Time for bed… let the overthinking commence.
Time for bed… let the overthinking commence.
When did you first notice that you might be getting, well, a bit lazy? Was it when you sat in your home full of voice-activated robots electronics and asked them to play your music for you? Perhaps it was when you started sending all your messages via voice notes instead of typing them out. Maybe it was during your fifth online shop of the week when you realized you used to go outside your house to get your food and sundries. Don’t get me wrong, I’m all about convenience. As someone who hates people and the outside world, I welcome all of the latest improvements that allow me to stay at home more than ever before.
It’s a strange world though, isn’t it? It’s like one half of us have become health obsessed freaks, slimming and gymming and sharing pictures of their abs on Instagram, while the other half are reveling in the technological advances that let them get away with doing the bare minimum.
Since the days of the clapper, we’ve fallen further and further down the rabbit hole of modern conveniences, and I can’t help but think of the film Wall-E which, spoiler alert, prophesied a future where human beings have become so goddamn lazy that they can’t even be bothered to walk around anymore. Robots and voice activated apps take care of the humans’ every need. That movie came out in 2008. The scenario doesn’t really seem that farfetched now, does it?
The crazy thing is, taking the lazy way out of things doesn’t always make life any easier for us.
For those of us who have the lights that turn on when you clap; how long did that honeymoon period last? Oh, it’s fun to show your friends this clever new way to light up your home, but how is that any easier than just flicking a switch? How about Alexa? She does lights, music, security, Amazon ordering, phone calls, the whole nine yards. But is Alexa really your friend? Okay, yeah, if you’re on the couch or in the bed and you don’t want to go clear across the room to turn off the lights, the clapper or your brand-spanking new Alexa might come in handy… until you’re applauding so hard your hands ache or you find yourself yelling until the neighbor calls the cops again (911? That crazy lady next door is at it again. Yeah, the lights.), or you spend your rent money on Amazon ordering who knows what, all because the system just isn’t working the way it should.
I mean, you could’ve walked the 6 feet to the light switch (and not accidentally called everyone in your contacts list) in the time it takes to get Alexa to understand a simple request.
Yes, mom, I know it’s 3 am. No, I swear, nothing is wrong. I didn’t mean to call you, or Uncle Elmer, or your next door neighbor whose number I have just for emergencies. Yes, mom, I know. You’re right, it is an ungodly hour. I just wanted to dim the lights.
As I was listening to my upstairs neighbor vacuum at midnight last night… as they are wont to do, with a random chorus or two of what I hope was the husband yelling at a video game, and not his kid or dog, I got to thinking of other, similarly considerate neighbors.
In my old condo, I had a neighbor on the lower level, let’s call her Barbara. Barbara enjoys Frasier, The Nanny, and Fox News. I know this because she kept her television volume high enough that I could easily follow along with the episodes (I, too, am a fan of Frasier and The Nanny, though Fox News not so much).
Besides listening to her t.v. at decibels worthy of a Motörhead concert, Barbara liked to putter around the common area outside her sliding glass door, making it her own. She planted flowers and watered the trees and bushes and put out bird feeders. She was also known to feed the squirrels, and would walk around, tossing bread and bird seed on the ground. It was quite reminiscent of my grandmother feeding chickens. I want this image to be clear in your head, folks… an elderly woman delighting in her flowery surroundings, creating an oasis of sorts for birds and squirrels and wildlife in our humble cul-de-sac. It was an admirable pursuit, I will say.
Well, wouldn’t you know it, but a few birds decided to call our little apartment complex home. No doubt feeling welcomed by the aforementioned oasis. In fact, two opted to build a nest on my balcony. I didn’t mind. I like birds.
Barbara, to put it mildly, lost her shit. She accosted me one afternoon as I came home late from work to order the removal of said nest. She claimed they were making a mess on her patio. She. Wanted. Them. Gone. She has eczema, I’ll have you know – and whether she actually does or not, I don’t know, but I do know that she was verrry vocal about it, shouting her diagnosis at me at least four times.
I calmly (I know, right!? Me!) explained that I would check it out and if there were no occupants of the egg or newly hatched variety, I’d be happy to remove it from her life immediately. But if there were eggs or chicks, then I would wait until the chicks had flown the coop, as it were. And while I hadn’t observed the mess she claimed existed, I assured her that I would keep the area clean of any debris.
This wasn’t good enough and I was advised, once again, and quite vehemently, that she has eczema and a few twigs had fallen onto her patio and she was going to call the health department on me because two wild birds hadn’t stayed in the trees where they damn well belonged.
She kept me standing there for over a half hour, ranting about this nest and the imminent summoning of the health department brigade.
Once I climbed up into the rafters of the balcony to take a peek, I realized that the birds had already abandoned it for better, and likely more solitary, living elsewhere, making Barbara’s hearty warnings against my hearth and home a hollow threat.
But say they had set up shop… would my concern for these birds be misplaced? Would my refusal to murder this house wren family make me the bad neighbor?
I’ll admit, being jumped as soon as I exited my car after a long day didn’t exactly elicit any sympathy for Barbara’s plight. Another, less autocratic, tactic on her part may have garnered more of the response she was seeking. Though really, if I’m being honest, I doubt it. I still wouldn’t have removed the nest until I was sure that there were no chicks in it, no matter who asked. The fact that she wasn’t asking, but ordering, is a moot point.
To this day, I don’t understand her mindset though… why work so hard every day to bring the birds down with food, water, and pleasantries, and then be shocked when they want to make a home?
So, from time to time I’ll find myself watching the news, or YouTube, or a talk show or something, and I’ll come across these weird interviews. Whether it’s a fave musician or actor, or maybe it’s just a reporter talking with some random person on the side of the street… strange questions just seem to emerge. Even when you’re job hunting – maybe especially when you’re job hunting. There you sit with the hip HR Director and Bob from accounting, and the interview is going great, if not a little boring, and then BAM!
‘If you could be a fish in the ocean, what would you be?’
Okay sure, I get that these types of questions are supposed to help the interviewer figure out if you’re creative or analytical or, if we’re being honest here, a straight up freak. I have to say, I do miss the simpler days, when it’d go a little something like, “Hello, how are you, and how and/or why do you think you are qualified for this job?” And then you share your expansive resume and extraordinary successes and boom, you’ve got the job. Or not.
But wait, back to the initial question. What If I actually were a fish in the ocean? I tell you what I’d be. I’d be lost at sea.
Without applying much thought on it, a shark should be at the top of my list. I mean, right? I think the apex predator of the ocean would be a top choice for most. Being at the top of the food chain would eliminate a lot of other problems with being a fish in the ocean. I would only have to worry about getting chomped on by cannibalistic sharks or hooking up with the odd sports fisherman or two (and not in a good way). And I can only imagine that it’s a fantastic answer to give in an interview. But when you get to know me, like I know myself, it’s pretty clear that I just don’t have that kind of all-encompassing aggression, no matter what my ex says.
Is there a fish that has major anxiety issues and constantly worries about, well, everything… while also saying “fuck this shit” to just about every situation? That would be me. On another note, The Incredible Mr. Limpet is one of my favorite movies. If you haven’t seen it, you really should. I could be like Mr. Limpet. Riddled with anxiety, but still comes thru in the end.
Or, I’d get eaten by a shark on my first day as a fish, which is most likely the harsh reality to my current ocean fantasy.
You have to ask yourself this, though, on the other side of the spectrum, as the employer or interviewer, what answers do you expect? Which ones are red flags, and which ones scream “I know this is the one!” Is there a cheat-sheet somewhere to help you figure it out?
For instance, a guy answers with, a sea snail. Cause he just loves to hang around and observe people all day. Maybe not the best answer for landing that new job. Oh sure, he’s lovely to look at (I mean, most sea snails are) but probably not a good fit for the work at hand.
What if the answer was, an octopus? And their reason was so that they could work 8 times more efficiently. Now if I was hiring for a job, I would probably hire the octopus. Just seems more logical, if you ask me.
Maybe you get that one person who doesn’t get the concept behind the question. ‘Fish? Pfftt! I’m more of a horse type, wide-open fields, running free, no-one can control me, I can’t be contained, I’m wild, baby, wild!’ Okay great! Allow me to validate your parking, and you have yourself a fantastic day! Please help yourself to an oatcake on the way out.
Not that I don’t love horses, cause let me tell you, I do. I love them at least 10 times more than fish, if not more. But instead of highlighting your “outside of the box thinking,” one’s failure to answer a question according to the interviewer’s set parameters often implies that you can’t follow simple directions. Even if the question is bizarre and the interview is a joke.
Speaking of an affinity with specific animals. My spirit animal? Truth be told, probably a sloth. Sloths are misunderstood. It’s not that we lack motivation, we just don’t see the urgency placed on us by others’ expectations. We’ll get there, wherever there is, eventually, just leave us the hell alone until then.
Or wait! A Tasmanian Devil (of the Looney Tunes variety) might be more accurate if you’ve ever seen me driving or getting annoyed at the grocery store or dealing with, you know, people.
Ugh… people, am I right?
This is a bad idea, right? Right!?
You’re at the grocery store picking up food for the week, or maybe taking a nice walk through the park. Then all of sudden, out of left field, you hear some rather, well, um, colorful language. How do you react, or do you even react at all? What do you think of people who use profanity in public? Are they bad people? Chances are if you ever happened to be shopping at the same store as me, when I find out my favorite cereal is sold out, you’d already know that I’m one of those people.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m not like Samuel L. Jackson telling everyone how fed up I am with all those damned snakes on a plane, but I’ve been known to let some choice words slide a time or two. I try my best to keep it toned down to “suitable for all ages” if there are kids around, or more importantly, my mother. However, as I’m quick to point out, I’m not perfect.
When you think about, people who curse certainly aren’t any less intelligent than someone who doesn’t. Not to mention, they’re arguably healthier and happier, or at least a lot better at blowing off steam.
So, then why is it that people are so concerned about profanity? I understand that there should be some societal consideration when out and about amongst people (ugh… people). If I heard a couple of F-bombs being dropped while a lot of others are in earshot, I would certainly wonder what the hell heck was going on.
Is it only because of how “it looks/sounds” or is there something more there? It just seems like we have our values mixed up sometimes. We worry too much about the wrong things if you ask me. Everyone was so up in arms about the J-Lo and Shakira half time show during the Super Bowl, but these same people are fine with the seductive hamburger commercials that air during the game and the cheerleaders who were arguably wearing less than J-Lo or Shakira. Apparently, the FCC got complaints… people claimed their “eyes were molested” by the show and they had to shield their children’s eyes.
Even crazier than that is the fact that an Ohio pastor wants to sue the NFL for claiming that its ‘near pornographic’ tendencies put his soul in jeopardy of burning in eternal hellfire. Yeah, cause that’s the reason he’s going to hell. To some, this might seem a bit crazy, but if it doesn’t, try this out for size… the evangelist thinks a settlement of $867 trillion would be fair compensation for the NSFW halftime performance. Always follow the money, folks.
For those complaining to the FCC, do these same people cover their kids’ eyes during the commercials? Or when the cheerleaders are onscreen? Do they complain about the Victoria’s Secret banners in the mall? Or prime-time television shows? What about video games? Do these strict parents even know that their kids are probably playing Grand Theft Auto 5 on XBOX or PlayStation, and believe me, some of the stuff you see and hear on that game, whew!
Okay, sorry about that slight detour, let’s get back to people who dislike bad language in public. Do they get equally as frustrated or angry about the current rhetoric filling our daily news? Or do public personages get a pass?
For a lot of people, I guess it could come down to context. For example, two teenage friends walking down the street talking to each other, “hey man did you watch that ‘@#$%’ game last night?” “Yeah, my team was a ‘@#$%’ show, we really ‘@#$%’ sucked.” I could see how one might find that a bit offensive, especially if there were young kids around. Though really, I doubt there’s anyone of any age who wants to hear that conversation, even me (hey, I’m nothing if not contradictory).
On the other hand, maybe someone fell down the steps coming out of the post office and let a few choice words fly in pain. Could that be overlooked due to the context? I know if I hit my shin by accident, or you know, if my cereal was out of stock, parents might want to cover their kid’s ears, because It’s gonna get pretty PG-13 pretty quick.
It’s been a long week… hell, it was a long week on TUESDAY, now it’s just ridiculous. At least tomorrow is Friday and that’s almost as good as it actually being Friday. However, it’s been the kind of week where you dream of throwing it all to the wayside and running away to some small town in the middle of nowhere, preferably with a beach view… or a mountain lake. Or the Eiffel Tower. I’m good either way. While pondering my lot in life and Googling airline tickets to Paris during my lunch hour, it occurred to me that my life could have been very, very different.
When I was kid, my father always threatened to sell my brother and me to the circus when we acted up. Didn’t most harried parents? Being a parent myself, I can’t say as I blame him. Fortunately, for my brother and me, our mother would chime in, using her gift of persuasion, and rescue us from the circus life. I’m betting she hesitated a time or two over the years though.
This got me thinking. When I was a kid, I would have probably been great in the circus! As a kid, I had no fear, especially when it came to being adventurous. Go ahead, stuff me into a car with a bunch of clowns, I could have swung with the amazing flying trapeze artists, maybe get launched out of a cannon across the big top. Oh yeah, kid me would be more than ready and willing for the circus life. But adult me? Not a chance.
Quite frankly, if I were in the circus now, I would be… well, to say the least, bad at everything. I’m afraid of heights. I’m not quite sure how that happened. Well, maybe not heights, but if and when you fall, I’m afraid of that sudden stop at the end. I have severe social anxiety, as I think I’ve mentioned before, so I get tongue-tied when put on the spot… so being a hawker wouldn’t exactly be my forte. I’m horrible at guessing ages and weight, often erring on the higher end. I’ve been smacked more than a few times because of it too. But I swear, she looked like she was a very attractive 60-year-old, how was I supposed to know she was 31? I mean, honestly. So, running the guess your age/weight booth would be a recipe for disaster and likely result in needing bail money.
I’m not a fan of being the center of attention, in fact quite the opposite. So “gather round everyone, and step right up” would be great, until the crowd stepped right up and I would spend the next 10 minutes hyperventilating into a bag. The show must go on, they say, but I’d need a few minutes or an hour to collect myself first.
Being a clown would be horrible. First of all, clowns are creepy to a lot of people, so you’re always dealing with that vibe. Add in a curmudgeon with anxiety issues and bad make-up skills, and I’d either be making kids cry or giving clown-fearing adults a new conversation to share with their psychiatrists. Aside from that though, I’d always wonder, are they laughing because I’m so incredibly funny or are they laughing because I’m an abject failure as a clown? My self-esteem wouldn’t be able to handle it, I tell you.
I could care for the animals and feed them, but I don’t agree with keeping animals in cages. In a lot of cases, the animals are abused so that they’ll perform tricks. First day on the job would be, “local crazy woman sets free the entire animal population from visiting circus.” And then bail money would be required, yet again, and that would be a whole ordeal.
My balance has also seen better days, not saying I’m very clumsy, but I’m kind of very clumsy. Riding a unicycle on a tightrope would probably either be a messy one-time event or an all-day excursion depending on if there’s a safety net or not.
The pattern seems pretty clear here. Either my health and mental well-being would be in jeopardy or bail money would be needed for … well, any number of reasons.
Oh! You know what though? I do love food, especially cotton candy and popcorn, so I could be a food tester. I’d EXCEL at being a food tester! It would have to be in a quality control capacity though, as working at the booth would probably result in a loss of profit for the circus. I’m up to the challenge to see if I can eat my weight in cotton candy. Hmm… maybe that could be a side show act!? Looks like I found my circus niche after all.
I’ve often thought of starting an advice column. You don’t need a degree for common sense, right? Sometimes I think that too many degrees, certifications, and the like can actually keep common sense at bay.
Is your mother-in-law a nosy cat intent on destroying your marriage to her saintly child? Kindly tell her to go to hell, or not so kindly. Your choice. Probably not at Christmas or anything, but December 26th is a good day to do the deed. Co-worker trying to destroy your life? Ask them what you did to make them hate you. Get to the bottom of issues! Then, in the most professional way possible, tell them to kindly fuck off.
I’m inspired by people like Ann Landers and Abigail Van Buren (who were sisters). They gave sound advice to thousands, if not millions of people. Ann once said, “Know yourself. Don’t accept your dog’s admiration as conclusive evidence that you’re wonderful.” I love this!
And while I am duly impressed by the likes of Dear Abby, Dear Prudence, and Ask Amy, I wouldn’t be fluﬀy with my advice. Oh no, my advice column would be more of the snarkier variety. Honest yet blunt… caring yet, well, um, blunt. Blunt with a side of snark. That’s my motto!
Is your significant other cheating? Give that low-down, lying schmuck the boot! Kick ‘em to the curb, I say! You deserve better!
Old high school classmate filling your Facebook inbox with essential-oil business opportunities? Block them! So what if it’s your husband’s sister!? Block that pyramid scheming, MLM-spewing huckster! You don’t need that kind of stress in your life!
Just think, if I wrote under a pen name, there would even be a chance of that crazy ex-relative of mine writing to me and I could tell them to stop being such a self-absorbed narcissistic prat with too many cats!
Naturally any money I made would go towards extensive liability insurance, but it would be sooo worth it.
Are you a good person stuck in an awful situation? Write to me and let me help you sort it out! You see, there’s no room for unbiased perspectives in my column. I would stick up for the letter writer, always. Everyone needs someone on their side. Unless of course, they were an obvious asshole, in which case I would let them know in no uncertain terms that they’re the problem and should maybe find a mirror for some deep introspection.
I imagine myself firing away on a typewriter (they still make those, right?) and sending common sense advice out into the universe, making the world a better place.
I probably wouldn’t tell anyone about my column. It would be my secret, hence the aforementioned pen name. I would simply enjoy the fact that anyone I passed on the street might be someone who wrote to me. I might even hear the person behind me at Starbucks telling a friend about the wonderful advice they’d received from Miss Anonymous Snarky McSnarkpants… it was just the kick in the ass they needed to change their life!
And I would take my drink and walk home, smiling to myself. I’m a hero.
If there is an upside to being sick the past few days – acute bronchitis, by the way – it’s that this downtime has allowed me to catch up on my shows, check out what’s new in my fandom groups, and sleep. Although, if you’re familiar at all with any fandom whatsoever, it might’ve been better had I just slept 24/7… which, trust me, it was already close. I think I’ve slept more in the past four days than I have in the last year.
My weekend perusal of the typical fandom groups left me with a bad taste in my mouth. And it’s not those pickles that might’ve been a bad idea to snack on. Maybe it’s the meds or maybe it’s the fact that I haven’t been able to breathe since Wednesday that has me curmudgeonly, but when on earth did we become a society where being a fan of something now comes with a list of rules and regulations seemingly longer and, apparently, far more strict than the U.S. Constitution?
Back in the not too distant past, it was acceptable to enjoy something just for enjoyment sake and discuss said enjoyment mid nibble of an appetizer at a dinner party and the person you were talking to would either nod in agreement or back away in shock… you know, depending. If you were lucky, you could while away a happy – or heated – half hour of camaraderie discussing your favorite show or book or comic before people started to stare and you both just sort of wandered off to mingle with other, less geeky, party-goers.
These days, not so much. I mean, you’d think it would be easier to connect to like-minded fans, what with the internet and all, but sadly, no. The aforementioned rules and regulations, of which there are many and most are vague, if widely known at all, come into play and work to kill the fandom rather than build it up.
An actual conversation from a Doctor Who fan-discussion group:
Random Doctor Who Fan: Oh, I love Doctor Who, I’m such a fan!
Twatty McTwatterson: Oh, you’re a fan, are you?
Random Doctor Who Fan: Erm, yes.
Twatty McT: Riiigght, well, have you seen every single episode ever made… twice?
Random Doctor Who Fan: Well, no, I really only like the newer ones.
Twatter Von FuckFace: Alright then, that’s not really a true fan then, is it? Jumping on the bandwagon only when it gets cool. Cooler, of course, I mean cooler. It’s always been cool. But YOU, you’re not a real fan, are you?
Random Doctor Who Fan: I think as long as you really enjoy something and watch it weekly you can be a fan.
Asshat McPedantic: Yeah, well I bet you can’t even tell me…
and proceeds to fire off a bunch of very specific, if not obscure, questions about the show and if the new person to the group can’t answer them in what the self-appointed inquisitor deems to be an acceptable amount of time, then clearly they’re googling the answer and therefore not a fan.
I mean, yikes, right? But as I’ve sadly discovered, this sort of possessive fandom does not begin and end with Doctor Who. People experience it constantly with whatever they are a fan of. It does seem to be most toxic in what we might term “geek” culture though *cough cough* it does happen in sports as well. I know, I know, perish the thought.
Speaking of geek culture, both Marvel and DC are filled with fans so driven by their passion for the genre that they are adept at channelling that energy into very positive ways through fanfiction, cosplay, Comic-Con conventions and the like. But equally, there’s a serious division in this world between the, for lack of a better term, regular fans and those who class themselves as the super fans (ha!). They almost seem to have formed a cult-like existence believing that they are the purest form of fan, and they alone have the right to the characters of these comic universes. Only like the movies? Not. A. Fan. There is just no room for posers, people.
Just take a look at what happened with Star Wars: The Last Jedi. We’ll call it Jedi Gate – The Star Wars enthusiasts bat shit crazies lost their minds over the Asian heritage character of Rose. The racial abuse and toxic harassment got so bad the actress Kelly Marie Tran was bullied off social media by these hateful creatures. And what’s even worse is the studio apparently listened to them because, after building her character up to be something important to the franchise, she hardly featured in The Rise of Skywalker. The worst thing a major movie studio can do is give in to these
snivelling keyboard cowards over-the-top fans. It sets us back decades each time they do, and it encourages this harmful sort of bullying in the name of fanatical fandom.
My first love – books – aren’t even immune. Technically, this is a play, but still. Harry Potter fans are where you might think there’s some quaint British-inspired relief from this sort of behavior. But, oh no. When the West End/Broadway production came out, Harry Potter and the Cursed Child, Potter fans speculated for months on just what the story would be about. They all posted about what they wanted from the play, you know, as one does… and when they didn’t get it, the outrage was, shall we say, palpable. From the casting (gasp!) to the storyline, people were pissed. In a franchise where tolerance, empathy, and inclusion are the mainstays of the literary universe, it was shocking to watch the fandom, or at least portions of it, crash and burn by their own hand. Those members of the fandom who were apparently personally offended at the play, deemed it “not canon.” True fans, indeed. Pfftt.
How have people become so obsessed with these franchises that they seem to have an unhealthy possessive sense of ownership over them? The only people that own these ideas are the people who came up with them in the first place, and the studios that own the rights. That’s it. After that, you get what you’re given and if you don’t like it, fine, you have a right not to, but you can express that without threatening an actress for playing a part, for God’s sake. If you do like it, great! But you also don’t get to appoint yourself the bouncer of fandom, deciding who gets to make it past the velvet rope.
Essentially, I feel the world is interesting because we are all different. We enjoy the same things differently, and our unique personalities mean we can be fans to different levels. Love the Doctor Who classic episodes or just the Tenth Doctor? Still a fan. We can be faithful to the original Star Wars movies only or embrace them all. Guess what? Yep. Still a fan. Just started watching your newest favorite series on Season 4? Still. A. Fan.
And if you want to call yourself a super fan, go for it; have fun. That’s the whole point. Just don’t humiliate or bully others for not living up to your version of a “fan.” There are way too many exclusive spaces in our world as it is, fandom (of anything) should not be one of them. Repeat after me: I am not the fandom bouncer.