Man! Go to Google and type in ‘bad fucking news week’ and you get 11,245019 results for… Google! Actually, you don’t. I just need a half-ass lede to get into this thing and that’ll have to do.
But it’s not like the past few days have been kind to the Internet search king – an engine when compared to all others seems like a V-8 next to joy-buzzers. First, one of the company’s executives drops dead on his yacht while his hooker wines and dines herself, even stepping over his corpse at one point; not the way I’d want to go. She’s pleaded not guilty and probably already has a book deal. Somehow, her mercenary behavior witnessing a tech nerd log off epitomizes our assertively sociopathic era. Surely, her story will be an Oprah-network TV movie, and character of Alex Tichelman upgraded from heartless whore to independent career woman unwilling to fall for manipulations of a neglectful (’cause he’s dead) man in her life.
Then, like rock salt loaded in a shotgun shell and fired point-blank into an open wound, this:
A Google engineer busted for an alleged rape in his East Village apartment is being probed for “numerous” other reported attacks, the Daily News has learned. Justin Chan, 28, was arraigned in Manhattan Supreme Court Tuesday on rape charges stemming from the alleged sexual assault June 1 inside his E. 12th St. apartment…
“Although the defendant doesn’t have a criminal history, he has numerous complaints of sexual assault against (him) which are being investigated at this time,” a prosecutor told Justice Charles Solomon on Tuesday. [New York Daily News]
If you’re anything like me – even though mere thought of that makes you want to set yourself afire, then scrape off charred hide with a wood rasp - you wonder what took authorities so long to “investigate” this guy. Were his victims mere hookers? Even still, they’re human; at least some of them must show more pulse than Ms. Tichelman. Trouble making the charges stick? Rub that cum-bucket Tichelman against them, then air-dry awhile; they’ll adhere to paraffin. A wildly rich and powerful Internet entity in his corner, throwing around money like this guy does unlucky hook-ups? That suggests the New York Police Department is tainted with corruption. At the very idea, I’m shocked! No, really: shocked.
Recently, it seems Google has stepped into one pile of doogle after another. For one thing, non-nerds don’t cotton to that Cyclopean Google Glass thingie that shoots ‘Call of Duty’ straight into wearers’ retinas - evidently 24/7. Most folk, reasonably sane and intestinally regular, can’t understand need to be wi-fi connected every waking moment. There must be time for other stuff. …Like real life.
Then, in March, a Silicon Valley psycho-bitch went all Naomi Campbell in a San Francisco bar after patrons berated her “Glasshole” tendencies. (That beautifully rendered term alone should send this “Brave New World” brain-eater to the ass-heap of history.) You couldn’t ask for a worse role model for young Glass addicts than Sarah Slocum, whose mother and ex-husband have restraining orders on her, and whose former neighbors claim she’s a peeping Tomasina. Look: Let her keep the fucking thing. Take away Glass as her defining fetish and she may drift on to assault rifles.
“People are quick to condemn the person, or come to a person’s defense, because they really hit a nerve on an issue,” (Internet marketing consultant Jason) McDonald said. “In this case, she’s become a flash point. She’s like the guy in front of the tank at Tiananmen Square.”
Seems Google Glass may also contribute to overripe hyperbole overreach. O2H?
There’s always next year.
~ O ~
Well… Archie Andrews is dead. Yep. Tediously beloved of Veronica and Betty died last week in what appears to be a pool of chocolate milk, cradled by his old best-boy Jughead (who apparently has turned out to be the dishwasher we always thought he’d turn out to be).
Archie filled the new essential intent, the very prime directive of today’s comic books – to be rigidly ideological sociopolitical documents. He died exactly how NO ONE in his heyday a half-century ago could POSSIBLY foresee he’d kick a bucket: Martyr to homophobia, Archie bagged a slug meant for a gay friend.
I wish I were kidding, too.
One of the best things about past pop culture – comics, movies, and the like – is that it provided momentary escape from life’s harsh realities. Now, it doesn’t so much reaffirm that reality as immerse us in emotional response to it as undependably endorsed as it is cheaply tantalized. To extent we ‘feel’ any commentary about an issue, we believe it. Nothing could be more dangerous.
Before we say goodbye to this four-color icon – inanely cross-hatched carrot-top and all – let’s consider the words of novelist Milan Kundera in the American Conservative:
“Kitsch is the absolute denial of shit, in both the literal and the figurative senses of the word; kitsch excludes everything from its purview which is essentially unacceptable in human existence. Kitsch causes two tears to flow in quick succession. The first tear says: ‘How nice to see children running on the grass!’ The second tear says: ‘How nice to be moved, together with all mankind, by children running on the grass!’ It is the second tear that makes kitsch kitsch. The brotherhood of man on earth will be possible only on a basis of kitsch.”
Thor grows a vagina. Now there’s Captain Urban America. Most of comicdom is now diehard Frankfurt School frankfurter stool. Sure, there’s Rightwing kitsch, too. ..Except that liberal kitsch draws the big bucks and is kitsch that dare not speak its name.
Don’t know whether I’ll laugh in idiotic hysteria – or cry the same way. But I’m sure, in either case, tears will flow.