Comic Fatigue

Every marriage, no matter how solid, can suffer little cracks and major faults. It’s normal to have challenges to overcome, and given that your husband/wife is not your superior/inferior, but in fact, your partner, you should be willing to listen to them and likewise not be afraid to ask them to listen to you. Communication breakdown is one the major causes of divorce.

That’s easier said than done when you are making an honest effort to be a better person by participating in the things they enjoy, but that don’t necessarily bring the same amount of joy to you.

I consider myself to be a hardcore sci-fi Star Trek geek, as is my husband. But he is also a comic book nerd, and let’s just say that it’s never been a better time to be a comic book nerd. There has been a ridiculous amount of comic book movies and series released lately. I’m a latecomer to the world of comics, but my husband is a lifelong devotee. He has been reading and collecting comics since early childhood. He knows all the stories: the origin stories, the back stories, the alternative-universe stories, all of them.

My husband introduced me to the Marvel Cinematic Universe, and its DC counterpart, in which there are some truly outstanding and not-so outstanding films. So devoted is my husband that he even likes the “bad” films. I’ve become a big fan of them, but lately I find that my enthusiasm has waned. There used to be one or two comic book films released each year. Then they started releasing more and more…and more…and more…

I found myself less enthusiastic about seeing the most recent (as of this writing) MCU release, “Ant Man and the Wasp.” I still want to see it, but after seeing “Black Panther” and “Justice League” and “Deadpool 2” and “Solo” and “Avengers: Infinity War.”

Well, you get the idea.

And then there are the TV series. This has become a bit of a nightmare for me. There are so many comic book series now, many of which are excellent, and they keep releasing more and more. It’s impossible to keep up.

There’s Arrow/Green Arrow, and Marvel’s Agents of Shield, and Flash, and Legends of Tomorrow, and Supergirl, and Gotham, and the Gifted, and Legion, and Krypton, and Titans, and Black Lightning, and Riverdale, and Cloak & Dagger, and Runaways, and all the Netflix “adult” series, like DareDevil, and Jessica Jones, and Luke Cage, and Iron Fist, and Defenders, and the Punisher…

And they keep adding more…and more…and each time they do, I’m a little less excited than I was about the previous one. My husband wants to watch them. Every single episode of all of them. Last night, I wanted to watch a Netflix show that looked good, and he wanted to watch “episodes,” of one of the many, many comic book series listed above. This has become a minor crack in the solid rock that is our marriage. I find myself no longer wanting to watch “episodes.” It’s probably only temporary, but I still feel…so fatigued. He asked me, as he’s done before, if I preferred that he watch them himself. I said…uh…maybe? Previously, I said, “Of course not. I love those shows.” Which I do. But I’m sick and tired of them. I feel bad for feeling that way, of course. Comics and their related movies and series are one of his greatest passions, and I feel bad that I’m not as passionate about it as he is.

The producers of the movies and series won’t give us time to process the previous film or series before releasing the next one. Why are they doing that? Because they want to make money, and they know that comic book nerds are the most loyal fans and the most dependable of butts on cinema seats. And they are glutting us with more and more stuff to watch. I wish they would not necessarily stop, but just take it easy for a while.

And it’s not just me. A google search for the phrase “comic fatigue” revealed several articles written about this phenomenon, which I did not realize was an actual thing until I wrote this post.

Here’s one from a couple of months ago.

Here’s one from a couple of years ago.

It’s a thing, alright. Its effects vary depending on the individual. In my case it’s ever-so-slightly affecting my marriage.

Fearless Girl…

…and the fearful male.

An instigator decided he didn’t like Fearless Girl disrupting the integrity of Charging Bull. In response, he slapped together an intentionally poorly designed dog to urinate on her leg, installing her last night.

Alex Gardega insists he’s a feminist. He says he’s simply incensed by the marketing ploy by State Street and feels Fearless Girl doesn’t belong. Ergo, he’s protesting. Protesting by having a dog urinate on a child’s leg. A female child, at that.

Let’s say Gardega is genuinely enraged by the disruption of Charging Bull. Is it remotely appropriate to have a dog urinate on the leg of a child, even in statue form?

Additionally, even if Gardega is a “feminist” (which I doubt) how is it not blisteringly obvious that misogyny isn’t alive and well in 2017? That someone would think it’s wholly appropriate to urinate on a woman, without consent. To shame a woman in public. To degrade a woman “in the name of art.” We are not your tools, men.

On Twitter, someone suggested placing Fearless Girl elsewhere. And, you know what? I agree. She needs to be moved. She needs to face the White House until our society recognizes and accepts that a woman can effectively govern this country.

Lastly, sponsored/commissioned art has been going on for centuries. Stop making State Street the problem in this scenario. The statue is brilliant. It stands on its own and conveys a message. Making it about its sponsor dilutes the message. That said, I’m thinking a dilution of the message might be the intended consequence given how intimidated many are by women in positions of power, especially women of color.

The more vehement the protest about Fearless Girl, the more obvious one’s feeling threatened becomes. It says everything about the protester and our society, in general. We live in an age when a bronze female form is a threat. Think about that.

Last Night in Sweden…

…Kickstarter project update

As of this evening (04.13.17), the project has been funded! The first two of the three stretch goals have been met, as well. Hooray!

The third stretch goal, a major traveling exhibition consisting of the 50 best images, is within reach (Note to organizers: a visit to the RTP area is expected as you do have a consulate here). The goal is SEK 350,000. Currently, the pledged amount is SEK 337,489 or $38,423. The project is short SEK 12,511 ($1,384 +/-).

Of course, one can make contributions at any level. In terms of rewards, the lowest tier is a pledge of SEK 200 ($22.13 +/-) which will yield a copy of the book in either Swedish or English (supporter’s choice), along with the satisfaction of knowing that this pledge contributed to reaching that magical, third stretch goal. Only 63 additional people are needed to make this a reality.

Alternatively, if one is feeling unusually generous and/or slightly cheeky, one could opt for the next level by contributing SEK 1,000 ($110.65 +/-). With that, your name goes in the book and when your copy arrives, you will see it. WITH YOUR OWN PEEPERS (eller med egna ögon – and I will continue to slaughter Swedish until the third stretch goal has been reached). Do you know who else will see your name? Orange Foolius and every member of the European Parliament. Mmmhmmm. Only 13 relatively big spenders are needed in this category.

For those with some serious cabbage, a commitment to the arts, a love of Sweden, a deep respect for journalistic integrity and possibly a pinch of spite, there’s the next tier which requires a pledge of SEK 3,000 ($331.94 +/-). It comes with all of the bells and whistles offered at the lower tiers along with the signatures of every photographer contributing to the project. Oh yes it does. Only 34 remain at this level.

There are only 14 days remaining. Alternatively, there are 14 days left for nagging. Do the right thing, please. :flutters eyelashes:

Last Night in Sweden…

…a shameless plug.

The Swedes are a curious lot; thoughtful, considerate, kind and very concerned about the welfare of others. They are also fiercely patriotic and damn all to hell if you criticize their society or country. Not only will they reject such criticism, they will go to extreme lengths to correct the erroneous assumption. Once finished, they will kill you in your sleep. Need proof?

So, when President Orange Foolius decided to besmirch their reputation, Sweden reinstitued conscription. IKEA laced its köttbullar with horsemeat. There was no sharing of the semlor. 40,000 ocean containers full of Kalles kaviar were dispatched to the US disguised as Easy Cheese. The government hired scores of actors to set fire to certain areas of Stockholm for the sole purpose of giving Katie Hopkins something else to bitch about. And for all of the Trumpeting Deplorables hoping that any of this is true: the conscription happened well before your Dear Leader opened his foodhole, the horsemeat scandal was from 2013, you don’t deserve semlor, Katie Hopkins is a cunt and if there is any justice in this world, you will be eating Kalles (and nothing but) for the rest of your miserable existence.

Seriously, though, Swedes have had it with Donald Trump‘s misinformation campaign about their country. HAD IT. Over it. And an angry Swede is not something you want to deal with for the angry Swede is not only incredibly stubborn and relentless, it’s slightly cheeky, too. Also, largely emotionless but very dignified. The angry Swede will not wrinkle its clothes or muss its hair in battle.

To that end, a Kickstarter was born. The project is titled “Last Night in Sweden – The True Story.” The scope is to compile pictures of everyday life throughout Sweden between the hours of 18:00 – 0:00 (or 6pm to 12am for the unable-to-tell-time Deplorables). These pictures will be taken by award-winning photojournalists. That’s right. They mean business. These pictures will not be taken by suburban women who have their part-time “photography business” focusing primarily on children or families in bucolic fields, newly engaged couples in burnt out parts of cities and babies in wooden barrels.

Once the photos have been selected by a jury, they will be compiled and published in book form. The first copy of the book will be presented to Shitgibbon, himself. Stretch goals are listed on the project’s page and they’re pretty damn nifty, too.

So, for all of you truth loving folks, why not chip in and support this project? If you love Swedenland, why not help portray it in its wonderfully magical form? If you want to tell Donald Trump to eat a bag of dicks, kick in a few kronor – or kick in several kronor and your name will be printed in the book. If your name is American enough, Foolius may even understand it when his grandkids read it to him at bedtime.

Supporting the arts is never an exercise in futility. In the United States, supporting the arts is going to become the provenance of the private sector so why not get a little practice in entering that credit card number right now? You can also consider this a multicultural endeavour as you channel Swedish customs: enforcing the truth via art and very dry humor while not taking shit from anyone who doesn’t understand their society.

Sverige…

…the horror, the terror, the recovery.

This escaped me and I do not understand how. As a reader of several Swedish news sources, I do not understand the delay in reporting such a catastrophe in the era of the 24-hour news cycle. I suppose, with things on a scale as grand as this, the media was simply performing its due diligence and not alerting the general public until it had thoroughly researched every fact before going to press. Maybe this is the media’s correcting its behavior as it relates to all of the fake news stories it has been printing since The Angry Yam descended the escalator in Dump Towers and declared his intent to drive the world into the ground. Or, perhaps, an agreement has been reached? No news regarding the safety of human beings shall be dispersed to citizens until Our Dear Leader, Orange Foolius, informs us directly, preferably at a rally at an airport with only his most devout followers in attendance.

Imagine my emotional state when I discovered that my second country, the place that occupies my heart, the home to many of my dearest friends was attacked. Attacked in a manner so violent, the newly sensible media thought about the general public for once and chose to withhold all reporting and publishing of photographs to keep us snowflakes from being triggered.

My friends, shaken to the core and traumatized so significantly, were unable to utilize Facebook’s safety check feature. From what I have been able to ascertain, neither Kitten nor Blitz were able to access a cellphone signal on Friday night. Their social media platforms were silent from early Friday evening until midday Saturday. I can only deduce that PM Löfven is working in concert with the Tang Tyrant’s administration – withholding details until Our Dear Leader addresses his public first. After all, we’re living in an America First era.

A friend of mine is an editor of a fairly large news outlet which provides news for expats in English in multiple countries in the EU. It was only this morning that I managed to obtain two pictures of the damage to Sweden on Friday night. I may be at risk of breaching trust but I understand the source of the photos has been thoroughly vetted and I fundamentally believe they must be shared with the general public. I do not understand how and why the Short-Fingered Vulgarian is not allowing the New York Times or the Washington Post to print them. From a different source, I managed to obtain a copy of Kim Jong-un’s media management strategy guide which is circulating through the upper echelon of Our Dear Leader’s administration. This will be shared at a later date, when my request for asylum has been granted.

I hasten to add, the images you are about to see are not appropriate for children. If you find yourself easily agitated, you may want to stop reading at this point. And, as I said on one of my social media platforms, when the Red Cross begins its text message drive for donations, please, please donate. Sweden is a country of 10 million. It has resources and a very strong social welfare system. But, it will still need assistance from generous donors in order to appropriately distribute tools for clean up, medical services, water, etc…

snökuken Göteborg

snökuken Göteborg, recovery & clean up

Jag är Sverige för alltid.

Pantsuit Nation

please note: my usual laziness and ambivalence will be suspended for today. As various ideas pop into my fragmented mind, I may or may not blurt them out in manic fits of euphoria, paranoia or confusion. It’s been a difficult election cycle for all. On the verge of potentially (as a Philadelphia sports fan, I know better than to hope for any positive outcome) witnessing the election of a female president, I’m finding myself genuinely overcome with emotion.

During my years as a member-facing consultant, I never procured a single pantsuit. That was a pointless endeavour, as I’m short and didn’t feel like spending money on a tailor after buying an expensive suit. Skirts it was. Sadly, no pantsuit in the wardrobe for me today.

Undeterred, I yanked out one still-on-the-hanger-from-the-cleaners navy blue jacket and paired it with a red and white striped shirt, dark grey skinnies and my sugar skull boots which are embroidered with the phrase “Don’t walk in fear.” Kang’s version of a pantsuit will have to suffice for the only time I leave the house: the carpool.

Rock on, Pantsuit Nation.

The Millennal Whoop…

…that one and maybe the other one.

Earlier today, I was listening to Spinning by GROUPLOVE. Why does that matter, you ask? Because it’s fucking music and fucking music dictates my existence, that’s why. And, since not even Dock is immune to a power pop song, I thought I would play Spinning for him on the way to McTeacher night at Mac-Don-Ald-Ssss because we had to dump some money into this valiant fundraising effort while slowly killing ourselves via chicken fusion, “beef” and filet-o-fisk (the word fish in Swedish is fisk).

Around minute who-gives-a-fuck Dock says “Oh! The Millennial Whoop. Gotta have the Millennial Whoop. Can’t have a song these days without the Millennial Whoop.” I What-You-Tawkin-About-Willis him and wait for his knowledge drop. Whether I like it or not, Dock is way more au courant than I in the music scene. “The Millennial Whoop. You know, where all the Millennial bands full of 90 members sing songs that have to include at least one ‘Wo-Oh,’ typically two.” I’m all what-the-fuckity-fuck-are-you-on-now? Dock patiently repeats himself and then launches into a diatribe about the Millennial bands with their eleventy billion members, their lutes, their mandolins and their ukuleles.

“Millennials have to be special, creative and different so they decided to add in a ‘Wo-Oh’ so their friend who can’t carry a tune gets a star for participation. As for the ukuleles, well, there as many of those as there are strings on the instrument. Each ukulele has one string and it’s played by a single person, reflecting the individuality and specialism of the player and the instrument because, in keeping with the spirit of Millennials, special things require special dedication. A ukulele will not be sullied by a player playing all four strings at one time. Oh fuck no. A ukulele and its string gets the respect it deserves: one instrument, one string and one player. Just like the singer who can’t sing but doesn’t like feeling left out: that person gets the ‘Millennial Whoop’ credit on the liner notes.”

You can see where we’re going.

Ever the reluctant optimist (Me. No, really.) says “You know, I have been observing a weird trend. It seems like the entire world has had enough of the Millennials’ handcrafted, *artisanal bullshit. Even social anthropologists are like ‘Ugh. I can’t eeeeven any longer with you snowflakes. Lemme go find a hairblower to melt your sorry asses.'” Dock, being the curmudgeonly skeptic that he is offered a plate of doubt but I persisted. I even said “Remember all those years I said, ‘let the Millennials try to change the workforce?’ No longer. Fuck ’em. Let them get lost on the way back from yoga or the food co-op and miss a meeting. I’m busy raising a seven year-old and nagging you to take out the garbage. I can’t be arsed to remind them to do their jobs or show up for a meeting.”

We came to the conclusion that, like everything else, the Millennials kind of suck. But, we’re Gen-X so we really don’t want to invest the energy into actively disapproving of them, let alone disliking them.

Then, we decided to do a comparative analysis about shopping for a vehicle: Gen-X vs Millennials, reality vs life through rose colored glasses.

Car salesweasel: Hi there! I bet you’re looking for a car! What can I help you drive off the lot today?

Gen-Xer: A car? Is that what you’re selling? I was hoping for a kidney or one crack, please. Also, can you confirm the rumor that Mudhoney is playing a rent party in the backroom?

Millennial: Oh wow! Hi! Thank you for being so helpful! Why yes, I am looking for a car! Can we be friends? What’s your user name on Tumblr, Instagram, Snapchat, Kik and Waterbuffalo? Are you on Yelp so I can review you? What about FourSquare? Will you give me positive feedback as a super-extra-awesome customer when the transaction has concluded? Also, I’d really like a t-shirt but please make it one that looks like it’s from the 90s. I’m totally dedicated to retro. Can’t you tell I’m going for the Cobain-meets-man-bun look?

Car salesweasel: So, whatcha looking for?

Gen-Xer: Something that goes backwards and forwards. Relatively reasonable fuel economy. Carplay or other stupid interfacing whatever. Turn signals would be nice. One of those rearview cameras, too. Just so long as it doesn’t jack up the price because I’m not paying list. You hear? I am not paying list. If you have it in black with tan interior, we have a deal. You dig?

Millennial: Ok! So, this is what I’m thinking about! I have a few pictures if you want to see what I have downloaded! I have added some stickers and emojis to convey my feelings because I’m not really great with the words! I’d like a car that is environmentally friendly because we don’t care enough about the environment these days and I’m super-extra-passionate about the environment and none of the candidates even addressed that in the debates! None! Can you believe that!?! Well, Bernie did, at least!

Next, I need really gentle tires for the blacktop! I hate hurting things, physically and/or emotionally! I wouldn’t be able to sleep at night knowing I caused any form of pain! Also, I left my favorite fluffy at my parents’ house when I was there doing laundry and they told me I wasn’t allowed to come back for two weeks so sleeping has been really. really, really hard. :cry cry cry:

Super critical!!111! Do you offer carbon offset credits? Because, again with the environment!!! I cannot buy the Grand Wagoneer without the credits! I just can’t! And I really can’t see myself and my 20 dogs in a Fiat! There’s just not enough room for that!!! We can’t have the dogs cramped on the long trips to the mountains for the weddings I have to go to! Also, I haul *a lot* of mason jars and pickled vegetables for my side business. Are you interested in purchasing pickled gourds for your Thanksgiving dinner? I handcrafted them myself with help from my friends who make their own diaper cream. :sticks screen in salesweasel’s face: LOOK AT MY WEBSITE!!! Helvetica is the best!!! I masturbate to style guides. Oh. That was TMI, wasn’t it?

Car salesweasel: Are you financing the purchase or…?

Gen-Xer: What the fuck is wrong with you? I’m financing this like I financed the toilet paper I had to buy yesterday.

Millennial: So, here’s my concept of how we should be paying for things! Money is corrosive to the soul and thus corrosive to society! In order to build a more perfect world, I suggest we trade! You will give me the car and I will give you two hours of manual labor at your home! I can empty the dishwasher, take out the trash or clean the litterbox! Wait! You look disappointed. Fine. I’ll throw in a case of my special, birch scented homemade beard wax if you promise to give me a year’s worth of oil changes, too! What do you say? Do we have a deal? OMG OMG OMG! If we do, I will totally meet you at the park for a game of kickball! You’ll love my friends! They make the best moonshine you have ever tasted in your life! Right in the bathtub! I’m telling you. The things one can do with what one already has. If people just stopped, slowed down and appreciated what was around them and the unique gifts life has to offer…

Then we started making fun of the Millennials’ farm-to-table lettuce sammiches on stone ground wheat bread. Little did they know the lettuce was sourced from Compare Foods on Avondale Drive in Durham and the bread was stolen off a delivery truck parked by the Sheetz on Miami Blvd.

Being Gen-X is whatever. We knew from a young age no one gave a shit about us or anything other than themselves. This was impressed upon us every time we came home from school to an empty house with only the television to keep us company. We’re not necessarily the bastards of the young but we are the bastards of the Boomers. There’s a lot to be said for being the progeny of the narcissistic.

While other generations have said our attitude sucks and we’re slackers, thinking that was going to incite some form of change or emotional growth and development, we stayed true to our ambivalent selves and did nothing. We don’t fucking care about what people think. Never have. Never will. We remain the generation just trying to make it across the hellscape. We’re the generation that took existentialism and nihilism and made it something for the masses as opposed to the intellectually sanctimonious and elite by merely breathing and rolling our eyes while smoking a blunt and drinking PBR from a CAN.

And, as we sit on the cusp of this nation’s destruction, some of us are concerned but we’re also not. Gen-X continues to see your bullshit. Be it the selfishness and narcissism of the Boomers or the complete inability to accept that humans are ordinary from the Millennials. Whatever comes to pass, as the circus continues around us, Gen-X, sandwiched by The Bearded generations (patchouli Deadheads who refuse to let go of the past and hipsters who really have no fucking idea what irony is), will remain spectators, quietly singing along to the Millennial Whoop in our financed vehicles while consuming processed food, drinking overpriced coffee, comforted by the knowledge that we don’t look through rose colored glasses. We’re not snowflakes. We’re not special. We’re not seeking “experiences.” We just don’t want to be assholes – bearded or clean shaven.

Oh well, whatever, nevermind.

*Look at this. Even spellcheck won’t acknowledge the existence of artisanal. That’s how fucking lame this word and this concept is. To prove my point further: the word includes the word ANAL as the suffix.

Tim on Tim…

…and The Replacements.

I love politics. I love music. This is not a secret.

Imagine my splodey-hearted-and-headed joy when I read that Tim Kaine loves The Replacements. Imagine my bliss when he quotes “Bastards of The Young.” Imagine my being unable to function for the rest of the day as I sit at my laptop and draw hearts in the air with one of my eight legs while dreaming of the potential Vice President and Paul Westerberg. Together. With Tim playing in the background. All of the Tims. All of the time.

There has been nothing redeemable about this shitshow of an election cycle. My child cannot watch the debates, let alone the news, with me. I have been called a Skype and an Oven Dodger. We have heard “Grab ’em by the pussy” for the first time and it’s not Mrs. Slocombe doing the talking. For someone who finds political theatrics intoxicating, this election has been the equivalent of drinking too much grain punch from a frat house garbage can and puking down the front of your shirt in front of the really adorable guy you had been trying to get with the entire time you were in school; a messy, public humiliation that everyone is talking about.

Until now. Until Tim Kaine saved the day and restored hope to this bleak hellscape by speaking of the underrated brilliance of The ‘Mats.

Once I’m done coloring in my hearts, I’ll cross my eight legs and hope for a Hillary/Tim victory. Not just to restore sanity to this frothy cauldron of doom, stupidity and hatred this country has become. No. But for an inaugural ball befitting a modern era and featuring The Replacements as they should be – loud and drunk.

La lutte est cruelle…

…Madame Kardashian West

Poor Kim Kardashian West whose pain we can all relate to. I, too, understand the sheer terror of being held at gunpoint in a *Parisian bathtub, losing that which I hold dear and value highly.

As the day wears on and we remain distracted by the news, as we so often are, let us remember all that is important for it is not Syrian refugees. It is not children without food, schools without textbooks or adults without jobs. It’s the fate of a woman whose diamond ring and grill was ripped from her possession. A woman whose sole existence is to promote an unrealistic body type to attain and lifestyle to emulate. A woman whose come-up was a sex tape. A woman who understood and upheld the integrity of marriage…for 72 days.

That is the true tragedy of the day. And a truly awful way to begin the Jewish New Year.

Let us pray.

*Change Paris to Rouen
Change bathtub to bathroom
Add: stench of cat urine, three bottles of Beaujolais Nouveau, two hours of vomiting and not knowing where the wine ended and my insides began
Also: jetlag

Gävlebocken!!!

Assembling Gävlebocken.

It’s the most glorious time of the year! Gävlebocken has returned! I feel reborn.

It’s a beautiful day…to burn.

Important reference material:

Twitter Feed
Blog
Instagram
Website
History

Shimmering in the darkness, begging to be ignited.

Now, for the important stuff: Gävlebocken Incineration Sweepstakes is underway on Facebook. If you wish to participate, leave your desired date of destruction in the comments. I will let you know if your selection is available. The prizes: one beautiful, sparkly virtual trophy and the right to gloat for one entire calendar year.

Please, please burn me.

Call to action: Gävlebocken must burn this year, motherfuckers. Do not allow the kommun to break it down and ship it to China (or anywhere else, for that matter). Do not allow it survive. Burn this bastard. Make it so. Deliver your offering to the High Priestess. She rarely asks for anything, after all.