Archive for the ‘RANTING’ Category

At what point are we expected to “grow up?” What does “growing up” really mean? I get the feeling that some people believe growing up means sucking the fun right out of life. I’m almost 25 and I play video games and read comic books and like to go on adventures instead of looking up exact directions, but I also get up at 5 am, arrive at work early and work hard all day, pay my bills on time, and I have pretty darn good credit. I’d say I’m plenty grown up, but some people would disagree with me because of how much I hold on to my childhood.

Let’s put aside the fact that, relatively speaking, I am still a child. I can take care of myself without causing harm to others. That’s pretty responsible. I can generally see both sides of an argument, and I can usually come up with three or more solutions to a problem. I don’t confront people; I try to see things from a different viewpoint; I am in control of my emotions (most of the time). That’s pretty mature. I also like to drink, laugh at fart jokes, be crude, and generally live in a juvenile state of mind because, and I’ll say it a hundred times, being a grown-up SUCKS. The world isn’t sharks and dolphins, and we don’t encourage people to think solely in terms of sharks and dolphins, so why can’t I be a grown-up child (or a child grown-up)?

Video games, especially nowadays, are like movies that you control. You can sit through a two hour movie, sure, or you can play through the movie and control the action yourself for 8+ hours (usually +++ hours). Comic books, like video games, are an art form in themselves. Someone writes the book, someone draws the book, someone else colors the book, and a team of other developers bring the comic to life. Have you looked through a comic book these days? The amount of detail that’s in the drawings is amazing; it’s not some general picture, it’s a masterpiece; a drawn out snapshot of life, and that’s something that kids and adults can both appreciate. It’s all different modes of entertainment, like reading a book or playing a sport, and each medium provides a different experience.

And why the rush to grow up? We spend our childhoods waiting for the day we can call ourselves “grown-ups” and our adult lives wishing our childhood days would return to us. I think we can have the best of both worlds. Enjoy life, age be damned. I’m grown up enough for right now, and I refuse to participate in a society that demands we return to the 1950′s and crush our youth when we enter the working world. There’s a reason those people drank so much; they were filling a void.

I’ve heard my women friends complain many times about how all the men in the world have Peter Pan Syndrome and act like children all the time. You’re damn right we have Peter Pan Syndrome. Growing up sucks! Not everyone wants to graduate high school or college, get married, and procreate; some of us, men and women, want to experience life in a different way. We’re not necessarily ruling out children, we’re just saying “Hold your derby horses.”

I don’t see a reason to punish anyone for wanting to live a different way. I do, however, want to punish people for refusing to let me live the way I want to live. It’s my life, fuck off and live your own. I don’t need to grow up, you need to be more open-minded, you close-minded yuppie. Yeah, name calling, what up? Solving problems by calling you a different name, mmhmm, because it makes me feel better. Let’s all hug and appreciate each other for our differences, but don’t touch me while we do it. I do not like to be touched.

One hellacious, hair-pulling, follicle-growth-reversing week later, I am moved out of my old apartment and into a temporary place of residence. Not only did it come down to the absolute last minute, there were a few ass-kicking surprises that left me huddled in the corner of my empty room in a puddle of tears. Figurative tears, mind you.

Thirty minutes prior to my leaving to pick up the U-haul van I’d scheduled to move me across the city, my new roommate called to tell me he was in trouble with his Super and had to get a lawyer to sort out the mess, which meant I was out of an apartment and back to square one yet again (this was the fourth or fifth time I was back to square one, and I was getting a little tired of going back). My second choice apartment was one I had never intended to even see, let alone consider taking, but the Fates intervened with their twisted sense of humor and I ended up crawling back to the tenants for a place to stay. Meanwhile, I reached out to anyone I could for alternative housing arrangements with less than a day remaining before I had to turn in my keys.

I was able to get help clearing out the majority of my apartment from an unlikely source: Mormon Missionaries, and I had a friend lined up for Saturday to help me move my stuff to the new apartment. However, I had no one to help me when I had to reschedule my move to Sunday, which meant I made who knows how many trips from the apartment to the elevator, the elevator to the ground floor, and the ground floor to the van. Repeat the process in reverse for the move to the new place as well. (This was also my first time driving in NYC, by the way. I resisted the urge to slam on the horn a couple times, but I did throw out a couple “moron’s”. I had my wits and manners about me, parental units.

Alternative arrangements were found as I was returning the van to the Shell station, ye bastard Fates. I was moved in and paid up for the month and could only laugh at the whole situation. I had supper in my empty apartment, a last goodbye to the place, turned in my keys, and headed up to the new place…in the rain. I also got slightly lost when I got off the subway and walked a couple blocks in the wrong direction…in the rain. And this morning I have a bunch of really nice and dark bruises all over. And I forgot to mention the part where I fell up the stairs.

Rough week, rougher weekend, Happy April Fools Day, don’t ever move by yourself, don’t let it get down to the wire to find an apartment (although that wasn’t entirely my fault), get out there and make friends, and so on with the lessons learned. Now I can finally get back to studying and writing, and I have to say that I was getting stressed out even more because I didn’t have the time to do either. I took the day off today, so who wants to day drink?!

slang Blijdorp Rotterdam

(Photo credit: Gerard Stolk (vers le Midi-Carême))

I seem to have taken up the cause of identifying and correcting the human condition, as though I know everything there is to know. I can honestly say I know jack squat about anything, but I do use observations and critical thinking judgments to identify problems and pose solutions. That being said,

Words hurt, bitches. Also, extremism is dumb.

“That’s gay.” “That’s retarded.” Two of the biggest no-no examples out there. We as a society are not supposed to use these words in a slang context anymore because it’s insensitive and belittles the groups of people who identify with those words. The slang use of words such as these might have evolved from a need to express a strong feeling and a lack of cleverness to come up with an original word, resulting in the use of a word associated with a particular group currently under attack. These things happen. In the most modern of modern ages, however, we’ve become enlightened enough to accept all groups and have declared war on insensitivity. Hooray. In another shocking however, however, we seem to have forgotten the basics.

Let’s make this personal. I’m a thin dude, and I’ve been called many thin person names, such as “stick,” “skinny,” or “scrawny.” What most people fail to realize, though, is that to me, being called a stick is the same as calling an obese person “fat.” It comes across as a personal attack and I slap my glove across your face for it. DUEL! Now I’m a pretty laid back guy, mostly, and pretty battle hardened (from relentless childhood name-calling), so the majority of comments like this roll off my back faster than water in the shower, but some of those comments stick, and even robots have feelings (I sometimes get called a robot).

What’s really disheartening is that I’ve been working out for a few months with very noticeable results, and I’ve been extremely happy about it all. The other day I got stuck in a conversation with a coworker while I was working out, who was telling me how glad they were that I was working out and putting muscle on my scrawny body. They went on to compare me to another person and applaud that person’s muscles while insisting I be more like them. The one-sided conversation went on for what felt like ten minutes. I, of course, shut down after thirty seconds. I was a little upset by the conversation, but I thought I had it under control. When I went to take a shower, though, I saw my reflection in the mirror and where usually I saw all the progress I’d made, suddenly I saw the old me, before I started working out. I was heartbroken. I’d lost everything; months of work slinked down the shower drain. Two days later, while working out with my friends (one of whom I had told about the encounter with the coworker and my shattered confidence), I was thrown back into high school when I picked up two heavy dumbbells and my friend told me to put them down because they could see all the bones in my back and it was grossing them out. My friend, who I had confided in, was now disgusted by me. Needless to say, I got drunk that night.

What I want from all of this is not for people to become over-sensitive and avoid any word that might hurt someone’s feelings. That’s extremism, and even well-meant extremism will prove to be disastrous. What I want is for the world to wake up and notice the words they’re using and who might become upset by the usage of said words. There is a time and a place, my friends, and to me, sensitivity training is knowing the who, what, when, where, and why of word usage.

Obviously no one meant to hurt me by calling me skinny. In today’s society, there’s such a stigma against obesity, that being called skinny is supposed to be a compliment. Call me an oversensitive robot, but it is not a compliment to make a judgment call on someone else’s appearance or beliefs. That’s the reality show-dependent society talking, and I will slap that crap out of you if necessary. If you must judge, judge yourself.

 

Jabba the Hutt as seen in the film Star Wars E...

Jabba the Hutt as seen in the film Star Wars Episode I: The Phantom Menace (1999). Gardulla the Hutt can barely be seen at the back (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Here’s what I wonder today: why do movie peeps (directors, producers, etc) allow actors to pronounce names and places differently? For example, in Star Wars Episode 1: The Phantom Menance there are people who say “Gung-an” and people who say “Goong-an.” What I want to know is why do we allow this?

I assume the base answer is going to be because in life, people pronounce words differently. My defense is that movies are not life, and pronouncing words and names differently doesn’t give me a greater sense of reality, it takes me out of the movie. It makes me wonder why the Queen of Naboo doesn’t seem to know how to say the name of the people from which she’s begging for help.

Perhaps this is a money issue. Movies are shot based on a schedule, and the schedule is based on a budget. Having directed myself, I know that there is a certain point you reach that you have to accept what the performer is giving you for numerous reasons (time, patience, relevance, etc). If money is on the line, you may not have time to yell “CUT!” and tell the actor they need to say the word correctly or face an embarrassing slap on the face with a glove (signaling a duel challenge).

What I want is consistency. If part of the answer is that you’re going for a realistic approach, then I say that this is not reality, it is a movie or television show or who fucking cares, just have everyone say something the same way. I’m not even kidding how much this takes me out of the moment, and you as a media-maker lose the instant your audience becomes sentient (it’s an impossible battle, but you fight it nobly as long as you can). How can you possibly tell a story if the people around you are constantly stopping you with a “Wait, what?”

This particular problem has stared me in the eyes for years, and I am uncomfortable. Please stop staring at me; it’s so abrasive. What do you think? This is me encouraging discourse. Talk to me, dammit!

On minding your own damn business…

Posted: February 2, 2013 in RANTING

I’ll make this short and sweet: Mind your own damn business.

Okay, I’ll extrapolate. Actually, I’ll just repeat what I already said, in different ways.

Don’t stick your nose where it doesn’t belong. If someone wants your opinion, they’ll ask for it. If it’s not in your job description, but it’s in someone else’s, butt the what out. If you think you need to- you know. Don’t. Get a clue; Mind your own damn business. (I repeated it again at the end to bring it full circle and for mass effect. You’re welcome.)

People’s business is their own business, so let them tell you about it. Our society is so big into these “reality” shows that delve into the personal lives of fake celebrities and yokels that we’ve lost touch about what we need to know and what we should know. We just HAVE to know about the latest celebrity gossip (it’s not a need, it’s a want, and it’s none of our business). We just HAVE to speak our mind about how to improve someone else’s department (that’s overstepping your boundaries, get the what out of here). I blame today’s crappy mind-draining television for the rise in nosey-nellies. That doesn’t mean it’s the root cause or even the real cause. Reality is subjective, you know.

Real or not, it’s still a good idea to keep your nose where it belongs before it gets covered in shit. Mind your own damn business.

It’s Martin Luther King day, did you know that? I did not, until after I’d gotten to work and commented on how slow it was, when I was told that it was a holiday. Really? A holiday for one of the biggest proponents of civil rights there ever was? Doesn’t that seem a bit hypocritical? This day is not a celebration for most, or a time of reflection and remembrance, it is an excuse to get out of work. How dare we sully this great man’s legacy by, to quote Monty Python, “Farting in his general direction” with our addiction to greed and laziness, and distaste for actualizing civil rights for everyone. I’d much rather be ignorant to the significance of this day, thank you. We don’t teach civil rights, we teach the persecution of a particular group until something bigger comes along, at which point we accept the previous group (sort of, but not really) and ask them to band together with us in our pursuit of fresh blood. I’m not anti-America, I’m anti-Idiocy, and America, we are being a bunch of fools…

Clown.

Clown. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

…Knock it off.

Anxiety - Stress ... Time management vital for...

Anxiety – Stress … Time management vital for finals — cancel your Netflix subscription (7:45 PM, Nov. 28, 2012) …item 2b.. Muddy Waters – After The Rain – Full Album (1969) … (Photo credit: marsmet481)

January is pretty much the worst time to work in a health club. New Year’s resolutioners abound, and all of them want to eat their satisfaction after a workout at the club’s cafe. I’m happy for the attempted lifestyle change of these new club friends, and I’m pleased to do my best to satisfy their hunger pangs, but HOLY CRAP do I need a break. Between the non-stop rushes at work and the five or whatever projects I have going on in addition to work, I’m getting a bit whelmed. What’s worse is that I get up pretty darn early for work, and by the time I manage to sneak out 8-10 hours later, all I can think about is curling up in the corner and crying with a stiff drink.

One of the projects involves a life change of my own, to a world outside of the food service industry. That’s a pretty big deal considering I’ve worked with food for almost my entire working career. This project does involve me going back to school, and it makes me realize how much I cannot stand being in school. I don’t like deadlines and I don’t like people telling me what to do and for how long I have to do it.

Wait a second. I hear something. It’s laughter. Someone is laughing at me because I hate deadlines and being told what to do. What profession do I hope to enter one day? Writing? Writers never have deadlines, so check that off, and writers don’t have a dozen people telling them to do five hundred things differently, so I think I’m safe there.

The real reason I’m upset about being back in school is because studying personal training and trying to get plenty of practice and whatnot in before I make another huge life step is absolutely destroying my writing time. If I can manage to peel myself away from the rum-soaked wall long enough to study and workout, my day is already eaten up and I have to prepare to do it all again, hoping against all odds that I’ll find more time tomorrow to do everything I’d hoped to accomplish today. Universal issue, right? First world problems, anyone?

When I told my mentor how many side projects I have going on right now, she told me I needed to drop them all and focus on studying. All I need to do, she said, was pass the test. I just need to focus on one thing right now, and it’s just for a short period of time.

That’s all great, and it came from an extremely supportive place, but it felt to me like a personal attack. STOP WRITING. Writing makes me happy. STOP BEING HAPPY. ONLY STUDY. Yeah, because I can do that. So now my problem with authority is kicking in and my ears are suddenly so full of wax that I can’t hear a damn word she’s saying. “LALALA, I can’t hear you. LALALA.”

My book has been pushed almost entirely to the sidelines (brainstorming can happen anytime, thankfully), but I’ve made a commitment to write something, somewhere everyday, and that place is here. I told you all that I would be posting daily, and nothing will stop me from accomplishing that.

Time has never been so precious to me, and I’ve never seen so much of it slip through my clutching fingers. My job is my source of income and security, my studies are the investment on an escape plan, and my writing is my life. I can’t choose, I can only hope I find the time and strength to do more. Maybe I need more of a deadline. A stronger one. Procrastination ends up being a fantastic motivator, and nothing proved that more effectively than college. As for my busy health club, well, resolution time is almost over… >:S