Who is the Critical Mass?

Blast From the Past #11 - September 8, 2005

Hey y'all,

Although it was a stroke of luck to get any space at the Alaska State Fair since I didn't get on it until the very last minute - and I am grateful to Denise of Non Essentials for giving me that space - I am nonetheless exceedingly relieved that I wasn't at the State Fair every day, much less paid exorbitant rates for a booth there.

There was something about the fair that made me think of the Celestine Prophecy and the Critical Mass, the select individuals who are awake to the spiritual journey of their lives and will thus raise the human race to a higher level of existence.

Even if this is an act of love for all of humanity, one could still argue the concept of a critcal mass as another form of snootiness - sugar-coated and with the new age stamp of approval - but still a statement that some people matter and most people don't.

Although I found the message to be inspiring, hopeful, and way groovy, it's also one of the most badly written books I've ever read and I couldn't take it completely seriously. Yet, some of the most intelligent people I know have eaten it up and I don't know what to make of that.

For those heartfelt liberals who really want to believe in the potential of all humanity, but feel the pull to...get in touch with their inner snob, go hang out at the State Fair...no try to pursue your dream at the Fair, and you'll get in touch fast. Anybody who has ever spent any time in any customer service job knows just how awful, stupid, and downright annoying people can be.

And at the Alaska State Fair, as I was commiserating with the lovely woman who let me set up a table on her "porch" -free of charge - about the oblivious rudeness of those who come into her booth, I was struck by all the people. Masses of people streaming by me with their hair spray-painted in rainbow colors and outlandish designs that will take the better part of the night and next day to wash out, designs painted on their faces, in tight hip-slung jeans in varying stages of fat and thin, with quite few Mabelline cosmetics covering teenage faces that don't need make-up, and the scruffy teenage boys in their shapeless clothes. Not to mention the tourists with their sparkling white, comfortable, "walking shoes" and their name tags. This mass of humanity walking back and forth was striking in their ordinariness, and there were so many of them. It occurred to me how

few of these people really seemed interesting or vivid to me. Denise agreed and remarked that she was shocked that so many young women looked tired to her, and even more haggard than she was in her early fifties.

"When I was young, I was young." she said. "These girls I know are young, but they already seem old."

On a positive note, a beautiful mother/daughter duo got my attention as they approached Denise's booth. I noticed them immediately because they had the exact same eyes - large and almond shaped, slightly Asian, and bright green. The mother was in her mid forties with her hair short and her clothes practical; she wasn't trying to impress anybody. Her daughter had her long hair in a ponytail, no make-up. She was about fifteen and absolutely beautiful in an effortless, natural way and her manners matched her looks. They spent quite a bit of time in Denise's shop and made her day, not only because they spent some money, but because they looked over her products with appreciation. They stopped at my table for a minute, but I didn't care they didn't buy because they were not only pleasant, they were very present.

If I had to pick definite members of the critical mass of those who are truly alive, it would be them.

These ladies were a vast improvement over the stout dowager clad in pink sweat suit with a goofy cartoon character on the front. She announced that she didn't read fiction, only the Bible, and she certainly didn't read fairy tales since she was a Christian.

"But I have many friends who do and I don't hold it against them," she puffed up. "And I don't hold it against you for writing them."

I'm sure she felt the greatness of her spirit as she told me that and reveled in the righteousness of the narrow world of those who do not think. I'd be willing to bet she's an eager participant in book burning parties.

Shortly after that exchange, I found myself thinking of the Critical Mass and wondering if maybe there wasn't something to it.

I'm sure this lady was certain that she was part of the Critical Mass of those who had been saved by Jesus. She certainly believes she's right and maybe she is...Who am I to say otherwise? She and other mindless dogma junkies that live by the checklist of good behavior and see the devil in fairy tales really are the saved. Who knows?

If they are though, I will gladly go to hell. Who wants to hang out with people like that for all eternity?

So, who are those who make up the critical mass?

Call me selfish, call me vain...but in my world the critical mass are those who say:

"Oh! I would love to buy your book because I believe in supporting local artists."

Montgomery

On my visit back to Juneau after the first three months on the road, friends told me this entry gave them the impression that I was tired. And looking back, they were right because I was feeling really snarky that weekend. It was demoralizing a lot of the time to sit there with my soul on display and endure that. A lot of the time it really sucked. I'm not sorry I did it, but I can't say I ever want to do that exactly that way again and definitely not alone. I met another woman who self published her books with illustrations and she was pretty darned aggressive and more than a little rude. Emily - also from ODS - joined me on that leg of the trip - and she did not care for that woman's attitude at all. She was obnoxious, but I couldn't blame her. It's tough to do this.

The highlight of this trip was camping in the Beast next to Emily who was camped in her little psychedelic Mazda, sleeping in her Thule rack with her dog Ama in the parking lot of the Alaska Club in Wasilla or Palmer. Yes, she is that small that she could do that. I was grateful she kept the top up or it would have reminded me too much of a coffin. I have vivid memories of her pushing her dog into the box and then climbing in. She looked very comfortable, while I contorted myself in the back seat of the beast and propped my legs on the passenger front seat. That night I chose to sacrifice my hips instead of my back.

Even when it was rough, those were some really good times. I don't know what just happened with my font, so I'll sign off. Thanks for reading.