Yesterday, I received dose 1 of 2 of the COVID-19 vaccine. The date of my second vaccination is still pending. It was a tremendous hassle getting my foot in the door in the first place, but at the least, I’m halfway done.
I don’t know how I expected the vaccination to go. There has been so much raving, speculation, and obnoxious propaganda around the vaccines that I suppose I expected it to feel more significant. However, the vaccination appointment was so uneventful that I’d nearly forgotten about it the next day. It wasn’t until the hosts of one of my regular podcasts urged everyone capable of receiving the vaccine to go get it when I remembered, “Oh right, it’s inside me, right now.” The little Cells At Work people in my body had received a COVID-19 representative and were in the middle of evaluating them.
Getting vaccinated was a whole lot less dramatic than the COVID-19 testing process. It was half past noon as I sat in the pharmacy of a Shoppers Drug Mart. There were two chairs – both occupied by a teenager and her mother – and a blood pressure testing machine. I sat down on the machine’s plasticized black bench, keeping an eye out for anyone who might need to actually use the machine. Eventually, I got my time in the consultation room, and I was injected. The actual appointment was shorter than the amount of time I’d sat waiting.
I was given the Pfizer formula, if that matters to anyone. I’ve noticed how so many people will proudly declare which manufacturer formula they got, as if they’re comparing which Pokemon Go faction they’re part of. In fact, just being able to get the vaccine is a status symbol right now. I frequently worry about the horrific shortage of vaccines and medical care in places like Brazil and India…for example, India’s medical industry is producing enough vaccine doses to protect the whole country, and yet, much of these doses are being sold to foreign powers in the west. If any of you received the AstraZeneca formula, give your regards (and support) to India.
(Updated May 31, 2021 to add extra resource links.)
Today’s piece is going to be much more serious than usual. In the past, I’ve written about the police brutality that has occurred throughout North America, and it’s only fair that I cover something similar that is happening right now. The colony of Israel is attempting to invade Palestine, and it’s being portrayed in our hemisphere’s media in a bizarrely unfair manner. I’m going to attempt to bring you up to speed about Modern-Day Israel and Palestine as quickly as I can.
I can’t believe it has now been a year since I released my essay, “The Castle of Doom and the Lolicon Boom“. Some days, the article seems to be the only thing that gets activity on this blog. I’ll open WordPress to work on a draft, and see the same notification over and over: “Your stats are booming! The Gonzo Brigadoon is getting lots of traffic.” And there it is, “Castle of Doom”, pulling in however many numbers of people a day. My weekly activity graph looks like a heart monitor.
I’ve seen people on Twitter share my article frequently, which is quite an honour. It’s weird to have so many people reading what I write. On the other hand, I worry that my “lolicon is gross” thesis will be taken less seriously by any anitwitter users who click through to the rest of the Gonzo Brigadoon, only to find my loose-fit Personal articles. I’ve seen peoples’ whole arguments get dismissed on Twitter for the smallest things, so G-d only knows how someone would react to my diary entries with frothing anger about American border camp uterine experimentation. Bloody hell, did I ever think I’d be writing these combinations of words? At this rate, I could put together an insane phrase like “monkey insulin fight club disaster” and it would probably mean something in May 2022.
The year was 2018. I was 25 and working in a south-central Canadian mall at a Spencer’s Gifts, an America-based novelty shop. I was ringing through some candy and joke items for a man and his sons; the father turned away from the till to to corral one of his kids away from the back of the store, which is where adult intimate items are sold. He turned to me and remarked, “This place is just like the old San Francisco stores!”
“Yeah!” I replied. “I remember those…a lot of people who come in say the same thing, actually.” It was a pleasant surprise to meet another person who remembered San Francisco Gifts ever existed.
San Francisco Gifts Ltd. was a fixture in Canadian malls throughout the 1980s and 1990s. This retail chain has nothing to do with Les Boutiques San Francisco Incorporées, the Quebec-based women’s clothing retailer that is still operating at this time of writing. The San Francisco I remember was a strange, shady chain of novelty shops that were – for the lack of a better word – knockoffs of Spencer’s Gifts. The first Spencer’s opened in 1947, and the first similarly-named, similarly-structured San Francisco opened in 1981. This bit of “creative influence” sets a precedent for the weird and winding story of San Francisco Gifts.
“Light Beings seems quite ill. He has had a substance awakening and is eager to put himself “out there” but I don’t know where “there” is. […] I’m still not sure if this website is genuine or some sort of scripted event, but if I’m honest, I really hope it’s an ARG.” (August 31, 2020)
Early in the hours of January 6th, Hollman stabbed his own mother, Deborah Hollman, to death. He then attempted to kill his father, Gary Hollman, but left the latter gravely wounded. The junior Hollman then ran outside and knocked chaotically on the doors of nearby homes, which woke up enough people who would then call the police. While Gary was given medical treatment, the police were forced to taze Kevin just to subdue him.
I first found out about this when a coworker of mine brought it up, initially as just a passing conversation item. This coworker, who I’ll call Kate, lives somewhat near the house where this hellish cavalcade took place. She described how her child woke up, curious about the strobing lights outside their bedroom window. Kate and her husband got up to help the child get back to sleep, but they soon noticed the lights in question were red and blue…it was the police, indeed, and these cop cars would stay throughout the neighbourhood for the rest of the day. Using a smartphone’s zoom-in camera, Kate could see what appeared to be a bloodied men’s jacket from a distance. It was especially shocking to the neighbours, since the Hollmans were a beloved fixture of the neighbourhood. They had brought their son back from British Columbia a year before, and he was living with them for several months before the attack; allegedly he had a decline in his mental health and wasn’t doing so well.
In December 2015, right before the new year, a Ghanaian movie trailer went viral. It was for 2016, a two-part science fiction action film originally released in 2014. A whole load of complete madness and newcomer filmmaker charm was crammed into thirty seconds:
The year it was named for, 2016, turned out to be a clown show. Throughout the year I would hear my friends parrot the movie trailer, shouting, “TWE-TWE-TWENTY SIXTEEN” in a mimicry of the narrator’s monster truck rally announcer voice. 2016 was indeed host to a number of horrible, stupid things, but 2020 really came after us. At this point, I would be completely unsurprised if this was real footage filmed earlier this year.
The internet has become a global commodity. It’s surpassed any expectations of what I thought I’d see during my lifetime, and as more countries have joined the mainstream surface web, it’s given us all a glimpse at little cultural experiences. A particularly unique one has come from South Korea, where meokbang eating shows have risen in popularity. Are you so busy with schoolwork that you’re not able to leave the house tonight? You can hunker down with your schoolwork and some ramen, and pretend you’re “social eating” with a nice, soft-voiced person. A meokbang involves the viewer watching and/or eating along with the video host, who performs one part cooking show and another part food review.
Korean culture appreciates food and dining etiquette, and meokbangs are a logical pop culture extension of these mores. I wish I was writing about the history of dining culture in South Korea, but instead, the rest of the world managed to gentrify meokbangs: the term was romanized roughly as “mukbang”, and in this form, it’s ushered in some increasingly bizarre content.
A lot spills out when you drop that name. There is nearly a decade of drama and discourse related to Nicolas “Nik” Perry, and his online moniker “Nikocado Avocado” makes it obvious that he cultivates this drama: in many restaurants, avocados and guacamole are available to purchase as add-ons to a meal item. This is referred to as costing “extra” – which sounds and functions much like the slang term “extra”, one who is over-the-top and dramatic. Ergo, he is extra, just like guacamole. I can’t believe I had to get an English degree to write shit like this.
It is hard to spend much time on myself these days. I remain safe, for now, in Canada, where we continue to dodge Bubonic Plague II and make decorative cloth face guards. I could be better. My father is coming out of another bout of medical issues, but I don’t feel too worried about his recovery. I’m comforted by the fact that my father will finally be able to watch the American Empire crumble before he dies.
Well, you did it, America. You brought back the fucking holocaust. How’s it feel being the Roman Empire of this millennium? You were this round’s conceited, greedy monolithic cocktail of money and weapons, holding its citizens by the necks. Your leaders spent the better part of the 20th century spreading their conform-or-die ooze all over anything vaguely culturally different. But just like Rome, you’re destined to eventually hit critical mass and collapse in on itself quickly, but messily and horribly. I can’t wait to hear people of the future joke about your powers in the same way we joke about Great Britain today. Did you get bored of pretending to bring “freedom” to the rest of the world and just pull off your veil?
The people of America just got a good look at their two choices: Septuagenarian Sex Pest 1 or Septuagenarian Sex Pest 2. Their rambling, blathering attempt at a political debate looked, to the whole world, like two malfunctioning Muppets that had been left in front of a camera. Biden and Trump spoke to each other with the same tone and cadence of one old man trying halfheartedly to stop his friend from calling their bartender a kike to his face. Well, this Jew’s stomach wretches and turns when I think of all my American friends who are going to have to watch Rome burn around them.
And it’s not just the literal wildfires or the disease that spreads like one. There’s a new thing to be viscerally disturbed by. I’d like to set a bunch of little phrases on the table before you…”Concentration camp.” “Forced hysterectomy in low budget facility.” “Detained females.” “How to get pregnant.” What does this lay the foundation of within your imagination?
Ladies, gentlemen, and individuals: it’s not easy to find something good to write about. If you’re lucky, it eventually makes its way into your radar. Sometimes it gets even closer than that, like a metre or two away from your face.
It was late on a Monday, and I was walking through my city’s downtown district. A store I’d planned to visit was already closed, so I planned to head straight to the mall down my usual route, but this routine changed after I crossed 22nd and 3rd. On the public notice board ahead of me was a stark poster that appeared to have just been taped up; the tape was so fresh that its adhesive didn’t appear to have even bonded with the surface yet.
I took the exact photo you see above. My plans to look into the URL further were sidelined for a few days due to my day job, but at some point, I was looking through my phone’s camera roll again. I was in search of a reaction image for something, but my eyes fell once again on that inflatable alien. It gave me a strange sense of eeriness, one that I knew I had to investigate.
Usually, when someone makes a bunch of weird but cleanly-designed posters and directs you to a website, it’s for either a cult or an alternate reality game. Even after looking into Light Beings dot Space, I’m still not sure which one it is.
(Note: I originally wrote this essay and submitted it on January 24, 2017 for a class at the University of Saskatchewan. This version has been revised according to the professor’s suggestions, and is being shared here for portfolio purposes.)
Format and Visual Techniques of the Graphic Novel
Within the last three decades, graphic novels have become a formidable addition to the English literary market. While the basic premise of a graphic novel is a collection of comic pages, these novels are now known to be just as capable as text-only novels when it comes to conveying valuable stories. The graphic novel is one of the youngest literary formats, especially when compared to the longevity of the book industry. With this new format comes new visual techniques. The display and packaging of graphic novels relies on being lightweight and colourful, with sturdy hardcover editions made to be collectible. With graphic novels, the more colourful and heavy the print edition, the more valuable the novel is.