You Will Never Impress Your High School Rivals

The fallacy of the high school aged artist or intellectual is that the world will somehow reward your genius upon adulthood. The impotent proclamations echo in every generation, “I’ll show you all.” No. You won’t. The fatal miscalculation is that you are a stranger in a strange land, separated from you “tribe” and when, upon reaching maturity, you are allowed to venture to the larger world you’ll find yourself among like-minded masses. These masses simply don’t exist.

High School is a microcosm of the American experience and as such I urge all children considering making such bold statements to look to their immediate group of friends. If you are among a group five individuals with similar affinities for media and recreation in a class of over a thousand you should do well to note that your “audience” in mainstream society will mirror this dismal percentage. Of your five friends I would hazard a guess that only three would ever consider paying for a book of your poetry or a DVD of your arthouse movie. This should not discourage you from following your dreams, but you have to do so with a firm grasp of your realistic potential.

The message of such anthems as Toby Keith’s 90′s country hit “How Do You Like Me Now” is a popular one. Scruffy misfit makes good with his art while those who rejected him fester in mediocrity. This carries over to the famous Bill Hicks set where he describes, in detail, a lover who scorned him dying in the middle of sexual congress with her revolting husband and seeing the face of the good Mr. Hicks on television as she chockes on regergitated bile and tobacco. There is a clear line between the two examples, one works… one doesn’t. Toby is a genuine all-American boy who suffered (in the song) from economic and mental limitations. He wasn’t curled up in the back of class reading Kafka and considering joining the American socialist party. This is reflected in his art. His mainstream sensibilities make him a clear winner by the only measure considered to his once and past romance, money. If Keith had wanted to make dub art-rock I highly doubt that he would’ve made any considerable impact on the object of his past adoration.

Hicks, conversely, fixated on the work of Woody Allen. Although Woody is one of my personal pleasures he is what the mainstream promotes as the definition of the arthouse director; Neurotic, small of stature, and ultimately feeble. He is both uniquely American and yet not. Even within the circles of film buffs and comedians I find myself in from time to time they are deeply divided over his contributions to the art. It is by virtue of Hicks’ own personal taste that he is limited. In the dire hellish life he paints for the woman who wronged him he doesn’t factor in that there would never have been a clear chance for this television fatality scenerio to play out because Hicks only appeared on Network television a total of thirteen times, all of which were under five minutes and all of which were related to David Letterman. I highly doubt the trailer-trash beer-swilling portrait of desperation painted by Hicks included HBO.

The harsh reality of it is that the Super Bowl is still the gold standard of television and as much as it nauseates some of us pop, hip-hop and country music still dominate record sales. Every god-awful thing you dislike about the people in High School will continue to exist well into adulthood. Pompous ass quarterbacks become pompous ass real estate agents and bitchy cheerleaders run for city council to impose their god-like will over the height of your front lawn’s grass. If you aren’t personable or outgoing you will have to find an agent to get you anywhere in the media arts. You’ll be forced to compromise integrity and become raw meat for the pimps and whores of the avant-guard. For what? A few obscure awards from a few obscure organizations that will carry less than half as much sway at your ten year reunion as Karl Karlsman being voted president of the local Rotary Club.

This isn’t meant to depress or put anyone off from trying to achieve their dreams of one day gloating over those who gloated over them. What I’m trying to illustrate is how futile of an exercise it is. Don’t push yourself to do things you think are great for the pleasure of impressing your “rivals”, do it for yourself. In the end these people are so far beneath you that you might as well be living on a different planet. So what if you can’t screw a cheerleader. I’ll let you in on a secret… after about a week of being with a beautiful bitchy woman you’ll beg for silence. You’ll trade every hour of physical passion for just a moment to yourself without having to hear her nag at you. These people have nothing to envy. Surround yourself with good friends, keep making good work and ultimately your life with be far richer and the joke is that they’ll never be able to even see it.