you’ll see it in the insane amount of  
bullshit I had to endure. 

Unsure, or mostly because I wouldn’t trust any of these fucks for  
anything, I e-mail support at ICQ.  ICQ support, I discovered, is a  
lot like Network Solutions.  For those that have never had to endure  
Network Solutions, just fire e-mail to ICQ’s tech support. 

So, I write a long detailed e-mail of how I am experiencing the  
problem, provide logs, tests I have done, and various results.  This  
because, after being online for nearly a decade, you sort of realize  
what useful feedback is all about. 

The first e-mail that came back was from Omri.  It thanked me for  
writing. It told me I should reinstall ICQ2000 and try again.  It  
also re-directed me to the most useless “help” page ever.  I wrote  
back asking that my many questions be answered. 

And I also e-mailed support again, in the hopes I’d get someone  
else. 

The second e-mail was from Maya.  Maya told me that she was thankful  
I wrote to them.  That I should reinstall ICQ2000.  And she pointed  
out that there is a webpage that has instructions to help me  
troubleshoot problems.  The same useless page from Omri.  I wrote  
back, and asked that my many questions, please, be answered. 

Then I e-mailed support again. 

Two more different people eventually wrote to me and I discovered an  
interesting pattern: 

For any ICQ problem you may be having, even if the e-mail you send  
says “ICQ NO WORK” or “I like buggering gorillas” can be solved with  
the following sentence: 
“Thank you for writing to us.  Please reinstall ICQ2000.  Please  
visit this page” and a link to the useless page. 

The page, if you are curious, simply states the same thing, without  
the “thank you” and “check this page”. 

Meanwhile I installed this thing called Miranda ICQ, which just does  
one thing: sends and receives messages.  It doesn’t eat up 16 MB of  
your precious RAM and it’s not filled with the dumbest of options  
you’ll never use.  Sure, it looks kind of funny, but at least it’s a  
true Alpha and you don’t have to re-register. 

THE GOVERNMENT WANTS TO KNOW WHERE YOUR CATTLE IS 

If you’re wondering if I have too much time on my hands, you’re  
pretty much correct.  Since the lay off, I’ve applied to the Human  
Resources Development Canada (HRDC) for my unemployment insurance,  
so I’ll have something that will pay my rent and bills during the  
period that I’ll be searching for a job.  But like any government- 
related department, getting things done takes a long time. 

First of all, I had to go through a computerized questionnaire that  
wanted to know just about everything about me.  Isn’t the government  
supposed to know all this stuff already?  What boggled my mind again  
was the many questions related to tractors, acres of land, and  
livestock I own.  How is this supposed to help me get my Employment  
Insurance (EI) cheque, I still don’t know. 

And as I said, things take forever.  To give you an example, I was  
to fill in form 42B, section A, attached to a void cheque, in order  
to be eligible for direct deposit.  Unfortunately the bank I am  
currently at, despite my many complaints after the third time I have  
asked them to send me a stack of cheques, still hadn’t done so six  
months down the road. 

After an hour in line, I get the cashier to print me ten cheques,  
and I return to the HRDC office with the form filled. 

After an hour and a half in line to simply hand in the form, I am  
told that my form is invalid because the cheque doesn’t have my name  
printed on it.  So it’s back in line at the bank. 

This time I have to have a cashier fill in form 42B, sections B and  
C.  The cashier starts arguing with me that the cheque is valid,  
while I am trying to explain that it ain’t me she needs to argue  
with.  But she won’t desist.  A gentle “Just fill the fucking form”  
gets the job done and I’m back in line at the HRDC offices... 

...where roughly 45 minutes later I hand in the form.  But alas!  To  
hand in the other form I was given, I have to wait till 3 o’clock  
(and it’s only 2 PM).  At 3 I finally meet the person to whom I am  
to give the second form, only to be told “You need to hand this one  
in at the end of August”. 

Oh help me God. 

By the time you’ll read this, I’ll be in Rome. 
------------------------------------------- 

2.  Socio-Political Themes in The Smurfs 
By Jonathon Marc S. 

1.) Introduction:  
This is a discursive analysis of the television programme The  
Smurfs, created by Peyo, and first aired during the greater part of  
the eighties. In other words, it is an analysis of some of the  
socio-political themes I have noticed in the show.   

The Smurfs is a unique programme. It is, first and foremost, a  
cartoon, and as such it is aimed at children. The discussion could  
end there, however, unlike many other cartoons, or indeed other  
television programmes, The Smurfs is about an entire society and its  
interactions with itself and with outsiders, rather than the  
adventures of just a few characters. Hence I believe it is, in  
short, a political fable, in much the same way that The Lion, the  
Witch and the Wardrobe was a fable about Christianity. Rather than  
Christianity, however, The Smurfs is about Marxism.  

I am not accusing The Smurfs of being some kind of subversive kiddie  
propaganda - although if it was, would it really be that much worse  
than the spate of 'toyetic' cartoons of the same decade that only  
existed to sell plastic toys? In any case, this essay should be seen  
as the highest kind of praise. What other children’s' shows would  
address the issue of Marxism in such a way, and at such a pivotal  
point in the history of the Cold War? The Smurfs should be praised  
for using metaphor and the device of the fairy tale to introduce  
children to political themes. If Peyo was a socialist, however, he  
was obviously not the sort who had much time for the version of it  
practiced by the Soviet Union and other Eastern bloc police states.  
He was a utopian. There is a distinct lack of any kind of army or  
police in the Smurf Village. On rare occasions when it is necessary,  
they form their own civilian militia to fight off threats.  
Otherwise, it is the absolute opposite of the police state.  

After my brief analysis of Marxism in The Smurfs, I will also be  
addressing the issues of feminism and homosexuality in the show. But  
the main concern of this essay is to argue that The Smurfs was a  
Marxist fable.  
   
2.) The Smurf Village as a Marxist Utopia:  
The Smurf Village itself is a perfect model of a socialist commune  
or collective. It is self-reliant, and the land is not owned by  
individuals, but by the entire collective of all the Smurfs, if the  
word 'owned' is even appropriate.  

Papa Smurf represents Karl Marx. He is not so much the leader of the  
Smurfs as an equal revered by the others for his age and wisdom. He  
has a beard, as did Marx, and thus could conceivably be a caricature  
as well. And lastly, he wears red, which is the traditional colour  
of socialism. Brainy Smurf could represent Trotsky. He is the only  
one in the village who comes close to matching Papa's intellect - he  
is a thinker. With his round spectacles, he could also be a  
caricature of Trotsky. He is often isolated, ridiculed or even  
ejected from the commune of the village for his ideas. And of  
course, Trotsky was banished from the USSR.  

Despite their different professions/distinctions, the Smurfs are all  
completely equal. Thus, while the occupations of certain Smurfs,  
such as Farmer, Handy and Greedy, are more important than others,  
such as Clumsy, Grouchy, or Lazy, there is no feeling that certain  
Smurfs are superior or inferior to others because of their work, or  
level of skill, because ultimately, everyone is a Smurf first.  

Economically, the Smurf Village is closed-market. There is no money,  
and all possessions are communal - property of the collective.  
Everyone is equally a worker and an owner. The Smurfs reject the  
idea of a free-market economy, with its greed and inequities, and  
the collective is more important and valuable than the individual.  
The whole is greater than the sum of its parts. John Lennon asked us  
to 'imagine no possessions'. The Smurf Village achieves that goal.  
In fact, many of the ideas expressed in that song are reality in the  
Village. There is one large piece of capital, or produced means of  
production, in the Smurf Village: the dam. It is owned, operated and  
repaired by the entire collective.  
The Smurfs all refer to one another by the same title; 'Smurf'. Eg,  
Brainy Smurf, Handy Smurf, Jokey Smurf, Lazy Smurf, Papa Smurf. This  
is highly reminiscent of socialist states' use of the word 'comrade'  
when referring to others, instead of more elitist titles.  

Adding to the idea of complete equality in the Village, most of the  
Smurfs wear the same kind and colour of clothes. It is a general  
work uniform, and with the distinctive caps and blue skin, is highly  
reminiscent of the so-called Mao Suit, common in Maoist China.  
In the tradition of pure Marxism, the Smurf Village is atheist.  
There is no god, and there is no Priest Smurf. There are only the  
'real' forces of nature and physics, and these are represented  
metaphorically by the characters of Mother Nature and Father Time.  
Of course, there is also magic, as practised by Papa, Gargomel,  
Balthazar and others, but it is simply another tool, something that  
occurs in nature, that has physical properties and can be tapped  
into, with the right know-how. It is not, as many religions are, a  
way of understanding the universe in a supernatural context.  

The episode The King Smurf was the ultimate illustration of the  
Marxian conflict between the bad, oppressive kind of government,  
where greedy kings (and capitalists) exploited the population for  
their own ends; and the good, egalitarian political model Marx had  
formulated. In the episode, a militia is formed to overthrow Brainy,  
who has become King in Papa Smurf's absence, and utopian order is  
restored when Papa Smurf returns. In this instance, Papa Smurf, as  
Marx himself, represents the ideal form of Marxism.  
   
The evil wizard Gargomel represents capitalism.  He embodies  
everything bad about capitalism.  He is greedy, ruthless, and his  
only concern is with his own personal gratification. He is what  
happens when the individual makes himself more important than the  
society he lives in. Not coincidentally, he is also a crazy old  
hermit with no real friends.  

What does Gargomel want to do with the Smurfs? He has two ideas. The  
first is to eat them. This is unusual, because the Smurfs are small  
and rare, and would not make as good eating as, say, a deer. It is  
similar to Sylvester's obsession with eating the golf ball sized  
meal that is Tweety Bird. There are two explanations. The first is  
that metaphorically, he wants to devour socialism, as the West  
wanted to do to the USSR and its satellites during the Cold War  
through its tactic of encirclement. The second is that as a pure  
capitalist, he wishes to turn everything into a commodity -  
including people. The second thing Gargomel plans to do to the  
Smurfs once he catches them is to turn them into gold. As the  
ultimate supercapitalist, he is more concerned with his own wealth  
than with equality and fairness. Like any Adam Smith style  
capitalist, it is his 'natural' state to want as much money as he  
can get.  

Gargomel is a cold, bitter and ultimately empty man. This is because  
he has nothing else in his life but a soulless quest for wealth and  
possessions. A definite statement about the anti-social effects of  
economic rationalism.  

Gargomel's ginger cat, Azrael, represents the worker in the  
ruthless, free-market state that is Gargomel's house. He is  
uncomplaining, or, since he has no voice (ie. Trade Unions), is  
metaphorically unable to complain. He cannot negotiate his wage - he  
eats whatever he is given by his master. He is smaller and less well  
off than Gargomel, and metaphorically, he represents the  
proletariat, while Gargomel represents the bourgeois. Azrael is  
exploited and oppressed. He risks his life fighting and hunting for  
his master, and does not have the intellectual capacity to question  
this state of affairs, just as the worker suffered his fate for  
centuries because education was off limits to him, and he had no  
other option but to work for his bosses.  

Gargomel owns his house and everything in it, including the capital  
of his alchemical equipment, in nothing like the way that the Smurfs  
own their village. If the same political structure existed at  
Gargomel's house, both he and Azrael would be equal owners,  
regardless of Gargomel's superior size, knowledge and skill. But  
Azrael owns nothing.  

The incursion of the new characters later in the series/eighties,  
such as the Smurflings, with their colours and different clothes and  
looks, can be viewed in the real world as an incursion by commercial  
interests to increase the popularity and sellability old the show.  
In the show, metaphorically, they represent Western intrusion to the  
utopian harmony of the Smurf Village, just as Gorbachev's glasnost  
and perestroika reforms in the mid to late eighties heralded the  
ultimate demise of the Soviet Union.  

3.) Feminism and The Smurfs:  
Monique Wittig wrote that women are defined as women, while men are  
defined by their occupation, the idea being that men have  
occupations but women do not. For example, if an accident was being  
reported, the victims might be described as 'a teacher, a plumber  
and a woman'. Smurfette is unique in the village in that she is not  
defined by an occupation or a personality trait like the male, or  
real Smurfs, but by her sex. She is not a real member of society  
because of her sex, and this is represented metaphorically in the  
show by the fact that she was created by Gargomel.  

The diminutive suffix of 'ette', common in our society, also  
identifies Smurfette as being not the equal of the males. She is the  
second sex.  

Above I asserted that everyone in the Village was equal. In a sense,  
this is still true. In the beginning, it was all-male, and  
Smurfette's introduction did not disrupt the patriarchal order.  
Thus, Smurfette is equal to the others politically, but not  
socially.  

In an ideal, sexist, patriarchal state, women are not a part of the  
community. They do not occupy the 'public sphere' of work and the  
outside world, and they certainly do not work. Smurfette's main  
occupation seems to be standing around looking pretty, ie 'being the  
woman', although when it comes to problem solving, the producers  
have not, thankfully, made her a brainless bimbo. She is quite a bit  
sharper than the rest of the Smurfs, except of course, for Papa.  

Smurfette is definitely the 'object' of the male gaze. Since she is  
the object, the males are the subjects. They are active, she is  
passive.  

Smurfette has no breasts. I believe this is significant when we  
consider how Smurfette was created. She began life as the almost  
Frankensteinian creation of Gargomel. As a capitalist, he naturally  
is treating her as a commodity, something which can be made, used  
and disposed of, all ultimately to make him money. The idea that a  
woman can be made by a man denies women's key role in procreation.  
The fact that she does not posses breasts goes further to this  
denial of nature, an attempt to control women, to make them conform  
to the societal norm imposed by the patriarchal order.  

Smurfette is a secondary creation, in that she was made after the  
males. She has a heart of stone, and technically, she is unnatural.  
Physically and metaphorically, she is not a 'real' smurf. She is, in  
short, bad and wrong, as patriarchal cultures have viewed women for  
centuries.  

How do you make a better woman? In other words how do you make a  
woman who is acceptable by society (ie. the Village or our own  
society)? One, you take all the fight out of her. Make her  
compliant, make her toe the line created and maintained by the male- 
dominated social structure. One visual example of this is her  
transformation from a brunette to a blonde. Western society  
traditionally stereotypes dark-haired women as brainy, but blondes  
as dumber, but more beautiful and desirable. And that is another way  
to make a better woman. You make her beautiful. Essentially, when  
Papa Smurf casts his spell to make Smurfette a 'real' Smurf, the  
visible difference was that she was more 'beautiful' as well. Thus  
it follows that before, she was ugly. So when it comes to women,  
ugly equals wrong, and beautiful equals right, and in a sense, real.  
But why is one thing beautiful and another thing not? Who says?   
Ultimately, the patriarchal order. And the Smurf Village, with its  
99:1 ratio of males to females, is definitely a patriarchy. This  
adds to he idea of woman as commodity - she is changed and made by  
men, and is beautiful by their standards. And at the end of it she  
is thankful. 

Gloria Steinem once wrote that 'women were history's first drag  
queens', meaning that ideals of beauty are all imposed by the  
patriarchal order, and there is no reason for women to look 'like  
women' other than a need for distinction between the sexes, and to  
reinforce the idea of women as mere objects, as the focus of male  
gaze. Smurfette is no exception.  

In an ideal patriarchal society, there are no women. Can you imagine  
what the Smurf village would be like if the ratio of males to  
females was 50:50? One thing is certain, it would not be the same  
utopia it is presented as in the show. Perhaps this means that the  
ideal Marxist State can only truly operate when everyone is equal,  
including sexually, although it is almost impossible to imagine an  
all-female Smurf Village. This is probably more due to deep,  
intrinsic sexism in our own society than any other reason. If female  
was the 'natural' sex for Smurfs, I cannot see why they would all  
look like Smurfette. The concept of beauty, if it existed at all,  
would have no basis, no frame of reference in which to be equated  
with 'blonde and cute'.  

4.) The Smurf Village as Homotopia:  
The Smurf Village was always all-male, until Smurfette came along,  
when it was still overwhelmingly male. This means that they did not  
procreate by traditional means, and thus, 'heterosexuality' would  
not be the norm.  

Much like ancient Greek city-states such as Athens, which many  
believe is the closest to a pure democracy the world will ever come,  
government was by all the people, and by 'all the people' they meant  
males only. Women are not invited to participate in public affairs.  
In Athens, homosexuality was not uncommon, nor was it particularly  
frowned upon.  

No Smurf ever forms a relationship with Smurfette. Although she is  
the focus of some childish heterosexual rivalries, especially  
between Hefty and Handy, there is never any real heterosexual  
tension in the Village. The tension is more between Hefty and Handy  
themselves, who seem to be more interested in impressing each other  
than Smurfette.  
   
If the Smurf Village existed for ages without any females, how would  
the Smurfs have been able to understand what the Smurfette was?  
Certainly, nature would provide examples of male-female bondings  
that the Smurfs would have been able to observe, but in their own  
sphere, there were never any women, and never any heterosexuality.  
Thus, how could Smurfette have been able to seduce anyone? Are the  
creators trying to say that heterosexuality is the natural state,  
even if it never existed in society and there was never any frame of  
reference for understanding what heterosexual attraction was? On  
this point, I'm prepared to let the creators off. They probably  
weren't even thinking about it, because in our society,  
heterosexuality is very much seen as the norm.  
   
Lastly, I believe the characters of Hefty, Handy and Vanity are gay  
archetypes. Vanity is the kind of gay archetype commonly presented  
by the straight entertainment industry, for example in the UK sitcom  
Are You Being Served? While Hefty and Handy are gay archetypes in  
the same vein as the Village People, with their extremely iconic  
masculinity, exaggerated to the point of camp. Meanwhile, I believe  
Clumsy and Brainy represent a stereotypical gay couple.  

5.) Conclusion:  
I believe that at the very least, Peyo was attempting to present  
certain Marxist theories in the form of an allegorical fairy tale.  
The Smurfs, then, succeeds in the way the best kind of fantasy  
literature does - by shining a light on the real world we all live  
in. There is much evidence to suggest that The Smurfs, as a  
narrative, is a utopian socialist fable. And ultimately, I think a  
large part of the appeal of the show comes from this utopian ideal,  
because even if it is unlikely to ever occur in the real world, with  
all its complexities, we can still imagine.  

--- 
J. Marc Schmidt was born in Sydney, Australia, in 1973, and  
currently works as a teacher. He was educated at Macquarie  
University in Sydney, where he majored in history. 

------------------------------------------- 

3.  Took and developed "old time" sepia photos of tourists on  
Cannery Row 
By Rev. Sean C. Rothstein-Jacobson 

Okay, here's a confession, don't laugh at me because I am really  
trusting you here: I once was almost a hippie.  I had long hair,  
wore tye-dyes, went to Grateful Dead shows, hiked a lot, smoked  
copious amounts of dope, and said things like "Dude that's TRIPPY!" 

I say "almost" because I have never been able to fully get behind a  
prefabricated image or clique- it’s always seemed totally useless  
and counter-growth to me.  The reason I bring this up is that during  
this period of my life I was bone thin, kind of effeminate, socially  
awkward and a longhair.  Traits like those can lead to  
misinterpretation. 

The guy who ran the candle making shop next door once said "The  
problem with your culture is-” Hippies? 

"My culture?" 

"Homosexual culture.  You are gay, correct?" 

I told him I wasn’t and he shrugged continuing as if I had said  
nothing. 

Odd.  I didn't think I pitched a vibe at men, so it just felt  
inexplicable... Hell, I must've just been real damn cute. 

My boss was about 23 or so and a pretty quirky guy.  He was a  
drummer and the kind of guy you'd expect to be in a bad-pop-cover  
bar band: feathered hair st shoulder length, leather jacket, 'ain't  
I cool' attitude and a charm that just didn't quit.  He was real  
good with the tourists though, always able to make them believe they  
were having a ball changing into ill fit "western" era clothing to  
get their photo snapped and developed to look like it were aged  
for few decades. 

Over a few weeks I ascertained that he was a dope smoker so every  
now and then we'd smoke dope together during work- sure made the  
many "dead" hours pass a bit quicker.  The only problem with getting  
stoned with this guy was that everytime he'd get a good buzz on he  
would start playing some song over and over and over on the box that  
he'd bring into work so that he could figure out the drum lines to  
it.  There is no Humane excuse for subjecting someone to Journey  
tunes more than once in a lifetime LET ALONE 20 MOTHERFUCKING TIMES  
IN A ROW!!  Well, everybody has their peculiarities I suppose... 

This one day I had rolled up a fairly good-sized joint to smoke one  
Wednesday (which was always a dead day) and stuck it behind my ear  
for safekeeping.  With my longhair it was not only invisible, but  
completely secured.  I came in and sat around for an hour or two  
until the maddening lack of business prompted me to as him if he  
wanted to partake.  That went like this: 

"Hey Rob?" 

"Yeah?" he looks up from his copy of Rock Drummer- or some such  
publication. 

"You wanna close up for a bit and-" I lean in a little toward him  
and pull back the hair on the side of my head to reveal the joint,  
"-go upstairs?" 

"Uh, what?" 

"You wanna go upstairs for a bit?" 

He smiles all mischievously and nervy, "Yeah... sure..." 

Upstairs was where we had our darkroom and was well away from anyone  
who might care that we were smoking dope, and the stench of  
developing fluids would hide any scent that might be generated.  As  
I walk in I hear the door lock behind me.  I think nothing of it,  
after all, we're partaking in an illegal activity- caution is good,  
don't want to be burst in on.  I pull the joint out from behind my  
ear and turn around.  Rob is standing like six inches from my face,  
I jump back from the unexpected proximity and put the doob up to my  
lips a little jared. 

I say, "Uhhh, so you wanna smoke this right?" 

"Pot?" 

"Well, yeah." 

He looks at it, then at me, "...Oh yeah, sure, sure, of course!" and  
suddenly his entire demeanour transforms before my eyes.  He shrinks  
down by inches, backs off away from me, won't make eye-contact, gets  
all fidgety and stammers. 

I realize that he never saw the joint downstairs, I must not have  
moved enough of my hair, and it hits me: he thought I was coming on  
to him, inviting him upstairs for sex or something. 

Jesus, that attempt at moving my hair must have looked like some  
weird pose!  I feel REALLY bad because one can tell at a glance by  
his reaction that he is heavily closeted and that this experience  
just REALLY fucked him up.  Fuck, I don't know what to say- I mean  
I'm only 18 or so and its not like the topic had been verbally  
broached, just obviously vibed.  I feel terrible because, as we  
smoke the jay in relative uncomfortable silence, I can see him  
inverting on himself in terrible circles- he wanted to be with a  
man, thought he was GOING to be with a man, only to discover that it  
was all just a big misunderstanding... an employee of his, at that. 

The experience probably added a year or two onto the time it would  
take for him to come to terms with his sexuality and I stood there  
mute to it.  That was/is a moment that makes me feel ashamed: 

I should have said something, made it into a good natured joke to  
show that what he felt was okay and wasn't dirty or offensive, just  
not my cup of tea.... but I didn't... and for that I have a guilt  
that still continues to carve me into a more compassionate person...  
we all have our peculiarities, I suppose... 

--- 
REVSCRJ is a writer/musician living in Monterey, California.   
Constantly on the verge of homelessness, he hopes that you enjoy his  
work or else his life has been in vain.  Contact REVSCRJ at  
revscrj@cloudfactory.org to lodge complaints, notify of lawsuits, or  
receive spiritual advice. 
------------------------------------------- 

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