The Crushing Disappointment That Sexy Blue Goat People Are Not Real
I’ve had a number of requests — in person, over email, over Twitter — where people want to hear my thoughts on the Post-Avatar Depression Syndrome (PADS, this week’s second unfortunate instance of that word, “pad”). Why do people want that? Can’t say. I suspect it’s because I am the Overlord of Pop Culture. I sit on a throne made from the discarded packaging of Star Wars figures which in turn sits on a dais made of skinned cartoon characters. Sometimes I pull the pelt of Yogi Bear tight around me in these winter months. I can still smell the picnic condiments in his fur — er, excuse me, “pic-a-nic” condiments. I can still smell the air at Jellystone Park. Ahh, Yogi Bear. He was smarter than the average bear.
He was not, however, faster than the average 7mm bullet.
So it goes.
Where was I?
Right, right. Overlord of Pop Culture.
I’ve been declared as such by me, and since I’m the Overlord of Pop Culture, I can declare myself that. It’s a self-fulfilling prophecy. It’s a snake biting its own tail. It’s a hula hoop whirling around the lush hips of a 1960s bikini model. Or something.
So. Post-Avatar Depression Syndrome, or whatever you want to call it. You want my thoughts? I’ll give you my thoughts.
I think it’s bullshit.
Sorry. I do. I don’t think it ever existed. It may exist now, as a by-product of Internet hysteria, but I think the start of it was some made-up shit put on the Internet by… well, who knows? Troll-types, probably, since they artfully can craft false, extreme narrative around anything they deem worthy of their poison-tipped spears. Or maybe the Internet gained sentience back in 2007 and now it’s just taking its sweet time and fucking with us. I believe that. Silly Internet. He’s so crazy!
People who want Avatar porn? Yeah. That, I get. You let a guy spend enough time with a toaster, in a few hours he’ll hit the Internet looking for appliance porn. But he’s unlikely to become depressed over what is apparently the surprise of the toaster not being a human being with whom he can interact. He just wants to fuck the toaster. Same way that people want to imagine themselves grunting and thrusting atop sexy blue goat people in trees.
We’ve all been there.
That being said, maybe it is a real thing.
Maybe it became a real thing once people were told it existed. Retroactive sadness. Made real by the false suggestion of preexisting sadness in others.
Fine. Okay. Approaching this subject as if it’s real, I’m here to help you with some tips on How to Overcome Post-Avatar Depression Syndrome.
Ready? Let’s do this.
One: Write The Sequel
They advocated this at the site Avatar Forums where I believe this phenomenon originated in the first place. So, sure. I can go ahead and offer the same advice. You want to revisit the world, then writing the sequel is an artistic way of imagining yourself a part of that world. Writing is an excellent therapeutic process; it’s like the venting of toxins, the release of an infection. Purge thyself and frame your existence as part of the magical sexy blue goat-world that is Pandora. (If you’d like, feel free to base it off another movie about native culture. Legends of the Fall is looking for mockery, I hear. Or maybe Mel Gibson’s Apocalypto!)
Then, when you’re done with the novel, print it out.
Hold in your hands the heft and weight of your return trip to Pandora.
Then — then?
Bludgeon yourself to death with it. Imagine it’s a phone book, and you’re a perp.
Wham, wham, wham. Like an overripe Jack-o-Lantern.
Really get into it. Like you have to bring down a water buffalo with a hardcover copy of Stephen King’s The Stand.
Two: Live Like Neytiri
What, that first one didn’t work?
Some have advocated “living like” the sexy blue goat people. Get in touch with nature, one guy says. “Don’t eat a hamburger,” he adds (because… the sexy blue goat people are Vegans?). That’s not enough, you ask me. You want to embrace this culture, you want to really live in their world, hey, you gotta really drink it all in.
Wear a loincloth. Or, just go naked. Your call.
Get yourself a bow and arrow. Maybe a spear.
Find a horse. I’d advocate finding a pterodactyl, but — get ready for another wave of crushing depression — they’re all dead. I mean, except the one I’ve reanimated from DNA found in a droplet of amber. But he’s mine! All mine! I call him Mister Leatherstink. You can’t tear our love apart.
Paint yourself blue.
Tip your weapon in some kind of poison. Don’t have poison handy? Just tip it in like, motor oil or paint thinner or something. It’ll feel real enough.
Now, get atop the horse, and ride down Main Street. (Oh, don’t forget to establish your “telepathic connection” with the animal first, which involves putting a sensitive part of your anatomy into, onto, or around a sensitive part of the horse’s anatomy. That’s how you talk to it. That’s nature-in-balance.)
Howl and scream!
Ride! Ride like the wind!
Shoot your arrows into the infidels! Fire them into tires! Into baby carriages! Into police officers! When your arrow finds the neck of the police officer, whirl your body off the horse, crouch down over the police officer, and whisper thanks to the mighty world of Gaia for letting you take this offering as your own — and then slit his throat as you pray.
I mean, sure, you’re probably going to die in a hail of gunfire.
But then you can perish just like a lot of the sexy blue goat people at the end of the film!
Three: Seek Truth In Obsession
This one’ll be fun, because it allows you to become an unwashed shut-in. Obsession is a great boat anchor to just drag you down, down, down, where you can stew and pickle in your own madness. Create fan-art. Seek out sequel rumors. Spend hours speaking to other depressed Avatards and forming a coalition of sadness. Masturbate glumly. Stare for twenty minutes at a tube of blue toothpaste, because it reminds you of the sexy goat people. Shatter your own legs so you can live like Jake Sully. Buy posters online, get them home, run them through the shredder, and smoke them for a shamanic high — a hallucinogenic trip through Pandora’s jungles. Make love to an extra-terrestrial (what? No ETs around? Paint your pets blue!). Climb atop your stairway banister (or clamber atop your double-wide trailer) and leap boldly and courageously from your vantage point just like Neytiri — except, instead of letting the leafy fronds of lush jungle greenery break your fall, let the hard and unforgiving earth break your fall! And also, your neck!
Four: Holy Crap, Just Take A Fistful Of Pills Already
Sometimes, we just have to let Darwinism do its work, y’know? As big-brained humans, we’ve too-often circumvented the whole survival-of-the-fittest thing, and we coddle and protect those who really couldn’t survive on their own. (This is perhaps the greatest irony of the Post-Avatar Depression — these people apparently want to live on Pandora, which is a planet whose ecology and aboriginal people would kill them, eat them, and shit them out as fertilizer to feed the rest of the planet denizens.)
The only way you’re getting to Pandora is if you shake hands with the reaper, friend. Maybe Heaven looks like a murderous jungle with sexy blue goat people running around. Hey, you could probably get that from a careful re-read and re-interpretation of the Bible.
Okay, I’m not actually advocating anybody kill themselves. Relax. Relax. I’m first saying that I don’t think this is a real thing, and if it is a real thing, then blah blah blah, see your mental health professional, I am not a licensed mindologist, blah blah blah.
The only thing I’ll say is, if you’re really looking for meaning and direction out of the film and you want to “live in that world,” hey, fine. Realize that we still have a world around us that isn’t yet a hissing, gassy corpse, and you should do your part to try to make it suck less. How you do that is up to you (eat right, combat pollution, go live on a mountain range somewhere with a collection of guns hidden beneath your floorboards), but go and do it. And stop being sad over a silly movie where sexy blue goat people would be more than happy to kill your ass and eat your heart for secret power.