A few years ago, I shared one of my all-time favorite Onion articles with you. I thought it appropriate to trot it out again, because the central theme of the piece resonated strongly when I saw the result of my first full Kickstarter experience recently.
On its surface, the article satirizes a common Hollywood trope, where a band of scrappy kids triumphs improbably against the well-heeled. But for me, the underlying subtext is a celebration of being jaded, and such festivities seem particularly relevant, as of late. My voting experience comes to mind. Or take the latest viral sensation, for instance, of the homeless man who was given a pair of boots by an NYPD cop, only to be shoeless again a day later.
It’s that bittersweet moment when you believe, right until the very point your optimism buckles, then sunders under the weight of the authentic. You want to believe that this presidential term will be different. You want to believe a homeless fellow defies the odds and shakes off his shackles, driven by one small act of kindness. You want to believe a wallet, funded by the people and created for the people, with its “meticulously handstitch[ed] X-detail,” has the power to upend traditional retail structure. But then you look closely, and all you see is a sad, small piece of elastic with one end sewn shut, a cross between pirate treasure and a relic you might find on the locker room floor of a Jack LaLanne.
Your eyes weren’t deceiving you. I was deceiving you. The “we’ll be back” messages, like the one published last Tuesday, are usually short, straightforward, and–most importantly–sacrosanct. They are pledges to you. I am abandoning you, they say, but I will un-abandon you on a predetermined date. Originally we were supposed to reconvene on Tuesday, but I changed the date to today on the sly. Although few likely noticed the deception, I’m wracked with shame, all the same.
Thanksgiving only partially explains my absence. The thing is, my normally streamlined schedule has been packed to the gills as of late with big people things. Just before this very blog post, in fact, I was reviewing my finances. For hours. I mean, fuck! Pretty soon, I’ll be turning in at, like, 8:30 PM–on a late night. It’s been crunch time at work, coupled with responsibilities outside the office. In the next few weeks, though, I’ll be on my best behavior, promise. I shall reclaim your good graces.
Writing has accompanied a lot of this recent industry, and output’s been shit-hot, if I may throw modesty out the window. Copywriting’s been punchy, for one thing, and a formal attestation almost made its subject weep. “I literally had to fight back tears,” she said, and I can think of no higher compliment, as far as attestations go. But I also became keenly aware of my limits. I thought my capacity to manufacture sentences was an inexhaustible well. No! No. Turns out I’m exactly like everyone else. I finally understood why art designers construct mood boards. It’s like tinder for your creative kindling. My mood board happens to be running around futuristic virtual worlds on Xbox and shooting aliens and people in the face with exotic weaponry–speaking of which.
Secondhand Rants will return on Thursday, November 29.