Digital Culture Studies

….the first spoof site. 90 Day Jayne. And….90 Day Poop. You really don’t want to click that second link, mmkay?

The internet is inherently voyeuristic. On it, we watch people beg for money to pay their bills, have sex on camera, photograph what they eat as a way of breaking bread virtually with their online community. The act of web surfing is a form of combined voyeurism and identity creation - do you look like me, do your actions validate my actions, is my particular kink kinkier than yours, are my kids better looking than yours, is my dog smarter, my blog better designed, are you writing things on your blog that I wish I was writing on mine, if I link to you what does that say about me? What I post defines me, what I surf defines me, the very nature of the web is that we redefine who we are and what we believe as we consume it.

I am a voyeur - the ultimate lurker, I watch and read and wait, and try to make sense of what I see - looking for smaller patterns in the bigger web picture. And now I am not sure what i am watching, or what my culpability is in watching it, but according to her website, Jane is planning on killing herself in 90 days, and is inviting us, the voyeurs, to watch her chronicle her last 3 months of life.

I am no stranger to the insane amount of energy people put into garnering a little attention online, but the consequences of this game are much higher than normal. That Jane is in LA makes me suspect this is a viral marketing blog - either for an actress, an indy movie, or a game, but as always, there is the worry that it is real.  

The last traditional speaker of the Eyak language died yesterday, making the language extinct. Eyak Chief Marie Smith Jones passed away yesterday at the age of 89, and as the last speaker of Eyak, her language dies with her. First Nations languages are especially at risk for this, for a number of reasons, but there are groups out there trying to save what they can.

Chief Jones’ obituary. She was the last living Eyak.

I read her on vox, before that, livejournal, before that, on hoopla, and harpold.com, and all her wonderful collaborative work, since 1996 I have been reading her online.  She was fundamental to the creation of the personal side of the web, and her many online projects, including her famous advent calendar, were brilliant, as was she.
I don’t really have any words right now to express how utterly heartbroken I am at the passing of Leslie Harpold.  I met my husband because of her, back when he was writing the Feed Hollywood column for Smug, and we lived 3000 miles away from each other, in 2 different countries, back when logic dicated that there was no reason on earth that the two of us would ever meet. It is a great story, in the way that the best true stories always sound completely unbelievable, but I owe my life with this wonderful man to Leslie Harpold, and I have always been grateful to her for that.

While I always knew how much she meant to me, what I have found out today is just how many people’s lives Leslie touched - the stories being told across the web are of her kindness, her incredible friendship, her sense of humour, and what comes through is how much she cared about other people. Those tributes are much better than anything I could ever write here, and so, some links:

• I met Leslie Harpold six years ago when a large cardboard box showed up unexpectedly at my door. Inside was a large 32 gallon stainless steel trash can that I’d added to my Amazon wish list a few weeks before on a whim. The gift note inside said (…and I’m paraphrasing) “I wanted to meet the sort of freak who’d put a 32 gallon stainless steel trash can on   his wish list. —Leslie Harpold”

• And then there were the gifts. Always gifts, extravagant or modest but always just the thing. Gifts for no reason other than it seemed like something you needed. Zip files of mp3s from bands you need to hear now, clip art I can’t believe you don’t have, and all the fonts you need to make that design not suck as much. Jeez. One day, completely out of nowhere, Leslie sent me every mp3 she could find of bands covering “Never My Love” by the Association. She stopped what she was doing and went out and found them on Limewire or whatever and then sent them to me. Here you go.

• On a bitter cold day in January, when I was frustrated and hopeless, the saddest I’ve ever been, she came through for me unexpectedly with kindness and love. I don’t exaggerate when I say I don’t know where I’d be today without her.
  

• Leslie decided I was a writer long before I did, and I’m grateful for that. I was reluctant to consider that anyone would want to read something I’d written, and I honestly believe that any courage I’ve been able to summon to share my writing was ignited and fueled by her insistent suggestion. Leslie stuck with me, even when it required foiling a lot of my very exhausting self-doubt, because I was her project.

• l…like most people who knew her, she did me a favor I didn’t know I needed precisely when I needed it. Hell, I didn’t even really know her at the time, but when I made a remark in a virtual forum we both frequented about not feeling completely comfortable being there, Leslie, as much as a person can do via email, shook me by the collar and told me, “you belong here”. A small gesture and perfectly Leslie, but it helped me (eventually) find who I was.

• That idea, to do Something Worthy, came from that lunch and from talking with Leslie, but it’s bloomed into something else. I still write because Leslie Harpold just said, up on the patio at Moscone Center, “You should do it.”

Leslie was an incredible writer, and of all she wrote, this is what I will remember best:

(Some of what the web has taught me.)

I have seen it all whether I wanted to or not, made more friends than I can count, more than I could link were every letter a separate site or chance to claim an affiliation. I have made money, art, and mistakes, all out in public for everyone to see, remember, forget, ignore, link to, and still, will always be known as the girl whose domain name was stolen.

I have witnessed true love, changed minds, seen people convince one another to move across country, across countries, true love, false love, idolatry and admiration. I have seen tenderness and scratched the surface to see true beauty. There will always be my first, and I hope I never live to see my last. There are people I still haven’t met, even after years, but would still call if something great happened, and have cried to when bad things have. People who were there for me when I needed it, and are there when I don’t. People who also let me help them when I can.

Goodbye, Leslie Harpold. You are deeply missed.