Crushing Krisis

Comic Books, Drag Race, & Life in New Zealand

thoughts

Crushing Comics S01E30.1 – Thank you for watching 30 videos in 30 days!

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I took a breather from my reshelving to record a special out-of-continuity episode of Crushing Comics, wherein I do not unwrap any new books but do express my gratitude for your support as I’ve posted 30 videos in the last 30 days.

For over a decade now I have a habit of making November a very challenging month for myself by setting a lofty goal around producing new content. I’ve recorded 30 songs in 30 days, blogged daily, written the first draft of a novel, and turned CK into a pro-level music and comics blog for a month.

In all of those cases I was challenging myself to do more of something I already really loved – writing or playing music. The hard part was finding the time and inspiration to do it with great consistency.

This year was different. In addition to blogging daily, I challenged myself to do something I am extremely uncomfortable doing – shooting and editing video. This discomfort stretches all the way back to college, where a Film & Video 101 class was the first one I ever dropped.

(Yes, I just searched my own archives for corroboration of that memory. And found it. Because this blog is ancient).

Sixteen years later and I’m still averse to video. There are so many variables to control – all of the potential pitfalls of audio recording, plus a whole new visual layer in which I can make mistakes. My past video efforts have been defeated by everything from bad lighting to out-of-sync audio, and the concept of adding graphics and chyrons was just beyond me. It’s something I’ve only ever done begrudgingly and with great difficulty.

This year changed that. My Crushing Comics episodes certainly aren’t masterpieces of short film, but in recording and editing them I surmounted every one of my prior video challenges and actually learned new stuff along the way. I replaced my own head with an animated version twice!

Here’s the thing: I had no idea at the beginning of the month this was going to turn into a daily endeavor. I had an initial week of videos prepped because I always like to launch a new content project with consistency, but after day eight I had no expectation of keeping up that pace. The initial video editing was taking four hours an episode.

Going 30 for 30 happened because of you. It happened because the view counts kept going up, because you left delightful comments, and because you contributed to my Patreon campaign along the way. I had no idea that daily videos were going to be my monthly challenge, but you kinda forced my hand.

Beyond finally learning some skills behind the camera, I also got the chance to be in front of it for over five hours worth of hosting. That’s more time on camera than most TV shows broadcast in November! For me, it was a chance to get back to being a live presenter after over a year away from fronting a band and almost two years away from emceeing events. That’s a part of myself I never intended to step away from when the stay-at-home parent part of my life began, but circumstances conspired to have it take a back seat. I’m so happy to have it back

All of that is why I felt moved to make a thank you video today. Despite my long history of aggressive personal goal-setting, some achievements require external motivation (even if that’s just eyeballs other than my own to consume them). I did the work, but you made it possible.

The one downside of these many high-effort Novembers is that I very rarely keep up the momentum after the month has ended. Usually I’m too worn out, plus whatever lofty goal I set for 30 days is something unattainable in the long haul.

This year is different – I not only used the month to shoot 30 videos, but to plan ahead for more. Unwrapping will continue on Monday, with new episodes every weekday – I already have the next two weeks in the can! Plus, I’m already brewing plans for Season 2, because eventually all of these books will be unwrapped.

That’s a whole lot of words to say “thank you,” but here are two minutes more. Eagle-eyed viewers may be able to spot some near-future unwrappings in the background!

we are all prey here

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On Monday, EV6 and I stood peering into a display case of taxidermied animals. Mammals, mostly. They ranged in size from a tiny stoat to a massive antlered deer.

These animals had been introduced to New Zealand from afar. Some were brought here as game. Others were stowaways or escaped domestic companions. Many of them shared the same fate: overabundance that had to be put in check by rigorous extermination processes.

It’s not that they all bred as swiftly as rabbits. It also that there is no natural predator for these animals in New Zealand, a land mass whose only true native mammal is the bat. The bats could conveniently fly here, along with birds, which are plentiful. (There are also a handful of lizards, which presumably evolved from some other thing entirely.)

EV6 reminds me of this every time we visit Zealandia, a wildlife sanctuary near town. It is surrounded by miles of fence that extends down under the ground to protect the birds inside from burrowing predators and from a scooped top to prevent climbing animals from scaling it.

I reminded myself of this as I faced a shadowy trail just a few blocks from our house. It went from street level off-roading to a dense brush that left me humming tunes from Into The Woods just a minute later. As I navigated the steep decline, I considered how in Pennsylvania I would be wary of such a wooded area, concerned it might contain foxes, wolves, or bears herded there by development on all sides.

Or muggers. We have plenty of those in Pennsylvania, too.

As I checked my anxiety and set foot into the trail, I thought about recommending it to E, who might also enjoy the walk through nature. Then I chastised myself. I might have crossed off all my concerns with predators both human and otherwise, but a woman can’t ever do that in a place where there are also men present. The trail was close confines – you couldn’t even pass another person without brushing against them. Even without reports of a spate of rapes along an isolated trail, any man could initiate an assault.

I have that same mistrust of men, but not that same fear. In my younger years of being readily misgendered due to my willowy figure and long hair I endured catcalls and sexual assaults on the bus. Still later, I’ve winced past men yelling from their cars that I ought to get the switch out of my walk or stop wearing jeans so tight or they would beat it out of me.

Rightfully or not, in New Zealand I wasn’t concerned. I’m not still too afraid of those encounters to jog down a relatively isolated trail where I might meet one or two men. Yet, I still tense up when I pass by any assembled group of masculine-presenting men. There’s a reason I won’t play any sports or watch them in a bar. I’d never be able to turn off my anxiety.

It’s not just the actual presence of a predator that stops you from doing things. It’s the credible threat of being their prey.

I couldn’t help but reflect on how that relates to the current spate of reports of sexual harassment and assault across a wide array of professions, but focused in the media and politics. For every victim of assault, I wonder how many more were prevented by the culture from reaching the natural apex of their career, and how many beyond that simply never started.

I marvel at how much our culture has been shaped by the entertainment and law emerging from a population of men so disproportionately packed with predators. Around the world, predators are literally shaping the way we think about and interact with the world.

In New Zealand they do anything they can to reduce the alien animal populations that pose a threat to native flora and fauna. To a bird, it’s the only home they’ve known, and many have evolved past having natural defense mechanisms. Some don’t even fly! Why should they bother on an island where nothing roams the land to threaten them.

To a cat or a stoat, it’s an island full of prey. To a bulky red deer, there is nothing to threaten them. New Zealand builds fences to keep these animals out and has special hunting seasons to thin them out.

I continued on my way through the winding trail. It intermittently gave me breathtaking views of the harbor from a perch on the cliffs high above the highway. At its terminus, it deposited me so far below the elevation of our house that I could barely clamber back up the paved streets to return, let alone reverse and trace my path back up the trail.

I’d be in no shape to confront a fox, a wolf, or a bear, and probably not a mugger, either. I could barely put one foot in front of the other.

The journey was challenging enough without any predators along the way.

Beige Friday

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I think today might represent the most remarkable cultural difference we’ve experienced so far in our three months of living in Wellington.

What’s so remarkable? That today is completely unremarkable, aside from the stunning weather.

Of course, living in the states, this day is Black Friday – a day (and term) invented in Philadelphia. A day that’s ostensibly about the convenience of so many people having off (unless they work retail), but has metastasized into 30hrs of capitalist frenzy to get rock bottom prices on things you may or may not have any practical use for in your life or budget to buy but suddenly must acquire because Christmas or something.

I tended to batten down the hatches on Black Friday and keep them sealed until the entire Christmas shopping season has passed. Why risk going anywhere and getting sucked into the capitalist vortex of deal-seeking shoppers?

Here in New Zealand, Black Friday is just another Friday, owing in part to the fourth Thursday in November simply being the fourth Thursday in November. Today is still Black Friday in the sense that US holidays completely pervade the world calendar thanks to the hegemonic force of their culture.

Shopping on Black Friday is a thing here, but there are few readily visible indications of that. It comes with only a modest sales uptick on the order of 30% over the previous week, which owes at least in part to the fact that the majority people are actually at work here on this utterly normal, beautiful day.

With the lack of a push behind the retail holiday, there’s also a commensurate lack of a sense of the holiday season having suddenly begun. Christmas decorations haven’t suddenly appeared in every business and on every house’s facade.

There are other, trickle-down effects of not having Thanksgiving and Black Friday to kick off the official holiday season. Here, Christmas retail kicked off on November 1st with relatively little fuss. I would say, “the day after Halloween,” but that’s also not really a thing here. Our nearest neighbor advised us that if EV6 dressed up they would find some candy to give her, but no one else in the neighborhood would have any.

That’s not just our neighborhood. We were out and about for the day and did not witness a single costume and nary a pop-up shop in the preceding weeks. Despite being an ostensible global holiday, Halloween is uncelebrated enough by Kiwis that each year there are Very Serious articles written about Trick-or-Treating and if it should be embraced or rejected.

(From the rejected side of the debate: “it is a repugnant excuse of a holiday, dripping in slimy American commercialisation.”)

(Seriously, I like it here so much.)

Even as someone who doesn’t personally partake in Black Friday or Halloween, their effective cultural absence leads to a queer void in my perception of passing time. Sure, the nationwide NZ Secret Santa began on November 6th, but without the unavoidable drumbeat of those twin poles of autumnal capitalist frenzy I hardly believe the end of the year is approaching – which isn’t aided by the fact that today is the most gorgeous one we’ve seen in three months of living here.

The cumulative effect is that I find that I’m not dreading December here the way I did in the states. Yes, I’m sure people will be busy with holiday plans and parties. Christmas on the beach is a thing; after all, it will be summer here. There’s simply not the sense of stepping out of Thanksgiving to fall into a month-long unrelenting blizzard of blaring holiday music about Santa and snow.

Black Friday might bear all of that weight back in the states, but here it is jut another day.

the paradoxical tour guide

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Tomorrow is American Thanksgiving, a holiday that I don’t have many positive feelings about that has no relevance here in Wellington, but which finds many family members free and willing to travel, which makes getting them to Wellington a lot more feasible.

To commemorate our first non-US non-Thanksgiving, E’s sister and brother-in-law have made the trans-Pacific trip to visit us here in Wellington. Their impending visit caused me to feel a lot of pressure.

Not just because they are sleeping in the room in which I shoot Crushing Comics, which meant I had to get a lot more of it unpacked and get ahead on episodes before they arrived.

And, not just because of typical hosting concerns about if we have enough snacks to keep them fed, either. This post could really easily be another 1,000 words about searching grocery stores for decent ricotta and any provolone at all in order to make my baked penne, but I think that logline probably tells you all you need to know about that particular misadventure.

No, the pressure has to do with my inherent, internal tour guide and his feelings of inadequacy.

That erstwhile guide is still left clanging around in my brain a whole sixteen years after I started giving tours of my college campus. He existed even before that. He has a need to keep any crowd educated and entertained as they move through a space that is new to them … and in Wellington he is grasping at straws.

This was never a concern for my siblings-in-law’s many visits to our home in the states. Both of them had lived in and near Philadelphia for long enough that they didn’t require much showing around. In some cases, they could tell me about places I had never seen as much as I could do the same for them. Their visits tended to focus on a lot of TV and movie marathons and, later, a lot of fussing of EV6 followed by much shorter TV and movie marathons.

Now they are visiting us in a place that is totally new to them. They had to fly almost three times as long to reach us! It cost a lot of money to do so! And they’re only here for six days! Plus, they love adventures like safaris and canyoning! All of the days need to be full of X-TREME adventure content!

Except, I don’t know very much about New Zealand, Wellington, really – and certainly very little about anything adventurous! It feels like the only things I’ve been doing for the past three months are unpacking, grocery shopping, and going to kid-friendly stuff with EV6 – plus driving between those endeavors.

As a result, I have a lot to say about traffic patterns. Not too much else, though. The sum total of my “adventuring” has been within the confines of Zealandia preserve and in walking up and down Cuba Street.

Today I picked J & B up from the airport and it felt like I unfurled every possible Wellington factoid on the drive back to our house. It’s a strange feeling that drives home how much otherness there is left to tackle in my life here, even if I have gotten comfortable finding my way around and knowing where to buy my must-have groceries. In Philadelphia I could (and have!) lead an eight-hour walking tour of neighborhoods full of fun facts and hidden gems. I had a story or a memory to go with almost every square block. I could recommend a fun activity to anyone of any age.

I don’t have that here and I’m not sure how long it will take me to get there. The paradox of my internal tour guide is that he wound up that way by happenstance. I’ve always been homebody at heart. It’s not the cool stuff that draws me out of the house, but the memories attached to it. I am less likely to go out and wander here because I don’t have a history and a social fabric to draw me out. There are no streets I derive comfort from walking the way I did from a wander down 4th street in Philly.

I might not know enough to keep my tour guide self monologuing for an eight-hour day, but this week I have a brief window of opportunity to create new New Zealand memories. That’s the fuel for my future tour guide and the memories that I can follow down the streets of Wellington.

this is why I can’t blog about nice things (or nice birds)

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Remember a couple of weeks ago when I was rhapsodizing about the bird sounds of New Zealand and how I have found a deep and abiding love for all things avian and how these are not the kind of evil, unimaginative American birds that tweet the same damned sound over and over again all the day long?

Well, jinxing is real, because the past few days I have been subjected to endless bird-based torture.

Some form of dull, unimaginative, plebeian, single-chirp-sounding bird has fashioned a nest directly under the eave of the roof above our master bedroom. That in and of itself would be pretty annoying, but these boring birds took it a step farther: they laid eggs and reproduced.

By my count there are now at least five distinct birds living somewhere about nine feet above where I sleep. How have I estimated that number? Because when mama or papa bird returns to the nest with some sort of food starting in the vicinity of sunrise at quarter to six in the morning, each of those eager little mouths starts tweeting their demands for food. In the clamoring chorus, I think I can hear at least three diminutive birds chattering in disharmony like an elevator bank where each of the arrival chimes is slightly out of tune to the others.

It is quite specifically my idea of personal sound pollution hell. If you had asked me a week ago when I was making that lovely, charming post about birds what the worst case scenario of birds would be, I would have described THIS EXACT SITUATION.

How long do these unimaginative birds nest before the little ones get kicked out to live on their own? Weeks? Months? We initially mentioned the nesting sounds to our landlord the moment we moved in purely out of concern for the roof, but now I have to be the absolute monster who demands that an entire nest of defenseless young birds be ousted from their home so I may sleep more soundly…

…and I am totally okay with being that monster, but now I’m worried these are going to be some sort of special, endangered, protected brand of boring New Zealand birds and our rental is going to be rezoned as some sort of special nature preserve area and these birds are actually multi-generational cohabitants that will have several sets of young living in one nest and I’m going to have to live with the sunrise wake-up calls from now until we move out of this house.

All because I was feeling mushy and wrote one damned nice post about birds.