At this point in my blogging adventure, I tend to consider any random thought as the possibility for a post. Unfortunately, a lot of these random thoughts are random enough that they wouldn't make more than a mouthful if they were audibly expressed, so they are promptly forgotten as the next shiny thing comes along.
However, today I am taking a stand. I will no longer let my inability to focus on a train of thought hamper my bloggage. Instead of choosing one, linear trend to dominate my post, it will be a hodge-podge mish-mash that more closely resembles my thought process. It's fun. It's unpredictable. It'll exercise your mental connections.
It's kinda-sorta lazy on my part, but I hope you like it.
If you don’t like it, shut up about it. I can still focus long enough to kick somebody’s ass.
A CLICHÉ OR A POSSIBLE LEGAL DEFENSE?
--“Be who you are and say what you feel, because those who mind don't matter, and those who matter don't mind.” --Dr. Seuss
I’m not gonna lie, I have spent a really long time trying to apply some form of this sentiment to my life. Generally speaking, the way that I am and the things that I feel are positive and morally-oriented. I don’t think it’s ever okay to abuse animals. I don’t kick old ladies. I don’t cheat on tests. I have not watched any of the latest Hulk reboots. Basically, I’m not a bad person as a whole. Learning to let my personal flag fly has been a long and enduring battle, and though it is never finished, I’d like to think I’ve made some progress in the right direction. However, if you do NOT fit the description above, there are all kinds of ways in which things could go wrong.
For example, if I am a psychotic serial killer, I might take it to mean that regardless of the ethicality and legality of my actions, I should keep being who I am, i.e. murdering people. Also, I should keep whispering into the ears of my victims that they deserve to suffer and die in horrible ways, because that is honestly how I feel. I'm being true to myself. I'm keeping it real. And should my victims appear to mind, perhaps demonstrated by screaming and/or begging for mercy, I should absolutely ignore them as unimportant, noisy pieces of meat.
I'm just expressing my individuality, honey, like Dr. Seuss said!
Okay, I know that was creepy. This is what happens when I write without a plan.
Instead, let's say that I'm just a really bitchy, outspoken, racist homophobe. I spew my venom into the earholes of whoever can hear me, and I do it with a righteous song in my heart. I'm just saying how I feel. I'm ignoring those who would put a stop to my actions, because my voice deserves to be heard. I'm in America, dammit, and DR. SEUSS HAS MY BACK.
Okay, I'm me again. I don’t think my point needs to be hammered in anymore. Let's just end it by saying that all of those inspirational quotes could encourage really awful things. You should always look a gift cliché in the mouth. A catchy phrase does not necessarily equal good advice. Humans can only live in a community because we aren't completely without consideration for others. Many of us modify ourselves based on the actions and reactions of the people around us.
Some people don’t. Sometimes that’s a really bad thing.
Anyways, it might have behooved Dr. Seuss to consider the consequences of his seemingly harmless, quotable literature before he spread it to the world.
SEE WHAT YOU’VE DONE, DR. SEUSS? I THOUGHT PLAYING WITH COSTUMED ANIMALS WOULD BE FUN, AND NOW THE FURRIES WON’T QUIT TEXTING ME.
IT’S A TRAAAAAP!!!
So, I’m getting old. Not so much physically, perhaps, but culturally. I have already gotten to the stage where my favorite stories start with “Back in MY day…,” and it can only progress to thicker glasses and a prune regimen from here. In fact, I could rant all day about how things have changed since I was kid, but the thing bothering me recently is particularly alarming.
This trend has swept the nation like a bow-tied plague, following in the footsteps of ironic t-shirts and an upsurge of “mind-bender” tv shows. The social chain has been scrambled like the Alliance at the end of “Serenity.” The hobbies are as intricate and time-consuming as crocheting the cast of Star Wars. The signs are as omnipresent as the Doctor in his TARDIS.
It is…the Geek Revolution.
Or nerd. Or dork. As with any category of lifestyle, the people involved in it now insist on a highly-detailed caste system, and considering the wider varieties of people that are now joining the ranks, its probably best not to piss anybody off. Just to be safe.
“What do you MEAN you think the Star Wars prequels are better than the originals?!?”
Being a member of this subculture, I can’t say that I’m all that upset about this change. Sure, I have moments where I remember how cool it was to be “weird,” but now it’s a heck of a lot easier to have a social life doing the things I love. It’s also way easier to avoid being bullied about it. Loving science fiction and the Renaissance Festival were things that I hid throughout high school, but now I can revel in them without fear.
…Or can I?
See, as fun as it is to be open about my life, at the same time I know that it cannot last. Sometime, maybe in the next year, maybe in the next 10 years, the tides will turn and the nerds will be out again. At that point, everyone will have spent so much time being open about who they are that there will be no way to hide again. Before, our safety was in our anonymity. Our salvation was in our ability to blend in.
When the winds change, as they must, the death of the hipsters will be our alarm bell. They are often the most flagrantly visible of the nerds. When the mobs have finished with their obnoxiously noticeable selves, we are but the next step.
Steampunk Admiral Ackbar gets what I’m saying. Our day seems to have come, but it cannot last.
Being This Uncomfortable Makes Me a Dude Magnet
If you’re female and have experienced the Halloween season after your 5th birthday, you know that there is something seriously skewed about the costume industry. And before you sigh and shake your head about how obnoxiously feminist and loud I’m about to be, you can just back off and read for a second.
I know that women’s Halloween costumes are pretty much only for the benefit of people who are sexually attracted to women. I know that the slutty costumes are being pedaled to younger and younger generations, until you’ve put an 11-year-old in a costume that’s practically encouraging pedophilia.
This picture was way too easy to find, interwebs.
I’ve read the rants, and I’ve seen the merchandise with my own eyes. I know that a lot of people see this situation as “off”, and I’m hoping that if you read my blog, you believe something along the same lines.
However, I’m an adult woman, and I can choose to be or not to be a part of that industry. I like feeling like I look hot, and Halloween is a prime time to do that with moderate acceptance from the general public. So, the part I want to rant about is not the moral nature of the whole situation, but the logic.
The logic is simply not there, my friends.
Have you ever been in Kansas during October? I remember a couple of times during my childhood when trick-or-treating was a heady, sugar-filled, exhausting time spent in the temperate climate of a beautiful autumn evening. And then, something went wrong. I think Mother Nature is pissed at us, because most of my other Halloween memories are fricking cold. And soggy. And pretty damn miserable.
So why, in the name of all that is sane and rational, do we keep dressing in outfits for Halloween that would probably be too skimpy in September? This choice does not bode well for us staying at the top of the evolutionary chart. Even the bunnies know to burrow deep when it’s fucking freezing.
Next year, I ain’t doin’ it. I want to be a dinosaur with a big, fluffy dinosaur suit that covers everything but my eyes. Or maybe I’ll go as a Jedi, but instead of even a moderately comfortable Jedi robe I will wear a big, fluffy bathrobe and demand that everyone address me as Obiwan Comfy-butt.
This time, Darth Maul turned down the thermostat AND stole their robes. The other boys had had enough.
Another complaint from my sense of logic is the complete inaccuracy of the female costumes. I mean, I know that people don’t usually dress up with outfit authenticity in mind, but for some reason the variety of female warrior costumes just irrationally tick me off. Fighters wear armor and full-coverage clothing for a reason. Plus, having your boobs fall out of a bikini top when you try to run would be extremely uncomfortable.
You’re going to get slaughtered by the first person to come along with a butter knife.
Unrequited Love Is For Suckers
Let me preface this by saying that I have never truly been in what I would define as “romantic love.” I’ve been in lust, sure, but I just don’t get that emotional very easily. So, it probably comes as no surprise that I feel a certain amount of derision towards people who can’t handle NOT being in love. I’ve just seen too many friends throw themselves into a new relationship thinking that this one just has to be THE ONE, just to end up being burnt out and bitter. Let’s try and learn from this, folks.
However, though this deep cultural obsession with romantic love annoys me as a whole, the worst offenders in my mind are those who go in for unrequited love. I have very few strict criteria for whomever I fall in love with:
--Can’t hate animals
--Can’t try to convert me
--HAS TO LOVE ME BACK
You know what unrequited love is? It’s martyrdom, only it’s not the kind that impresses anybody. It’s pathetic, and all it does is make people awkward and sad. Nobody really needs anymore of that bullshit, do they?
“Whoah, what did this guy do? He’s a human pincushion!”
“Wouldn’t quit loving a chick that was SO not in to him.”
“…That is weak sauce.”
I mean, how can the person that is absolutely perfect for you not love you back? Doesn’t that make them NOT perfect for you? HOW DOES THAT NOT MAKE SENSE? AM I THE ONLY ONE WHO SEES IT?!?
As I mentioned above, I’m not an expert on romance. I’m just a girl with a rant, and I hope to whoever’s listening that I don’t someday end up in unrequited love. Eating this many words can’t be comfortable, and odds are good that they’ll go straight to my metaphorical shame-hips.