nope doesn’t count
At trivia tonight, way too many teams put that the singer who based his song “Subterranean Homesick Blues” on Chuck Berry’s “Too Much Monkey Business” was…Radiohead. I understand where they got the idea but, I’m sorry, LEAST ACCEPTABLE ANSWER IN THE HISTORY OF ANSWERS. Just leave it blank if you’re going to be that offensive.
why are we even bothering
civilization is in decline*
i have been listening to my oldies station non-stop.
i just want to walk around with this song playing on a loop and pretend like all the bullshit revolutions of the 60s never happened.
*don’t believe me? well let me give you a little perspective. in 1955 when rebel without a cause came out the people branded as social misfits were COOL. james dean only made 3 movies and is a hollywood icon. that’s how cool misfits used to be. now take a good hard look at the whiney, weak, anemic, ambivalent, entitled non-entities around you agitating for “change.” the ones who have taken us back a century and made listening to music a stationary activity again. yeah. “progress” huh?
Advice
Six more movies starring the Hulk in some capacity? Look, Hollywood, let’s just leave him alone for awhile. If you keep reminding people how cool it would be to turn into a destructive monster whenever they got angry, they are going to be too disappointed with reality to be productive.
oh, general public, never quite getting it right.
here’s the thing about e.l. james and her hot-selling kinky trilogy that i won’t touch in a million years because i have accidentally stumbled on WAY too many stories like that: FANFICTION HAS BEEN FREE AND EASY FOR, like, EVER.
seriously. you could have been reading it all this time! it is right in front of your face every day. you just won’t let yourself see it.
so this is my deal. i love that an author has gotten publicity, hate that it happens to be for this kind of story, think the media commentariat are morons when it comes to understanding fanfiction, and now that i’m seeing people i know reading these books, i’m going to rant.
these particular stories are not something new and interesting to talk about. it’s like discussing the merits of a shakespeare play you’ve only seen performed by eighth graders. WASTE OF TIME. here’s something to really talk about: i’ve encountered fanfic writers who are hands down better than anyone i’ve ever seen published in this era. they are seriously skilled. out of control gifted. you have to sift through a lot of bullshit (sorry tweens, you’ll get there in a few years) but they are there doing unreal things with words. the character names are predetermined but every other detail is their own creation. their stories not only bear no resemblance to the source material, they surpass it by leaps and bounds. their writing THRILLS me. do you know how rare that is?
from the reviews i’ve read of e.l. james and the excerpts i’ve been able to tolerate, ugh, there’s no way she’s one of these writers. because the ones i’m talking about could never be called cliche. not even by the most jealous feminist professor. so, while i’m proud of an author for getting her work out there, i’m also sad. just really deep down disappointed. because this is what critics have seen and it hasn’t done the medium justice. it CAN’T have because the best writers i know would be too good ever to allow someone to disparage them for starting out in, ew please that’s pathetic, fanfiction.
my own fics are trite, i’m the first to admit that. they’ve been well-received by my limited audience and i had fun with them, but i’m not anxious to make them available in a bookstore near you. i would become a literary agent just to get some of these other writers published, though. you have to trust me. uh, not to brag but i’ve read A LOT of books, including horrible romance novels that i start because i find their tropes hilarious and can never finish because they make me want to punch an english teacher somewhere, but i’ve read a lot of legitimate literature beyond reproach too. and i would never subject myself to asinine, amateurish drabble just to be entertained. i put the book down and REFUSE. there is NO need to read that stuff. there is no need to suffer through bad prose if all you’re looking for is an indulgent diversion. you don’t have to do that to yourself. STOP doing that to yourself.
have you read the sookie stackhouse books? have you experienced how flat and insipid they are? not just compared to true blood but as novels regardless? okay, prepare to have your mind blown by this monster of a fic by a young woman called nyah. (it can keep you occupied until alexander skarsgard returns to our lives). it’s only rated T so if you’re in the mood for shameless erotica, you’re going to have to do your own digging around in the realm of M. caveat emptor: you may have nightmares.
[20 minutes later] so i just re-read this one-shot by the same author and it KILLS me how much i love her style.
yet fifty shades of grey is the catastrophically low standard that has been set for this kind of writing. cruel joke of a world! anyway, i have a point and it is this: bad guilty pleasure literature is obsolete. it’s been obsolete. don’t read it. just make the extra effort to sift through to the good stuff and you will be so satisfied. never again should anyone have to cringe in the process of escaping into a story. so, good job, general public, for discovering fanfiction. try a LITTLE harder to find what’s worth reading and, i swear, national morale will improve overall and we’ll forget about the fact that life is real and stupid.
also, when you realize that you can now read fanfics instead of checking, double-checking, triple-checking the same blogs and facebook all day, please write me a thank you note by hand.
there’s no excuse.
“I’m overwhelmed by suffering, which deprives me of the ability to think and reason. Maybe by obeying you I’m committing a fatal, irrevocable error that will horrify me all my life, but in the fog of pain that robs me of strength the only thing I can do now is mechanically agree with you and obey you blindly and will-lessly.”
– so says yury in doctor zhivago when he must decide to send his soulmate away with the man he most despises.
see, that would be an acceptable argument for bad judgment.
having student loans is NOT.
we need to stop listening to the marxist rhetoric of our current populist movement.
i am not a writer.
i was talking about the term “writer” with my brother briefly today.
i told him that if solzhenitsyn and pasternak are writers, i can’t possibly be called one. their writing is necessary to humanity. what they suffered for their writing gives them a label i’ll never be worthy of. if there’s only one word “writer” even other nobel prize winners like faulkner and hemingway don’t deserve it. nothing hemingway wrote had to be written. there’s no higher purpose to it. but what solzhenitsyn did. and pasternak. well. if there’s just the one term “writer” and it has to be applied to a huffington post blogger and little word salad maker me, we need to invent another word. ”evangelist” would be perfect but lord, look what we’ve done to that label by adding the prefix “tele.” luke and john are probably like, “why did i even bother?” no, there’s got to be a way to make a distinction between sentence-makers and writers between writers and authors between authors and…what? what are we going to call them?
hmm.
there should be a name for
the phenomenon of 100% knowing the answer to something but not being able to mentally access it. i’m going to call it: intelligent ignorance. it happens a lot at trivia and the revelation of the answer always involves a head smack. well so there’s one big mystery in my life that was finally anticlimactically solved this way last night.
i’ve had the phrase “loneliness begets loneliness” bopping around in my head since high school and it has always bothered me that i’ve never remembered where i picked it up. sometimes i’d guess, but i just didn’t know for sure. so it turns out i wrote it down (of course i wrote it down somewhere) and the source is both surprising and the most obvious thing in the world: f. scott fitzgerald.
who else would it have been? i had a bigger crush on him probably than that friend of my brother’s i spoke to once and believed i would marry. (a crush in a literary capacity, of course. not a creepy one. my creepiness was reserved for believing paul newman was my soulmate.) yet it doesn’t really sound like something he would have said.
anyway, now i know.
dreaming and doing.
the most culturally significant couplet in any disney song is: “when you wish upon a star/makes no difference who you are.”
dreaming is an equal opportunity activity. anyone can imagine a new reality, anyone can be creative. the distinction is that not everyone actually creates.
only a few people make something out of nothing in a way that improves lives. attacking those few who happen to be materially successful with their achievements is irrational and will only hold us all back.
SUCCESS!
I have been on a quest to recapture my childhood pretty much since my childhood ended and there has been, up to this point at least, a key piece missing: the soundtrack. I used to listen to the oldies station non-stop, but it changed to playing “classic rock that no one liked even when it was popular.” It’s been difficult getting internet radio to cooperate, but I have made it my goal for three days to finally perfect my 100.3 Vintage Redux. Start with the Elvis Presley station on Pandora, add The Temptations, add Leslie Gore, thumbs down “Pretty Woman” by Roy Orbison or it will play every other song, and enjoy.
what are you people living for?
i’m looking at a pew study of millenials aka my generation. the biggest life priority is “being a good parent” and 86% do not think being famous is important.
i don’t get it. i CAN’T get it.
i want to talk to these people who think that siring a parasite and sending it to a good school is enough of an ambition in life to justify their existence. what is the point of having children unless you anticipate those children accomplishing something? but if being famous is not important……what exactly are you hoping for those little aliens? DO SOMETHING WITH YOUR OWN LIFE. stop passing the buck and be a worthwhile person yourself. being a good parent is NOT an acceptable vocation. being someone who does nothing noteworthy and is known by no one is not NOT an acceptable dream for the future. why are we letting 86% of the young population get away with having aspirations of mediocrity?
fairy tale.
this is the only one any 21st century dreamer needs.
The Shirt Collar
by Hans Christian Andersen
1848
THERE was once a fine gentleman who possessed among other things a boot-jack and a hair-brush; but he had also the finest shirt-collar in the world, and of this collar we are about to hear a story. The collar had become so old that he began to think about getting married; and one day he happened to find himself in the same washing-tub as a garter. “Upon my word,” said the shirt-collar, “I have never seen anything so slim and delicate, so neat and soft before. May I venture to ask your name?”
“I shall not tell you,” replied the garter.
“Where do you reside when you are at home?” asked the shirt-collar. But the garter was naturally shy, and did not know how to answer such a question.
“I presume you are a girdle,” said the shirt-collar, “a sort of under girdle. I see that you are useful, as well as ornamental, my little lady.”
“You must not speak to me,” said the garter; “I do not think I have given you any encouragement to do so.”
“Oh, when any one is as beautiful as you are,” said the shirt-collar, “is not that encouragement enough?”
“Get away; don’t come so near me,” said the garter, “you appear to me quite like a man.”
“I am a fine gentleman certainly,” said the shirt-collar, “I possess a boot-jack and a hair-brush.” This was not true, for these things belonged to his master; but he was a boaster.
“Don’t come so near me,” said the garter; “I am not accustomed to it.”
“Affectation!” said the shirt-collar.
Then they were taken out of the wash-tub, starched, and hung over a chair in the sunshine, and then laid on the ironing-board. And now came the glowing iron. “Mistress widow,” said the shirt-collar, “little mistress widow, I feel quite warm. I am changing, I am losing all my creases. You are burning a hole in me. Ugh! I propose to you.”
“You old rag,” said the flat-iron, driving proudly over the collar, for she fancied herself a steam-engine, which rolls over the railway and draws carriages. “You old rag!” said she.
The edges of the shirt-collar were a little frayed, so the scissors were brought to cut them smooth. “Oh!” exclaimed the shirt-collar, “what a first-rate dancer you would make; you can stretch out your leg so well. I never saw anything so charming; I am sure no human being could do the same.”
“I should think not,” replied the scissors.
“You ought to be a countess,” said the shirt collar; “but all I possess consists of a fine gentleman, a boot-jack, and a comb. I wish I had an estate for your sake.”
“What! is he going to propose to me?” said the scissors, and she became so angry that she cut too sharply into the shirt collar, and it was obliged to be thrown by as useless.
“I shall be obliged to propose to the hair-brush,” thought the shirt collar; so he remarked one day, “It is wonderful what beautiful hair you have, my little lady. Have you never thought of being engaged?”
“You might know I should think of it,” answered the hair brush; “I am engaged to the boot-jack.”
“Engaged!” cried the shirt collar, “now there is no one left to propose to;” and then he pretended to despise all love-making.
A long time passed, and the shirt collar was taken in a bag to the paper-mill. Here was a large company of rags, the fine ones lying by themselves, separated from the coarser, as it ought to be. They had all many things to relate, especially the shirt collar, who was a terrible boaster. “I have had an immense number of love affairs,” said the shirt collar, “no one left me any peace. It is true I was a very fine gentleman; quite stuck up. I had a boot-jack and a brush that I never used. You should have seen me then, when I was turned down. I shall never forget my first love; she was a girdle, so charming, and fine, and soft, and she threw herself into a washing tub for my sake. There was a widow too, who was warmly in love with me, but I left her alone, and she became quite black. The next was a first-rate dancer; she gave me the wound from which I still suffer, she was so passionate. Even my own hair-brush was in love with me, and lost all her hair through neglected love. Yes, I have had great experience of this kind, but my greatest grief was for the garter—the girdle I meant to say—that jumped into the wash-tub. I have a great deal on my conscience, and it is really time I should be turned into white paper.”
And the shirt collar came to this at last. All the rags were made into white paper, and the shirt collar became the very identical piece of paper which we now see, and on which this story is printed. It happened as a punishment to him, for having boasted so shockingly of things which were not true. And this is a warning to us, to be careful how we act, for we may some day find ourselves in the rag-bag, to be turned into white paper, on which our whole history may be written, even its most secret actions. And it would not be pleasant to have to run about the world in the form of a piece of paper, telling everything we have done, like the boasting shirt collar.
it’s so easy to leave me.
i heard the song “memory” from cats today and unexpectedly burst out crying.
I AM NEVER GOING TO BE ON BROADWAY I’M JUST NOT AND THE SOONER I FACE FACTS THE SOONER I CAN START ACHIEVING ONE OF THE OTHER PARTS OF MY DREAM PROFESSION OF actress/singer/author/illustrator.
p.s. i would like to thank julie andrews for writing a novel and making that seem like a realistic profession to a young girl who only listened to show tunes and turned everything into an acrostic poem.
we are robin hood!
somewhere in 2008, there is a person named whatsthefracas who is very tickled by this.
the simple pleasures of a teacher’s pet.
June 3, 1997
When I saw “Book Collection” on the board, I almost came out of my shoes. I love that part of the last week of school!
sigh.
May 13, 1997
I love the Great Books program. However, I liked it better when it was just good readers. No offense to anyone, but it went by quicker. I’m a pretty good reader and like reading ahead or reading by myself.
how have I EVER had friends?
November 28, 1995
Physical fitness is important to not-skinny people, which excludes me.
I could not be making this up…
From my fourth grade journal:
November 7, 1995
The world would be a more peaceful place if “Bozos” weren’t in charge. These people think that their country is only theirs and no one else’s.
proof positive.
March 10, 1994 (second grade)
Mathematics is not fun when we check as a class because I know the answers but Ms. Ball never calls on me.
September 27, 1994 (third grade)
Standardized testing is fun because it’s the only time we don’t have to do a lot of homework when it’s not a holiday. You can also read a lot during the tests if you finish early. All those things. The tests can be hard to some people in some places. ”If you put your mind to anything you can master anything.” That’s my motto.
May 9, 1995
What if everyone looked alike.
I’d pack up and move to the moon. (It would need refurnishing though) At least there I’ll be safe, but my dad would come too + my mom + Jay + etc. Then the evil spell will be gone and I won’t have to worry.
May 4, 1995
If I were an insect I would not be an ant, I’d be a bee. Ants happen to die too much plus I’m clostriphobic so it’s kind of a problem. But a bee would be o.k. ’cause I could sting people and eat honey.
verily i say to you.
a commenter asked me to give him an analogy for government “without being condescending.”
that’s like asking jesus to give a parable about the kingdom of heaven without being condescending.
ANALOGIES ARE CONDESCENDING. they imply that the person on the receiving end cannot understand the concept of its own nature.
sorry, jesus. check the fact that you are the son of god at the door and explain this idea to us as if we weren’t all muttonheads. hang on. you just called us sheep, didn’t you? is that an analogy for us being muttonheads? are you being condescending again?
i knew she was out there!
i’ve never seen another car with an “I Miss Bill” sticker from the clinton presidential center. today i was behind one that had that and: ELVIS PRESLEY BLVD and cheyenne wyoming, colorado, and obx.
beware!
my fifteen-year-old self split off and started her own life. she drives a silver subaru and, from the looks of the bike rack, has adventures.
Jay Pennington: Photographer, Filmmaker, Brother
All of the self-indulgent glamour shots on Read Maura, my headshot for Forbes, etc. are courtesy of my brother Jay. (See him and his enviable hair —>)
While I convince him to create his own website, I wanted to share more of his work. First off: his short films.
This next one was featured in a surreal film competition at the Salvador Dali Museum in St. Petersburg, FL
And his brand new, second surreal film from the museum this year.
Now for his photos.
Disney World. Nature. People. DC.
