Mars Then and Now

Our attitude towards the planet Mars is puzzling. It lies a long distance away and only by merit of being slightly more hospitable than Venus do we bother to choose it as the planetary neighbor to visit. In twenty or so minutes NASA will attempt a fantastic science-fictiony landing of another rover onto the red planet, in search of traces of water and cellular life or organic compounds. It's an interesting thing but I wanted to talk about the past.

Around 1999 the Mars madness was palpable. The Pathfinder mission was a huge cultural moment still somewhat in the spotlight and there was hype and references and exciting stuff. Upcoming missions made it seem all kinds of things were about to be discovered. It only makes sense that two big-budget movies would come out about Mars that year. It was the Deep Impact/Armageddon rule: find a cultural sensitivity and fight to the death to capture it perfectly in a movie.

In 2000, two Mars movies were released. Both were unscientific, dumb, melodramatic, action-packed, special-effects-laden, and not very remarkable. One was slightly more action styled. It was called Red Planet and was unapologetically stupid – as a film it was an abject failure. It tried to have 'deep' and/or 'thoughtful' undertones, but these didn't work out, because the film was about survival and strife and action. It was pretty cool as an action movie about Mars, but it was not sharp or exceptional. Wikipedia helpfully points out that it was a 'critical and commercial failure'.

The other movie was Mission to Mars, slightly more highbrow, slightly deeper, with less pervasive action scenes and a crippling addiction to nonsense and melodrama. It had a way better cast than Red Planet but the script was roughly just as bad. The main difference was the level of action. In Mission to Mars an important character takes off his helmet in space to discourage his wife from trying to rescue him from sure death. Melodrama, right? Pure melodrama, and out of all context of reality considering these are elite astronauts. Why even allow a husband/wife team? To make the story a little cozier, sure, but thoroughly unrealistic. The movie is still heartfelt in many ways and the ending, while cliche, dumb, and scientifically bankrupt (like the whole movie) is kind of touching in its absolute madness.

I suppose we're due for a Mars themed movie soon, depending on how this lander does in twelve or so minutes.

Well, No, Actually... Pt. 1

News is, at heart, a predictable beast. Whenever news stories follow the deranged, subnormal individuals of the deranged species known as humankind, there is a certain amount of inexplicable posturing and bristling. So a forty year old woman almost died eating a hamburger that weighed in at almost 10,000 calories, or enough food energy to feed two normal human beings for a week, or keep one, at minimum, alive for three weeks.

Excess is nothing new. Billions are spent on dumb, unwholesome, or dangerous things each day. Governments don't blink at billion dollar stealth fighters, million-inmate prisons, or corporate welfare. It only makes sense that governments such as spend money and run incredible deficits are propped up by fat, ungainly, mentally inadequate wasters who waste money in a similar manner.

The metaphor is clear: social arteries are hardening from lack of vigor and surfeit of fatty junk expenditure. We don't want to help the poor, at all, because it's their fault that society failed them and they're addicted to drugs or gambling or they're mentally ill. Meanwhile soft-hearted activists agitate for safe-injections sites for addicts. All of this means that the destitute and drug-addled are left to rot and roundly despised for being filthy, druggy pieces of shit with no redeeming features - mini politicians who would shank a much better individual for twenty dollars and change.

All these stories are seemingly designed to destroy my ability to sympathize. I can no longer approach many stories with pity or empathy or understanding. This woman should be burned for energy, or thrown into a diamond mine, or made to prepare her own food. The story cited here suggests that the problem is that people 'eat out' too often and that they should be encouraged to eat healthily and at home.

Fine. Or we can write these dumb pieces of shit off and stop supporting them at all. No hospitalization, no news stories, no free food for fat fucks. If we let some addicts rot, we should let them all rot. There is no obesity crisis: certain people are destroying themselves. Let them. They will not be missed.

Also, there is no obesity crisis. Some people are actually bound to be fat. Fat people exist outside of the caricature of fast-food swilling, eat-while-they-drive, cankle-waddling shits. It's similar to how thin people exist without bulimia, cigarettes, starvation, or the modelling industry.

Of course a sensationalist has to jump in and report the unreportable. This isn't news. It's social pathology that nobody pays attention to, because the reporters, when they can spell correctly, can hardly be expected to imagine that all of this might mean something.

So You Want to Listen to Some 80s Pop?

Pop music in the nineteen-eighties is like pop music in general: a minefield. You no doubt know this, but you see that what with half your friends buying turntables in the last eighteen months, and other half still listening to niche genres you don't fully understand, and the third half has an habit of listening to unbearable racket and weak shit. In other words you are burdened by the fact that you enjoy music snobbishness and general one-upmanship. That kind of skullduggery is going to get you pwned, and the secret weapon, despite recent and nauseating 80s worship, is 80s pop. In an excruciating write-up, I will suggest some 80s pop cards you can hide up your album sleeves.

It is a double-edged sword of course. If you are looking for musical weapons, you're already clearly a music bastard. People no doubt gather just to whisper in awed tones about your musical unorthodoxies and iconoclastic statements. I like to imagine that I am impartial. There was a diseased time when I cared a little too much about what I listened to, and felt sharply any criticism of my musical taste. Then I realized it was all a consumerist defense reflex and let it go. Mostly. You never come all the way back from musical snobbery.