truefiction.org

“But he’s from Canada,” she says.

“What’s that got to do with anything?” I pause and look down at my coffee. “What are you saying, that I should have a problem with Canadians?”

“No. I’m saying that, on previous occasions, you have made fun of Canadians. And I have trouble believing you now think this guy is actually really cool.”

“Well, why is that so wrong? What is your problem with this?”

“Well, for one thing, he’s Canadian. And he’s such a smarmy guy, too. That mustache he used to have always freaked me out when I watched him on TV. And he pretends that he knows the answers to everything. I just think it’s not modest.”

“Who cares about modesty?” The coffee is burnt. “What if he really does know the answers to everything?” There’s no real reason for us to keep coming to this coffee shop, except that I work here. Which is how I met him in the first place.

* * *

He came into Espresso King one day, about a week ago, walking confidently through the open doors. No modesty necessary for this guy, no sirree. It’s right before we close. I was working the counter, and was just about ready to head home. There hadn’t been a customer in over an hour, so I’d been busying myself with sidework–cleaning, juicing oranges, whatever. He walked up to the register–there was a Jeopardy try-out in town, that’s why he was there–and rang the little bell we have for service.

I put down the orange juicer and walked over to help him.

“Can I help you?” I asked, with that fantastically bored tone of voice that only baristas can truly manage.

“The cost of a tall double Americano.” He got right down to business, this guy.

“What is $2.25 plus tax?” I asked him.

He seemed pleased by this. “Excellent. I will have a tall double caf

Billy Logan woke up. In a cold sweat. He knew that something was wrong right away, because he looked out his window and he couldn’t see the lighthouse anymore, and it wasn’t just because of the fact that it was night, since a lighthouse is usually lit up at night to keep boats away from the shore.

Like had happened on that day so many years ago.

But no, he could see a few bright spots through his window, so he just assumed that something else was wrong. Out of the bed he leapt and ran for the door, making sure to first put on his slippers and robe.

He crashed into the door. Then he fell onto the floor, and passed out.

* * *

He was surrounded by a bright white light. Back in bed. A bed with metal rails on the side. Mother leaning over him. Other people leaning over him. With clipboards. And white coats. More white. Everything white. He couldn’t take it anymore.

“Where am I?” Billy Logan asked.

A sigh. “You’re in the hospital, Billy,” his mother told him.

“Why am I in the hospital, mommy?”

“Well, we found you on the floor of your bedroom.” Billy Logan realized that he couldn’t see her face.

“Where’s daddy?”

“Daddy doesn’t live with us anymore, remember?”

“Daddy doesn’t love me anymore?”

“I didn’t say that at all.”

“Then why isn’t he here? And why can’t I see you?”

“Uh, perhaps I could butt in here.” The doctor. Billy Logan didn’t like doctors. They were evil men who kept you in bed and made you take disgusting medicine. And gave you shots. They were like clowns, Billy Logan thought. Evil clowns.

“Mrs. Logan–”

“That’s Ms. Logan, asshole.”

“Okay, okay, Ms. Logan, your son has myopia.”

A gasp. “Myopia? Nooooo! Not myopia! Anything but that!” The doctor’s attempt to interrupt. “Myopia? You might as well have given my child a death sentence!” She began to cry.

“Well, actually, Mrs. Logan–”

“That’s Ms. Logan, you big dumb excuse for a biologist!”

“I’m not a biologist, I’m a doctor. There’s a difference.”

“Well, what’s the difference, then?”

“Biologists are–oh, why am I bothering with this?” The doctor (whose name was Sam (I’m sorry I forgot to mention this earlier, sorry–Author)) put down his clipboard and glasses. “As I was saying, Mrs.–Ms. Logan, Billy also has cancer.”

“Cancer. Huh.”

“Doesn’t this bother you in any way, Ms. Logan?”

“Well, uh, it’s not as bad as being nearsighted for the rest of his life.”

“I’m going to die?” Billy Logan asked, wide-eyed. He was suddenly very afraid, more afraid than when he couldn’t see the lighthouse, which seemed like so many hours ago now.

“I’m sure this is awfully hard on you, Ms. Logan. I mean, an hour ago, your boy was fine, and now he’s going to be near blind for the rest of his life, which is only going to be a few weeks. Two months at best.”

Billy Logan lay back and thought about how on the television, on E.R. they never talk about death like this in front of the patient. And then he reminisced about Jessica, dear sweet Jessica, whom he had known all his life and was starting to develop serious feelings for.

“But Doctor Sam, he’s only seven years old! Why is he having romantic flashbacks about girls when he’s only seven years old? And why is he blind?”

Billy Logan reflected on her flaxen hair and fair skin, her beautiful laugh, her clear blue eyes.

“I’m not sure, Mrs. Logan. I’m really not sure.”

Her carefree attitude for life. The way she would run around her backyard for hours, for no reason, just because she believed it was fun. The way she believed nothing bad could ever happen to her.

“It’s too early in the morning for this to happen. It’s still the crepuscule.”

The way both the teachers and the students always liked her.

“What the hell is the crepuscule?”

“It’s like the gloaming, except it’s around dawn, not dusk.”

“Ahh, I see,” said Doctor Sam. “That almost makes sense.”

The way Jessica and her father had crashed into the rocks that one day, so many months ago, and the way that, when you are young, the months seem like years and the hours seem like months.

And then Billy Logan, blind and doomed, fell back to sleep.

He had loved her.

Appeared in The Declaration in copy-edited form on 18 April 2002.

In these days of meta-humor, meta-fiction, meta-websites and meta-everything, it can be difficult to figure out what’s original, what’s derivative, and what’s originally derivative. It’s tough to figure out the different levels of meta necessary for full understanding of a piece of data. For example, there’s something like Ben Greenman’s “Blurb,” which is a story consisting entirely of blurbs about the story “Blurb.” This is the first degree of meta and, since it’s self-referential, fairly easy to decipher.

As obscure references begin to pile up, however, it can be more difficult to determine what it is the author (or musician, or artist, or reporter, or web designer, an alia) is trying to impart. Take a look at Dynamite Hack’s “Boys in the Hood.” Originally a song by NWA, it was covered from a bunch of white kids from . . . somewhere. The lyrics are exactly the same, but they’re imparting a different message because of who is singing them. This is the second degree of meta: you can grasp it on the non-meta level (dudes singing a song about drinking and whoring), on a the first degree of meta (white dudes singing a song about drinking and whoring while living in the ghetto) or, finally, on the second degree (white dudes ironically covering a song by NWA to indicate the love of suburban white boys for gangsta rap). This is where it starts to get confusing.

Degrees of meta-ness can continue infinitely though, once you get past the third degree, it becomes increasingly difficult to figure out what the hell is going on. It can hurt your brain as well, which is why we will not follow this definition of meta any further. We will, however, progress on to the main subject at hand.

You see, as meta has progressed on, it has infilitrated mass culture and, with culture, our notions of cool. Remember last year, when you saw all those kids looking like they stepped out of a Sears Catalog, circa 1977? The whole reason for that was simple: these clothes were inherently uncool, even when they first came out. However, because they were so uncool, they became cool in a meta sense. You also saw people wearing bellbottoms again; even though they were cool in the seventies, a love of so-called retro fashion brought them back. This, too, was meta: it was brought about by a conscious decision to look like someone from the seventies (though with a decidedly nineties twist to it). However, this fashion wasn’t considered as cool as the sears catalog look. Why? Because bell-bottoms were only first degree meta, while “the Sears catalog” look was second degree. There’s also the added problem of intent: doing something to be cool makes said something uncool; doing something uncool becomes cool.

See why cool has become so complicated?

If you’re having trouble with this, don’t feel bad: rocket scientists have been unable to figure this stuff out for decades. We’ve prepared a few case studies for you to study. Once you’ve looked them over and feel you understand them, there’s a short quiz on which you can test your newfound powers of perception.

Case One - The Bomber Jacket

Jack owns a leather bomber jacket that he picked up at a vintage clothing shop. Though he normally wears it with the collar down, he occasionally decides to place the collar in an upright fashion. Is this (a) Stylin’; (b) Cool; (c) Uncool; or (d) Meta-cool?

ANSWER: The answer is entirely dependent on his intent. If Jack has not put any conscious thought into his decision to wear the collar up–it may have just happened as he put the jacket on–then the answer is (b) Cool. However, if a decision was made along the lines of, “Wearing my collar up will make me cool,” this makes Jack uncool. The answer is then (c). However, some of you may be asking, “What if Jack knows that actively upturning his collar is an uncool action, and proceeds regardless?” This is when it begins to get complicated. If Jack knows that what he is undertaking is inherently uncool, then the decision is reversed and it becomes cool again. The answer in this case would be (d) meta-cool. Finally, if Jack decides that he is going to wear his collar up regardless of what anyone else thinks, his fashion choice has become stylin’, so the answer would be (a).

Case Two - Smoking

Sarah, like many of her friends, prefers to smoke Camel Lights. She began smoking her junior year of high school, and now smokes three-quarters to a pack a day. Can you classify her smoking as cool or uncool? Does her standing change if she smokes something other than Camel Lights? Explain.

ANSWER: The simple fact of the matter is that everyone started smoking for one reason: to look cool. This would seem to indicate that smoking is, no matter what, an uncool action. Many doctors and parents of impressionable teenagers would agree that this is so. The problem with this attitude is simple: smoking really does make you look cool. Why the hell do you think she started? Besides, by the point of smoking roughly a pack a day, you’re addicted. Since smoking is no longer a conscious choice, it becomes cool without reservation. However, should she begin smoking cigarettes other than Camel Lights, smoking would become uncool. There’s no explanation for this; perhaps superstring theory will one day have a solution.

Case Three - Vintage T-Shirts

Tony buys shirts by the ream from his local salvation army. He prefers to wear shirts with outrageous and/or odd messages on them, such as “Liars Go To Hell” or an old Arena Football shirt. Is this action cool or uncool?

ANSWER: Uncool. No matter how cool the damn shirts look, going to a vintage store means you’re trying to concoct a look. This makes you uncool. Get the hell over yourself, and get some fresh air and sunlight while you’re at it.

Hopefully, you now have some ideas of what cool really is. With everything that you’ve learned, you should be able to answer the following questions with assurance.

The Quiz

1. Juanita is buying albums at a used record store on St. Mark’s Place. She is wearing a tight, plaid miniskirt and a loose blouse. Her boots are beat-up old Doc Martens that she’s had since seventh grade. She has a messenger bag (not from Manhattan Portage) and thick-framed black glasses. What is her cool status?

   (a) Hip
   (b) Hep
   (c) Emo’d out
   (d) Depends on what records she’s buying
   

2. Mona’s mother bought her an ugly new shirt for her birthday, which she begins wearing everywhere. What is her most likely motivation?

   (a) To placate her mother
   (b) Because it’s not cool at all
   (c) To achieve meta-cool
   (d) She actually likes the shirt

3. Brian is listening to Shampoo’s “Uh oh! We’re In Trouble!” What are your feelings about this?

   (a) I love that cheesy song
   (b) Meh.
   (c) Wasn’t that song on the Power Rangers Movie soundtrack?
   (d) Who the fuck is Shampoo?

4. Donald has purchased a Vespa scooter. He begins riding it everywhere–to work, to classes, etc. Discuss all his possible motivations for these actions, and their relative merits of cool.
5. MTV: What happened? Explain your answer.

Answers (Don’t look until you’ve finished)

1: d.
2: a (also acceptible: d).
3: a.
4: Vespa scooters are cool. People named Donald are not.
5: I don’t know, either. The Osbournes is pretty funny, though.

Coolness has always been a relative thing–even more so in today’s confusing post-modern world. It’s complicated down to the words used to describe it. Hip, hep, keen, tragic, ill, and even meta have been used as substitutes for the word. Even with what you’ve picked up from this article, you may still be unable to become cool yourself. We suggest that you just do what everyone else is doing. Emulating your peers may not appear to be cool, but it can never hurt. It’s worked for people for years. So get yourself a pair of tight jeans and some thick-framed glasses, and go out there and rock.

First Tee

Meticulously count and clean your clubs. While counting, you may find it calming to do so with a rhythmic intonation: three-iron, four-iron, five-iron, six; seven-iron, eight-iron, nine-iron, wedge. To clean your clubs, use the classic “wax on, wax off” motion from The Karate Kid. Wax on with the wet side of your towel; wax off with the dry side. Remember! A half-wet, half-dry towel is the key to Nirvana!

Third Green

Once all four members of the foursome are on the green, pull the flag out of the cup. Balance the flagstick on the index finger of your non-dominant hand. At the same time, walk to each of the four golfers and ask to clean their balls. Do not drop the flag or let it touch the ground! After all golfers have picked up or putted out of the hole, hold the stick out at arms length and spin around once in a circle, taking in the flapping noise of the flag. Ignore the disparaging looks of the golfers. This will teach you resilience.

Fourth Tee

That cloud up there looks like a Calloway Big Bertha Driver. Meditate.

Sixth Fairway

Put the golf bags down on the side of the bunker and pick up the rake. Hold the rake in your hand and study it. It has a yellow stem, and a black rubber handle and teeth. Grab the rake by the teeth and lift it to your chest. Focus on the rake. Slow your breathing. Become one with the rake. Let you and it share one consciousness. Now rake that goddamn trap, son, before I have to tell the caddymaster you aren’t doing your job.

Eighth Green

While an older golfer is standing just on the fringe of the green, about to chip, ask him or her whether he or she would like the pin placed back. Repeat over and over, chanting with increasing volume until he or she hears you. Place the pin back in the cup despite what the golfer says. Older golfers don’t see very well, either.

Tenth Fairway

Enjoy the hot dog that your golfer bought you at the halfway house. Sit on a rock one hundred yards from the tee box while you wait for the foursome to finish their beers. You may ponder what goes into a hot dog, but there is the possibility that this will make you nauseous if you have a weak stomach. You’re probably better off questioning why hot dogs come in packs of seven and hot dogs buns in packs of eight, or why orange Gatorade tastes so good.

Eleventh Green

Realize that the answer to whatever question you considered on the tenth fairway is “Marketing and Sales Volume.” This will teach you cynicism.

Thirteenth Tee

There is a group standing on the green of this par three, but do not let their tardiness affect your peace of mind. Rather, stand on a tee marker–the white ball that is stuck into the ground telling golfers where to hit from–with both bags on your shoulders. You must stand on one foot, as there will not be enough space on the marker for both. You may hold out the clubs your golfers have selected to aid your balance, but this is discouraged. Imagine you are flying. Try to hold this position for at least thirty seconds, as it will leave you loose and prepared for the last six holes.

Sixteenth Fairway

Do not let your golfer’s incessant questioning of “Where did my ball go?” faze you. Chant your mantra–”Ummm . . .” is suggested–while you let yourself find the ball. Visualize the ball’s path in your head. Let your inner sight guide to the site of the landing. Do not step on the ball as this results in bad karma, which translates as you losing five dollars on your tip.

Eighteenth Green

You have completed your taxing physical and mental journey. Congratulations! Again count and clean the clubs, using the same techniques you used on the first tee. There is, however, one lesson you must still absorb. When your golfer pays you five dollars less than the average, do not take hasty action. Do not throw all his or her spare balls into the lake to your right, nor “sabotage” his golf bag or his clubs. Most importantly, do not physically attack your golfer. Rather, make a point to get to at least second base with his or her daughter, with whom you attend high school.^* This will teach you self-control and, more importantly, how to be a real man.

^*If you are a dork, nerd or geek and need help getting to second base, be sure to check out another of our pamphlets: Zen and the Art of Getting to Second Base: Four Ground Rule Doubles to a Better You.

This article originially appeared in The Declaration on 1 February 2002.

As we all know, the Nineties were a time when conspiracy theorists flourished. They ran trashy websites that got unjustifiable hit counts. They showed up on those Sunday morning news programs that no one outside of Washington watches. They created a show about FBI agents that was uncool, then cool, then uncool, and now cool again. They were married to the leaders of our nation, and then ended up in the Senate. The conspiracies that they concocted ranged from hidden mind probes that turned the Buffalo Bills into spastics each Super Bowl to Hillary Clinton’s "Vast Right Wing Conspiracy" — from Roswell to Whitewater, from crack in the ghetto to the pronunciation of ghetto as "get-TOE." Even the most intrepid nut had trouble keeping track of which theories were hot and which were colder than the Army’s secret genetics research base in Antarctica. Thus, to help these poor, lost souls, I present the Top Five Conspiracies of 2000:

5. "The Vast Left-Wing Conspiracy" — Theorized by the "Political Right"

The late 1990s were rough years for the political Right. They knew that something was going on in the White House, but there was no way to prove it. That whole impeachment thing sort of backfired, the Vince Foster thing was getting passé, and no one believed Buddy the dog was actually an alien like that pug in Men In Black (an accusation that, to be fair, Marion Barry made up in a crack-fueled rage). Thus, in 2000, they flocked to the idea that the Clintons were responsible for the death of JFK, Jr.

Far from being the New York Democratic Committee’s favorite choice to succeed Patrick "Big Irish" Moynihan, Hillary Clinton took a backseat to John F. Kennedy, Jr. You see, John-John wanted to run and reestablish the political power of his family. The Clintons didn’t like that, so they decided to dispose of him. It wasn’t easy, but the Commander-in-Cheat ended up utilizing the same plan that he used on Payne Stewart: take a few parts out of a plane, switch the oxygen tanks with nitrous oxide, and get the hell out of there.

4. "Survivor" — Theorized by APeWWBI (the Association of People Who Watch Bravo Incessantly)

Contrary to popular belief, the contestants on last summer’s most popular television show were not the greedy, demoralized, pathetic humans you made them out to be. Rather, CBS and Mark Burnett walked the highways of America, hijacking cars and taking the potential stars of that show hostage, along with their families. After painstaking demographic analysis and multiple focus groups, CBS finally decided on the sixteen contestants we would soon meet, quickly "eliminating" the remaining potential players and their loved ones. The chosen sixteen then faced the most difficult choice of their lives: Go on national television and become despicable, bottom-feeding cockroaches, or watch their significant others turn into blabbering idiots who loved "Big Brother."

3. "The Honor Committee" — Theorized by The Honor Committee

Although the Honor Committee at the University of Virginia is purported to be fair, troubling statistics were reported that the group seemed more likely to recommend expulsion when the defendents were minorities or athletes. There were also rumors going around that Honor judges occasionally took revenge on some members of the student body and kicked them out of the university in spite. However, the truth is far more insidious. A group of students, faculty and alumni, known only as "The Shadow Committee," carried out these acts, booting students that encroached upon or abused their power. The original report on the Honor Committee uncovered these actions, and it had to be delayed — ostensibly for "legal reasons" — while "The Shadow Committee" edited out revealing passages. Meanwhile, thanks to the heroic efforts of the J.A.D.E. task force, the original authors were quickly eliminated.

2. "Y2K" — Theorized by The Readers of Slashdot.org

Back in the golden age of Sunday comics, the early

      So it’s November 7th, and you’re bored. Someone’s going to be elected to the most powerful office in the world, and you really couldn’t care less. That’s too bad. Why doesn’t the American public care about the presidential elections? Because they don’t involve alcohol.

      All the major events that get Americans riled up–the Super Bowl, the Stanley Cup, the NFL Finals, the World Series and the Golden Globe awards–involve the imbibing of massive amounts of alcohol. The presidential elections simply doesn’t have that same allure.

      We here at the Daily Rabbit aim to change that. We want to encourage civil responsibility. And to accomplish this lofty goal, we’ve developed the Official Daily Rabbit Election Night Drinking Game. Sure, by the end of the night, you won’t know what the fuck is going on, but at least you’ll be watching the news coverage.

You’ll need:

• A goodly amount of friends.
• A goodly amount of beer.
• A television set that can get all the major networks–ABC, NBC, Fox and PBS. CBS doesn’t count. Sorry, Dan Rather.
• A rather permissive R.A. (Freshman college students only).

A couple of other pre-requisites: Everyone has to declare their support for one candidate at the beginning of the night. This should be the person you voted for, but hell, we know you still didn’t vote. You can’t change this candidate halfway through the night, so pick well. We’re assuming you aren’t picking Nader, but if you do, we hope you have a high tolerance.

• Every time your candidate wins a state, drink a two-count of beer.
• Every time another candidate wins a state, drink a four-count of beer.
• Every time the news displays percentage results for the Presidential Election, drink the difference between the leading candidate and your own. (e.g. if Gore has 50% of the vote, Bush 45% and Nader 5%, and you chose Bush, drink a five count. If you chose Nader, drink a forty-count.)
• Every time the News Anchor directly mentions your candidate, take a sip of beer.
• If he/she uses the candidate’s full name, drink a five-count.
• If returns are interrupted to run a story about the history of your candidate’s campaign, drink half a beer. If it’s not your candidate, drink half a beer anyway.
• Every time the New York Senate race is mentioned, take a sip of beer.
• Every time the news displays percentage results for the New York Senate race , everyone drinks a two-count.
• If Hilary Clinton wins New York, drive to Chappaqua, NY and blare Rage Against the Machine in front of her house. (Note: Only applicable to residents of Chappaqua and Pleasantville, NY. Remember to choose a Designated Driver. Don’t Drink and Drive.)
• If Nader wins a state, everyone shotguns one beer, except for Nader’s supporters, who celebrate with the controlled substance of their choice.
• If Buchanan wins a state, everyone shotguns two beers, except for the dirty wetbacks from Mexico, who must shotgun three.
• If Libertarian Harry Brown is even mentioned, shotgun a beer for the hell of it.
• If Adolf Hitler wins a state, you have two options. One, call a hospital ’cause you ain’t goin’ nowhere. Two, finish off the cases ’cause son, the country gone to shit.

And most of all: have fun.