Once again, Kanye West has proven me wrong. I prophesied that, come Easter morn’, we would discover that his new album, So Help Me God, would ascend from its earthly tomb (in this case, being Yeezy’s MacBook) and be seated at the right hand of MBDTF and Yeezus. It seemed to make perfect sense that the latest testament of ’Ye’s devotion/heresy would make its way to the world on that most holiest of Christian days, but maybe he has bigger things in mind. Knowing Kanye as I do (we go way back), he most definitely has the biggest things in mind. But that hype though; can we get much higher?
So here’s the thing, folks: If you think taking four upper division literature classes is a good idea, you are wrong and you will be punished. My punishment is that life is but a mere procession of word after word, page after page. . . one book ends and another begins, and the only clear way for me to mark time anymore is through the life spans of my highlighters. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust, but the pile of dead turquoise highlighters continues to grow at the bottom of the smallest pocket of my backpack. I feel proud, though, that I have cultivated a particular brand and color of highlighter that is specifically “mine,” you’d seldom see me without that particular rectangular Germanic highlighter in my pocket. Personal branding through stationery and such had seemed like an essential part of the academic experience that had eluded me. I made honest attempts in high school at adopting a particular personal paper metonymy through that old standby for faux-academics, failing creatives, and try-hard hipster youth, the Moleskine® notebook. Yes, I remember myself as a jejune fifteen-year-old, carrying my Moleskine® notebook to every class, lunch, sport game, and casual friendly gathering in desperate hope that it would bolster my authenticity as an academic, creative, and hipster. In retrospect, it definitely bolstered my authenticity as a desperate person. But that was not the reason why I by and large abandoned my Moleskine® notebook; no, it’s because the damned things run ink like a motherfucker, and as a left-handed person, this is something that cannot do. Although perhaps it is better that most of my early writing as a teenager was erased by my own hand by the time my pen reached the bottom of the page. The only evidence of its horridity remained as a stained pinky finger, as if my hand was rebelling against my brain with my best interest at heart, telling it, “no, nobody wants to see this besides you, no matter how much you think other people will enjoy it. Even you will come to hate it in a matter of days, if not hours. Best to let me just get rid of this.” It only makes sense that a highlighter, and not a notebook (not even a legendary Moleskine® notebook) has become the metonymic office supply of my present self; the highlighter does not create so much as collects, it assembles the crucial information of the present text and makes it evident to any succeeding rereadings, much as I collect the crucial stuff going on for you to peruse at your leisure.
So what’s going on, huh? Well next week, on April 15 at Hawthorne Theater, the legendary British stoner metal band Electric Wizard will be making their way to Portland on their first US tour in 13 years, and you will find me and my ethereal stoner metal Sig. Other there. Let me tell you, if you can find a Sig. Other for which tickets to see a 20+ year-old stoner metal band makes a suitable Christmas present, nab that wonderful person up. (For reference, she gave me a recording of Kevin Drumm and Jason Lescalleet’s incredible noise opus The Abyss and a nice copy of Proust’s In The Shadow of Young Girls in Flower in return, so that’s where we are in terms of relationships. Not to boast, but it’s a pretty dank place to be.)
Besides that, something I’m jazzed about is Daniel Clowes’s upcoming reading at Powell’s downtown, on April 21. Clowes’s work on graphic novels is frequently incredible and influential, and his style has become something of an American institution, and getting an opportunity to hear him speak (and sign my copy of Ghost World) is something I couldn’t miss, and you shouldn’t either.
I recently saw the horror movie It Follows that I talked about in the last column, and I’m glad to report that it was pretty great. My Sig. Other thought it a little too “Bedroom Poppy” for her, and I can see what she is getting at, as it is rather pretty and precious at points, and self consciously retro, but she is also more hardcore than I am and wanted a little more violence and gore than the movie delivered. But hey, if your idea of terror is an old grandma in a nightgown walking slowly at you (and by all means, it should, if that old grandma means to do grievous bodily harm to you, probably through sex), then this movie is definitely for you. How’s that a note to end on?