Posts Tagged ‘editorial

23
Mar
20

Celebrity Social Media Wooptido; Tay, Kim and Kanye

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So, I must be rather bored to be even looking at the streaming pile of crap news put on these home pages for search engines.  And, I keep a wee eye out for news about my favorite blonde songstress, Tay Swift.  So, I see a blip about her and Kim K. making a public statement about something Kanye West texted/said?  And, I go hmm….

Annoyed by the pop-up bits….  No, I don’t want a cookie.  Even if I use a mouse.

Kanye wrote WHAT about Tay in his latest flop?  As if!  The horror.  And, sure Tay takes it in stride.  Be the bigger woman about it.  If that was me, I’d be a lil irked.  Sure, it all boils down to context.  But, seriously, Kanye?  Not necessary.  Wouldn’t I want to write something like that in a song I wrote?  Well, sure, I’d be tempted.  I mean…it’s Tay!  I adore the gal.  I would be lying if I didn’t have fantasy moments.  I write my own Capital One commercials.  😛  But, in a song I am going to sell and sing at some event?  NOT COOL!  No way I could make that part of my routine unless she was, in fact, my lover.

SO, there; I said my piece.  Two cents out.

18
Feb
20

Fear, a Personal Analysis of the Concept

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A wise man once said…

Fear is a reluctance to accept and learn from a possibility.

[This shall be a pooling place of thoughts and/or philosophy on the concept(s) of fear.]

Unlike denial, which is an absolute resistance to something being a possibility, fear acknowledges the possibility and responds with a frown of disapproval. If allowed to fester and grow, fear becomes a vile mold or weed that feeds off the energy that keeps its host active; it saps motivation and ambition. Some can dismiss nightmares in a short span of time; others remain troubled by them. And, still others may repeat the nightmare (in what is known as a “recurring nightmare”), similar to deja vu and a difficult reincarnation; some might say this is karma or learning a hard lesson while others would judge it as a reluctance to let go of a figment of the imagination. None of it is real…except to the one who experiences it and, perhaps, those who’ve already had the same or a similar experience.

In Star Wars: The Empire Strikes Back, when Luke Skywalker is told Darth Vader is his father, he scowls and squeals as he says this cannot be true. He is genuinely afraid of the possibility he does not want to accept. If Luke was purely brave, ignorant and/or unafraid, he would have kept a straight face and told Darth Vader to go stick his red lightsaber where the sun doesn’t shine. And, it wasn’t “the force” making Luke afraid, either, even if Darth Vader, with his oddly skull-like mask, can be a bit intimidating.

Some fears are common, easier to share and accept as real, fears of the dark, deadly creatures, clowns, heights, cramped spaces, etc. Others are more particular and personal, fears of threatening people we’ve met, fears of dogs after being attacked by one, fears of eating a certain food after someone tricked you with a tainted sample, fears of trusting certain merchants after being duped into buying something, fears of rape after being a victim.

In regards to the last example, a fear of rape may be common, experienced by many, but every individual experiences it a little differently based upon the type of person who assaulted them. Someone first raped by a family member will not be as wary of a stranger while the one raped on the street will not be as concerned about family assaulting them. Thus, one victim may not always be able to “relate” with another; there may be resistance to comforting each other from a shade of difference.

Some say fear is good; they claim you cannot know or feel courage without knowing fear. But, how courageous are they who are programmed to fear a “common enemy” and/or follow the orders of a commander without question? Are all soldiers brave? Are they not also afraid? Are some not more afraid than brave? Are the ones who are more brave than afraid also naive? How many truly know the enemy and the reasons to be afraid and/or brave? [Gee. That’s a lot of questions I just asked.]

Fear is often, not always, broken by experience. You’ll fear cutting yourself less once you’ve cut yourself enough times and learned how to tend the wounds…and you’ll eventually, hopefully, become wise enough to avoid repeating the mistakes.

[Let me just pause right there to mention……I am not talking about “cutter” cutting. I don’t mean people who cut themselves to bleed out the pain they think this act will relieve. That is a different psychological puzzle with traces of will in the mix. A person who cuts him or her self while tackling a task, cutting wood, working with metal, etc., may be cut and learn from the experience. An emotional and troubled “cutter” ignores the lesson in favor of a sensory experience, similar to how some people use sex for pleasure and forget the emotional relationship aspect which often translates into “making love.”]

Similarly, we become less afraid of monsters and “things that go bump in the night” when we walk enough dark corridors, get tired of mysterious sounds in the dark and watch enough scary movies to make us laugh at what some deem horror. There’s a word for that, a word some may have a tough time spelling. Fear loses its strength the more we become numb to it. And, once we are numb enough to the fear, we can and must then rise above it.

I keep thinking back to a TV movie I’ve watched a few times, Merlin. In that movie, the grand wizard-in-training dismisses his enemy by ignoring her, depriving her of the response and attention she demands. He says she will be forgotten when and if people turn away from her. How peaceful and poetic is that justice? He didn’t lay a hand on her. He didn’t fight her. He just walked away from the fight and let “the powers that be” sort everything out. Now, sure, if the gods were cruel, his enemy could have stabbed him in the back or moved the sorceress in front of him in a way that would make her a constant pest to his senses. But, that wasn’t how the story ended. In any case, Merlin’s example sheds light on how we must get past our fears…but only once we’ve conquered them. Without having a firm grip on ourselves and proving a fear no longer can hurt us, it remains with us like a difficult infection or disease.

From personal experience, I’ve been living with a number of fears. Some come with/from a lack of experience; I acknowledge that. Others come from experiences I refuse to repeat, even if a harsh higher power puts me right back in the pit with the troublemakers. Some would say I need to go to the sources of my fears, face them and get over the feelings. But, there are some “sources” facing would only agitate the feelings. And, yet, I am sure facing even those sources would have some positive effect, a thickening of the skin as all repeat experiences should have. [To each their own path to recovery.]

Just imagine having a fear for more than a decade…for more than a few decades…for as long as one has been a legal adult or even longer, in some cases.

As a kid, I had a fear of the dark. It wasn’t so tragic that I needed a light on at all times or a hand to guide me to the bathroom. But, it pecked at me for a while. Then, I stubbed my toes a few times and confronted shadows; I spent more and more time sitting in dark places when I didn’t want to face scary company my parents kept and when I didn’t want to put up with guests who smoked, drank and spoke aggressively. I grew a thick skin that still has a slight fear of what lurks in the dark; I still shudder, occasionally, when I let a possibility enter my mind.

The best remedy I can give for this sort of fear is to accept whatever comes; if you are meant to die from what troubles you in the dark, you will. And, you cannot avoid it. Luckily, I’d hope, anything lurking in the dark won’t have an effect on more important matters like personal long-term finances. So, you might get assaulted and robbed of SOME wealth; but you’ll live to bank another day.

I’ve also been a victim of bullies most of my life. Pick a decade, and I can describe a few pests who have jabbed me with needles of ridicule and intimidation. I can cover one hand with the number I’ve stared down and repelled by my own defiance. The other hand holds those who eluded my seemingly limited influence. I cannot deny the possibility another won’t appear. I must accept this and be prepared for it. I should not be or have to be troubled by the possibility, at my age. But, such is life, and, so far, life keeps throwing me rockheads. [Maybe that’s why I become so fascinated with Geodude in Pokemon games. It’s a sort of therapy for dealing with bullies.]

[This ties a bit into how I feel about “supporting the troops.” I hear countless pleas for donations and support for forces taking it upon themselves to root out “evil,” “enemies,” “disease” and “threats.” But, from my experiences with bullies–and my fair share of ailments–it’s hard for me to buy “bully insurance.” I recall some TV shows of my youth that offered such remedies; victims would be asked by brave bigger kids to pay for the services of a protector. But, what guarantee does this provide? The brave bigger kid is not always around when a bully decides to strike; he cannot be everywhere at once and has his own life to maintain. Just as soldiers have families and friends and duties placed upon them by their governments; they cannot spend all of their time and energy on confronting things that may go boom in the night.

A soldier, in my opinion, is called upon to deal with a warring threat. War calls, and the soldier answers. If there is no war–only a fear of war or violence–the soldier is facing a vague enemy and at risk of paranoia and its ugly cousins. A soldier riddled with fear and doubt is open to sneak attacks and confusion. A soldier with a set goal in mind and the preparation to deal with anything that crosses his/her path is more likely to succeed in his/her mission.

And, as a supporter of said soldier, if the objective of the soldier in need is not clear, donated resources are at risk of waste, just as some buy groceries to satisfy a possible need but then let the food rot as they become involved in other preoccupations.]

Now, I have spilled quite a load from my busy brain. I don’t know how to conclude. So, I will leave things as they lay and let readers do with my notions what they will. Discuss.

18
Feb
20

Humor, a Personal Analysis of the Concept

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A wise man once said…

Humor is a selective perspective.

[This shall be a pooling place of thoughts and/or philosophy on the concept(s) of humor.]

We laugh at what is either ridiculous or personally true within the limits of self-preservation. Some may be comfortable with self-ridicule, laughing at their own flaws and faults. Others more simply laugh at what they feel does not hurt them or give them reason to be concerned. And, yet others laugh at everything the first two branches of humanity cannot find amusing, repelling waves of tension, anxiety and fear.

Taking all of the above into account, I sort of pity those who choose comedy as a career path. Have I not seen enough movies and other shows in which jesters get “the hook” (or worse)? Have I not heard enough “starving artist” stories about comics who bemoan a hard life…after countless routines gabbing about how horrible the people in their lives are? Why does the jester get killed? Because his or her “royal audience” has a change of appetite and no longer is amused by what amused them yesterday……and the “royal audience” has a lack of mercy which compels them to dish out death instead of mild or moderate disapproval.

From personal experience, I’ve learned an audience–whether it’s an audience of one or thousands–will egg you on to talk more about whatever they deem amusing in the moment. But, eventually, the ability to amuse fades and the comic is left exposed to a sort of ill karma, retribution for turning acquaintances into enemies worth teasing.

Many love comics who get personal, who can speak of a loved one or fellow human being passed on the street in a harsh way. It’s almost a wicked sickness or trick of the mind brought upon by an evil spirit. Just as one may be encouraged to partake in a group crime like robbing a store or conning a “mark.” There’s thrill in the teamwork, but the prize–for those who haven’t lost their conscience–comes with some measure of regret, some reason to disapprove of what just happened, even if the crooks are presently caught up in the thrill of the chase.

You know the old saying…

Crime doesn’t pay.

Many criminals would laugh at this until they are sufficiently punished. Until they no longer get away with what comes easy to them, they won’t blink an eye of doubt. Crime, whether it’s emotional or financial, comes at a price. And, the price eventually impacts the criminal because the suffering of one spreads to others; and those others likely cross paths with the criminal who then experiences a shift in the success of his/her ambitions. The next “heist” may not be so profitable or the next “mark” might not fall as expected. There’s no reliability in crime, and there’s no reliability in humor.

Humor often is a crime of emotionally wounding another.

There’s a sick trend of getting more laughs from picking on your own family than current events. A comic known as Colbert presently spends most of his energy making jokes about President Trump, not about some more common experience we all might have or the general status of the world. Why? Surely, there are more things to joke about than one man with a bad spray tan and colored hair. But, he is prodded (by someone) to deliver this material every night to make his chicken feed, to fund his home and family. Tell us more lousy jokes about the fat, quasi-rich man’s physique and make fun of the way he talks, and I’ll put another coin in your hat, funny man. What a sad organ-grinder-monkey business that is. It’s no better than the child lured into the business of picking pockets.

And, with the crime of humor, when you’re not a jester being killed by your king/queen, comes the punishment of losing the audience or, worse, turning a portion of the audience into an enemy. [Unlike the pickpocket who, as long as they remain unseen, never becomes a target of personal threat.] Does a comic truly make a friend out of the victim of his or her jokes? I wonder. I may have dismissed those who made jokes about me. But, I cannot say I became good friends with the short-lived comics. And, if I made jokes about anyone, I didn’t see them wanting to remain close friends…just temporary audience members. I might as well be a bartender.

In politics, some would say televised debates don’t keep an audience’s attention if they don’t involve “mud slinging.” Just as some throw sex scenes into movies and TV shows to draw whistles and other animal sounds. It’s a form of temptation. And, temptation is rarely rewarded in a way that improves the quality of life. Temptation is equivalent to drinking alcohol; the effects are temporary and more often harmful.

Even the most self-assured can be wounded. So, why stab at them with every “zinger” you can imagine, expecting them to laugh? Pick the wrong note, and watch that smile wither and die. Why gamble with this?

Why does anyone pick comedy as a career path? Because they see no better option, like a drunkard who can only drown him or her self in intoxicating beverages until they puke their pain away, only to get a rude awakening, later. And, from recent cases I’ve observed, many comics are deeply troubled and only hiding behind a laugh. Fun for the audience who is blind to their pain. But, tragic for the comic. And, shame on the audience who ignores the troubles of the comics, who prod them for more reasons to laugh. If only we could all be amusing to lighten our own hearts and still help each other get through the difficulties life deals us, instead of buying temporary relief.

So, when you hear people say they favor a funny lover/life companion, maybe think twice about that before signing up for the position. Humor is subject to opinion/personal taste. And, humor is not eternal. It is far less eternal than love and devotion. Even a devoted comic cannot count on humor. Just as I, a devoted creative spirit cannot be expected to craft a masterpiece every time someone prods me to impress them with something from my mind, mouth and/or hands. The unseen forces of the financial world may treat us all like cattle, but we are not cows. We are humans. And, that’s not funny.

Now, I have spilled quite a load from my busy brain. I don’t know how to conclude. So, I will leave things as they lay and let readers do with my notions what they will. Discuss.

13
Dec
19

Venting Colbert Report, 12-13-2019

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That’s right. It’s called Venting Colbert Report, like the cable-TV show the suit once hosted “in character.” So, set your VCRs to “not stunned” at what I’m about to say; it’s nothing new but needs to be said.

I just want to take a little time to let off some steam about a certain late-night talk-show host who has been the silver-tongued court jester, grilling the current US president ever since the big businessman and his gorgeous (first) daughter (and the rest of the family) stepped into office.

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Colbert may have the best personality and face to show at those hours. But, he’s wasting his breath and making me ill more often than he can make me laugh.

I’m so tired of so many things in this world; my memory isn’t entirely sure…but I’m pretty sure this isn’t the first time I’ve written about him/this. I don’t even watch the show regularly, anymore. And yet, there comes a point when you hear and see enough, with family input, to make you want to scream. Rather than scream or throw things, I choose to type out my fury and need to vomit in a more “rational coping” way.

Ehem.

Disclaimer. If you have a beef with the current US president and/or are a die-hard Democrat and/or Colbert fan, do not take anything I have to say as Republican or any negative attitude/force against all that is good. If you do, you might be on the path to becoming a bully or troll…like this guy (who I am about to point at with my steely index finger and try not to make an obnoxious sound). And, some band of hobbits or other mythical folks will come along to smite you.

MEANWHILE!!!…Mr. Stephen J. Tolkien Colberenstein Bearson spins lyrics after lyrics about the big cheese and anyone who crosses paths with the guy, calling everyone names–occasionally funny names–and dancing around the stage like…well…a court jester. He’s so busy doing it, he doesn’t have time to wipe all the seemingly intellectual crap he’s spewing from his Charmin behind. Yep. You may say he has a silver tongue. But, his tongue doth only look silverish because-eth he hast spent countless years polishing it, bent over a writing desk, trying to turn ravens into wood. He has been working with other writers on other shows that try to make other people look amusing and worked his way to the front of the stage. And, unlike his late-night cohorts, who are choking on his exhaust fumes, trying to keep up, he has excelled and fed on applause like a vampire sucks your blood (or raids the ice chest of a hospital). Turn the lights down a little, and you’ll find him curled up in a corner, reading about hobbits and dwarves and ready to cast fake spells at you if you disturb him. The other guys in bad suits sweat frozen burritos and cough up last night’s dinner while Mr. Frank Lloyd Copy-n-Write Webber Grill greases the competition, leaving a flaming oil slick on the race track.

[I’d compare him to the stocky Jimmy…well, the dark-haired one…the one with a Hispanic sidekick…the one who likes to leech onto basketball games for extra air time, because they both excel at calling people names and little else. But, I’d hate for the two to team up and start dishing out wedgies at schools.]

Who was once a refreshingly smooth-talking guy, trying to best the freckled Irishman (who worked his way up from one half of a sinister geek duo to solo string-dancing superstar, Conan O’Brien, who was slighted a better broadcast slot), dazzling the crowd and featuring some nifty special-effects segments about a variety of things, insisting he was not going to be the political menace he was on non-broadcast TV, when he was “in character,” has turned the hypocritical heel and become the Burger King of hashing out politico fries. All he needs is a paper hat and a stained apron.

Colbert has beaten the dead darkhorse, broken the record and made the guy holding the starting pistol point the barrel at his own head. If he’s going to flash that Captain America shield wherever he goes, I cannot be a Captain America fan. I am struggling to be an America fan, already. He’s not helping.

Turning another light on this subject, trying a different angle, there’s a point when funny becomes badgering, when a witty remark becomes, “Hey, basketball head, want me to dribble you all the way home and tell your mommy to call you Wilson?” If you get people to laugh about the foolishness someone has done, good for your fifteen minutes in the spotlight. But, Idina Menzel, man. Let it go! You can’t be those other late-night guys trying the same jokes twice, just in case people don’t watch every night. You can’t expect me to turn off my TV for a month, come back and enjoy more of what I heard last time as if you were a newborn smartmouth waiting to be baptized into geekdom.

[Switching to interview mode…]

But, Mr. Colbert Cheese on Bleh, I know; you probably don’t write all of this stuff, yourself. You…probably have a disorganized team of writers at your side, pitching ideas, feeding you lines. You just read the cards. You’re the figurehead of…well…your own government? Hmm. Who does that sound like?…like a certain orange-faced businessman who looks like he’s in charge but also part of a three-branch government who can handle itself just fine without you turning countless American minds into computer-phone scrolling gelatin-heads who’d rather vote for you than an actual candidate or take your word for a reason to vote or not to vote. Does it matter who we vote for? Are we voting in anticipation of Mr. Late Night putting the winner on the hot seat?

[Now, back to talking-to-someone-else mode…]

Yet, I’ll still say Colbert must have a brain; he doth read a lot of imaginative works. He must have some magic in that old top hat he found. And, when he puts it on his head, he is sure to dance around. [Have you heard that song?] Perhaps, this is all a strategic move. Perhaps, getting the competition to try and follow his dance steps is Colbert’s way of staying on top. He plays the pied-piper flute, gets the other guys to chuckle nervously and sweat buckets; and, soon, he’s the only one still standing.

[And then back to interview mode…]

Bravo, Mr. Showmancer. And, yet, your British spy-apprentice doth have another magic in his pocket, where he keeps one hand to grope himself and cope with the thoughts running through his head when a “hunky” “delicious” male guest is on his show, before he mentions his wife and kids. He would seem to be a true wizard at getting people bigger contracts and other business. He turns the new turd on the street into streaming gold, when he’s not processing pot with his Showtime-Pizza-Place band (including one beautiful bass-guitar player) and partying like Dionysus. [Sadly, his smaller ragged band sounds better than yours, too. Ouch. But…you just keep staying…eh, human.] He has even seduced a lovely blonde songstress I admire into playing cat-and-cat with him.

MEANWHILE!!!…you continue wrenching those eyebrows and trying to figure out what to do with your hands every night. How is a raven like a Conan O’Brien or a running Letterman, sir? I’d ask the raven. But, he’s too busy dancing and picking on the same bloated corpse to answer.

So…I’m going to go, now, and try to wash that tripe right out of my hair, again, try to forget what got me all worked up in the first place…because…you’re not worth it. You’ve spent, what, three years now? hounding this guy and all who cross his path; I’d have a hard time looking at you when–this–is all over and not replaying your previous grilling in my mind. You go so far to tease–no, harass and harangue–the man about what’s in his pants, night after night.

Are you going to be as outspoken with the next president? Are you going to keep the political grill-train going for as long as you stand on stage? Don’t you have more to contribute? Or, are you too much of a geek to talk about it? There’s no king to send you to any number of death-dealing service providers, but that doesn’t mean you should dance and pitch the same crap every day.

Even Tolkien would be turning in his grave, mumbling, “Dude. If I had a plus-five Sword of Mercy, I’d use it to end this madness. Screw your vital roll, sir. You’ve said too much and wasted your turn. I take my ring of power and disappear from this world you’ve sullied.” [Or, that’s just what I imagine he would say if he was a DnD geek.]

Don’t be just another twit doing impersonations of a tweeter.

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You’re a wit, sir. Now, use it, properly.

27
Sep
19

Are You a True Friend/Ally or ‘Expectator’?

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ARE YOU NOT ENTERTAINED?!?!

This…is…Spart–  Oh, wait.  Wrong movie.  But, it did deliver the same impact-ful question/vibe.

Are you a spectator or the leading role receiving your fill of expectations?…or both?  Or, maybe you just don’t care, either way; your life is a combination of labor and minimal social entertainment, routine and not worth thinking on this level…you’re basically a pack animal.

I had this thought, this morning.  I have received plenty of expectations from people over my lifetime.  I’ve been told how smart and talented I am and what I should do with my life more often I can count.  But, I can probably count on my two hands how many “angels” I’ve met, people who really stepped up to be a friend…however tragically short that time with me was.

And, that, ladies and gents, and boys and girls of all ages, is what my life really boils down to…my productivity has been lacking due to a lack of support, acceptance and assistance.  If you get by without much of that, then maybe I’m just not like you.  Or, maybe you don’t realize what you have.  I know what I have…I just don’t feel it’s enough to make me live nearly up to the expectations I receive.  I live my life, feeling like a disappointment, no matter how I pitch myself…until I tell myself to turn a blind ear (and eye) to those who pitch expectations and just do my own thing…but doing my own thing hasn’t exactly been fruitful because it’s very lonely.

And, all introvert-ish thinking aside, all my ability to work alone and keep myself busy aside, I need people.  I need friends.  I need to know I am good in and out and acceptable, not just tell myself I am okay as I am.  It’s not superficial or looking in the wrong direction for emotional support.  I think it’s just (my) human nature showing its true colors.  But, lacking any adequate social skills, other than knowing how to speak bluntly (which isn’t always an asset…), and occasionally being a good listener (used to be more often, when I had more heart left to share)…I don’t see the means to bringing more people into my life.  And, what I keep finding isn’t filling the “job slots.”  I feel like I’m sitting in some tiny office, expected to hire a company full of subordinates, and I get no callbacks or resumes worth getting a response.  [If that makes sense; if it doesn’t I really don’t care much, anymore.  The old perfectionist, misunderstood me would be up in arms, right about now, tossing papers and fuming…and then collecting those papers because I was once a “neat freak.”]

It’s even more apparent when I try some online games…or, rather, games you can partake online (or offline) and have some kind of interaction…when there’s hardly any interaction.  Do I have to “add 100 friends” just to get a ding or a whoop?  Am I falling short by trying to pick a half-dozen people who I consider up to the task of being a cooperative player?…versus being one of the countless drones who just click LIKE and REPOST buttons in this blog-verse?  [I think, ever since I started bitching about the LIKE button, I’ve received far fewer LIKES; so add one more detail to the “this sucks” pile…not that I cared about LIKES…just, in a sad case when you get no other response…anyway.  Meh.]  Is it all just processing the day, or do people actually care about each other?  Are there ANY genuine friends in this world?  Or, do I just hear stories, like fiction on the wind?  Am I being teased with fantasy and lil wizards who have dead parents?…plenty of the convenient dead parent stories.

When I was a kid, I was “the quiet one.”  I didn’t have automatic friends show up looking for a pal.  I didn’t know how to interact with kids while staying as safe as all the adults wanted me to be.  I was afraid of getting hurt/hit; so sports and physical games were essentially out of play.  When I finally found a friend…and I am not sure how that even happened, other than two guys (and one rare girl) making some joke on the playground which broke the crucial ice…we had to talk the relationship over with our parents; I had to get an Okay to visit or have them visit me.  I had strict rules about phone calls that fluctuated daily, so I never knew where I stood; nor did the friend know how to deal with my parents.  It was a torture-some game of hit and miss time together.  So, to be fair, I couldn’t expect much.

But, there WAS that one girl…the diamond in the rough…who put up with it all and stuck by me.  And, though I didn’t actively support all of her interests…which made me a bit of a spectator but not an “expectator”…I felt I did a fair amount of being there for her…until peer pressure, I suspect, got the best of us.  Having to say, “We’re just…friends,” when your heart is saying “I love this girl, I think,” is rough.  And, the more I denied my feelings or slighted her, the worse I felt.  And, I think, deep down, she knew and felt something, too; or she was just the most loyal friend I’ve ever known.  And, we were not even in the same interest circles, other than maybe video games.  She didn’t draw.  And, I didn’t do gymnastics or think much of forestry…though I’ve grown to enjoy state parks and exploring nature.   But, we got along so well…and I adored her, madly.  She wasn’t the prettiest girl in the class, but she had more class than most; she earned my respect, and then some.  [I’m pretty sure I’ve written about her before; so I don’t want to repeat myself or go on too long about this.]

As I became a teen and adult, after a shocking sex-education class, I had far less luck with friendships and finding allies.  I had plenty of hecklers, jesters, shapeshifters and all-around-lackluster faces around me who had more fun being pests than anything friendly, especially if I didn’t approve of something they chose to do/say.   I get it…and it wasn’t exactly new to me…people changing and turning on me…but I was hoping ONE in the bunch might be as nice as that girl was.  Nope.

In the “working world,” I’ve grazed paths with pretty faces who just couldn’t find a way to fit and guys who’d rather talk sex, sports and music, of which I know less, I guess, and am not particularly into discussing.  I get a rare “We should do something together” offer which goes nowhere for whatever reason; either I can’t get ‘there’ (to where we are to meet) or the other person never follows through with an “Okay, let’s do this; when is best for both of us?”  I have gone on very few dates which all ended badly.  I’ve been a spectator to a number of sour relationships which usually involved quick sex I did not need to hear about the next day.  It’s not exactly a social-friendly atmosphere or sustaining life experience.  It kinda makes this rabbit want to eat in a different pasture; ya know?

And, breathe.  No mas.  ‘Kay?  That was a rather personal explosion and old would I just visited.

So, looking at yourself, on a regular basis, are you a spectator or avid ally/friend?

20
Sep
19

I’m Sick of These M-F’n Tools Saving Every Species on the Planet!

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That was my weak attempt at sounding like Samuel L. Jackson in that infamous movie about snakes on a plane.

But, let’s talk about a bigger tool.

Common, you’re such a tool. Those AI ads he keeps doing…just rub me the wrong way for some inexplicable reason. And, the latest one really struck a sour note.

One more pitch to save some “endangered” species.

I’ve got nothing against respect for nature and being concerned about all life on the planet. But, if nature decides to eliminate any species, we need not be responsible.

Do you understand what I am saying?

Nature decides what species will live, what new species will join the rest and which will become extinct.

As much as humans like to play god, and as much as Americans like to boast being the best at everything these days, we humans are responsible for the crimes we commit against nature as well as how much we are willing to treat it right. We are capable of maintaining the planet better than any other species. But, we cannot be the overprotective parents, especially when our energy and resources are needed to save ourselves from our own mistakes and from nature’s harsh backlash, probably for the crimes we’ve committed and thus are rightfully doomed to face.

If someone is pitching an AI solution to keep every species known on the planet alive and thriving, isn’t that a bit silly?

For one reason, what happens if, among all of the preserved species, new ones appear in small numbers? Well, we have to protect those, too. And, the next group? Yep. Them, too. Before long, we have a planet swallowed up in lifeforms without adequate resources to sustain them all, sort of like the junk lady in that 1980s Labyrinth movie piling stuff up on Sarah’s back.

[If I may be so blunt, are we just preserving these species because they make pretty photographs for some wildlife magazine you want to print on excess glossy paper which is just going to end up in a landfill when the multitude of shrinking attention spans cast them aside like yesterday’s hot topic?]

Ya know why the big ol’ dinosaurs went extinct? It wasn’t just some massive rock from deep space that created a sinkhole in the planet and devastated the climate. It was a population boom that couldn’t be supported by available resources. And, nature took them out, replacing them with a wide assortment of lifeforms, including us, sort of like an American football team replacing its most expensive player with a few cheaper ones to fill some holes in the defensive line. Now, we are the dinosaurs. And, if we don’t get a grip on our actions……..

Secondly, the planet will be overrun with technological gizmos, not just those keeping watch on every animal like some high-tech spies for some company surely getting something out of this access to what is probably some privacy nature did not intend us humans to take.

Those gizmos will require maintenance and resources we must provide, further depleting our time and resources which could be applied to means capable of preserving all life, not just one rare species at a time, invading the privacy of nesting and other rituals. And, just as your personal computer-phone puts out enough “heat” to fry an egg or your ear, and just as cellphone towers and electrical towers in general put out invisible radiation which impacts all life around them in negative ways, those flying and roving gizmos sent with the supposed intent of protecting all of these other species are sure to put out something that could very well be harmful to something if not everything in its path, because when have humans been known to create anything perfectly clean and safe? Mmm…never? At least, it seems everything we’ve made has had some negative output in the news.

[Can you imagine some drone appearing outside your bathroom, claiming it’s just making sure you’re still alive while you stand there naked about to take a shower? How long before that becomes so annoying that you change your washing habits and/or your whole daily routine, ultimately impacting your life expectancy? And, what if that supervising drone puts out some kind of radiation to scan your home and detect your body heat or some other signature? More invisible rays passing through your body and everything you hold dear, possibly invading your sleep cycle, causing you to wake with the feeling something weird was buzzing in your ear like a mosquito, a species we certainly do not need to preserve unless we are using them as weapons…and that is dangerous talk.]

[What if it doesn’t stop at drones? What if we get tags like all those species humans tag to track their numbers? That, too, is a human habit I find repulsive. Yet, we spend enough energy doing just that while water supplies and other resources continue to become hazards to us all. Would you want to walk around with some colorful plastic tab clipped to your ear or neck or ankle for the rest of your life? Maybe if your the sort who likes tattoos and/or piercings. But, not me.]

We are as responsible for upsetting the environments of all these other species as we are preserving them. But, two wrongs don’t make a right. And, yes, in a way, boxing every life form into some kind of human protection system isn’t right.

I know it’s a bigger and more vague goal to correct the other wrongs we have done to the planet, but that’s the homework we need to get done. Not being the policing, over-protective parents of the planet’s population.

If the world loses its snow leopards, it will go on. But, if the world loses its clean water supply or safe atmosphere, more than the snow leopards will suffer; all species will suffer. If one more human tribe puts its faith in nuclear power as a resource, more than a few snow leopards will suffer for a longer time than any human petition mob can survive to protect those snow leopards.

If you spend your time and resources sending machines to watch over some small cluster of one or two species instead of cleaning up the environment or protecting all life in a particular area you can manage, your effort is futile. If you are in a desert and give all of your water to a lone lizard you think is the only one of its kind, you will die in that desert before you learn that the lizard will be just fine on its own.

And, if no one bothers to read this, if it doesn’t make an impact on improving the way we humans treat the planet, then it was a waste of my time, energy and technology. All of which could have been saved had I not bothered to turn on the TV and see the man, calling himself Common, in one more lame commercial.

 

 

06
Sep
19

What’s Left to Write About? The Fate of Creativity

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It’s all been done…said the Bare Naked Ladies long before the Big Bang.  They weren’t kidding.

I feel that periodic urge to pose like that Thinker statue, right now.   Deep Thoughts…by Jack Writingbolt.

I am not a man of few words, yet, even now, I am finding it hard to put into words the panic, dread and frustration I feel at the thought of lacking originality and creativity in this world.  As a creative spirit myself, I feel like a dryad about to lose his tree/forest and evaporate into nothingness…but the world won’t let me.  I’m still here, whether it’s to watch the world decay around me and slowly turn me toward the dark side…or to make some impacting, positive change yet to rock the world (at a time when the average person who rocks the world seems to be a guy under 30 with a huge chip on his shoulder that is never quite explained before he is “dealt with”).

Just the other day, a thought came to me…and this isn’t about one particular gorgeous songstress I admire.  What would song writers write about if they didn’t write about past or current relationships of some kind?  If they didn’t write about how a boss or partner/spouse wronged them or “did them right,” what would fill a CD?  It’s as if the air is so thick with lust and disgust that we can’t think any other way.  I, myself, have heard more than enough talk of sex and material ambitions that mean little to me; I can’t tune out enough…I can’t tune into anything better and am quickly losing my ability to be a good listener/therapist.  [Though, my back massages remain legendary.]

When I think of all the CDs I’ve sampled, I realize, too, what few songs make it to radio and how many more seemed doomed to only be heard by diehard fans.  Is it intentional to disregard the majority of an artist’s work to either sell CDs (and disappoint later) or discourage creativity?

Imagine being an artist hired to fill a gallery with your work.  But, when you present your year’s work, the owner of the gallery says “no” to two thirds or three fourths of it, forcing you to take back some pieces you thought were better than the ones given the “okay.”  How would you feel, after thinking you were free to fill the space with whatever you could do?  Now, imagine how that might affect your output over time.  Would you still make as much?  Change the type of output?  Scrap your whole portfolio and never go to art college?

Now, imagine being a songwriter and putting all of your energy into releasing a new album in time for some not-so-important-but-crucial release date only to milk crap from your teats…and one “hit” song.   [By the way, non-related note, I “love” how Spell Check just checked “teets” and offered “tweets” but nothing closer to teats.]  Tell me I am wrong.  [I’m not wrong.]  You fill the CD with songs about passing fancies with B- and C- list famous names; maybe you get a thrill from flirting with emotional danger.  Maybe it fuels your creativity (because nothing else in this smog-clouded world will).

Then you go about performing these songs at concerts to promote that recent album…and let fans know you still remember every song you ever wrote, just in case one or more wants to hear that song which is personal to you but meant something else to them at a time in their life.  “Oh, sing that song you sang about person A because that was playing when I had sex with boyfriend C last winter.”

Or, tell me concert goers, do these performers NOT sing these songs about past relations years later?   Are they eventually forgotten?  I say this because I know certain groups, like the Rolling Stones and Linkin Park, would perform a wide selection of their work, from start to…well, ultimate finish, in some cases.  I would like to think a performer could just forget some of the work they put out, even if it was made for therapy or just to fill an album.  But, can they?  I mean…it’s out there, in abundance.  It really makes you think about what some say about the internet.  When you put it out there…here…it’s never going away.

So, then I think…

Do these songwriters enjoy reliving every good and bad moment they had in life through their songs?  Or, are they chugging back bottles of acid relief to keep themselves from puking misery every time an unpleasant time replays with the song in their minds?

And then I think…

Imagine getting into a relationship with a musician and having to relive all those past relationships in song and public functions because your “date” is a walking billboard, YouTube channel or “Alexa” for a long list of steamy and heart-break-turned-bitter-revenge creations, like ugly, mean-spirited kids they are forced to tote around in the process of a painful divorce.  It’s like the thought of pairing up with a single parent or “separated” individual.  I’m sorry if I sound cold when I say the oxygen suddenly leaves my body, and I want to pound a table for more air just to breathe, again.  I’m just not that guy who wants to dish about past relations (unless it’s the topic on the table for an inevitable date discussion) or step in as the dad to someone’s kids.  I like to think I am stronger…

And, breathe.  No mas.  ‘Kay?  [‘Sorry if I don’t “hyper-link” that to a previous post of mine so you can read over a string of past thoughts that somehow connect through my blog.  You’ll just have to read backward and be amazed when something connects…or try key word searches.]

Food for thought.  And, on that note (which is quickly becoming my regular phrase and should go on a T-shirt), I have a post about food and how it plays with our minds, coming soon, if I don’t second guess it.




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