November 11, 2007
The Bleating of the Sheeple
In which Magnificent Bastard rants about the masses . . . while wearing a kilt
Audiences. I fucking hate being in 'em. I like events, though - movies, concerts, fireworks displays, you name it . . . as long as it ain't Riverdance or Cirque du Soleil, I'm down. Unfortunately, however, going to an event means being a part of an audience . . . or as I like to say, being a CyberMonkey amongst a herd of "sheeple". And thus, we come to my most recent rant.lady lascivious and I attended the Renaissance Fair in Plantersville, Texas this weekend (if you don't know where that is, just say Houston). She was attired in a fetching medieval dress and a pair of oh-so-fierce fur boots, whilst I was resplendent in a kilt (cause I'm bad-ass enough to pull it off, don't ya know). We saw some shows, we people watched (people both magnificent and pathetic), we reveled in our membership in that most elite of groups . . . thinkers.
And then we went to the fireworks display. As we took our seats and waited for the sun to sink below the horizon, we were content. The temperature was at that perfect level where it's just cool enough to make cuddling up with your special someone comfortable, the breeze blowing across the pond carried the scent of the pines, and the light was slowly fading. All was perfect - until some jack-asses with Faux-French accents were sent out to "warm-up" the crowd. For Monkeys-sakes - it's a freakin fireworks display, do we really need to be "warmed-up"? Can we not appropriately appreciate the aerial pyrotechnics without proper preparation?
It was bad enough when they started a Wave (the circle-jerk of crowd participatory displays), but that wasn't the worst. Picture this, my monk-lets . . . the amphitheater, three sides filled to capacity with spectators, divided into some 40-odd sections by aisles (as most amphitheaters are, of course). Before each section stands one of these Phony Frogs in foppish finery, acting as some sort of cheerleader, exhorting the crowd in "his section" to yell, in some bizarre competition against the other sections. And cheer they do.
Fuck that. I feel no affinity for "my section". I have no ties to either my seat mates or these rows of concrete benches, whose only affiliation in caused by a certain lack of benches in the spaces between the benches that creates the previously mentioned aisle. I refuse to take part in your little game, competing against others based only on my random choice of a place to sit my weary bones.
But the sheeple around me - oh how they cheer! They participate in this charade, led on by their shepherd, a man they neither know nor have any reason to trust . . . being played like a puppet on strings. I look around me, and everyone - yes EVERYONE - except lady lascivious and I - is yelling and cheering, seemingly enjoying this pathetic attempt at creating some sort of community consciousness where none exists.. Once again, I am dismayed.
Granted, I only find this sort of behavior marginally more tolerable when the crowd actually shares some sort of affinity (hey, we're all fans of the same team of steroid abusing muscle men who were moved to this part of the continent to play a game for our amusement for a contractually set period of time before they move their services to the highest bidder!), but it's even sadder when the crowd is following along merely because someone standing in front of them tells them to do it. In my dreams, I ran to the front of the crowd shouting "Now let's drink from this chalice of goat's blood!" . . .
I looked over at lady lascivious, we shared a look of disdain for the masses, and I realized how wonderful it is to have a kindred spirit by your side. I realized how different we are from the herd that surrounds us. And I was thankful that amongst the crowds around the world there are others like us - CyberMonkeys who refuse to follow the status quo.
Rock On, my brothers and sisters! Raise your fists and yell!
Or better yet - don't.