PLEASE TASE ME, BRO! > 4 Minutes of Fame

I'm new here--this is my first post--so please help. Any comments VERY much appreciated. Thank you.

My thesis, "Don't tase me, bro: The state sponsored, sexually-charged electrospectacle," in partial fulfillment of the requirements for the degree Master of Arts in English at San Diego State University, explores the reemerging phenomenon of the state violence spectacle, particularly as related to videos of University of Florida student Andrew Meyer  being electro-shocked by campus police. Popularized mainly through the medium of Internet hosting sites, such as YouTube.com, these bizarre torture time-capsules are celebrated worldwide. Witnessed live by less than four hundred, and since by millions, now, the videos themselves have become much more important than the event ever could—now, they are the event.
This is the final chapter.

"PLEASE TASE ME, BRO!"
(FOUR MINUTES OF FAME)

 

         After a bit of research into this thesis, and after repeatedly watching the University of Florida tasing and many others, I knew it was my turn. I needed to be tased.  My roommate had a Taser somewhere in storage, but was unable to locate it. Asking around proved no more helpful. Having many friends around the world, I knew what to do—I posted a bulletin on MySpace.  This way, all of my friends who clicked it would be alerted to my need. I also posted messages on Facebook,  and Craigslist.  After a few days and many replies, (all asking: "Why the Hell do you need a Taser?"), I had no leads. Many suggested other ways of defending myself; others told me to offend the police (too dangerous and expensive); some were concerned I was in trouble. Days turned to weeks of posting ads daily, offering money either to buy a stun gun, or just one shot from one. I had nothing. Only two serious replies to my Craigslist ads surfaced: one man wanted at least five times his dinosaur of a Taser’s worth (an antique?); another man offered an unused TASER M26—the same model as carried by police officers around the world and the same as was used on Andrew Meyer. Unfortunately, he wanted three-hundred fifty dollars for it—a fine deal, but unfortunately, far above my school supply budget.

         New, the same model Taser, as was used on Meyer at the University of Florida, the M26 costs over four-hundred dollars. Being a starving graduate student, I bought one on eBay  for fifty. Mine was brandless, but worked well enough. The M26 has the options to shoot or stun up close;  Meyer was stunned up close, or "dry stunned" (University of Florida Police Report). The fifty-dollar Taser would not fire barbs across a room, as does an M26, but, since Meyer was not shot in this way, my Taser would suffice. An important difference between the two electroshock weapons, however, was that the M26 only expelled fifty-thousand volts; mine topped off at a cool million. Strangely, I was not even able to find one that only provided fifty-thousand volts for sale on eBay or anywhere else. I still have no idea how mine was twenty times stronger than was the Taser used on Meyer. For comparison, I also later bought one that delivers sixty-thousand volts. Both the million and sixty-thousand volt Tasers seem to have the same effect—they both hurt enough to bring a monster to tears.

         I MySpace messaged my buddy and now aspiring videographer, Matt, a friend from my undergraduate days at the University of California, Santa Barbara. Matt often posted MySpace bulletins of his work, mostly surf and skateboard films, all fairly professional-looking:

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SUBJECT: Bizarre Request

Hey! Not sure if I mentioned this to you, but I'm writing my master's thesis on tasing (violence and the state)—pretty fun stuff. Trouble is, I need to get tased...or at least, it would really help my project.
This is the part I wouldn't have mentioned yet—will you film it?
I'd like to add a series of comic strip-like style stills to the paper.
Royalties will be nil, since it will be mostly for academic eyes, but you never know, and:
1. It would definitely be some exposure for your work (I'll be reading the thesis aloud places, showing off your pix)
2. You can have all rights to the footage
3. You're the best photographer I know—the only one capable of making this look right
4. You get to see me tased
5. And s**t, if you can somehow operate the cam at the same time, you can even do it (…or not...anyone else can of course...someone I trust, that is)

Best wishes,
Orin
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         Matt called, ecstatic, as was I, agreeing to film but declining my offer to push the button. I did not blame him. Realistically, we had no idea what would happen after skin-contact with this garage-door-opener-sized lightning machine. Supine on my bedroom floor, I fired it off for him and immediately heard a yelp on the line. Although I had fired it once before, it still startled me now, too. Summoning insidious shadows on my walls, its white sparks crackled like fireworks. The Taser's packaging read that "Just firing it is often enough to scare off an offender." The packaging was correct. This little monster terrified me and anyone else for whom it was fired. I next phoned a fellow graduate student and good friend, Derek, who agreed to play executioner.  Lastly, at a professor's advice, I visited the San Diego State University Office of Graduate Research and Affairs, stating my planned usage of a human subject. Since the subject was I, they said this would not be necessary. I refrained from intoning exactly that which was included in my research.

         The next morning, after scarfing a few oversized burritos (believing this to be my last meal), the three of us drove to a private beach in La Jolla, California. Upon brainstorming a spot, we had focused less toward scenic beauty, and more toward a place I was able to scream my head off without worrying anyone. The beach was almost empty. As Matt set up two expensive video cameras, Derek and I reclined in the sand, watching perfect waves break, lamenting we had not brought boards. Then again, that morning, fun was last on my list. Matt turned the lens on me, passed a heavy microphone, and asked me to introduce myself. I did. He next asked why was I to be tased. Previously, I had brushed away all questioners (except close friends), stating I needed a Taser for an art project. To that they moaned, "Ohh," with a roll of their eyes, or many huffed: "You're f-ing crazy, man!" Either way, they seemed to understand. Now, just before my face-off with a cheaply manufactured torture machine purchased from a mid-western stranger (whose site also sold pepper spray and diet pills), I was unable to answer to myself, as to why I was potentially risking life for this video.

         After reading aloud a form, releasing Matt from liability "should accidental death occur" (his words), still on camera, he inquired about my health: "Jump around, maybe do a couple of jumping-jacks to show you’re in good health." I did. "Enough messing around—you ready?" he asked. I needed a few minutes alone. Returning, I watched Matt filming me. Not being used to the camera, I tried to look past it, into Matt's eyes, but, for the time, his eyes were one converged layer of unblinking glass. "Where do you want me?" said Derek, also ready. He faced me, both of us shifting a few times as per Matt's instructions. This was it—show-time. I had to go through with this. I felt the hero—akin to the mystery man, who lay down in tanks' paths in Tiananmen Square, or a self-immolating monk—most of all, like someone about to be famous. Ashamed to admit it, but in the weeks prior, I could not stop secretly hoping something awful would happen to me. Needless to say, I did not want to die, but maybe be injured just enough to have this video make headlines, as did Meyer's.

         To the camera, I read off parts of my Taser's instruction manual, as well as a printout from Taser International's homepage, both stating that their weapons were incapable of inflicting any permanent damage.  I was not breaking any laws at that moment (that I knew of)—I would be esteemed by all as the man brave enough to purposely test this claim—that Tasers really are innocuous. Even if this video never made it past my circle of friends, I knew how many eagerly awaited. They had questioned so many times: "Did you tase yourself yet?" I had made a splash on the social networking sites, and almost everyone I knew were all clearly enticed—this act was worthy of endless discussion. No matter what happened that day, I was sure to have some fame, no matter how small-time.  I never expected what was to come. Not only was I not to be the next Andrew Meyer, but I was headed full-speed for a shock of a different sort.

         Derek asked Matt if he was in the shot; Matt gestured. Derek next faced me: "Alright, I'm turning it on. Orin, are you ready?" I paused, thinking, "Nooo…Aaarghh." I backed off, sensing the others' impatience. "Okay, okay, go." I mustered strength, returning to the spot. Matt told Derek to fire the Taser into the microphone. In the eighty-five degree sun, ocean roaring in the background, the weapon’s popping was still visible/audible enough to give me chills. Again, Derek inquired, "Orin, are you ready?" "Yeessss…" He did not wait and I did not stop my yes, which turned more into a sharp growling cry, "Aaaaa!" As planned (we had rehearsed many times), Derek pushed the button about one inch from my belly (seemed to be as good a spot on my body as any), then jabbed me with it. Feeling a sharp stabbing pain, I instinctively pulled away, immediately realizing the shock had ended, but my life had not.

         The police report states that Meyer was "contact tased…for the duration of [the Taser's] cycle" of five seconds. My Taser, being of the knock-off variety, did not have the frills of the M26, and would not stay engaged for five seconds. Because we did not have access to a group of uniformed police officers to sit on my back (instead only lanky physics major Derek), in order to repeat the Meyer scene, I would need to hold myself in place, taking the shock for the full five seconds. Since my Taser was reportedly twenty times stronger than the one used on Meyer, I figured, maybe this might be a test—if I was able to take the zap from this one, surely I was able to handle one of less voltage for longer.

         I was alive, was not experiencing a seizure or messing my pants, and was relatively unharmed save for a few slight burn marks. I was ready for another. The guys laughed. Curious as I was, they complied. How much could I take? I told Derek to hold it on me. From a sidelong glance, he smirked: "You sure?" "Yeah, let's do it." Matt signaled, and Derek asked again, "You ready?" With more gusto than a few minutes prior, but still scared witless, I said I was. I heard the familiar snapping for a split-second and felt pressure from Derek pushing the Taser into my abdomen. For over one second, I felt only that pressure. Then, it hit like nothing else. What pain! I felt that about which I had read on Taser International's website, that my muscles were contracting rapidly—were I being tased by the M26, at 20 times per second. My Taser's rate was unknown.

         I had had enough. I provided an on camera interview, in which I described my feelings during and after, concluding that I was ready for the next installment—I was ready to be tased at a much lower voltage (closer to that of Meyer's), but for at least as long. We called it a day, ceased filming, packed up, and left. Dropping off Matt, I urged that he hurry with the production process, reminding, "I have a lot of people excited to see." He promised to spend the entire day working on it. Later that night, it was complete and uploaded to YouTube; he forwarded me the link ( youtube.com/watch?v=01CTDJ7TFpA ).

         My semi-professionally produced tasing video was much longer than I had envisioned, but entertaining nonetheless. Matt had created an arc, not too different from that which we had experienced. The four-minute, three-second film began with my interview, then moved toward my alone time, fading between shots, frequently intercutting the sea. Soft contemplative piano plays during my time spent leaning against the bluff; as I return, only to decline my first tase invitation, the music breaks into a rock, but still of a serious tone. The final product was entertaining, but more so to Matt, Derek, and I, as we knew the build-up to the tase. I worried that others might find it boring and anti-climactic. I could not have been more on point.

         In true overnight Internet sensation wannabe spirit, I immediately posted the clip in a MySpace bulletin under the heading: "Million volts today…Tomorrow…?"
I received many comments online. Some were positive:

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"LOL this is a funny video :P"

"hahahaa that s**t is funny do it again. "

"wow, crazy! You're really cute. I've been zapped with that thing too and I still have a scar from it!"

"you just wanted to do a video with your shirt off…and i approve :)"

"you're f-in crazy, man!"
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But I also received much negative criticism:

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"it did not seem to be that painful"

"that sucks! you should get a refund."

"Too much talking, not enough dying."

"Wait a minute...that's it?  I was promised Orin crapping his pants.  This was like you stung by a wasp.  Does Derek actually know how to use a Taser?"
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         Surprisingly, more and more, each one of my friends with whom I discussed the video, expressed their disappointment. They all found it too long (though it was under five minutes), and felt my pain was too little. Not one person asked if I suffered any permanent damage—none even seemed to want to know more about how it felt. Most simply wanted to know why I wasted their time and when I was going to be tased again for longer. I now had many offers for the role of button-pusher.

         Does this personal study prove my friends all to be blood-thirsty, like a pre-industrial European execution crowd? Maybe in some small way, it does. I have (different) relationships with each person who commented, and, therefore, this study is not objective. However, some of the negative comments I received online and in person actually made me uncomfortable—as if people really did want to see me in pain…and they did!

         This personal study and this thesis proper are likely to prove little more than the value of the spectacle—especially that of violence. During a class presentation, on a screen behind me, I played a (now quite famous) nine-minute video of a Polish man at a Canadian airport.  In the YouTube video, he appears stressed, pacing for most of the video; then, about two thirds in, police surround and tase him. I ran the film behind me with no sound, and spoke over it. This was a difficult decision to make, as I knew my project would focus more on the spectators than on the violence itself and, in this video, the man filming can be heard enjoying the violence as if it were a professional wrestling match. However, I knew I needed to perform my own experiment. I knew that as soon as police surrounded the man, I would lose the class' attention. Sure enough, like clockwork, a student interrupted my literature review, wildly gesticulating, "Hey! Check it out!" I continued presenting, knowing the class was no longer listening. About two minutes later, I pronounced the man dead. Jaws dropped. Mine was the only presentation not to garner applause, but I am positive this silence resulted from students being too stunned to remember the courtesy clap. I knew I had stumbled upon something, and rushed home to continue my research, myself unable to look away from the mesmerizing spectacle of violence .

One is never happy making way for a new truth, for it always means making our way into it: the truth is always disturbing. We cannot even manage to get used to it. We are used to the real. The truth we repress. –Lacan Ecrits