Crushing Krisis

Comic Books, Drag Race, & Life in New Zealand

krisis

Krisis has been creating Crushing Krisis since 2000, writing songs since 1996, and reading comics since 1991. He is a Customer Success and Digital Brand Strategy executive, serial organizer, parent, and feminist, among other things. Based in Philly through 2017, he now resides in Wellington, NZ.

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Cradling my head in my hands at my desk, I inch my fingertips around to the temples, massaging. I sometimes wonder what would happen if i could open up my head, pressing my fingers tightly on either side and pushing up ever so slightly, swinging it up and back, tipping it back to rest on the hinges that would lie buried beneath my thick hair. Instead of a mess of flesh and blood I imagine inside a tangle of color and light, and of thoughts, packed in tightly and giving off sparks of electricity as they rub excitedly against each other. They would have no gravity of their own, their weight inferred by my body. Exposed to the outside air would they be like balloons, floating up in a parade of escaping color? Would I just helplessly grasp at their strings, not even knowing what I was trying to hold on to, but acutely aware that my insides were on display — not just one fleeting thought that would have never escaped through my lips, but the whole of all of my thoughts. All those parts that I would rather keep hidden or leave forgotten, just ascending up, up, up and away, leaving me empty and inexorably heavier without them because our gravity is reciprocal, lending them my weight in exchange for their ability to lift my head nearer to the clouds.

https://crushingkrisis.com/2003/06/200411847/

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Neo trying to fly faster than the speed of sound hit a chord inside me, not because The Matrix is nearly programmed to resonate with every twenty-something who feels separate from the world that contains them but because I have done it so many times before. Neo’s flying feel so much like my own dreams, from his straight upward ascent to his endlessly accelerated forward flight to his feet first nearly-crash landings. All of it could be cut scenes from inside my own head.

In short: yes to the flying, no to the Burly Brawl, yes to the Architect dialog, no to the Morpheus monologue, yes to the mansion fight, no to rave scene, yes to anytime Trinity kicked someone’s ass, and maybe to buying the careful but convoluted explanation of rogue programs.

There, I didn’t spoil anything, did I?

https://crushingkrisis.com/2003/06/200403325/

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In my many, many months of blogging i have to say that in title, intent, and content, Random Fixation most closely resembles what my original intent for CK was: a voyeuristic peek into the things that can derail an otherwise normally scheduled life. If blogger Cory keeps it up he has definitely scored a life-time subcriber.

Also, elsewhere in the Crushing department:

I don’t exactly remember how our conversation on Sunday lead to it happening, but i am currently in possession of Elise’s clarinet. After a not-so-brief lesson on Sunday i bought my own brace of reeds and a method book that i can thankfully navigate without much instruction as i already read music quite fluently. I have to say that the thing looks a lot more intimidating than it actually is, as all of those little keys and buttons wind up making a lot of sense once you start learning scales. Clarinet practice has so-far supplanted my regular guitar practice this week. In an unsurprising turn, i have already played one Tori Amos song all the way through on the instrument.

I cannot stop buying things on BlogShares. A few days ago i created a user name so i could claim Crushing Krisis as my own, and i innocently bought a few cheap blogs a couple of days ago to see how the system works. Of course, knowing me as well as we all do, this obviously resulted in my paying a subscription fee this morning and turning my initial $500 (not including a hefty gift from Rannie, which i wisely did not sell) into what is approaching a two million dollar fortune of untapped wealth. And, of course, being the blog-snob that i am, i quickly switched to buying only domain-name blogs as soon as i could afford it … blogspotters are for day trading only.

And, finally, through my intense day of trading i have discovered an interesting blog that is the tip of a potentially nauseating phenomenon. The blog is that of the so-called Tarot-Kid who is an Atlanta-based [insert my jaw dropping as i read his page] a blogging singer songwriter, who not only makes literate posts, but even goes so far as to post some of his music for readers to listen to. As we all know, i often lament the lack of DIY songblogging, so you would think i would be incredibly excited by this development. However, it turns out that 1sound, the domain he is hosted on, actually touts itself as “Music Online, featuring Streaming and Downloadable music, graphics and blogging.” Or, essentially, MP3.com humping Blogspot’s leg. Though i find the idea intriguing, i think i will vomit profusely if the concept suddenly takes off after all of my hard work on doing the same thing on my own.

https://crushingkrisis.com/2003/06/200382406/

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No matter how badass you look with you new buzzed hair cut, scruffy visage, black wifebeater, and “don’t fuck with me” carriage, an entire exercise in acting can be ruined when you remind the dry cleaner not to forget your black shirt because it’s “part of today’s outfit.”

Up until that point i was doing really good character work, though.

But, really what do pissed off looking potential West Philly gang members usually say when the dry cleaner tries to steal their favorite shirt?

https://crushingkrisis.com/2003/05/200367588/

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I didn’t think my question had been rude; after all, I would be missing half a day of work to attend their silly “Honors Day.” I just wanted to know what I would be honored for. My outstanding GPA? My flawless academic writings? My strenuous extracurricular schedule?

The associate dean was mum on the matter, somewhat indignant that I had even asked. Apparently the invitation itself should have been honor enough. After our exchange I might have skipped out on the ceremony altogether if not for the fact that Elise had also been invited. And ,she knew why: she was receiving an award for a particularly spectacular paper she wrote on the topic of style and pacing in James Joyce’s Ulysses. So, at worst I would be a pretty applauding face in the crowd when Elise took the stage, and at best I would be crowned as the most dominating intellect in the Liberal Arts program.

The event program was huge, listing all ninety honors that would be conferred during the ceremony to seventy-some individuals. It even listed the title of Elise’s paper next to her name (“Oh god, I’ll die if someone reads a passage from it”), though I could not locate the indication of my achievements as easily.

I finally found my own name, in the midst of a small group at the top of the last page, listed under The General Electric College Bowl Award. The image it summoned was that of the Alex Trebek hosting the National Geography Bee, which I absent-mindedly audited on PBS last week. I remember thinking that those kids were either geniuses or freaks of nature, and that either way I would gladly get them liquored up to avert their almost inevitable descent from middle-school smarty-pants to high school social reject.

Yes, I know that they’re mostly twelve. I’d still show them a good time. But I digress.

Being on the last page, my award was near the end of the ceremony. My trip up to the stage was unremarkable: two quick handshakes and I was down again, tiny envelope in hand, back to my seat. Like the Oscars, only without any movie stars or acceptance speeches. I opened my envelope and scanned the letter inside. Congratulations, blah blah blah, esteemed, yadda yadda yadda, deposited in your account, blah blah huh, call with questions.

It was not just a dorky award given in the memory of a former Junior-team-Jeopardy style television show that all of our parents apparently watched on weekend afternoons. Not just recognition for my two year string of As, only broken once. All of that, plus an anonymous faculty nomination in light of some distinguished facet of those efforts. And the end result was money. Cash, dollars, paid on my behalf directly to Drexel University. Not an alarming amount of money, but enough that I made my advisor assure me that he could deliver a thank you card to my anonymous benefactor. It’s only the third scholarship I have ever earned, and the first I had not applied for on my own.

In retrospect, missing out on a few dozen dollars from work was definitely worth it.

https://crushingkrisis.com/2003/05/200363453/