Art is like food. No, it's more like art is food; for the mind anyway. Maybe I'm just on this train of thought because I haven't eaten anything today and am starting to get a case of the crazies, but maybe, just maybe, I'm onto something here. Rather than try and extend this metaphor onto the whole of art and art culture (I'd rather not try and see if I can can make my head explode, but that would be a good start), it would probably be best to tweak the lens here a bit and get a visible beam with which to work. For now, I'll stay in the realm of films, as this is the one with with I am the most familiar (besides cartoons that is, but that's more of a subset).
Now bear with me here as we return to the original premise that art is food. Stop right now and write down as many different foods that you can think of...it's ok, I'll wait. It's not like this is going on in real time or anything. Really...just take a few minutes and do it.
Did you do it? C'mon, just do it for sixty seconds.
I'm not going to continue until you do it, so you might as well just get it over with. *glare*
Ok, so you probably came up with quite few right? Some were your personal favorites, maybe something you had at a nice restaurant on the last date you went on, something you saw on one of those shows on Food Network that you watch but will never admit to your friends (it's alright, we all think Rachel Ray is kinda hot), or maybe just whatever is sitting around in your house right now. I'm sure there was at least some diversity in your list. This same principle can be applied to movies as well.
Not all films are created equal, and it is a simple truth of the universe that some are better than others. Certain high-quality films are like a fine dish of coq au vin; it uses the finest ingredients and, when placed in the hands of a master chef result in something that is a delight for not only your palette, but every sense is set aflutter at its presentation and consumption. These are your complex, character-driven stories that tug at all of your emotions and have you leaving the theater like you have witnessed something wonderful. This is the stuff Oscar contenders and time-tested classics classic are made of, think Citizen Kane or There Will Be Blood. These are so good that you may think that you see God. Oppositely, you may not be a fan of fine French cuisine, but you can at least appreciate the greatness of it, even if it isn't exactly your cup of tea.
Next up we have something like The Dark Knight, a great film by most standards. I won't go so far as to procalaim it one of the greatest movies ever, but I thought it was phenominal, and it has made a billion dollars, so there has to be something there. I would put it maybe on par with either a really good steak or maybe a kobe beef burger, something meaty that is above the rest in quality, but not quite on the same level of subtlty and complexity as something an Iron Chef would whip up in kitchen stadium. It's great, and most people would pay to enjoy it, maybe even enough to order seconds, like when it gets re-released in January (actually it would be thirds for me).
Then we have delicious classics that everybody can love or appreciate in some way. This is where I place cats like Spielberg. These guys understand something fundamental about human nature and seek to express it. Stuff like E.T., Jurrasic Park, and the like are the apple pies and meatloafs of cinema. Well made, delicious, and done with just the right amount of love. These movies make us feel good because they appeal to us on a very basic level, the same way the smell of fresh-baked cookies tickles your nose when you come home from school. These movies are more likely to be our comfort food, the stuff we turn to when we know how we want to feel a certain way.
These categories are all a bit broad. Now we get into the more specific categories that have less general appeal, but have definite niche followings. Action films are like barbeque, a male pastime involving meat, fire, and just the right amount of spice to give it a good kick. On the other side of the coin, chick flicks are a box of chocolate covered strawberries, they're sweet, make you feel good when you're down, and can be used by men to make you chicks like us more. Imagine kiddy films as a big bowl of your favorite cereal, everyone has his or her own personal fave and likes to indulge once and a while and remember a simpler time. If you like to try new things and want to experiment with something you've never seen before, those rogue independent films are like the fried squid tentacles, something you just need to experience because it expands your personal boundaries a bit. It won't kill 'ya, and who knows, you might even like it.
There is one area that I have to address seperately. There's junk food, and then there's just plain crap. A lot of films are simply guilty pleasures that we like to watch even if we know they aren't very good for us. It's ok, I've seen TMNT three times too. But some movies are just the equivalent of fried butter, nasty shit that shifty carnies try to sell to us in the spirit of fun. I'm thinking particularly of the recent _____Movie trend. You know, Scary Movie, Date Movie, Action Movie, and its cheap imitators. This is the kind of stuff that we have no business putting into our bodies, because it tastes terrible, and its only going to make our lives shorter and less fulfilling.
Although each of these categories has its own value (for the most part), remember that it is never good to eat too much of the same thing all of the time. A balanced diet is the key to a healthy and happy life, and the same goes for movies as well. They can't all be glorious masterpieces, or else our tongues would become dull, nor can they be all cheap popcorn, because it just isn't that nutritious, and if all we ate was junk food, we'd all be fat blobs of shit that could not longer fully appreciate all life has to offer. So remember to always peruse the menu, ask about the specials, and tip your waiter.
Sunday, November 23, 2008
Tuesday, November 18, 2008
Rabbit Holes of Grandeur
I’m a realist. Some would take that to mean that I am an uninspired pessimist, but that’s not it. I’m a realist because I first and foremost believe in the concept of reality. We live in a material realm that is bound by certain rules and limitations. As part of that paradigm, we are similarly constrained, meaning that we are only capable of doing so much…sort of. You see, we have one gift that is not bound by these chains. Love or hate our big, fat inflated heads, one thing we have that everybody loves is the human imagination. Creativity, fantasy, these are the things with which we waste our time. Everybody fantasizes. You name a subject, and somebody fantasizes about it. Why do we do it? Honestly, reality gets a little boring on us sometimes. We just need to escape and not be ourselves every once in a while. It’s a perfectly human desire.
Luckily, we live in a culture that is brilliant at distracting us from our lives, perhaps maybe too well. We can go to the movies or watch TV and play make-believe. Centuries of books titillate us with words that we use to paint pictures in our minds. If you like a bit more control, there are plenty of video games to allow for a little vicarious living, or you can simply put on some music and just tune out to the world and get lost in your own head. Everybody has some sort of sexual fantasy too; that one thing that we’ve always wanted to do, or have done to us, but haven’t had the sand to request, either because we’re too embarrassed or it’s illegal in most states. In your mind, you can be on a beach in Mexico, a superhero, the world’s greatest lover, or Senor Speedo, the Mexican beach-bum superhero who all the women want in the worst way.
Some fantasies are best left in your head. If you really did smack that blithering idiot who sits next you in class in the head with a large freshwater fish, there would probably some sort of consequence there, and not the cheering of the entire class like you’d hoped. Some can come true when all of the stars are aligned properly. Maybe one day you’ll meet a guy who gets off tying you up and smacking you with a large freshwater fish, just like you’d dreamed of on so many lonely, fishless nights. It is candy for the soul; a sweet little yummy that brightens up our day. Also like candy, we sometimes get the naïve conception that it is all we need in order to be happy. Fantasy is like Vermont: it’s a nice place to visit, but you’d kill yourself if you had to live there.
Some people don’t take too much of a shine to this concept. We call them addicts. Addiction, in a nutshell, is any unhealthy fixation that interferes with normal daily functioning. I take this to mean that addiction is what happens when a person would rather live in fantasy than reality. For them, reality is a cruel and harsh place where nothing ever goes the way it should, and life is just one horrible misfortune after another. Some turn to the tried and true methods of coping with mind-altering substances. These classics all have the same story: spiral and burnout until it just can’t cut it anymore. Chemical addictions are a totally different animal and I am no Dr. Drew. As much as I’d love to hold back Keith Urban’s hair while he yacks into a trash bin, that’s not my scene. Psychological addictions though are a little easier to wrap my head around.
There are some tried and true culprits to run to here as well. Let’s check them off: Gambling? Check. Eating? Check. Porn? Check. Video Games? This one I know personally. There was I time in my life that, in retrospect, might have been a bit of a soft addiction, that is until I saw those news stories about those kids who do nothing but play World of Warcraft until they literally waste away in their desk chairs. I have some sympathy for these people. They have deep rooted issues that require serious help in order to save them from themselves.
Having said that, some people just need to get their shit together…
Like one couple in the UK that I saw today. They met online and were soon married. Ok, so it’s not exactly The Notebook, but it works for these modern times. So these two ended up with their happy ending…until she caught him cheating with a call girl. Well…it wasn’t exactly cheating. She caught him cuddling with the other woman on “Second Life”. Have you heard of this thing? It’s an online virtual world where you design an avatar for yourself and live a life however you want. To reiterate, you live a normal life, only it’s online. Who the fuck needs to save the world from mutant alien zombies when you can go buy groceries? This woman divorced her husband for sleeping with a woman online, and not like phone sex or anything, just clicking and letting your pixilated pants python do the rest. She actually divorced him for playing a game. This is sadder than sad. I’ve seen pictures of these people, and that cat was not exactly Frank Sinatra. The only way he could have gotten laid was with a fake internet puppet.
Folks, here’s the bottom line: reality can be tough sometimes. Wear a cup. It’s not going to be happiness and sunshine all of the time. If it was, then happiness would have no meaning when you do encounter it. So go ahead and step through the looking glass once and awhile, just remember to leave some bread crumbs so that you can find your way back.
And if you insist on having some sort of unhealthy vice, I’ve already though that one out. Go back and read my “Vice Guy Syndrome” post.
Luckily, we live in a culture that is brilliant at distracting us from our lives, perhaps maybe too well. We can go to the movies or watch TV and play make-believe. Centuries of books titillate us with words that we use to paint pictures in our minds. If you like a bit more control, there are plenty of video games to allow for a little vicarious living, or you can simply put on some music and just tune out to the world and get lost in your own head. Everybody has some sort of sexual fantasy too; that one thing that we’ve always wanted to do, or have done to us, but haven’t had the sand to request, either because we’re too embarrassed or it’s illegal in most states. In your mind, you can be on a beach in Mexico, a superhero, the world’s greatest lover, or Senor Speedo, the Mexican beach-bum superhero who all the women want in the worst way.
Some fantasies are best left in your head. If you really did smack that blithering idiot who sits next you in class in the head with a large freshwater fish, there would probably some sort of consequence there, and not the cheering of the entire class like you’d hoped. Some can come true when all of the stars are aligned properly. Maybe one day you’ll meet a guy who gets off tying you up and smacking you with a large freshwater fish, just like you’d dreamed of on so many lonely, fishless nights. It is candy for the soul; a sweet little yummy that brightens up our day. Also like candy, we sometimes get the naïve conception that it is all we need in order to be happy. Fantasy is like Vermont: it’s a nice place to visit, but you’d kill yourself if you had to live there.
Some people don’t take too much of a shine to this concept. We call them addicts. Addiction, in a nutshell, is any unhealthy fixation that interferes with normal daily functioning. I take this to mean that addiction is what happens when a person would rather live in fantasy than reality. For them, reality is a cruel and harsh place where nothing ever goes the way it should, and life is just one horrible misfortune after another. Some turn to the tried and true methods of coping with mind-altering substances. These classics all have the same story: spiral and burnout until it just can’t cut it anymore. Chemical addictions are a totally different animal and I am no Dr. Drew. As much as I’d love to hold back Keith Urban’s hair while he yacks into a trash bin, that’s not my scene. Psychological addictions though are a little easier to wrap my head around.
There are some tried and true culprits to run to here as well. Let’s check them off: Gambling? Check. Eating? Check. Porn? Check. Video Games? This one I know personally. There was I time in my life that, in retrospect, might have been a bit of a soft addiction, that is until I saw those news stories about those kids who do nothing but play World of Warcraft until they literally waste away in their desk chairs. I have some sympathy for these people. They have deep rooted issues that require serious help in order to save them from themselves.
Having said that, some people just need to get their shit together…
Like one couple in the UK that I saw today. They met online and were soon married. Ok, so it’s not exactly The Notebook, but it works for these modern times. So these two ended up with their happy ending…until she caught him cheating with a call girl. Well…it wasn’t exactly cheating. She caught him cuddling with the other woman on “Second Life”. Have you heard of this thing? It’s an online virtual world where you design an avatar for yourself and live a life however you want. To reiterate, you live a normal life, only it’s online. Who the fuck needs to save the world from mutant alien zombies when you can go buy groceries? This woman divorced her husband for sleeping with a woman online, and not like phone sex or anything, just clicking and letting your pixilated pants python do the rest. She actually divorced him for playing a game. This is sadder than sad. I’ve seen pictures of these people, and that cat was not exactly Frank Sinatra. The only way he could have gotten laid was with a fake internet puppet.
Folks, here’s the bottom line: reality can be tough sometimes. Wear a cup. It’s not going to be happiness and sunshine all of the time. If it was, then happiness would have no meaning when you do encounter it. So go ahead and step through the looking glass once and awhile, just remember to leave some bread crumbs so that you can find your way back.
And if you insist on having some sort of unhealthy vice, I’ve already though that one out. Go back and read my “Vice Guy Syndrome” post.
Monday, November 17, 2008
Fatum Gratia Fatum
What does it mean to be weird? The dictionary tells us that it means as follows:
1. Involving or suggesting the supernatural; unearthly or uncanny: a weird sound; weird lights.
2. Fantastic; bizarre: a weird getup.
3. Archaic: concerned with or controlling fate or destiny.
That third one I find particularly intriguing. Not only does it make my latin title make more sense, but it also gives the word a great degree of power. "Concerned with or controlling fate." Damn that's cool!
Be honest with yourself, what is the first thing comes to your head when you think of a weird person? Is he or she different? Unusual? Perhaps a bit repelling? I'd bet a hefty sum that none of you thought of "sexy". Be honest, now. If you didn't think of Weird Al Yankovic, you probably thought of that guy you went to high school with who was a big nerd, or who could always bring a conversation to a screeching halt with non sequiters like, "You smell like the fabric softener my mom uses on my towels." Did that make you feel uncomfortable just reading it? You bet your ass it did! The bottom line is that you probably thought of "different".
Well, I'm here to change those misconceptions. I'm especially speaking to you ladies out there who flock to my wisdom and hope that somwhere in my enchanting musings you will find the key to all your dreams. Never in my life have I heard a woman say, "I want a guy who's really weird." I've heard, "Why do I always get the weird ones?!" I hear that one a lot. I've been alderman of that before. Why the stigma? You confuse "weird" with "unattractive". In my experience, "weird" is usually meant as a put-down. It's used when a person is at a loss to find any actual descriptive terms for a person. Rarely is the word used as a term of affection; it's been known to occur, but only seldomly.
Do you know what weird means to me? I follow more in the vein of the actual definition of the word. Uncanny, fantastic, unconventional; are these traits to be avoided? What gal wouldn't love to be able to say that she has a fantastic guy? A weird person to me is a special kind of uniqueness. It means a possessor of immense creativity and imagination, someone who is capable of creating without the yoke of what is expected or normal. The Weird have self confidence and don't give a furry rat's ass whether or not you hold them in a low regard. Confident, unique, imaginative, able to surprise you...are any of these appealing to anyone out there?
What's my big point? This: weird is sexy. Weird is an awesomely attractive personality trait to me. Note the word "personality". I do not equate weird with physicality in any way. Pretty people can be weird, they just usually aren't because the attention they get for being pretty gets in the way of developing truly interesting character traits. However, if I think you are cute and weird, you better start clearing your weekend calendars! Others out there may want to at least experiment with this approach. If it doesn't work for you, that's cool; live and let live and all that rot, but at least give it a try and see what happens.
Woah...I just realized how meta this post is.
1. Involving or suggesting the supernatural; unearthly or uncanny: a weird sound; weird lights.
2. Fantastic; bizarre: a weird getup.
3. Archaic: concerned with or controlling fate or destiny.
That third one I find particularly intriguing. Not only does it make my latin title make more sense, but it also gives the word a great degree of power. "Concerned with or controlling fate." Damn that's cool!
Be honest with yourself, what is the first thing comes to your head when you think of a weird person? Is he or she different? Unusual? Perhaps a bit repelling? I'd bet a hefty sum that none of you thought of "sexy". Be honest, now. If you didn't think of Weird Al Yankovic, you probably thought of that guy you went to high school with who was a big nerd, or who could always bring a conversation to a screeching halt with non sequiters like, "You smell like the fabric softener my mom uses on my towels." Did that make you feel uncomfortable just reading it? You bet your ass it did! The bottom line is that you probably thought of "different".
Well, I'm here to change those misconceptions. I'm especially speaking to you ladies out there who flock to my wisdom and hope that somwhere in my enchanting musings you will find the key to all your dreams. Never in my life have I heard a woman say, "I want a guy who's really weird." I've heard, "Why do I always get the weird ones?!" I hear that one a lot. I've been alderman of that before. Why the stigma? You confuse "weird" with "unattractive". In my experience, "weird" is usually meant as a put-down. It's used when a person is at a loss to find any actual descriptive terms for a person. Rarely is the word used as a term of affection; it's been known to occur, but only seldomly.
Do you know what weird means to me? I follow more in the vein of the actual definition of the word. Uncanny, fantastic, unconventional; are these traits to be avoided? What gal wouldn't love to be able to say that she has a fantastic guy? A weird person to me is a special kind of uniqueness. It means a possessor of immense creativity and imagination, someone who is capable of creating without the yoke of what is expected or normal. The Weird have self confidence and don't give a furry rat's ass whether or not you hold them in a low regard. Confident, unique, imaginative, able to surprise you...are any of these appealing to anyone out there?
What's my big point? This: weird is sexy. Weird is an awesomely attractive personality trait to me. Note the word "personality". I do not equate weird with physicality in any way. Pretty people can be weird, they just usually aren't because the attention they get for being pretty gets in the way of developing truly interesting character traits. However, if I think you are cute and weird, you better start clearing your weekend calendars! Others out there may want to at least experiment with this approach. If it doesn't work for you, that's cool; live and let live and all that rot, but at least give it a try and see what happens.
Woah...I just realized how meta this post is.
Saturday, November 15, 2008
Liter-bug (short "i" sound)
In the back of my mind, I can't help but feel like I am contributing to the downfall of literate society. I resisted doing something like this thing here because I don't like the way a lot of technology is affecting the English language. It leads me to believe that many in our society have a secret addiction to nitrous oxide. How else can you explain the gatling gun of "lol"s that barrage me anytime I engage people in an online forum? I actually do know people who laugh that much in a conversation, but they are merely the exception that proves the rule.
The import of my grievance is that I treasure this wacky little toungue of ours. It may not have the same controlled complexity and subtlety of Chinese, or the lilting passion of the Romance languages, or any other of the wonderful qualities as the countless languages that dot this wet little marble we call home, but it's ours, and I'm pretty proud of what we've done with it. One of my efforts in life is to share that love that I feel in mind and in my heart. The best way to share language is easy: books.
To say that I am a voracious reader would be a bit of an exaggeration. It's a bit like a love affair; I get what I can, when I can, and only when I'm in the mood and the content suits me. When I do read, I don't waste my time with pop young adult novels that get all of the attention and get movies made that draw in droves of obsessed fans who only end up disappointed. Not that I'm knocking film adaptations of books though. Gone With the Wind was just that, and it's one of the best ever made (or at least one of my favorites). I don't read books; I read literature. Does that make me sound snobbish enough? What I mean is that when I read, I want to work for it. I don't read as a simple escape fantasy, I've got plenty of other ways to do that. If it does happen to strike me, I don't shun it, it just isn't my primary reason for picking up a book. I need to feel stimulated and challenged; intellectually, emotionally, artistically. Reading for me is a full experience, and I welcome it. For this reason I treasure books. I read them, and keep them, and wear them out until I fear that they may come apart if I read it just one more time. Each one I finish is a conquered enemy; a sparring partner who remains as a trophy unto itself to remind me of what it has taught me. I make a conscious effort to expand my personal library, and so far I've done pretty well for a guy my age. You may not be able to judge a book by its cover, but you can judge a man by the books he keeps.
I seek out only the most worthy of foes. I was in a large chain book store today, and quite frankly, I was rather disappointed. Most of the books I saw were of the more popular persuasion, new big hits on the Amazon list and Oprah's Book Club. I can forgive the graphic novels, self-help books, and all other manner of reading material that people enjoy, but the thing that got me was the quality of established literary canon. Cheap reprints were wrapped up in flashy paperback covers adorned with rediculous pictures that make the paintings in my dentist's waiting room look like the Sistine Chapel. Is this how we treat the greatest works of our language and culture? Sure there were one or two nicer prints with quality hardbound covers, but they were tucked to the side, and four to five times more expensive. I understand the cost differences in printing, but why must the quality goods be hidden like the hideous, deformed twin locked in the attic? On the one hand, the high price pleases me as it reflects the value of the book itself, but on the other, it limits who is able to buy them, including my broke ass.
My hunting grounds are the book fairs. Everyone from churches, to YMCAs, to garage sales offer libraries of tomes that are rediculously low in price. A single sawbuck will get me a bag-full of quality works. Books that are worn and have been loved; books with character. These are the books that I love. Brand new books feel so sterile, like a hospital room. They have that smell, they won't stay open; it's like they don't want to be read. Not like the book fair books. Each page is coated with the dust of appreciation and experience. Through one reason or another, they were forced to part ways from their owners, but good people like me come and rescue them to be read and loved again.
What can I say? My heart has worms. Book worms to be exact.
The import of my grievance is that I treasure this wacky little toungue of ours. It may not have the same controlled complexity and subtlety of Chinese, or the lilting passion of the Romance languages, or any other of the wonderful qualities as the countless languages that dot this wet little marble we call home, but it's ours, and I'm pretty proud of what we've done with it. One of my efforts in life is to share that love that I feel in mind and in my heart. The best way to share language is easy: books.
To say that I am a voracious reader would be a bit of an exaggeration. It's a bit like a love affair; I get what I can, when I can, and only when I'm in the mood and the content suits me. When I do read, I don't waste my time with pop young adult novels that get all of the attention and get movies made that draw in droves of obsessed fans who only end up disappointed. Not that I'm knocking film adaptations of books though. Gone With the Wind was just that, and it's one of the best ever made (or at least one of my favorites). I don't read books; I read literature. Does that make me sound snobbish enough? What I mean is that when I read, I want to work for it. I don't read as a simple escape fantasy, I've got plenty of other ways to do that. If it does happen to strike me, I don't shun it, it just isn't my primary reason for picking up a book. I need to feel stimulated and challenged; intellectually, emotionally, artistically. Reading for me is a full experience, and I welcome it. For this reason I treasure books. I read them, and keep them, and wear them out until I fear that they may come apart if I read it just one more time. Each one I finish is a conquered enemy; a sparring partner who remains as a trophy unto itself to remind me of what it has taught me. I make a conscious effort to expand my personal library, and so far I've done pretty well for a guy my age. You may not be able to judge a book by its cover, but you can judge a man by the books he keeps.
I seek out only the most worthy of foes. I was in a large chain book store today, and quite frankly, I was rather disappointed. Most of the books I saw were of the more popular persuasion, new big hits on the Amazon list and Oprah's Book Club. I can forgive the graphic novels, self-help books, and all other manner of reading material that people enjoy, but the thing that got me was the quality of established literary canon. Cheap reprints were wrapped up in flashy paperback covers adorned with rediculous pictures that make the paintings in my dentist's waiting room look like the Sistine Chapel. Is this how we treat the greatest works of our language and culture? Sure there were one or two nicer prints with quality hardbound covers, but they were tucked to the side, and four to five times more expensive. I understand the cost differences in printing, but why must the quality goods be hidden like the hideous, deformed twin locked in the attic? On the one hand, the high price pleases me as it reflects the value of the book itself, but on the other, it limits who is able to buy them, including my broke ass.
My hunting grounds are the book fairs. Everyone from churches, to YMCAs, to garage sales offer libraries of tomes that are rediculously low in price. A single sawbuck will get me a bag-full of quality works. Books that are worn and have been loved; books with character. These are the books that I love. Brand new books feel so sterile, like a hospital room. They have that smell, they won't stay open; it's like they don't want to be read. Not like the book fair books. Each page is coated with the dust of appreciation and experience. Through one reason or another, they were forced to part ways from their owners, but good people like me come and rescue them to be read and loved again.
What can I say? My heart has worms. Book worms to be exact.
Monday, November 10, 2008
NERRRRRRRRRDS!!!
Nerds are an interesting subculture. They are harassed, bullied, and ridiculed by many, and yet this does not phase them, either because of their Illuminati-like control over the world's workings, or because they lack the social cues to care. Either way, I have always felt conflicted about nerds. I grew up watching Star Wars, I played QuizBowl for three years in high school, I can name all fifty states in alphabetical order in less than 30 seconds, and yet I have never seen myself as a nerd. I don't speak Klingon, I'm average at best at chess, I don't read comic books, and I only know enough about computers to be dangerous (I used to think Java Script was knowing how to read that fucking cuneiform tablet of a menu at StarBucks).
I have fought this label for most of my life, and for the most part, it has worked. I run from it, and yet I cannot escape a beast that is chained to my ankle. Some of my dearest friends are unashamedly nerds. There have been other nerds that I could not stand because I found them too goddamned annoying; the ones who refused to watch modern movies and read The Onion like it's holy writ, mostly. So how can I put my soul at peace here?
Like this: I am a nerd, but a special kind of nerd. I'm not full on retainer-on-the-lunch-tray, but I can still pass myself off as one if need be. I am the daywalker; able to walk amongst them, yet never fully be one of them. I am a man's nerd. I know James Bond and Indiana Jones inside out. I know how to choose and fix a good glass of Scotch. I'll debate The Who versus Led Zepplin. I will eat even the cheapest steak just because somewhere it will make a hippy tear up. This is who I am. And I am no Tigger, I am not the only one of us out there. I call out to you now my fellow daywalker brethren. We no longer need to hide our love of Weird Al, nor must we hold back our understanding of professional sports. A new age is dawning, brothers and sisters! Take my hand and walk with me into this dawn, for once we no longer hide from ourselves or others, we can rise up and make our voices heard!
I have fought this label for most of my life, and for the most part, it has worked. I run from it, and yet I cannot escape a beast that is chained to my ankle. Some of my dearest friends are unashamedly nerds. There have been other nerds that I could not stand because I found them too goddamned annoying; the ones who refused to watch modern movies and read The Onion like it's holy writ, mostly. So how can I put my soul at peace here?
Like this: I am a nerd, but a special kind of nerd. I'm not full on retainer-on-the-lunch-tray, but I can still pass myself off as one if need be. I am the daywalker; able to walk amongst them, yet never fully be one of them. I am a man's nerd. I know James Bond and Indiana Jones inside out. I know how to choose and fix a good glass of Scotch. I'll debate The Who versus Led Zepplin. I will eat even the cheapest steak just because somewhere it will make a hippy tear up. This is who I am. And I am no Tigger, I am not the only one of us out there. I call out to you now my fellow daywalker brethren. We no longer need to hide our love of Weird Al, nor must we hold back our understanding of professional sports. A new age is dawning, brothers and sisters! Take my hand and walk with me into this dawn, for once we no longer hide from ourselves or others, we can rise up and make our voices heard!
Saturday, November 8, 2008
The Meaty Truth
Upon further review, I have decided to abandon any more discussion of politics, so my fix-it plan for this country will stay in my head. Instead, I've got a bee in my bonnet that has irritated me enough that I have to go on my second rant in as many posts.
The bee goes by the name of PETA. You've all heard of these guys, the People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals. They pride themselves as the largest animal rights group in the country and see themselves as the ultimate champions of defending animals from cruel and inhumane behavior. Sounds good, right? Save all of the cute fuzzies from mean ol' humans like us, that's what PETA wants you to believe their mission is...it's a quaint idea, ain't it? I like protecting animals. My cat is a rescued stray. I swerve to avoid hitting cute little turtles and squirrels. I understand and respect the way in which animals are prepared for the nourishment of my body. Guess what? PETA hates guys like me.
Here's PETA's philosophy in a nutshell. They want total animal liberation from the slave chains of humanity. You can look it up on their website, that's what it says. That means no meat, no horseback riding, no products derived from animals, no pets (this is the one they trick you on...suckers), and no animal biomedical testing. To them, animals are our slaves and need to be liberated. I'm gonna call shenanigans on them right there! I refuse to believe that animals are our complete moral equals. I respect life in all of its forms, but I am not about to put a chicken on par with even the lowest scumbag on earth. When a cow can debate philosophy with me, then I may consider putting down the burger, but so far, none have stepped up. Why are pets slaves? My mother had a dog for twelve years, and I literally had to compete for her attention with a 14-pound miniature poodle. It's funny, I don't remember that part from Uncle Tom's Cabin. Animal testing? I think there are millions of Type A diabetics alone who would have a bone to pick there. And I won't even go into the whole "The Holocaust on Your Plate" campaign. I don't have enough nasty words in my vocabulary to talk about that; go look it up for yourself if you're interested.
Now these are all ideological concerns; they don't hurt anybody. It's just something to discuss in the salons with booze-hound writers and corpulent French women. What really pisses me off about PETA, and I mean REALLY pisses me of is their actions, especially the ones they don't want all of their naive members to know about.
Item 1: The offensive protests that they stage, especially the ones that destroy personal property. If some asshole came up to me and poured red paint onto my favorite leather jacket, I would face a difficult decision: do I (A) Punch the fucker in the face for messing up my shit, or (B) Punch the fucker in the face for messing up my shit, and then steal his wallet so that I can buy a new jacket. The second one is a little more ironic, but stealing is wrong after all.
Item 2: PETA is a not-so-silent partner for groups such as ALF. No I'm not talking about the awesomely hilarious alien from the 80's, it's the Animal Liberation Front, a domestic terrorist organization that firebombs medical testing facilities and other illegal-type activities on behalf of woodland critters. Yep, PETA funds terrorists. I'm not making this shit up. The funds are visible on their tax returns, going to people like Rodney Coronado, a convicted arsonist. Do you PETA members like being associated with terrorists? Hey, PETA: the next time you want to take out a lab, you might want to try flying a plane into it, I've heard that gets pretty good results.
Item 3: I won't sugar-coat this one. PETA has euthanized anywhere from 60-80% of the animals that it rescues annually. It kinda speaks for itself, doesn't it? petakillsanimals.com has all the info you want on that.
Now, this is the part where I pull over and make my little warning to any of you who might misinterpret my words here. I am not attacking vegetarians, conservationists, or those who believe in preventing cruelty to animals. These are all individual lifestyle choices, and it is your right to choose them, especially that last one. Nobody wants to be cruel to animals. The issue merely lies in the differing opinions of what is cruel. But if you want to make your voice heard, please, please, don't do it through PETA. Don't let their pretty celebrities and Disney double-talk fool you, they are not what they seem.
Again, I did not make these facts up. Do a little research and see for yourself.
What do I want to see happen? First, I want to see Ingrid Newkirk, PETA's founder and President, locked in a cage with either a grizzly bear, a honey badger, or a horny, adolescent chimpanzee, her choice, and then let nature take its course. Second...you know what...I think I'll just take the cage for now.
The bee goes by the name of PETA. You've all heard of these guys, the People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals. They pride themselves as the largest animal rights group in the country and see themselves as the ultimate champions of defending animals from cruel and inhumane behavior. Sounds good, right? Save all of the cute fuzzies from mean ol' humans like us, that's what PETA wants you to believe their mission is...it's a quaint idea, ain't it? I like protecting animals. My cat is a rescued stray. I swerve to avoid hitting cute little turtles and squirrels. I understand and respect the way in which animals are prepared for the nourishment of my body. Guess what? PETA hates guys like me.
Here's PETA's philosophy in a nutshell. They want total animal liberation from the slave chains of humanity. You can look it up on their website, that's what it says. That means no meat, no horseback riding, no products derived from animals, no pets (this is the one they trick you on...suckers), and no animal biomedical testing. To them, animals are our slaves and need to be liberated. I'm gonna call shenanigans on them right there! I refuse to believe that animals are our complete moral equals. I respect life in all of its forms, but I am not about to put a chicken on par with even the lowest scumbag on earth. When a cow can debate philosophy with me, then I may consider putting down the burger, but so far, none have stepped up. Why are pets slaves? My mother had a dog for twelve years, and I literally had to compete for her attention with a 14-pound miniature poodle. It's funny, I don't remember that part from Uncle Tom's Cabin. Animal testing? I think there are millions of Type A diabetics alone who would have a bone to pick there. And I won't even go into the whole "The Holocaust on Your Plate" campaign. I don't have enough nasty words in my vocabulary to talk about that; go look it up for yourself if you're interested.
Now these are all ideological concerns; they don't hurt anybody. It's just something to discuss in the salons with booze-hound writers and corpulent French women. What really pisses me off about PETA, and I mean REALLY pisses me of is their actions, especially the ones they don't want all of their naive members to know about.
Item 1: The offensive protests that they stage, especially the ones that destroy personal property. If some asshole came up to me and poured red paint onto my favorite leather jacket, I would face a difficult decision: do I (A) Punch the fucker in the face for messing up my shit, or (B) Punch the fucker in the face for messing up my shit, and then steal his wallet so that I can buy a new jacket. The second one is a little more ironic, but stealing is wrong after all.
Item 2: PETA is a not-so-silent partner for groups such as ALF. No I'm not talking about the awesomely hilarious alien from the 80's, it's the Animal Liberation Front, a domestic terrorist organization that firebombs medical testing facilities and other illegal-type activities on behalf of woodland critters. Yep, PETA funds terrorists. I'm not making this shit up. The funds are visible on their tax returns, going to people like Rodney Coronado, a convicted arsonist. Do you PETA members like being associated with terrorists? Hey, PETA: the next time you want to take out a lab, you might want to try flying a plane into it, I've heard that gets pretty good results.
Item 3: I won't sugar-coat this one. PETA has euthanized anywhere from 60-80% of the animals that it rescues annually. It kinda speaks for itself, doesn't it? petakillsanimals.com has all the info you want on that.
Now, this is the part where I pull over and make my little warning to any of you who might misinterpret my words here. I am not attacking vegetarians, conservationists, or those who believe in preventing cruelty to animals. These are all individual lifestyle choices, and it is your right to choose them, especially that last one. Nobody wants to be cruel to animals. The issue merely lies in the differing opinions of what is cruel. But if you want to make your voice heard, please, please, don't do it through PETA. Don't let their pretty celebrities and Disney double-talk fool you, they are not what they seem.
Again, I did not make these facts up. Do a little research and see for yourself.
What do I want to see happen? First, I want to see Ingrid Newkirk, PETA's founder and President, locked in a cage with either a grizzly bear, a honey badger, or a horny, adolescent chimpanzee, her choice, and then let nature take its course. Second...you know what...I think I'll just take the cage for now.
Wednesday, November 5, 2008
Relax, Don't Do It, So We Can All Get Through It
I know it's all the buzz right now, and I feel like I might be just be riding the wave of everything that has gone on in the last few days, but at the same time, I can't just ignore the fact that we just had an election, so what I'm gonna do is give my two cents for everything. Remember that two cents is a pretty paltry amount, so you can either take it and put it in your piggy bank, just toss it away, or maybe take it and give it to some homeless guy who stands by the corner and sings famous TV show theme songs. It's your choice.
First, I want to talk to all of you McCain supporters out there. You all need to calm the hell down. It sucks your man lost, it really does. A lot of you are probably feeling kind of lousy right now, and that's ok. Nobody likes to feel like they bet on the wrong horse. It's human nature to feel bad when you don't get something you want (the holidays are just around the corner, so remember that one). You all fought the good fight, and gave it your best, but it's just not the GOP's time to shine. Take some time to recover, lick your wounds, and regroup in four years to keep the ruling party honest. In the meantime, realize that just because Obama won does not mean that we are all doomed. Politics have an ebb and flow in this country. One party gets to call the shots for a while, we roll the dice, and after a while, people will get bored or frustrated and want change. Think of it this way: what if Bush had been a Democrat? Assume that the mess of shit we're in is still there, but think of it as the consequence of a Democratic administration? What kind of change would people want then? Obama did not invent change. It's a two way street, and given enough time, it'll be time to switch back. It's the way this country works. So suck it up and get ready for the 2010 midterm election.
Now for all of you Obama supporters. Y'all need to really calm the hell down. Stop acting like you just fought the third American Revolution. I call it the third because Thomas Jefferson called his election the second one. Refer back to some of my earlier statements. It was the Dems turn at the helm. They could have run a ceasar salad for president and won. Of course, don't think I'm trying to detract from Obama's achievements. By most standards this was an historical election. Not the greatest or most important one ever (stop fooling yourselves and read a history book), merely an historical one. Obama strikes me as a fellow who has a lot of potential, and I sincerely mean it when I say that I hope he is able to live up to the image that he has created in the hearts and minds of many Americans. He's got the same sway over the hoi polloi that Clinton and Kennedy had, but so far he doesn't appear to have the same shady alter-ego as them. I hope I'm wrong, but during his inauguration, he could just whip it out and say, "Suck on this, America!" Crude, but I think it illustrates my point, which is don't put all of your faith into one man to fix your problems. He's the president. He works for us, remember? We have to take the reins and fix this crap, not him. If you put all your eggs into Obama's basket, you are only going to end up disappointed. He's not some messiah. He's a man, and a politician at that. And while we're here, stop making such a big deal out of the color of his skin. Sure, it's big deal that he is the first president to be of African descent, but stop throwing so much light onto it. Give it an acknowledging nod and then let the man do his job come January.
My major idea is this: everybody needs to chill out. Seriously, have a drink, pop a xanex, and take a step back for a little perspective. Realistically, not a whole lot is going to change here, so relax. If it's good enough for Frankie, it's good enough for me.
Next time...my own solution for the political gap in this country...
First, I want to talk to all of you McCain supporters out there. You all need to calm the hell down. It sucks your man lost, it really does. A lot of you are probably feeling kind of lousy right now, and that's ok. Nobody likes to feel like they bet on the wrong horse. It's human nature to feel bad when you don't get something you want (the holidays are just around the corner, so remember that one). You all fought the good fight, and gave it your best, but it's just not the GOP's time to shine. Take some time to recover, lick your wounds, and regroup in four years to keep the ruling party honest. In the meantime, realize that just because Obama won does not mean that we are all doomed. Politics have an ebb and flow in this country. One party gets to call the shots for a while, we roll the dice, and after a while, people will get bored or frustrated and want change. Think of it this way: what if Bush had been a Democrat? Assume that the mess of shit we're in is still there, but think of it as the consequence of a Democratic administration? What kind of change would people want then? Obama did not invent change. It's a two way street, and given enough time, it'll be time to switch back. It's the way this country works. So suck it up and get ready for the 2010 midterm election.
Now for all of you Obama supporters. Y'all need to really calm the hell down. Stop acting like you just fought the third American Revolution. I call it the third because Thomas Jefferson called his election the second one. Refer back to some of my earlier statements. It was the Dems turn at the helm. They could have run a ceasar salad for president and won. Of course, don't think I'm trying to detract from Obama's achievements. By most standards this was an historical election. Not the greatest or most important one ever (stop fooling yourselves and read a history book), merely an historical one. Obama strikes me as a fellow who has a lot of potential, and I sincerely mean it when I say that I hope he is able to live up to the image that he has created in the hearts and minds of many Americans. He's got the same sway over the hoi polloi that Clinton and Kennedy had, but so far he doesn't appear to have the same shady alter-ego as them. I hope I'm wrong, but during his inauguration, he could just whip it out and say, "Suck on this, America!" Crude, but I think it illustrates my point, which is don't put all of your faith into one man to fix your problems. He's the president. He works for us, remember? We have to take the reins and fix this crap, not him. If you put all your eggs into Obama's basket, you are only going to end up disappointed. He's not some messiah. He's a man, and a politician at that. And while we're here, stop making such a big deal out of the color of his skin. Sure, it's big deal that he is the first president to be of African descent, but stop throwing so much light onto it. Give it an acknowledging nod and then let the man do his job come January.
My major idea is this: everybody needs to chill out. Seriously, have a drink, pop a xanex, and take a step back for a little perspective. Realistically, not a whole lot is going to change here, so relax. If it's good enough for Frankie, it's good enough for me.
Next time...my own solution for the political gap in this country...
Saturday, November 1, 2008
Go Fuck Yourself
Alright, it's November, and that means that I don't have to worry about this scary series anymore. In the future, I think it is best for me to avoid such long and drawn out themes. It restricts my thoughts, and we just can't have that now, can we? Now then...
We've all heard the old chestnut "opposites attract". Now this may hold up for physics, and it may even hold true for many relationships out there, but I can't help but ponder the contrary. What if you had someone who was exactly like you in every way? I'm not talking about a person of the opposite gender who has a startlingly high number of things in common with you; this simply will not do. Regardless of how many things you may have in common, he/she is still a different person from you and will never truly match up exactly. I'm talking about an exact carbon copy of who you are: every hair, every pore, every thought, idea and motivation canned up in your brain, what you love, what you hate, what you don't give a flying rat's ass about; every single fiber of your being. Consider him/her an exact clone of yourself in every sense of the word.
How would you feel about this person? Would you want to hang out with him? Would he be your drinking buddy? Would you think he's an annoying douchebag? Would you love him?
The answer is ultimately nothing but a reflection on how you perceive yourself. If you like yourself and have a positive and healthy self-image, you'll probably like your clone and think he's awesome. If you have low self-esteem and think that you suck, then guess how you'll see your clone? Most likely, you'll love some things and hate others about your clone if you're one of the normal, well-adjusted people out there.
I suppose the core issue that I want to address here is this very important question: Would you go gay for yourself?
Now stop and analyze your reaction to that sentence that you just read. How did it make you feel? Shocked? Disgusted? Well get off your high horse and get honest with yourself. I strongly believe that given the choice, most people would go gay for themselves, even if they have never had a gay thought in their entire life. I mean, if you aren't willing to bump uglies with yourself, who can you do it with? You masturbate, don't you? You know you do. It's ok; your secret is safe with me. If you masturbate, you have absolutely no reason to be weirded out by the thought of having sex with yourself, especially if you're one of those types who tapes themselves or does it in front of a full length mirror. You know who you are.
Think about it. Here is a person who knows everything you know, so there are no secrets between you. Your clone knows all of your turn-ons and turn offs, what gets you hotter than the gulf coast in July, and what to absolutely never ever do. It has the potential to be the best sex you'll ever have. There is a flip side however.
Part of the thrill of sex is discovery and experimentation, two things that become easier with a partner other than yourself. I could see sex with yourself maybe getting a little boring. Perhaps the best way to view this would be to look at sex with yourself as a kind of comfort food, like a shaggable bucket of ice cream. Even if everything else in your life sucks, there is at least one person who will still roger you silly. The moral here: sex with yourself is fine, but it should probably be in the context of some kind of open, polyamorous relationship, so you need a partner who is nice and understanding, and preferably has a clone of his/her own.
We've all heard the old chestnut "opposites attract". Now this may hold up for physics, and it may even hold true for many relationships out there, but I can't help but ponder the contrary. What if you had someone who was exactly like you in every way? I'm not talking about a person of the opposite gender who has a startlingly high number of things in common with you; this simply will not do. Regardless of how many things you may have in common, he/she is still a different person from you and will never truly match up exactly. I'm talking about an exact carbon copy of who you are: every hair, every pore, every thought, idea and motivation canned up in your brain, what you love, what you hate, what you don't give a flying rat's ass about; every single fiber of your being. Consider him/her an exact clone of yourself in every sense of the word.
How would you feel about this person? Would you want to hang out with him? Would he be your drinking buddy? Would you think he's an annoying douchebag? Would you love him?
The answer is ultimately nothing but a reflection on how you perceive yourself. If you like yourself and have a positive and healthy self-image, you'll probably like your clone and think he's awesome. If you have low self-esteem and think that you suck, then guess how you'll see your clone? Most likely, you'll love some things and hate others about your clone if you're one of the normal, well-adjusted people out there.
I suppose the core issue that I want to address here is this very important question: Would you go gay for yourself?
Now stop and analyze your reaction to that sentence that you just read. How did it make you feel? Shocked? Disgusted? Well get off your high horse and get honest with yourself. I strongly believe that given the choice, most people would go gay for themselves, even if they have never had a gay thought in their entire life. I mean, if you aren't willing to bump uglies with yourself, who can you do it with? You masturbate, don't you? You know you do. It's ok; your secret is safe with me. If you masturbate, you have absolutely no reason to be weirded out by the thought of having sex with yourself, especially if you're one of those types who tapes themselves or does it in front of a full length mirror. You know who you are.
Think about it. Here is a person who knows everything you know, so there are no secrets between you. Your clone knows all of your turn-ons and turn offs, what gets you hotter than the gulf coast in July, and what to absolutely never ever do. It has the potential to be the best sex you'll ever have. There is a flip side however.
Part of the thrill of sex is discovery and experimentation, two things that become easier with a partner other than yourself. I could see sex with yourself maybe getting a little boring. Perhaps the best way to view this would be to look at sex with yourself as a kind of comfort food, like a shaggable bucket of ice cream. Even if everything else in your life sucks, there is at least one person who will still roger you silly. The moral here: sex with yourself is fine, but it should probably be in the context of some kind of open, polyamorous relationship, so you need a partner who is nice and understanding, and preferably has a clone of his/her own.
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