It's funny how things happen.
Let's just say that all across the country, independent from
one another, certain bohemian types have found they have a real
intensity of feeling for the quaint rustic practice of wiping
their butts with used corn cobs after defecating, like the pioneers
from the frontier days. These bohemians are so enthused that
they mention it to other bohemians, maybe even pass along a used
corn cob to try it out.
Now, let's just say the practice spreads among a small number
of bohemian types who aren't so much nostalgic and revivalist
in regard to the bygone practice of wiping your butt with a corn
cob after defecating; rather, they feel a connection with the
practice, as if displaced in time, born to the wrong era, which
is one of toilet paper. Eventually, the corn cobbers catches
the interest of underground journalist types, who, for the sake
of argument, may make use of corn cobs themselves. A book is
published, a series of interviews with the more interesting of
the corn cobbers. The book gets some attention.
So let's just say that other corn cobbers begin to get a little
bit of public attention. New corn cobbers. They read the book
and HACHACHA, threw out all their toilet paper. And these new
corn cobbers, they start making FAUX CORN COBS for use. And people
like them. And these new corn cobbers claim that these faux corn
cobs are the direct spiritual descendents of the original style
used corn cobs, only with a new perspective, mixed with the obligatory
reverence. Those original corn cobbers, they wince a little,
since there's an obvious difference between a real used corn
cob and a faux one, but they let it pass, they see it as a harmless,
self-contained corn cob frenzy.
And, then, let's say that a group of people comes along who
claim to be corn cobbers in the traditional sense, but they're
actually using apple cores, banana peels, and carrot greens to
do the job. Some of them even use lettuce. And they feel the
situation is all-inclusive, they feel apple cores, banana peels,
carrot greens, and, yes, even lettuce belong under that vast
umbrella of corn cobs. So, the next thing you know, there's a
corn cob convention (Corncobacopia 98) where corn cobbers can
meet other corn cobbers, corn cob historians, new faux corn cobbers,
and, of course, all these folks with apple cores, banana peels,
carrot greens, and that damnable lettuce, folks who the corn
cobbers have now accepted as being part of their Corn Cob Nation.
It's fairly obvious that there are sad aspects to this situation.
One is that old-timey corn cobbers are reduced to paying $40
for a card table in order to sit there and talk about the grand
old days of wiping their butts with corn cobs and then signing
a faux corn cob or, even worse, lettuce! The second is that something
that was once a private enthusiasm, spontaneous, perhaps even
cool, has become systemized and categorized, commodified and
cheapened, and, frankly, made very very geeky. What is the difference
between a Star Trek convention and a Corn Cob convention? The
answer is: there is no difference other than George Takei.
A fellow who spent his life wiping with used corn cobs can
only silently shake his head when the businesses move in, start
recycling old corn cobs for new use by sticking them in retro
packaging, and even use the image of the corn cob in advertising,
fashion, and annoying crime films. That fellow would just have
to sit tight, wait for it all to blow over, wait for the crowd
to turn to something even trendier, like, say, using sandpaper
or
leaves. And while he would feel bad for all those folks who wipe their butts with sandpaper and have for years and all those folks who wipe their butts with leaves and have for years, he would at least feel good about his place in the world as a guy who wipes his butt with old corn cobs and has for years, and doesn’t appear to do it because it’s this year’s thing.
Or maybe this is just society’s way of telling the guy he needs to move on and broaden his horizens a little. I mean we’re only talking corn cobs here, right?