Geeks

I find that the geek community, especially in Utah, is well represented these days, and that made me happy, at first. That is why I find it so hard to precisely describe how profoundly disappointed in them I am.

Before the advent of mass media, entertainment was mostly locale based -- you'd head down to whatever local theater or bar or meeting place your area had to watch whatever the local promoters could drum up. There was a need for talent; you had to find somebody that people cared about watching. Even after mass media had really ramped up, you'd still find a balance between talent and breaking new ground in the arts, and a certain pop sensibility. Hard examples from my era would be people like Trent Reznor. Nirvana is a good middling example. Early hip hop had a good balance between popularity and the bleeding edge of what that genre was doing, the 90's especially. Talent was sought out, even if it was tempered with fashion and cut with sugar.

In the modern era, the pool of what the vast majority of media consumed is, has shrunk considerably. Top 40 has less than 40 songs on steady rotation, and only a handful of artists. If a band like Radiohead or Sonic Youth came out today, they wouldn't even have a chance to emerge. Movies are essentially franchises and remakes. This is the mainstream condensed into a fire hose. Even that being what it is, that isn't my gripe here.

Something like Star Trek is a good example of what I mean to talk about. The show had poor ratings when it was active and running. It became a cult phenomenon later on, but there is that old geek stereotype of those with the plastic ears and the pastel, polyester shirts with the plastic badges. That show didn't fare in the mainstream because of what it was; a show in the true Sci-Fi tradition. A show about how people act, about what their motivations are. It's putting human kind in a weird situation and trying to guess how they'd act, and to learn something about ourselves in the process. The old-world geek culture latched onto that. It's not to say that show didn't possess any action sequences, but they were tempered with something that expanded media and art as a whole; a well-produced, well-thought-out expansion of thought about what we are, and what we could be.

That is what geek culture is -- or was -- to me. Simply put, they are, or should be, the people who care about art. Art is the most important thing. It encompasses all that we ever were, all that we are, and all that we ever will be. It is the sum of not only our knowledge, but of our emotion. Intelligence is what separates us from every other animal that we know of in existence; it is our job to use the gift and the talent we've been given to describe and document what it is like to have emotions and complex thoughts; societies and wars and poverty in wealthy nations and rape; the concept of murder, theft of life. Geeks are supposed to be on the bleeding edge, leading the charge. A community of critics. The reason why the art is made, or at least the audience willing to pay attention to the expansion of it, other than just the well-reasoned and polished core.

The geek culture I see is comprised of about 5-6 major fandoms. Star Wars, Harry Potter, Doctor Who, Twilight, maybe Supernatural and few other shows. It is a meme popcorn ball. Maybe the mistake is mine, and what I'm describing are geek subcultures; music geeks, art geeks, film geeks, horror geeks, etc., but what I see isn't heartening. I don't see mentality of sharing, of showing-and-telling. Art should be like trading cards; you want to find the best ones so you can show others. You learn more about yourself, they learn more about you, and everything expands. The world grows. We're supposed to be the ones finding the next trends, and blowing on the flames built by the artists. We're the reason the mainstream even exists.

I read a comment recently, about how screwed up and degrading it is to insult others' fandoms. I do agree with this, but I feel the context matters. I could think of a well reasoned argument about how so many people liking something like Star Wars or the Marvel movies is detrimental to art as a whole. For example, how many of you have seen, or even heard of, Ink? Or Lo? To me, either of those directors could be the next Guillermo Del Toro; they could make the next big, important, well-loved thing. However, the system being what it is, people know what will sell. Marvel and Star Wars will sell. There are no less than nine Star Wars movies planned in short succession. People will pay to see every one. And all of that is fine. But as a geek, I want to be more discerning. I understand that maybe I'm being pandered to. Sometimes I want these marketing behemoths to move to the side and give somebody else a chance. There are innumerable people out there waiting to tell a story, but they need attention and focus to grow. It's up to us as thinking people, who truly give a shit about art, to provide that nourishment. We all have a right to our opinions, but we also have a duty to have our opinions questioned, and our minds expanded. This isn't about me saying, "Fuck Star Wars". It's about me saying, a group of underground individuals, who really feel a deep connection to media and art of all types, should not be acting like the mainstream. The mainstream has enough support as it is; it's why it's the mainstream, and no new ground has ever been broke through it. Rock music was hated when it first started to hit the airwaves. Sometimes the discerning fans and artists know more about what will be liked, and more importantly IMPORTANT, to art than any given large number of fans belonging to any particular epoch.

I would think you'd find it disheartening to know, that if being a geek is truly a part of your definition of your self, that most people fit that definition today. Marvel movies, and the recent Star Wars movies are some of the best selling movies of all time; everybody is a geek now. Geek has just become another marketing term. If you're fine with that, that's fine too. Everybody has a right to like what they like. Some people don't like to define themselves by what they like, and that's fine too. There's a reason geeks used to get the shit kicked out of them on a regular basis.

However, call it a character flaw or a full-on douchebag trait on my part, but a big part of who I am and how I experience the world is defined by what I like. I like to dig and search for music. I like to watch movies I've never heard of on Amazon and Netflix. I like going to art shows. I may not be the most knowledgeable, but I do try and seek out and refine what I like. The assumption I made, was that is what it meant to be a geek.

But maybe I just put too much importance on it.

The Perfectionist Emblem

I'm 29. It's certainly a late time to come back to (or start) anything. At least, that's the way I feel. After reading so much lately, I've been feeling the uncontrollable urge to write. I've had this urge for the better part of my life, but only now am I sitting here and typing something, that potentially other people could read.

When you're younger, you have more energies, more ideas, more plans. When you're older, you have a better idea on how to execute, but less passion. For me, I've always carried a perfectionist emblem. This concept of, "I don't want to do it unless I can do it really well." Or really, at least start with some idea of what I'm doing. It makes it hard to get through the thin lead up to any new activity, and leads any sort of passion for it to be mostly fried, quick-energy that can't sustain itself for longer than 15 minutes at a time.

The brain is stupid. Any hobby we take up, inevitably starts with some kind of dull, poorly-lighted fantasy about what it could become. I would imagine even knitters, in Their Own Private Backwoods, fantasize about some Etsy shop that allows them to quit their job at whatever insurance place they shill titles out of, or get them out of whatever living room they really live in. Maids. Assistants. Eating-Out. Sleeping in.

And of course, it's all bullshit. It's just how our brains are wired. There needs to be some evolutionary imperative, some long-term reasoning behind everything. Even as I type this, I'm getting tired and bored. Bullshit.

In addition to the usual psychological violence employed by what should be our own assets, to be marshaled at will and not strove against in some tireless battle that exists perpetually on a field we create ourselves, you have to contend with age. Twenty-nine. You ask somebody older, and it's young. To a young twenty, it's a frightening cusp. Thirty. Old age. A time when you're supposed to be safely indoors before the storm hits.

I learned, by dumb luck and oddly-placed passion, that the age I went back to school and started down my career path happened to be like catching the last train out of the city before they started running hourly, and I went through it fast at that. I'm decently situated, can finally afford bills and screw-around money. The paleontological struggles out of the way, no more gnawing of bones and gristle, it is an odd time. You finally have a seat on the bus, and you're trying desperately to find out where it is actually going.

Of course, this isn't specific to 29; 33 is a good number, or even 25. I can't speak for 33, but 25 isn't really fair. You reach this point at 25 because you're already doing everything right. You have five years to change your mind. You're still firmly in the hearty, strong-backed range of You Can Be Whatever You Want. At 30, the back starts to go, some things get thin, and some things get hairy. You have to specialize to even survive, because although the mind isn't really going, the ability to grow the mind is. At least that kind of growth that comes with acne and shitty waiter jobs.

In some ways you feel stuck. Sure, you have another decade to REALLY figure it out, which is the secret you learn as you get older, regardless of your age. But 33 isn't nearly as shiny as 23. Twenty-three is a pretty age. It's pretty to employers, it's pretty to Hollywood, and that's the crux of the fear. It's not that you're truly immobile, it's knowing that not doors, but entire wings of innumerable houses are permanently closed to you by a failing no greater than the passage of time. You will eventually die.

And so, I write this, not as some broad-chested stand in the face of Time itself, but ignobly, in blind panic at the fear of Regrets.