But sitting in poop, sipping water through a straw, and the aforementioned Sisyphian task did not bring me the physical or spiritual or whatever-the-fucksical fulfillment it seemed to bestow upon the rest of the denizens of the store. No, give me the arts any day, and not just to nibble on--not with my actual teeth anyway.
Anyone who's ever read a music or film or lit or some specialized thing blog of their own volition is a nerd. I know I am. The Oxford English Dictionary defines nerd as--just kidding, I'm not gonna pull out any of that word-defining bullshit. A nerd is just someone who cares about stuff, a lot. Or, someone who cares about stuff maybe a lot more than most other people. Which means, a lot of the time, you're gonna like, love, fucking WORSHIP all over some stuff or subculture or region of stuff that, you'll realize, in the real world, no one actually likes.
And it's gonna look a lot like this:
The I don't get it. The feigned interest. The hollow laugh. Every music nerd has had this moment. Many, fucking, times. And at least with music the song is over quickly. Ever sat through the entirety of a favorite movie, trying to laugh or otherwise react in just the right amount to clue the rest of the nonplussed audience that they should, in fact, be very plussed right now?
Even for a thick-furred, cigar-chomping, balls-trippin rodent like me, that shit can be fucking trying. In fact, this hamster once found himself a hair's length away gouging out a friend's eyeball from because he'd said Yoshimi Battles The Pink Robots was "pretty lame" before he'd even realized his claws were out--and that album is catchy as fuck. Just try turning anyone onto anything belonging to a subgenre beginning with the word "prog". Or, you know, anything sub-anything at all.
But gut twisting as they are, those negative reactions are pretty rare, and, perhaps actually more tolerable than the usual, because at least that means the person was reacting to the damn thing. Most often? You just get kind of a blank stare, or blank nod, or blank sentence, or, shudder, the internet-pacisfying, all-encompassing, mind-numbedly engulfing "meh."
And after your life's work (and make no mistake, for we nerds our relationships with the objects of our nerddom is just that) has finally had its canonically-foundationed back broken by the last of the "eh"s it can possibly take, it's easy to become what people call a "snob".
And from here we must make a decision.
On the one paw:
Look down on the fools who can't appreciate it. Who bask in the--skip the hyphenated hyperbole--generic; who hum nakedly commercial bullshit and think it's some great art thing; who only experience new movements or genres via same's most trend-fucking carpetbaggers and money-grubbing sellouts and think that that's a thing to do that is fucking okay; whose radio dial is permanently welded to whatever clear-channel station is broadcast generic "classic rock block: your source for Sweet Home Alabama every hour on the air, and only the Bob Dylan songs that couldn't possibly be construed as controversial (oh and also now a bunch of stuff from the 90's for some reason)," that might be good but not for the reasons they think it is; and, worst of all, who would dare utter the the phrase "dude, it's only a ______ <song/movie/computer game/shirt/steak/hamster-based anime/whatever>" and not do so tragically, self-deprecatingly, but actually have the audacity to believe it. Who don't fucking care, and wouldn't seem to care to try either.
But on the other:
Attempt tolerance. Sure, they might not get your more unusual tastes, but remember, they don't have the same vast, enormously researched artistic context as you. It's hard to recognize and appreciate innovation when you don't know what developments are actually being innovated upon. And, hey, no they're not as dedicated to this shit as you, but, you probably know deep down inside, most people have this thing called shit to do, and simply lack whatever you had that facilitated the countless hours you spent tracking down a rip of some Masahiko Togashi LP on some mysterious Czech blog. And just because you haven't explored the foundational texts of grunge doesn't mean you can't still enjoy Smells Like Teen Spirit. And, as head-bashingly fucktarded as the very phrase "classic rock" may be, there is a good reason that long dead boomer horse continues to beat down the airwaves to this very day. Because sharing the love is generally a better experience than being a dick about it, right?
It's a beautiful notion--one that, I'm not afraid to admit, brings a tear to my freakishly giant eye. I mean, what's the point of being a king of cultural nerddom when you just spend every day stuck on the throne alone (even if the throneroom is decked out with a sweet projector ready to render the planets in Tree of Life in their full, "ZOMG 20 MINUTES OF PICTURES OF SPACE AND THEN A DINOSAUR" glory)? In an age of hyper-connected, instant mass media fetish-culture, how can the nerd afford not to develop critical faculties that aim not just at his fellow, distant high priest critics and bloggers and--*shudder*--commenters, but at his increasingly culturally fragmented, actual, far less involved friends? Because what could be better than that moment of vindication you feel when you step into a friends car and he's head-knocking to the Slum Village album you burned for him two months ago and forgot about? (a lot of things, yes, but, like, context.)
And if you really care about art, think about the artist for a second? Do you really think they would rather that you the converted, instead of spreading the gospel, elect to keep their magic to yourself? (and yes, if the answer is "yes," it's probably okay not to try) Take the risk! Expose thine loins of taste! It's not just about you, it's about humanity! Art blah blah bladee blah!
Help a creator out!
Help a creator out!
But.
But, on the other, other paw...
You just want to keep the greatness for yourself. Because sometimes: fuck the plebes. The reason you think they don't understand like you do is that they don't. After all, if they did, they wouldn't need you to explain why good shit is good to them, now would they? And no, they aren't going to like all of that weird great shit you like, because they just don't have the same capacity for seeking out and comprehending greatness that you do. And when they give you the look, the eyebrow, the smirk, the meh, you just give em the ol devil horns and crazyface and be content with how awesome you are at being learned and appreciating good art or whatever.
Just remember, no one gives a fuck. And if you want them to, you gotta show them why they should. Preferably without making them think that you're crazy--er, that is, preferably without revealing that you're crazy. Or, actually, you know what? A little crazy is okay. 'cause in the real world, The Mars Volta are pretty popular?
And besides, its only a ______.
(...haha. Yeah right.)
UPDATE: Coincidentally, this podcast with John Hodgman and special guest/badass John Darnielle of The Mountain Goats examines this very same theme
And besides, its only a ______.
(...haha. Yeah right.)
...
UPDATE: Coincidentally, this podcast with John Hodgman and special guest/badass John Darnielle of The Mountain Goats examines this very same theme
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