The Dharma Bum

By Jaysen Buterin

"To thine own self be true" - Shakespeare

Well dear readers, it was one hell of a year.

Considering that when 12:01 am rolled around on January 1, 2000 it was supposed to be the end of the world as we know it, but now, we feel fine. Planes didn't fall out of the sky, "the grid" didn't shut down, and my electronically accessible bank account certainly didn't gain any extra zeros in it like the commercials. Cats and dogs were not living together in Darwinian sin and nobody's appliances came to life and tried to eat them. All the Y2K emergency survival kits narrated by Leonard Nimoy now join the useless litany of media driven propaganda next to the "Iben Browning Sees All" t-shirts, the bags of Olean chips and the six-pack of Tab.

It all seems like such nonsense now, only one year later. Of course it seemed like nonsense at the time but with that ubiquitous "what if" factor permeating every train of thought, the unknown became jocular because with all the technological feats and scientific leaps we'd made, nobody had a bloody clue what would happen. And so much did happen really. The world of music continued to blur its already hazy lines of musical genres, and also proved that real rock and roll stars like U2, Madonna, and Bon Jovi can release an album that will make teen pop yearn for the day when it has actually lived long enough to have experienced all the "life experiences" they sing about. Movies continued to exploit violence (unlike the other saintly media who would never capitalise on violence to attract its audience.) There was even an election that nobody seemed to care about until nobody seemed to win.

Not that I think it was a bad year by any means. Quite the contrary - I think it was quite an amazing year. For so much has happened to me and for me in the past twelve months that I could've never foreseen, barely begun to imagine, and only seldom ever dreamt of. That's what makes it all worth while is that a year ago I would've never imagined myself in Greensboro, NC working a dream job, writing for two magazines, playing in an amazing band, and working on my Masters degree, all the while accompanied by the woman I'm going to spend the rest of my life with. A year ago I was in a whole different world.

In that time I saw new faces of old friends for whom I shall forever cherish. I also saw the other faces of those whose misgivings and machinations I can only hope will someday help them find themselves. The vision of one particular anagrammed poet led to an artistic offering that gave this tattooed gent a vehicle to overcome his own diffidence. It also offered the opportunity to talk to, hang out with, and consume more Guinness with rock stars than I would've ever thought of. It also offered catharsis. So for the true sire of OFF!, you know who you are sir, I thank you.

Over the duration of the year I found true love. Or rather, it found me. Or rather it thought about me as it was leaving on a jet plane to Italy for two weeks. With this idyllic state of bliss I was in came the cognisance and realization I should've became aware of long ago. For as much as I complained about how it was where I was at that I wasn't happy with, it was inextricably more of a matter of who I was that I had issues with. And so with the hindsight that an interstate move can offer a person, an old adage that my dear father passed on to me countless times during my youth came to mind: if you're not happy about something, stop complaining and do something about it. With each day I also come to a fuller realization of just how brilliant and sagacious my parents truly are.

I realize now that Cape was never a bad town, it was never anywhere to escape from, antithetical to the slogan, "Escape to Cape". It was never aberrant or a science experiment left unattended and gone horribly awry (although I did come up with a theory on how I-55 and various stops along the way could be comparable to Dante's various circles of Hell, but that was just having a crick.) While Cape is limited in its artistic and various other environments and offerings, I mean c'mon, you're in the Heartland, deal with it. You'd be surprised to find a wealth of opportunities right at your fingertips, like an arts and entertainment magazine for instance. Don't resort to verbal lambasting and enmity because you don't feel like driving an hour and a half to see a new band or an independent film. Only boring people get bored, there's always something to do. Start a website, start a reality based TV show, start going to a different bar, start an arts and entertainment magazine, start a religion, there's a myriad of ideas out there - get creative.

So why this little diatribe about the alternatives to bravado towards the City of Roses? I'm afraid I don't know really, that's just the way the train of thought derails. I'm as surprised as you. Perhaps it's because this is the one-year anniversary of OFF! and an annual celebration spawns unforeseen introspection and pontifications. Perhaps it's because during this month that yours truly turns 25 and it seems rather surreal to me. Aside from the concrete actuality of being a quarter of a century old (not to mention getting cheaper

car insurance and finally being able to rent a car) it strikes as incredibly surprising that despite all the splendidly stupid things I've done that I've lived this long.

So Happy Birthday OFF! Magazine. Happy Birthday to me. Happy Birthday to my

dear friend Megg and her special someone. Happy Anniversary of the debut of Charles Schulz's "Peanuts" in 1952. Happy Anniversary of the invention of Scotch tape in 1928. And, as I esteem it will be much to the delight of audiences everywhere, Happy Anniversary of the introduction of canned beer to the world in 1935. Whatever you decide to celebrate this year, or whatever New Year's resolutions or revolutions you decide to proclaim, do it and do it right. Do it with fervor. Do it with madness. Do it with passion. Do it with probity.

So as the sun sets slowly in the West, I bid you a fond farewell and leave you with some words of wisdom from my friend Jack. "The only people for me are the mad ones. Those who are mad to talk, mad to breathe, and mad to be heard. Those who never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn, like yellow roman candles across the sky." Goodnight kids.