Grudge-holders Anonymous

I am 27 years old and I have a grudge.

My grudge is against people in the music/film/television industry who use their fame and fortune to take over everyone else's industries too.

I don't mind it if a famous movie star wants to become a painter or a writer or something instead. It's not like we don't live in a free country. What I mind is when these people use their fame and fortune to get an in with their industry of choice, thus achieving top status in said industry, and thereby flooding the market with mediocre junk.

In other words, when they get something without having to work for it, just because they're famous.

Yeah, I'm bitter about it. It's not fair to the millions of people who work their fingers to the bone just trying to get a foot in the door. It's  not fair to the millions of people who produce work of much higher quality, but can't sell it because there's no room left in the market. It's not fair that these people already are rich and famous and have everything they could possibly want in one industry, but it's just not enough for them.

Am I directing my invective to a particular person today? Well, yes and no.

Yes, because this post was inspired by a particular book. No, because it's been bothering me for a while.

Do you even know how many movie/music stars have picture books published? The list is so long, I can't even remember it all, but off the top of my head, I will list all of the ones I can remember.

Cheech Marin
Madonna
Lachanze
Sting
Jane Seymour
Queen Latifah
John Lithgow
Jaime Lee Curtis
Julie Andrews
Brooke Shields
Whoopi Goldberg
Bernadette Peters
Weird Al
Peter Yarrow (from Peter, Paul, and Mary)
John Denver
Dionne Warwick
Elvis Presley (though admittedly he didn't write it. Someone just stole his song lyrics.)
Jay Leno

I'm fizzling, but there are more. So many more.

Some of them are semi-decent.

But others... well, seriously? Seriously? =>

Or this. It's just the guy trying to get famous with a younger audience, and he doesn't even pretend like it's not.











Not to mention that some are actually terrifying. Have you looked inside this one? Literally the creepiest illustrations ever.








Now I'm not saying that everything done by non-famous people is good. I've seen some refuse, trust me. But  there are so many authors out there that are good. That have worked hard for years, and still can't get anything published. That have to compete with this mess just to make half a buck here and there, but can never win. Because if you're a publisher that has to choose between Madonna and some unknown, unpublished author, you're gonna look at who will be likely to sell more books. And Madonna will always win.

But being an international and somewhat controversial music sensation just wasn't enough for her, was it?

Anyway, this brings me to the book which specifically inspired the post. Today, I am mad at Chris Colfer.

   People don't print his stuff because it's good. They print it because they know oggling fangirls will buy it in bulk.

I started reading the Land of Stories last night. Which, by the way, is a terrible title anyway. But I digress.

Honestly, it started out way better than I expected it to. I was intrigued by the idea, and I wanted to know where it was going.

Then it fell into the trap that I've seen hundreds of times. All the little amateur mistakes. All the no-no's that mark a non-professional author with blazing neon lights. I've seen it before.

Here's the thing: I don't think Chris is untalented. Until I stopped reading for fear of desiring to gouge my eyes out, I could see the promise there. The Land of Stories could have been really good. It only needed two things: an editor who'd actually do his/her job and not fan-oggle, and some practice.

The number of authors in the history of the world who were amazing on the very first story they ever wrote can probably be counted on one hand. Talent and potential is not enough. Potential has to be turned into Kinetic energy, and there is only one way to do that. Work.

If Chris had not been a famous Glee star, these books would not have been accepted for publication. They just aren't good enough. They aren't edited enough. They aren't practiced enough. The characterization isn't 3D enough.

But they could have been. If Chris had been forced to go through the submission/rejection process like everyone else, his writing would have improved. He'd have learned from mistakes, researched do's and do-not's, and gotten there the hard way.

Yes, I do think he's good enough that he would have gotten there eventually.

But because he got the free-pass-because-I'm-uber-famous, he didn't have to do the work. No one was going to turn him down. The fan-girls will love his stuff no matter what. And he will forever be stuck in mediocrity. His writing will never, ever get better, because he doesn't have to do the work. (Go back and look at my posts on Paolini, for another example of this.)

And because he never had to do the work, he got to the top spot by way of leapfrogging over the people who did. That's one more promising talent who will work at Micky-D's for the rest of forever, because despite all the talent and hard work, they just couldn't break in.

Triple whammy. Mediocre crap in the book market. A promising talent who will never be what he could be. And another promising talent whose dreams are now shattered.

So yeah, I have a grudge. But this underling, at least, will not be cowed by the fame and fortune of others. You've never seen stubbornness like this. The world better prepare itself.

Answering All The Questions

Hello again to all my friends. I'm glad you came to play. So, turns out one person returned to the status enough times to give me many questions, but otherwise, I got very little response. So some of these are from a random question generator. It is probably obvious which ones. However, I should endeavor to put a bold face on it, and answer them all honestly.

Q: Why is Rummikub called Rummikub?

A: Wikipedia random article says: "The mausoleum takes it name from its position on Bergen Hill at the edge of the Hudson Palisades where they begin their descent to the west, overlooking Weehawken Cemetery and Palisades Cemetery."


Q: If you had a pet dragon, what would you name it?

A: It just so happens that one of them is named Christopher Rupert Windemir Vladamir Carl Alexander Francois Reginald Lancelot Herman Gregory James. The red one is Francis. The twins are Fred and George. (You have to be careful. They're the black ones. Acid spitters.) And the ice dragon is Steve. 

Q: If you could invent a time machine what movie would you stop from being made?

A: Oh, the choices. The Choices! This is a hard one because I've always contested that Eragon is the worst book-to-movie ever created in the history of mankind. (There were only 2 redeeming qualities of the movie. The soundtrack, and Jeremy Irons. And even Jeremy couldn't save it.) (Also, I just realized that Eragon is Jimmy from Downton Abbey. I knew I recognized his face, but I just didn't know where from. Well, I'm glad he got a second chance at a career.)

However, I didn't care as much about the series as I do about the Last Airbender. So even though the Last Airbender movie was (marginally) less lame, I'd rather have a good version of it than a good one of Eragon. Also, Aang needed to chill. He was so serious and upset all the time. 

Right =>
  

<= Wrong

  



Q: If you won a million dollars in the lottery, how many elephants would you buy?

A: Oh, at least 2. They're social creatures. But I wouldn't be opposed to more. 

Q: What is the air speed velocity of an un-laden swallow?

A: What do you mean, African or European swallow?

Q: Do you have any siblings?

A: What do you mean, the real number, or the ones I admit to?

Q: What type of bear is best?

A: At mauling? Polar Bear, I think. At having a cool name? Kodiak. At being the king of all bears? The jury is still out between the two. (Kodiaks are heftier, but Polars are very slightly taller/longer. Kodiaks are meaner, but Polars are more experienced at hunting very large things. *shrug*) 

Q: If we could, what should the state bird of utah be changed to? (Seagulls are cockroaches of the sky)

A: Definitely emus.



Q: What countries have you traveled to?

A: Rohan. Gondor. Ancient England. Steampunk England. WWII England. WWII France. Magical Scotland. Steampunk Russia. Ancient Japan. Steampunk Japan. New Earth. Alpha Centauri. Ancient Peru. Ancient Greece. Ancient Egypt. Icewind Dale. The underdark. Mithril Hall. Moria. The Lonely Mountain. Alagaesia. Atlantis. Ancient China. Narnia. Calormen. Andalasia. Ottoman Empire. Hork-bajir home world. Arctic circle. Whoville. Mesopotamia. Costa Rica. Ancient India. Agrabah. Neverland. Tartarus. Skandia. Araluen. Picta. Gallica. Nihon-ja. Arrida. Clonmel. Monstropolis. Oz. Panem.

Let's continue this list at a later date.

Q: How much wood could a woodchuck chuck, if a woodchuck didn't have a wood allergy?

A: Claritin didn't help?

Q: What is the last thing you do before you go to sleep?

A: Close my eyes.

Q: Do gingers have souls?

A: Disney doesn't seem to think so.


 


But natural or not, it's really hit and miss. 


 Yes 

 


No

Also this: (Catherine Tate is so awesome.)


Q: What is the last dream that you remember?

A: A few days ago, in my dream, there was this ghost following me all over the place, and her name was Ashley Tisdale. She wasn't THE Ashley Tisdale, but that was just her name. And she was all zombified looking. And there was this other girl that didn't believe me, so she dressed up as zombie Ashley Tisdale to try to freak me out. And just as she jumped out at me, the real zombie Ashley Tisdale showed up and freaked her out instead. 

Q: If a man did dishes, but there was no wife around to witness it, did the dishes actually get done?

A: Sometimes the answer is 42. But when it isn't, it is always Hugh Jackman. 



Q: What is your dream job?

A: Well, I can't remember which dream was the last one in which I actually had a job. But in my dreams I am almost always either a murder mystery detective or a professional hero zombie slayer that saves the world. 

                                                               

Q: What would you be doing if you were not here right now?

A: Eating these M&M's elsewhere, I suppose.

Q: If all desserts were outlawed save for one, which one would be worthy of being the only dessert in the world?

A: I assume that by this question you mean "What if the apocalypse happened?" Because it amounts to the same thing. 

I do have a particular fondness for both cherry cheesecake and cherry danishes. However, I believe I would have to choose chocolate, both out of loyalty and practicality. Chocolate is just so great, and it's very useful to have in apocalypse situations. 'How to survive in the wild' guides always tell you to have some handy. 

I, the Arguer

Innumerable people have gotten frustrated with me over the years, because I am an aggressively argumentative soul. But allow me to explain something that may aid in building the patience I so effectively try.

Arguing is how I explore and understand things.

Sidenote**

I am an aggressive conversationalist. I argue. But it is not a negative thing. It’s not me trying to prove you wrong. It’s not me being a whiny baby about someone not liking my work. It's not me being unwilling to admit that I'm wrong. (Mostly. I do fight, just like anyone. But honestly, most of the time that's not what I'm trying to do.)

It’s just me exploring the issue. Think of it like this: you can’t have a perfect plan or strategy until you’ve addressed every single weakness and compensated for it.


When you suggest something as a solution, I must test for weaknesses. This is when you come in and respond with possible answers to these weaknesses. We go back and forth until we’ve either exhausted the issue or our time.

Next time I start arguing one of your suggestions, I'm not unwilling to take your suggestions, or upset that you're giving them. I'm not fighting against them. Do not take offense. I'm just trying to explore the issue.

In return, I'll try really hard to stop being so acerbic and gruff about it, so you don't think I'm angry.

Deal?


** I do not say that in a "This is just how I am, so get over it" way. Because that's stupid.

One of the catch-phrases that our modern society has propagated is "That's just who I am". Oh, yeah, it sounds really good. It sounds like a slogan of love, tolerance, and self-acceptance.

IT IS NOT.


Let me clarify. When taken in a certain context, then yes, it is a great motto. We should show love to those around us. We should appreciate people even though they have different hobbies or interests than we do. Don't be all judging me because I geek out about Doctor Who.

But even though that's what it should mean, it doesn't so much.


In reality, the phrase embodies one of the biggest lies this side of the millennium. It secretly tells us that we can't change. That our flaws and imperfections are permanent. That we can not grow, improve, or transcend that which we were given at birth.

It tells us that we're not good enough, and never will be, so get over it and move on with your worthless and sub-standard lives.

And the sad part is that we believe it. We use it as an excuse to take the lazy road. It's always harder to grow and change. But if you don't, it's not because you can't. It's because you won't. It's because you believed the lie.



The truth is that human beings are enormously powerful.

Human beings, by nature of their being human, have the ability to change and grow. Unique to all life on this planet, humans do not have to be stuck with what they were given at birth.

Take a look at history. Read the stories of those epic leaders who literally changed the entire world. George Washington. Joan of Arc. Winston Churchill. Napoleon. Genghis Khan. Gandhi. Mother Teresa. Martin Luther. Do you think those people are unique? That they were born in a different class than you or I? That they were somehow beyond our reach?

You would be wrong. They were human, just like we are. The only difference is that those people recognized their power and acted on it. They knew their potential, and turned it into kinetic energy.

Every single human being can change the world.

Weakness is not a disease to be caught. It is not a gene one is born with. Weakness is a choice.

Do not ever fall into the trap. Do not believe the lie. Do not use the excuse. Everyone ever born upon the earth has power and strength that we most of the time don't realize we have.

You're braver than you believe. You're stronger than you seem. You're smarter than you think.

On Pork Chops and Eleanor Roosevelt

There's an anti-bullying video going around lately. (Here) Totally for that, and all. I don't approve of bullying in any form, and I definitely think that we need to improve ourselves as humans. I was picked on in school, too, and it sucked. There's no reason in the world that people should hurt other people.

I would just like to say that up front, so no one misunderstands me. (Intentionally or otherwise.)

So this is not a post about how people "just need to get over it" or "it's not as bad as people are saying." Don't even start with me.

I just want to add something that this guy didn't seem to grasp. Something that can help, even when all of the bullying doesn't stop. Because let's face it, humans are stupid. We do dumb things. Some more than others. And as long as we're imperfect, people will hurt other people.

But human beings are also strong. We are resilient. We have the power to change worlds. We have the power to be great. We have the power to not shrink.

That power is called choice. 

The guy who made this video treated everyone's stories very much from the "victim of fate" point of view. People made fun of me, and therefore I am scarred. Damaged goods forever. My life is ruined because of the cruelty of others. I have been destroyed.

Well, I don't believe in victim of fate. 

Yes, I was picked on in school all the time. And yeah, it hurt. Not saying it doesn't. It's hard to accept yourself when no one else does.

But as I've learned more about life, and how it REALLY works, I mentally kicked those jerks in the face and decided to stop giving them all the power.

When you believe what they say about you, you're handing over the remote control. Here, I'm gonna let you be in charge of how I feel now. Go ahead. Push all my buttons.

It's easier said than done. Human beings are tricky that way. Because we can't reach perfection, we decide that we're worthless. Nothing could be farther from the truth. No one realizes how strong they really are.

But you are strong. Believe it. 

You have the unbelievably momentous power of choice.

"Weak" is not a disease you can catch. "Weak" is not a genetic disorder, or an inflicted wound.

Weak is when you let the bad guys dictate your life. When you believe the worthless things they say about you. When you hand the remote off to someone else and stop taking an interest in your own fate.

Weak is an action.

You don't have control over whether someone bullies you. You can't make someone else's choices. But you absolutely can control how you react to it.

You are not weak.

Don't believe me?

How about I tell you a story. A true story about someone I knew. Everything in it is true, but the name. 

I will call him Fred. 

Fred's mom died too young. And he had a lousy dad. A really lousy dad. The sort of dad who made his teenage son hold down three jobs to pay the bills, because he was too lazy to get his butt off the couch. 

Fred was considered something of a strange one in school. 

Fred had no extended family to step in and help. 

Most of his community didn't even know what was going on. 

By the time high school was half done, Fred left his dad. He had a hefty bag full of clothes. He slept in his car every night, parked behind the grocery store. He washed up in the gym locker rooms

Most kids in these situations end up on paths that are all sorts of the wrong kind. And if any kid in the world had an excuse to crumble under the pressure, Fred did. 

Want to know what happened to him?

Fred made the national honor society.

Fred graduated third in the class. 

Fred got a full ride scholarship to a prestigious college. 

Fred made something of himself. Of course, I haven't seen him in a good long while. But from what I gather, he became some kind of uber successful engineer. 

Bullying hurts. Family drama hurts. Loneliness hurts. And yeah, like the guy said, sometimes words hurt more than sticks and stones. 

That stuff scars. 

That stuff changes you forever. 

But how does it change you? That's up to you. 

Happiness and success are not inversely related to the amount of pain. Pain exists in all walks of life, for all people. What matters are the choices you make. Take those scars and turn them into something. No one can stop you from doing, seeing, or becoming anything you want. No one but you.

The Pixy Stix Files

Know those ginormous pixy stix? The ones that were like ultimate magical awesomness when we were kids?

And know how some people are a lot more susceptible to sugars and caffeines than others?






Ever wonder what happens when one such sugar susceptible being takes said giant pixy stix and chugs the whole thing in one shot? While at work? In a library?

Stay tuned to find out. I only wish that I could show you videos of what happened. Text just doesn't quite convey the hilarity in its full measure.

It all started slowly. After all, sugar doesn't hit immediately. The very first sign that my dear, insane friend was not entirely sober came about ten minutes after the pixy stix chug.

We were putting away kids non-fiction and started making stupid jokes. That part was normal. This was not.

Crazy Friend: My mouth tastes like pink.
Me: Sorry. I'm not familiar with what pink tastes like.
CF: It's like when you eat candy that's sour and sweet at the same time and there's that point right in between when it turns from sour to sweet, and it's all weird and stuff and it makes your mouth kind of fuzzy.
Me: That's pink?
CF: Yes. That's what pink tastes like.

I laughed pretty hard. But I still wasn't completely aware of the true insanity until:

Me: Hey, look at this.

Crazy friend: What?

Me: I found a book about you! 

I expected her to laugh. I did not expect her to cackle. For five minutes. With tears and gasping for air. It was so funny that I cracked up too, and neither of us said anything coherent for a good ten minutes. We just laughed at everything. Especially the worried looks on our coworkers' faces. 

After a little while, we split into different sections. As I had not yet consumed any sugar, it didn't take too long to chillax a little and get rid of my laughing headache. I had a stack of N's. While I put them away, this little baby, who was just learning how to pull himself into a standing position, saw me and got all excited. I guess he thought I came over to play with him while his mom was reading. He was super cute.

When my stack of books was gone, I went back to the cart for more, and told my friend about the little guy.  

Crazy Friend: I don't like kids. 

Me: But they're so cute.

CF: They poop. They get poop all over you! Are you okay with that!?

Me: *shrug* It happens.

CF: Yeah. Everyone poops. *giggles*

(a minute later)

CF: Everything poops, yeah?

Me: uh...

CF: Does that mean even bacteria poops?

Me: I guess in a way.

CF: And we're all covered in bacteria. Does that mean we're all covered in poop? Does that mean our food has poop on it!? *Serious face* Does that mean... our POOP has poop on it!!?? 

At this point I had dissolved into fits of giggling that drew a concerned glance from the reference librarians.

CF: This is, like, mind-blowing. Do you understand? Our poop has poop on it!

The next several incidents have blurred together into a delirious fit of hysterical giggles. I can no longer recall them with much more clarity than this.

"Have you ever thought about... how things are in color?! I mean, who invented that? Like this book. These colors are awful and this cover looks terrible, but HOW DO I KNOW THAT?!"

"Trying speak languages... words... not working."

"It's a good thing I don't do drugs. I'd probably kill people and laugh over their bodies."

"I would eat ALL THE MANGOES!"

"Your taste buds are obviously dead."

"You know, it would make me really sad to get a letter from a dead fish's mother."

"I'm telling you, that poop thing is so deep. Think about it."

There was so much more that I wish I could remember. Also, quite a lot of incoherent jabbering that made us crack up even more because we couldn't even understand the words.

And then came the texts. A whole slew of them, while she was on her break. I was just getting rid of my laughter headache again when I saw them. (Oh, and yes, she is listed as "The Harbinger" in my phone. Perhaps that explains a few things.)

 "I really wish my nickname was mango"

"I'm trying not to laugh out loud and like This must be what bubbles feel like Just full of wiggling air"

"Do you think one day pop stars will do concerts in SPACE"

"I'm trying not to laugh out loud and like This must be what bubbles feel like Just full of wiggling air"

"Something."

"Then when we're dead and bearded stars we could watch pop stars performing IN SPACE"

"MY HANDS SMELL LIKE TIKKA MISALA I'M GONNA CRY BECAUSE GOOD FOOD"

"I'm going to stay down here and sort awhile because my whole brain is trying to punch my face right now"

"I to be a side ponytail"

"My ponytail was a regular pony tail but its now a side ponytail and i don't know how that happened. Like what evolutionary process is there for a ponytai"

"X seems like it should be the last letter of the alphabet"

"There are some messed up seeming stuff about k"




Print can not express everything I wish it could. If only you were there. But 'it does not do to dwell on dreams, and forget to live'. Peace out.