The main thing is that when I was ten, I was in fifth grade and we had to do reports and I had to think of something to do a report on. So, the first thing I did was dragons. [Audience cheers.] Yeah, because I’m cool. I needed to show everybody how cool I was, so I thought dragons would be a good place to start that. And after my coolness had been established, I did the next one on unicorns. At that level of cool, it’s just so scorchingly dangerous that people can’t handle it; they start to pretend that it’s not cool because they’re afraid to accept how cool unicorns really are.
But here’s the thing: I really liked them. And the one thing I didn’t like about the whole unicorns is the weird virgin myth stuff. That stuff has always struck me as very bizarre and weird, but I think it’s also pretty lame addition. The main thing about the unicorn is it’s this animal you never get to see but you know it exists because there’s drawings of it. So, you know it’s got to be out there but no one’s ever going to see one. I think instead of having only the virgin be able to see the unicorn, the law should be that if you see the unicorn, you die. There’s like a little fatal thing to the unicorn. But he doesn’t do it himself, it’s on you for looking. That’s the Catholic part for me.
So anyway–but I was really into these unicorns and dragons and gentle things. I wanted to get into fantasy. There were new writers; Chelsea Quinn Yarbro. I don’t know if she wound up being anything big because she only wrote in series and I didn’t want to have to commit to reading three or five books by anybody. One was good for me. You know, I’d sit there arguing with myself about whether I was more into science-fiction or fantasy. Again, because my cool was just, at this point, radioactive.
So, by the time I got to high school, the situation in my life had gotten kind of dower in a number of ways and I was reacting in the unpredictable, meltdown sort of ways that children will react to unstable environments. And one thing I was eager to do was to crush any good parts that had been in me, any vulnerable parts, any parts that were open to attack from anywhere. I wanted to be dangerous. I wanted to be a badass. I didn’t want anything to do with no unicorn.
So, I did what I did. I got into music and I got into it. And the stuff that I–you know, that good [inaudible whispering]. But I get to Portland in ‘85, I’m 18 years old, I’m a trainwreck. If you stand near me, you’re going to get burned. But I met somebody who didn’t mind a little burn on her skin and for our first gift giving holiday, she sent me a pound of coffee and a cup with a gilt unicorn on it.
And the unicorn looked up at me when I opened it and said, 'So what do you think? What do you think? What do you think?’ And I said, 'Oh yeah, no. I used to be into your kind of thing.’
And he said, 'Yes, you did. I knew that person. Where have you put him?’
John Darnielle introducing Unicorn Tolerance, Calvin Theatre on 2017-11-08
