modern
corsair
m o d e rn
co rsa i r
THE WRITERS IN THIS ISSUE: Ian Adams Aaron Rosenberg Gregory Ploblete Dana Sami Guadalupe Martinez Jr. Katie Lee Mc Niel Featuring a poem from Algernon Charles Swinburne
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Number 5: As God initially surveyed the young planet the creator to be found life blooming from many cracks of the world. God tried his hand at the art of creation and was taken aback- for to take random elements from a rather random world and form a machine was surprisingly easy, but to create something that survived was difficult.
Even god’s work died rather quickly, as the early weather was tough, but god kept on making stronger beings until one species stuck. God watched these beings dominate over all others that withered away in that harsh environment and went to bed convinced that those creations would control that tiny planet forever.
Number 4:
“Back in my day we typed on actual keyboards! And if you were really unlucky- you’d have Back in my day we typed on to type on a tiny screen- with only your thumbs! actual keyboards... And you know what? and you know what? We liked it that way.”
“
we liked it that way!” page 1
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Number 3: We
keep on innovating in a circle- take the razor blade for example: we hit a high point in the invention’s life when there was one blade, but we begin to otating handles, blades to the tip, then vibrating handles to a seven bladed razor and in the end we’re left with a complicated, patched together razor that advertising tells us is better than the simple double edged razor. (But it is better for them, due to the high price of cartridges (~4$) when compared to the low price of a single razor blade (~10¢) A cartridge is simply out designed by a safety razor. The innovation worked backwards. Most people are sent a fancy four to seven blade cartridge razor when they hit 18 through a package in the mail. (God knows who gave them that information.) I got one when I grew to razor acquiring age, and to be honest, I actually needed a razor and I didn’t have one. Mine had 5 blades: four bunched together and one on the tip. I preferred the single blade on the tip. I eventually innovated on Frankenstein by switching to a single double edged razor.
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Number 2:
Everybody in school told me my parents were a little nutso, but hell, everyone in the church told me my parents were geniuses. I spent more time in church, so I guess that’s why I ended up trusting them more. My parents were famous for their mathematics- good enough to break codes hidden in places where no one even had thought to look for them. They were hunters of gospel and new gospel was always hidden somewhere. They found god in those old number stations; sacred words somewhere in the beeps and ones, twos, and tens. Sometimes god would hide himself in nutritional facts on the back of cereal boxes. Nobody but Maand Pa knew when he’d reveal himself next.
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“The god I grew up with always told us we were as good as dead- that I should die and my parents should die, and that the church should die. Ha! Two out of three makes him a flawed god. Maybe it just makes me unlucky. He sure did a shit Job of everything. Anyways, my parents all knew that this would all happen so they started building a shelter- they defied him; decided that the church should live. As a people, we waited to see if we would die, but people grew tired of waiting. They started making visits out into the world. I wouldn’t be allowed out and eventually so many people left on a regular basis, I was left alone for most of the time- even my parents left for business once in a while. I began to complain, so my parents went out and found me a playmate- that’s you. Only you were really young at the time. I waited there for months, usually alone except for you, when one night lightning struck above the hole. I tried to open the hatch, but it was stuck real tight. I couldn’t open it, and I dunno if anyone’s out there to open it. It hasn’t opened since. Think the latch will give this time?”
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“
We climbed it and I looked out at a New York City skyline. I had only seen it in pictures before. I slept on the sidewalk
Number 1: It starts off by getting fuzzy and once you start to get used to a little fuzzy, it all begins to blur. You might as well give up on salvaging anything when it begins to blur. The most mundane things stick with you; faces you can’t stick names to, wedding that still feel like they took too long- I’ve got a favorite though, something I’ll share. It’s nice because it’s especially vivid. I can see New York, a dusty alleyway to my side with card board boxes broken by somebody’s boot, an old light bulb above me, dishing out a steady stream of dim, basement gloom light. I was lostor rather I ha chosen to remain lost after getting separated from my tour group. I didn’t ask for directions, I just felt the need to keep moving. page 4
”
that night. The claustrophobia of a full day’s set of clothed constriction woke me. I kept wandering. The idea that with enough wandering, enough double backing and peering over edges of buildings and I’d eventually find my way back to the hotel kept me in a state of constant hope. Every crosswalk ahead of me held my destination. It took me the better half of that day, but my hotel was behind a final hope laden angle. I had defeated the city. I had made it small. The next day I explored with my tour group again. We climbed it and I looked out at a New York City skyline. I had only seen it in pictures before.
Safari Zoning Out Ian Adams
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It has been often that my friends and intimates called me
closed off. I am an island in many individuals perception. A man of mystery. I honestly do not give this much thought however. I see it as those who know me know what they need to or want to know. I have not lied about how I am or what I do when questioned.
In the sake of countering this perception I will however seek to reveal seven truths about myself in this peace. That includes the part about people calling me closed off and me not worrying about it. So those who wish to get to know me look forward to the next five things you may not have known about me.
When I was seven I first heard about PokĂŠmon. It was at lunch in the first grade and my best friend in the whole world Alex had a hand of cards I did not recognize. Crabby, Picachu, Squertel and a Geodude. I then gained curiosity. Curiosity bread fascination. And fascination gave way to obsession. I collected the cards- a pack a week. I played the Gameboy and then on the Color.
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I loved the show and slept with a plushy Picachu and when not in a traparkeeper packed with cards or mashing buttons in Joto I daydreamed in my back yard about catching Pokémon. I wanted to be the very best, like no one ever was…catching them was my real test and then training them- my cause. Except my real tests involved math, or history or what Pevensie child best represented the ideal Christian in “The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe”. But I did not care about integers or 1779 or Christ metaphors. I wanted to put magic animals into little red balls and live the real life being a practical adult at ten and traveling where I’d want whenever I chose. But this power fantasy was stripped from me.
I went to a privet school called Calvary Academy. Pokémon promoted the worst evil of all social evils: science and evolution. The heroes of the Poké-World are professors of science. Knowledge and rational thought taming the danger of the unknown wild was a big theme in the show and games. Ash and his friends all looked up to Oak or Sycamore.
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One day in what must have been the eighth grade I sat with friends waiting to be picked up. On the edge of a flower bed I traded copies of cards for the new creatures in these beautiful drawn panels. As my grandfather’s sand-silver car approached and I nearly had my belongings packed a teacher came past. She was not my teacher at the time. She had been mine in the third grade. And when she saw what I and my friends were holding in our hands she gasped. She gasped and gasp I can only compare to your best friend’s mom catching you in a tent with one other cum, cigarettes and pornos in the other hand, because that also happened to me- years later, but still. This woman who I would shame by printing her mane but a greater insult is her name has escaped me as she was of such little significance outside this incident. She insisted my grandfather park to pull he and I aside. She explained that this foreign trash is unacceptable. I recall verbatim “Ian seems to be tampering with demonic, secular toys. It’s evolutionary propaganda… unless your family thinks differently?”
In this accusatory tone she put my grandfather in a position of apologies for me and that of cores “There’s no evolution in our home. We teach them kids as it is. In the book.” On a very long car ride to my house my grandparents explained that this was all pretend. Children can’t survive without adults, animals don’t breath fire and evolution is wrong- dangerous and not to be brought up again. I can feel the silence after my correction. I was not punished but I was denied any more Pokémon. And soon enough I fell out of it and my other hobbies filled in the hole. Books mostly and swim. We must be nearly done? This seems so venerable. You all now know so much… I go on. To finish. page 8
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So years later the present: I am post-pubescent, tall, sarcastic and stressed out. I am juggling the money needs with teaching English to remedial high school students. Magazine, live shows, school, that Ke-Kwon-Do video. And between semesters I picked up Pokémon Yellow again to see what all the fuss was about. I realized when I outgrew the fantasy many friends of mine kept it as a sort of sanctuary they could retreat to when things seemed hectic. Playing with my favorite Pickachu I quickly fell into the rhythms of the game. I collected badges, beat Teem Rocket and was soon enough to the Elite Four. It felt great. My mind turned off. The world didn’t affect me. I was a trainer in an idyllic landscape where I could be in control with hard work and dedication. A week went by. So years later the present: I am post-pubescent, tall, sarcastic and stressed out. I am juggling the money needs with teaching English to remedial high school students. Magazine, live shows, school, that Ke-Kwon-Do video. And between semesters I picked up Pokémon Yellow again to see what all the fuss was about. I realized when I outgrew the fantasy many friends of mine kept it as a sort of sanctuary they could retreat to when things seemed hectic. Playing with my favorite Pickachu I quickly fell into the rhythms of the game. I collected badges, beat Teem Rocket and was soon enough to the Elite Four. It felt great. My mind turned off. The world didn’t affect me. I was a trainer in an idyllic landscape where I could be in control with hard work and dedication. A week went by.
I lost a week of my life. It flew by in the zen like trance of the game. Time meant nothing. Everything could be broken down into stat sheets of numbers, like running equations in real time. That honestly all a Pokémon is a sequence of numbers in conflict with another concocted series of numbers wearing the skin of an adorable electro-mouse. page 9
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I can remember that the nostalgia of the boy I was came back to me. And it was tantalizing. Feeling the theoretical power. The digi- companionship of my captured friends. I played Fall Out Boy and Panic! At the Disco albums on a full loop for hours as I played. I bought- this is not a joke- a red hoodie and painted my nails black as was done in my boyhood. I had almost totally receded into my fantasy. My magical one on the game screen and the one calling back to being a kid with no real worries in life. And it felt good. But I made myself quit. Because I am not a child. Me wishing to be one fills me with just enough fond memories to block the sower ones. But I see it as, I am an adult. I have adult problems, and responsibilities and ignoring that so I can catch ‘em all is not a help. It will ultimately leave me disappointed because it is a phantom joy. Perhaps it is that happiness is just the moment before you need more happiness, but there is a better shot at finding a fruitful pursuit of happiness in the future. Where our choices have agency, nothing is set in stone and it all can be rather than in the past where all is as it was without hope of alteration. I may play PokĂŠmon again one day. It is fun and cheery. But I will not use my past as a crush for the future. I will not give myself permission to quit my future so that I can relish in the nostalgia so many shows, and films and people are begging me to. There is nothing left for me beck there, with my grandfather picking me up every afternoon at 3:25 and a revolving door of hardnosed women who came to teach in the name of their lord. I am occasionally reminded there is a bright future. I have a love, a coterie of loyal, good hearted friends and I have the promise of my work. I am young still. Nostalgia is for those who are done living.
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The Story of Skaters Gregory Poblete
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Remember a time when Disney channel use to come out with original Disney channel movies every month? What a time to be alive. When I was a little kid, I had a few different phases as any other kid probably did. There was the Yu-Gi-Oh phase that lasted a few years until I got to high school and realized that none of the cool kids battled anymore, so I gave all my cards to my younger step-brother, there was the Pokémon phase that, to be honest, never really ended because I still fuck with Pokémon X and Y, and finally, there was the extreme sports phase. This was definitely the most badass version of myself I will ever be and it is a shame that I will probably never be that cool again. My cousin and I did it all: Razor scootered, skateboarded, and most of all, we bladed. If I’m being totally honest, we really sucked. We thought that doing a manual from one crack on the sidewalk to the next was a huge accomplishment. But that didn’t matter because we thought we were tight as fuck. The movie that really guided this inspiration to it’s fullest potential is the Disney channel movie, Brink!
This is the one movie that, when I realize people haven’t seen it, I judge them super hard and tell them to readjust their priorities of life. Brink! is basically about a group of high school skaters called “Soul Skaters” that enjoy skating for the fun of it. However, another skate crew in town called “Team X-Bladz” convinces Brink (the leader of the “Soul Skaters”) to join their crew, and he now has to live with the fact that he is skating behind his friend’s back for the money. When his friends find out, they give Brink the cold shoulder. But eventually Brink realizes the real reason he loves to Blade, and that’s because of his friends, and not because the fancy skate gear and the money.
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That’s basically the whole movie. There’s not that much to it. Okay, there’s more to it but you could find that out. There are so many things I loved about this movie as a little kid. I loved all the skating scenes where they are totally shredding (which was probably done by professional skaters but as a little kid, I didn’t care if it was them or not.) Another thing I loved was the radical lingo they used to talk to one another that I tried using with my friends at school who probably thought I was weird and is probably the main reason none of them talk to me anymore. There was definitely a point in my life when I could quote about 90% of the movie, and I was not ashamed of it. Another thing that was cool about this movie was the soundtrack. The soundtrack consisted of a lot of ska music, which was a major genre that got me through middle school with bands such as Less Than Jake and Goldfinger. And being that this was a Disney channel movie, the soundtrack was kid friendly, so all the songs from the movie were constantly being blasted in my dad’s car stereo. This movie brings back so many memories of the reckless and careless lifestyle I had growing up. Okay, it wasn’t so much reckless as it was wannabe reckless, but I had the intent to be badass. If I am being totally honest, this movie is not that good. But the reason I love this movie so much is because I can imagine myself as a little kid skating down the driveway at my dad’s house and hopping over cardboard boxes in the middle of the street. It was a wonderful time in my life that I am thankful I have gotten to experience. It is these little moments and phases in our life that somehow create the person who we are today, and that’s pretty fucking rad. Now, if you will excuse me, I am going to search on Ebay for some skates so I could live the dream again. My not at all biased rating for Brink! is 4 milk shakes out of 5. Oh, and if you actually want to watch this movie, good luck. It turns out that they never made a DVD version of this movie, which I am, super bummed about, and the VHS version is on sale for like $50, which is a complete rip-off because no one even owns a VHS player anymore.
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The Story of a Llama Gregory Poblete
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It may come to no surprise that I enjoy breaking the fourth wall with writing. I also really enjoy any media that tends to have a similar narrative style where a character taking part of the story is also telling the story as it happens. For example, I just finished watching every single season of Scrubs (if you ever plan on doing this, just keep in mind that season 8 is the best ending to the show and not the 9th season because they introduce a bunch of new characters in the 9th season [the best part of season 9 is the addition of Dave Franco, personally, my favorite Franco brother but that’s none of my business] and it becomes a little bit dragged on when JD leaves) and I love how the audience can be inside a character’s head through JD’s inner dialogue that give this perspective about the things happening in the hospital that may have not been able to be seen by just observing the actions taking place. (That was not a run-on sentence at all. By the way, while I have you in these parentheses, I write these as if they will be read like my inner dialogue. Just so you know.) With this type of storytelling, the characters give the audience a bigger role than just the observer and give them a role that feels necessary to the story. If it were not for the audience’s presence, then the characters would not have a story to tell. This is just a really long introduction to why I love The Emperor’s New Groove.
Imagine a time where Disney animated movies meant that they were actually drawn by hand and not entirely on a computer screen. Weird, right? Probably one of the funniest, and most underrated Disney classics of our generation is in fact, The Emperor’s New Groove. This movie introduced so many things to me as a 10 year-old kid. The first of those things was learning that characters could actually talk directly to the audience. The film starts out with Emperor Kuzco (played by David Spade whose best role is either in this movie or Joe Dirt) as a depressed llama in the rain telling the story of how he got to that point. As a little kid, I freaked out when Kuzco had the magical power to actually talk directly to me like he was some British Youtube vlogger.
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The story continues to be told through the narrative of Emperor Kuzco displaying his selfish desires of wanting to build a summer home on the top of Pacha’s (played by John Goodman) village. Meanwhile, Kuzco’s advisor to the throne, Yzma (Eartha Kitt) and her assistant and all around fan favorite character, Kronk (Patrick Warburton) has different plans in mind. They attempt to overthrow Emperor Kuzco so they can be in power. Their plan to do this is by poisoning Kuzco during a dinner where unfortunately, Kronk mixes up the poison with a potion that changes Kuzco into a llama. If I can just back up a little bit, Patrick Warburton, the, must I say, legendary Patrick Warburton is probably the first distinguishable voice I have recognized as a kid and came to the epiphany that cartoon characters are actually played by actors who also do voices in other cartoons. (Major side note, watch I Know That Voice. Super dope movie about voice actors. It’s on Netflix.) Anyways, the failed murder attempt gives Yzma and Kronk no other choice but to dispose of the llama’s body. However, Kronk yet again, fails at his job and somehow, Kuzco’s llama body finds it’s way into Pacha’s village. I’ll stop summarizing the movie now because if you haven’t seen The Emperor’s New Groove, it is definitely a must-see. Just before writing this review, I watched it again and found so many jokes that I missed the first couple times I have watched it. This movie is incredibly smart and witty and most likely the best movie about a llama I have ever seen. There is really nothing bad about this movie that I can think of. There are so many memorable moments and lines in this movie such as “the poison for Kuzco,” Kronk’s theme music, Yzma’s plan to mail boxes to herself, and these are all within the first 20 minutes of the movie. If you are looking for an easy, hilarious cartoon to watch, you cannot go wrong with The Emperor’s New Groove. My rating would have to be 5 animal potions out of 5. But that’s just my opinion. What did you think? Did you love it? Hate it? Why? If you have never seen a Needle Drop album review then you probably don’t understand why I said any of these. Forever.
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The 1990’s Tried on TV Or Meditations on Things as they Were and Could have been
Dana Sami
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As a young man in the 90’s I remember mostly watching a lot of TV. That and X-tream! sports like mountain boarding, Zorbing and whatever New Zealanders concocted to stave off the boredom of living in the earth’s over the garage converted loft. And I feel that there is one great loss of much of the period that we, in American are just coming back to, and that is diversity in representation. Now there is a lot to cover in television media and it’s relation to maturity and diversity, the themes I shall endeavor to disassemble for easy consumption here. Let it be said at the outset yes the 90’s were an awesome time for me personally, as a pseudointellectual, young adult with a lot of disposable income and a hunger for the boob-tube. I watched all the shows that had an unabashed weirdness about them, weirdness was a badge of honor to those of the 1990’s. One of the best written shows (and most musically advanced shows) of the time was The Adventures of Pete & Pete about two ginger haired Jersey boys living pre and post pubescently in the suburbs on themes of adulthood, responsibility, time, faith, hero worship, authoritarianism. Actor and comedian Toby Huss played Artie the Strongest Man in the World, who relished in weird quirks and affectations to the recurring lesson that was pounded into my head don’t conform, be weird, be outrageous, be proud of who you are even if other people cannot hang do to that, because as long as you do not seek the harm of others not acting like a normal human being is the only way to stop the fascists in the shadows. But this is a slight tangent- It will serve a point I am making. Just we do need to talk context momentarily. Context- it makes everything a bit more than what it is. In the 90’s there was this very odd tone that came over the generation. When previous generations fought war or were dealt an internal struggle of their own ills the 90’s was a strangely set apart time. As Jon Stewart called it the ‘Economic boom and stability scare of the Clinton administration’. We were again flushed with money, the Cold War ended and no major threat of conflict concerned the global stage.
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In 1992 political scientist and economist Francis Fukuyama expanded on his 1989 essay “The End of History?” where in he believed because of this trend of western prosperity and that the last large socio- political conflict of the century had finally resolved with no nuclear blast and an eradiated Hell-scape ruled by hypersexual biker gangs, history would end. History ending here is not meant in the context (vocab word on the calendar) of cosmically ending- like entropy ending the heat of the universe until no more things happen. Francis Fukuyama here is referring to the philosophical position posed by Friedrich Hegel that says all history is, is the clash and conflict between nationality’s, or ideologies for domination.
History here is defined not as a narrative of historical people acting as characters in a series of events that led up to the present day moments we live in. Hegel and Fukuyama here are talking about the theory that history is only the logical conflicts between distinct groups and ideas or ways of being so that the end of history would be a point where in all major conflict is resolved until humanity has reached a sort of uniformity of logic. This notion along with the west’s economic security settled a generation of detached, highly educated, youth oriented people whose media apatite reflected this in a bent toward a ravenous postmodern bent of deconstruction of all that came before it. The melees of life and the feeling that all that was ever going to be new was behind us colored mush of the media I consumed in the 1990’s.
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But I’m not here to talk about postmodernism. There exists already so much that self-stimulates on the unending fixation of the 90’s as a period of deconstruction or repurposing with ironic detachment. It is a lot of what people bitch about in the ‘hipster’ subculture and really if anyone wanted me to talk about that stuff I would gladly do so should I get an e-mail asking me to do so.
One thing that exists in 90’s media prominently was the abandonment for a large part of what was ‘for children’ thematically. As I mentioned on the last page, The Adventures of Pete & Pete was a show that excellently executed a balanced view of things that children like Little Pete calling Janeane Garofalo and Iggy Pop “blowholes” and Pete the elder once helped his mother deal with an unrequited love and the ramifications that not giving people closer when possible can do in the name of politeness. Or once little Pete learns that his parents are people like him, who were once children, were once young and confused, full of hopes, some came to pass and some died in age and that even in adulthood people do not have any real answers to how life works. Shows like the Animaniacs and Freakazoid! Expected an insane amount of referential knowledge on the part of those children watching. Yacko, Wacko and Dot brought vaudeville gags along with a great deal of sexual innuendo with any episode featuring their hourglass shaped nurse who assisted the psychiatrist. Freakazoid! Wrote a full episode around guest Tim Curry’s career and Leonard Maltin in a parody of H.G. Wells “The Island of Doctor Moreau.” It is unlikely that children of the age of seven or ten would know about the film “Isn’t It Romantic?” form the 1940’s and yet the team of writers refused to pander to ‘what is good for children’ and just wrote a funny script. In the same way there had been generations growing up with a sense of shame in divorce were now shown that there could be a happier life after a marriage ends on shows like The Simpsons, Frasier, So Weird, and that a family structure in the conventional sense was unnecessary for a happy or stable person. I remember in particular a show called Courage the Cowardly Dog witch though being about a talking, net surfing dog and his elderly owners had an episode titled ‘The Mask’ deals with domestic abuse, devoice and same sex love.
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I was not as young as many children then watching Courage the Cowardly Dog but I felt even then that those young children watching this narrative about having an obligation to hide your suffering and your true self for others comfort was bold and quite blatant. It honestly made me proud that it went on the air. In the early loved Simpson episodes it functioned as an excellent parody of old fashioned American sitcoms of Leave it to Beaver or Father Knows Best where the family dynamic was changed, there were many heartfelt and heavy issues brought up. Divorce, the need for feminism and normalizing homosexuality with episodes like “Lisa vs. Malibu Stacy” or “Homer’s Phobia” in 1994. So there I can say I can remember a theme though the 90’s of gaining a wider acceptance for a wider gambit of life styles, family types, and ways of being. Which makes sense for the ‘be yourself the world be damned’ I remember hearing a great lot then.
Diversity also played a big part in the 1990’s TV shows. Yes, it was rightly mocked for frequently looking like a poster with the word ‘synergy’ printed beneath it where the characters are unrealistically diverse (five characters that all represent the major ethnic groups). It can sometimes seem forced and cheesey like Captain Planet or The Magic School Bus having a balance of white, black Asian, Hispanic children all working in unison for knowledge. I personally forgot how distracting I found that when learning about the solar system or the digestive track. But other shows actually found diversity in ways that were bold and beautiful. Animorphs, All That, The Mystery Files of Shelby Woo, and The Journey of Allen Strange were shows that were sort of ideally about racial diversity in that it was not ignored, but it was not the driving factor that shaped those characters, particularly in the latter two who have series leads played by people of color. I know that my pool of reference only goes as far as Nickelodeon for the most part but that is just a reflection on my 90’s nostalgia. page 21
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I’m not saying that Disney or other channels were anti-depth and anti-diversity (But I am also not- not saying that ether). In 2000 the shows The Brothers García, a fully Latino cast, Pelswick, about and created by a quadriplegic, and Taina, about a Latina singer at the New York School for the Arts with a better representation of New York than the beloved show FRIENDS had for the city. These shows were hitting the mark for real representation. Taina loves dance, and song and those are her main characteristics along with being assertive and fashionable. Shelby Woo was curious, intelligent, compassionate and brave. On Taina’s sitcom they also hold a place of pride for her heritage and they base a full episode around her preserved loss of connection to that when she fails a Spanish quiz. Shelby has many instances where traditions of China play into her and her grandfather’s relationship. 1990’s saw so many shows of different shaped families, families of different cultures all being proud in representation and complex people (as much as a teen comedy can be called complex).
So what happened then? I know that many kids grew up never seeing this representation because the cast looked like FRIENDS (sorry to pick on them- but it’s easy- New York with six main characters and they’re all white? Not one POC recurring character even jumps to mind). Well at the terrible risk of sounding like a hackneyed news pundit: IT WAS 9/11’s FAULT! Kind of.
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So then in 2001 Bush II took power and New York was attacked. The World Trade Center fell, the Pentagon was attacked, the news looked like a Marvel movie come a live for a bit and America went into a crazy fear frenzy of hyper patriotism, where I remember that assholes like Michael Moore got booed out of the Oscars and called an America hater for clamming we should be ashamed of going to war in Afghanistan. In this swamp of sadness for the loss and in a fog of panic we bought American flags. I say we, because yeah me too. I was scared. And I found myself in this weird flashback of 1950’s America. Not more peaceful or quaint. With the stars and stripes on every porch, in every hotel lobby an don car windows there was this added fear with a need to conform. Aren’t you American? Don’t you love the troops? Don’t you know their fighting for your freedom agents those Muslims who hate your freedom? They call us the great devil. Well we can smoke’em out and let the REAL God judge’em when their number’s up.
At the same time people were afraid to go to the mall or get on a plain lest some mad man martyr had hidden explosive anthrax a great deal of American Muslims or just vaguely Middle Eastern looking Americans were subject to violent attack by those very scared, very tightly wound Americans who thought they were dealing justice, and not an unprovoked hate crime. There is a lot of focus on guys like me who are middle class Caucasian who were thrown into an uncomfortable, tense, stint of hard edge conservatism. But many innocent Americans were hurt or killed by lynch mobs who wanted to avenge what extremists had done. All of this craziness led to the mantra ‘Keep America American’. I think that phrase is indelibly linked to Sarah Palin’s ‘Real America vs Fake America’ the conservative White middle being a bit more American than the ethnically diverse, liberal coasts. But at the time I wonder how many read through the code of ‘Keep America American’ as a call back to ‘Keep America White’ from some of the worst moments of violence in the country. Consciously or notthis message bled through to television. The diversity and challenge the 1990’s had fostered was swiftly axed for a return to this conservative, simplified and non-people of color tolerating age in the ‘00’s. page 23
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Now it is difficult to show examples of shows lacking something like this. But here is a shot list of television shows that had ether entirely white casts or a singular Person of Color on the regular cast in this time: Battlestar Galactica, Six Feet Under, Dexter, House M.D., Parenthood, Joan of Arcadia, How I Met Your Mother, It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia, or One Tree Hill.
For a bit more meaty analysis let’s delve into a show that could have been a force for good- but instead was an unmitigated travesty that made for those watching made the bad situation present in the US worse. “Aliens in America” was a show debuting six years after the September 11th attack. It followed an average middle American family who take in a foreign exchange student so that their ostracized teenage son will have a friend. The show’s wacky consent is they believed that they would be housing a handsome, robust, athletic, Nordic teen with piercing blue eyes and blond hair as fair as sunrays but instead get a young Pakistani Muslim boy named Raja (that name being far more common to the Indian community, which though it shares a border those two nations are drastically different culturally and even in the sects of Islam present). But overlooking those stumbles there still could have been hope, hope that “Aliens in America” would have been a show that embraced difference to the 90’s ideal adage ‘be yourself the world be damned’ and shown that Muslims, Middle Easterners, not Wisconsin white people can be ‘normal’ and loved and wanted. But it instead relied on miserable rascal tropes in order to promote something akin to ‘the world is unfair- try to conform and if you can’t do that then get out of the beautiful peoples way’. It was tragic and thankfully not aired for a full series. Any attempt to watch makes one shutter and ponder how it may have been that enough people were so unbothered by painting all Muslims as incompatible with American culture was allowed. page 24
modern corsair
So what’s the good news? Well fuck- do I always have to give good news? Sometimes life is fucked up. Sometimes there is no happy conclusion. Halliburton wins. Police kill indiscriminately without repercussion. Bill Maher is still somehow accepted among main stream liberal community despite being a huge misogynistic, racist, ageist, religiously intolerant anus. … Fine.
There is some silver lining. Shows like Adventure Time, Over the Garden Wall, Gravity Falls and Steven Universe show that a complexity of character and narrative are returning. These shows are also great on the themes of feminism and homosexuality (a bit passively, but it’s there). The sad thing is it is still very much a White man’s world in TV land. Will that change? Yes- I think so. But that is not just optimism, that is also me reading the demographer reports that say without a doubt in 2020 Caucasians will no longer be the American majority “over 51%”. Hispanics and Asians will be projected to be the most populous peoples of these United States in the near future. And atop a lot of other great things that will come from that I can see a show staring a complex and attractive Laotian woman is in our future as well. And I will be sure to DVR that, for when I finish binging The Adventures of Pete & Pete. page 25
The Memoirs of a Memory Guadalupe Martinez Jr.
modern corsair
Nostalgia has evolved over time and I don’t mean are understanding of it as individuals but as a civilization. The term nostalgia came in the late 17th Century by Swiss physician named Johannes Hofer and it was considered a disease affecting the mind in what we call today “home sickness”.
As time moves forward to the present we see nostalgia everywhere. Nostalgia has society romanticizing the past; we see it in movies as they resurrect and remake classics, songs get covered my today artist or they get remastered to give it a cleaner sound. We go to parties with themes like Flash back 80’s, events like Renaissance fairs, and car shows to see classic cars. Even in social media we have a day dedicated to the good old days; throwback Thursday where it’s expected to post a picture and write about it in less that 250 characters. We need to understand that nostalgic memories are happy memories. They make us yearn for the past to relieve that moment in are memories. So how does it effect people? Besides the fact that we have scientist trying to create a time machine; nostalgia has shown to benefit the self in psychological ways. Nostalgia reduces stress and makes people feel energized, inspired, and optimistic about the future. So nostalgia is good for people. Right?
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modern corsair
There is a famous philosopher by the name of Dwight K. Schrute that said “Nostalgia is truly one of the great human weaknesses, second only to the neck.� Not to sound pessimistic but nostalgia could hold someone back. It keeps negative people around you for the simple reason of sharing a moment that makes you smile. It prevents you from flying away from the nest and exploring new skies. Dwight understanding of the human psyche is shown with this quote as he tries to manipulate his siblings in making them take care of the family farm. He reminds them of the good old days and by losing the farm those memories will never be relieved.
Nostalgia is like a sword that lives with in you, it’s one of many tools in your possession to use to survive real world. Like any sharp object it could cut you if you are not careful in how you use it. Memories are there to remind us of the good old days, to encourage us but they are also life lessons that get over looked. Thinking about the past may provide some security but it could be used as an excuse to avoid are responsibilities. We must be careful when we walk down memory lane and we must keep in mind that there are more memories to create.
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Roots Wandering Back
Katie Lee Mc Niel
I want to go back. I feel abnormal for wanting to desperately see the past just to see... Is it still there? Does it belong to me? Maybe I just want to see. Act like it is, walk pass the giant tree, swinged. Run on the burgundy carpet inside the 1970’s wall-papered hearth. Maybe I want to see the jello waving water, cradling the sunkissed bodies rocking with the chair of stories, and faintly listen to the low hum, even Cash would envy so. Or maybe I want to rip all the weeds out, stick some bulbs and hope they grow. It could just be the old ship bound smell of brownish books, the taste, the chimes, the sweet barefooted laughing cries. Or maybe I just want to be there, One very last time.
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Hardwood AARON ROSenBERG
Pens scrape against paper As we abuse the surface below it. We never give it proper thanks That wooden dead that stands for us But wears down As your hands slowly break it Down, down until it's replaced And your companion is left gathering dust By the side of a busy road Or a barren one And maybe it's picked up by a new owner Who will search its surface Looking for imperfections And will find one carved by penknife If you're so inclined to carve into your desk.
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The Garden of Proserpine Algernon Charles Swinburne
Here, where the world is quiet; Here, where all trouble seems Dead winds’ and spent waves’ riot In doubtful dreams of dreams; I watch the green field growing For reaping folk and sowing, For harvest-time and mowing, A sleepy world of streams. I am tired of tears and laughter, And men that laugh and weep; Of what may come hereafter For men that sow to reap: I am weary of days and hours, Blown buds of barren flowers, Desires and dreams and powers And everything but sleep. Here life has death for neighbour, And far from eye or ear Wan waves and wet winds labour, Weak ships and spirits steer; They drive adrift, and whither They wot not who make thither; But no such winds blow hither, And no such things grow here. No growth of moor or coppice, No heather-flower or vine, But bloomless buds of poppies, Green grapes of Proserpine, Pale beds of blowing rushes
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Where no leaf blooms or blushes Save this whereout she crushes For dead men deadly wine. Pale, without name or number, In fruitless fields of corn, They bow themselves and slumber All night till light is born; And like a soul belated, In hell and heaven unmated, By cloud and mist abated Comes out of darkness morn. Though one were strong as seven, He too with death shall dwell, Nor wake with wings in heaven, Nor weep for pains in hell; Though one were fair as roses, His beauty clouds and closes; And well though love reposes, In the end it is not well. Pale, beyond porch and portal, Crowned with calm leaves, she stands Who gathers all things mortal With cold immortal hands
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Her languid lips are sweeter Than love’s who fears to greet her To men that mix and meet her From many times and lands. She waits for each and other, She waits for all men born; Forgets the earth her mother, The life of fruits and corn; And spring and seed and swallow Take wing for her and follow Where summer song rings hollow And flowers are put to scorn. There go the loves that wither, The old loves with wearier wings; And all dead years draw thither, And all disastrous things; Dead dreams of days forsaken, Blind buds that snows have shaken, Wild leaves that winds have taken, Red strays of ruined springs. We are not sure of sorrow,
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And joy was never sure; To-day will die to-morrow; Time stoops to no man’s lure; And love, grown faint and fretful, With lips but half regretful Sighs, and with eyes forgetful Weeps that no loves endure. From too much love of living, From hope and fear set free, We thank with brief thanksgiving Whatever gods may be That no life lives for ever; That dead men rise up never; That even the weariest river Winds somewhere safe to sea. Then star nor sun shall waken, Nor any change of light: Nor sound of waters shaken, Nor any sound or sight: Nor wintry leaves nor vernal, Nor days nor things diurnal; Only the sleep eternal In an eternal night
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E d i to r - M a ri o G ri zz e l l e
@ d i s c ov e ryc l o u d
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