Recently I have been listening to some fantasy novels on tape...no not dirty ones with Fabio on the cover, ones with dragons and dudes in plate armor and chicks in chainmail bikinis. This has led me to think in terms of knights and dragons and the like. Because of that I have been toying with certain unsavoury ideas. This is one of them.
Her terrible wrath is known by the entire realm for years; as is her beauty. In a way, she is a freak of nature, but she has managed to make it work for her.
She is a minidragon.
One might think that this would make her less terrible, less frightening, but one would be wrong.
To behold her is to know unbridled fear and unmitigated terror. If you are one of the few who can withstand her all incompassing aura of unfathomable fright, would describe her as follows:
Her bright eyes glow with an inner fire which can range from a calm soft brown when she is excited and playing with her food, to a stormy blackish brown with fiery sparks when she is in total rage. One could lose their soul in those eys, and possibly even enjoy it until one of her claws guts them.
Her face is perfectly molded and symetrical, and the beauty is only marred by a mouth full of razon sharp teeth, which one will never confuse the use of.
Her sacles range from a shimmering onyx on her back to a more radiant dark red on her underbelly. These beautiful scales which reflect a light that may actually be radiating from inside.
Her tail is formed by some sort of good. The perfect shape that invites awe and terror. The tail ends in a sharp point with a barbed tip.
Though her legs may not be long, her legs are shaped to support her frame and provide a counterpoint to her solid frame.
What mortals fear is not her appearance, the true terror resides in her mouth. Her tongue is reptilian and it lashes out to catch those unaware. It can knock a grown man down with a mere flick. But even that is not the true terror. When she opens her mouth one of two things may happen. She may charm you with her spell. She can spin your mind in on itself with her sweet tones, and draw them in to her trap.
But if she wants to be destructive, if the whim hits to obliterate all she surverys she can use one of her two fierce breath weapons. She can breath fire, immolating anything in her path. She will incinerate your home, your clothes, your flesh, your very soul.
When she feels particularily mean and spiteful, she won;t burn you in a gloriously short fire of rage, but rather spit out acid. This acid slowly corrodes everything it touches. Once it works it's way through your clothes, your outer defenses it begins to work on your flesh. Seering pain enters the picture at this point.
The acid seems to have a mind of its own. It feels as if it heads straight for your heart, where it can do the most damage. One would think this would speed up the process of sweet ecstacy and the release of death, but the slowness of the acid betrays you. It slowly works its evil on your heart, breaking it down on a cellular level until it finally devours the last remaining piece of your heart, and life finally ends as you know it.
Now that you know what we are dealing with, one more thing needs to be said about the minidragon. That is, she is mini. Not young, not jouvenile, just small for her species. This, all the the sages agree, is what makes her even more terrifying. This is what makes her mean spirited and ravenous for your soul.
The minidragon, whose name is lost in the mists of time, lives in an unknown lair. The bards tell of glorius treasures that lay inside. She has been hoarding her treasure for sometime, and no mortal save her slave has seen this treasure, and he does not speak of it, out of terrible fear.
This is the complete picture of our evil foe, of the scourge of the realm.
What remains for our hero is to figure out what to do with the dragon in order to save the world from her evil.
Like most true heroes, ours doesn't even know he is a hero yet. We can only hope that he finds his true nature before she does; because, if she does, she will surely kill and silence him forever. This is her way, her self preserving way.
Happy birthday Alison.
Thursday, October 14, 2010
Wednesday, October 13, 2010
Mushy gushy
I don't want to bury today's original post, because it contains a wicked new philosophy I am going to try, as well as a challenge to all of you to face your true selves and stop hiding from stuff, but I am just motivated to speak out, so more on that other thing tomorrow.
On a day where a douchebag threatens to kill me, and some crazy psycho threatens me with a toaster oven....really, what are you going to do, bake some tastey cakes and then refuse to share? I can't help but be amazed by humanity.
Oh sure, we can be nasty to each other. I watched a guy push his girlfriend and call his mother the c word. His mother.
I watched a group of people pull of a miracle today. I know we toss about miracle willy nilly, but let's face it, a human miracle is succeeding against all odds. A human miracle happens when we as seperate people put aside politics, selfishness, greed and ridiculous hats to do something to save others.
Watching the rescue live on the internet taught me something about humanity. There is little we can't do when we put our effort in to it and work together.
A while back, some smart people decided to make the internet. Then they used it for evil world domination and price fixing, or whatever it is the cia does.
Then some smarter people, or one person named Al, depending on your view of history, decided this can be a force for good....and porn.
Flash forward to today, where some lazy no good canadian can sit on his ass eating bon bons and watching something priceless happen...no the megan fox porn tape has not been released yet. I am talking about the rescued miners.
I am reasonably sure someone has said it better than me, but I am still going to say it anyway.
When those miners were first trapped, I am sure they never thought they would make it out. Ther persevered.
When the families of the trapped miners first heard, I am sure their fear was overwhelming, but they kept hope alive.
When politicians heard they came up with some plan to curry political favour.
When CNN heard they thanked god for providing them with something to do besides retweet the opinions of the common folk.
Then, smart people got involved.
Several smart people from several countries.
They came up with a plan. A daring new plan. They came up with some new equipment. They gave time and effort and were rewarded for that.
So were the miners and their families.
Today we all saw, through the magic and wonder of technology that can be used for great good in this world, a tremendous life affirming event.
We saw people come together, and ignore their differences to save lives.
We saw hope restored and rewarded, and we saw a miracle of humanioty.
I am so glad this happened, and had a happy ending.
I am so dissapointed that tomorrow, the same people and technology that brought us this wonder are going to return to business as usual; dividing us and bringing us hate and bigotry.
Maybe these truly positive stories are few and far between, but I don't think so. I just thing fear and our desire to be better than our equals drives us to desire hate and anger and outrage.
I for one am going to hold on to this little story, and try and remmeber the good that was done in Chile today. In the spirit of being authentic and true to myself and everyone around me, I am going to say, I was moved, and I hope it continues.
Also, I did not post this because of people with toaster ovens.
On a day where a douchebag threatens to kill me, and some crazy psycho threatens me with a toaster oven....really, what are you going to do, bake some tastey cakes and then refuse to share? I can't help but be amazed by humanity.
Oh sure, we can be nasty to each other. I watched a guy push his girlfriend and call his mother the c word. His mother.
I watched a group of people pull of a miracle today. I know we toss about miracle willy nilly, but let's face it, a human miracle is succeeding against all odds. A human miracle happens when we as seperate people put aside politics, selfishness, greed and ridiculous hats to do something to save others.
Watching the rescue live on the internet taught me something about humanity. There is little we can't do when we put our effort in to it and work together.
A while back, some smart people decided to make the internet. Then they used it for evil world domination and price fixing, or whatever it is the cia does.
Then some smarter people, or one person named Al, depending on your view of history, decided this can be a force for good....and porn.
Flash forward to today, where some lazy no good canadian can sit on his ass eating bon bons and watching something priceless happen...no the megan fox porn tape has not been released yet. I am talking about the rescued miners.
I am reasonably sure someone has said it better than me, but I am still going to say it anyway.
When those miners were first trapped, I am sure they never thought they would make it out. Ther persevered.
When the families of the trapped miners first heard, I am sure their fear was overwhelming, but they kept hope alive.
When politicians heard they came up with some plan to curry political favour.
When CNN heard they thanked god for providing them with something to do besides retweet the opinions of the common folk.
Then, smart people got involved.
Several smart people from several countries.
They came up with a plan. A daring new plan. They came up with some new equipment. They gave time and effort and were rewarded for that.
So were the miners and their families.
Today we all saw, through the magic and wonder of technology that can be used for great good in this world, a tremendous life affirming event.
We saw people come together, and ignore their differences to save lives.
We saw hope restored and rewarded, and we saw a miracle of humanioty.
I am so glad this happened, and had a happy ending.
I am so dissapointed that tomorrow, the same people and technology that brought us this wonder are going to return to business as usual; dividing us and bringing us hate and bigotry.
Maybe these truly positive stories are few and far between, but I don't think so. I just thing fear and our desire to be better than our equals drives us to desire hate and anger and outrage.
I for one am going to hold on to this little story, and try and remmeber the good that was done in Chile today. In the spirit of being authentic and true to myself and everyone around me, I am going to say, I was moved, and I hope it continues.
Also, I did not post this because of people with toaster ovens.
Splinters
Some of us have the most outrageous defense mechanisms, and some the most classic. What we all have in common is that we all have deflector shields. Some are blanket shields like in star trek, where you just raise shields and no one can get past them, other than every single person known to the universe who can do simple frequency harmonics (which is exactly why star trek blows imho) and some are more directed, such as those in star wars, which simply absorb energy until depleted. The best part about star wars shields is that they are able to be angled towards incoming attacks.
Who wants a shield on their hind parts when the attack is coming from the front? Wasted energy I tells ya. What value are those forward facing shields when you are being pursued by a plethora of tie fighters on your tail? Simply foolish.
My defenses have been well documented, I am the little wooden boy. I own that, and I make it my own, and I make no excuses for it.
I bring this up because I have recently discovered how much I have in common with another little wooden boy. This one is a fictional character of ill repute....sort of.
I have come to identify with Dexter Morgan, vigilante serial killer and family man.
The thing about Dexter is, born of tragedy, he developed a defense against emotion. He completely shut down and caved in on himself. By allowing himself to feel nothing, he was able to cope with tragedy. The big problem came in his dissociative state. When you do not open yourself up to connection, you become incapable of it, and thus incapable of humanizing others, or normalizing events and feelings.
It is a wondrous trick to be sure.
It is a terrible thing to be sure.
Though this is startlingly familiar to my defense mechanism, the similarities do not end there.
In order to camouflage himself, Dexter takes on all the outside appearances of normalcy. A good job, a close relationship with his sister, a girlfriend, banal hobbies like bowling. These are all the masks he wears to appear normal, yet they are always at arm's length...or so he believes.
He eventually forms attachments to these things and these people. He begins to care about them.
The trouble is, he is not destined to have these things, and one by one they are stripped from him, save the bowling team. This is how I generally feel.
This is where trouble begins.
As the little wooden boy, I pretend nothing phases me, and I don't give a shit about anything. I play with things just to experience them. I search, like Dexter, for a way to feel alive.
Our defense mechanism precludes the highs and lows of life, until things are at their most drastic, in either direction. In order to feel alive, we must be near death or on top of the world. The middle ground is never enough.
It is never satisfactory to be normal everyday and average. We simply don't feel it.
Our defenses, our shields block those incoming emotions. We cannot feel the value of a summer day, and many simple pleasures are lost on us; you know, until we ritualize them.
Now what is the point to this ramble? No it is not to confess to being a serial killer, though some days, some people annoy me to the point of wondering if it would not be easier to simply fillet them. The point is to gain clarity of focus.
Critical thought is never so powerful and destructive as when we turn it on ourselves.
I say this in hopes you will turn a critical eye towards yourself.
My defense mechanism is star wars style deflector shields, which I angle towards whatever point of attack I perceive as most critical at any given time. Sometimes things creep in around the sides, but for the most part it works, until it is too late and I find myself lost and frightened, like a little boy without his mommy or blanket.
What do you do?
What are you protecting yourself from?
What are you afraid to risk?
I am afraid to risk rejection and hurt. I am afraid to be told I am not good enough.
What is it that you fear so much that you need to shield yourself from it by lying to yourself, or worse, lying to others?
What can't you admit because admitting it would mean exposing yourself?
If you cannot admit what it is, can you admit what you fear?
I am not a particularly brave man, but I did it. I have done it all along, despite what I keep telling myself is the right thing to do.
So now can you be brave enough to admit any of these things?
Can you step outside yourself, risk the status quo, risk what feels safe, and yet unnatural to find out what life feels like? Can you feel alive?
Who wants a shield on their hind parts when the attack is coming from the front? Wasted energy I tells ya. What value are those forward facing shields when you are being pursued by a plethora of tie fighters on your tail? Simply foolish.
My defenses have been well documented, I am the little wooden boy. I own that, and I make it my own, and I make no excuses for it.
I bring this up because I have recently discovered how much I have in common with another little wooden boy. This one is a fictional character of ill repute....sort of.
I have come to identify with Dexter Morgan, vigilante serial killer and family man.
The thing about Dexter is, born of tragedy, he developed a defense against emotion. He completely shut down and caved in on himself. By allowing himself to feel nothing, he was able to cope with tragedy. The big problem came in his dissociative state. When you do not open yourself up to connection, you become incapable of it, and thus incapable of humanizing others, or normalizing events and feelings.
It is a wondrous trick to be sure.
It is a terrible thing to be sure.
Though this is startlingly familiar to my defense mechanism, the similarities do not end there.
In order to camouflage himself, Dexter takes on all the outside appearances of normalcy. A good job, a close relationship with his sister, a girlfriend, banal hobbies like bowling. These are all the masks he wears to appear normal, yet they are always at arm's length...or so he believes.
He eventually forms attachments to these things and these people. He begins to care about them.
The trouble is, he is not destined to have these things, and one by one they are stripped from him, save the bowling team. This is how I generally feel.
This is where trouble begins.
As the little wooden boy, I pretend nothing phases me, and I don't give a shit about anything. I play with things just to experience them. I search, like Dexter, for a way to feel alive.
Our defense mechanism precludes the highs and lows of life, until things are at their most drastic, in either direction. In order to feel alive, we must be near death or on top of the world. The middle ground is never enough.
It is never satisfactory to be normal everyday and average. We simply don't feel it.
Our defenses, our shields block those incoming emotions. We cannot feel the value of a summer day, and many simple pleasures are lost on us; you know, until we ritualize them.
Now what is the point to this ramble? No it is not to confess to being a serial killer, though some days, some people annoy me to the point of wondering if it would not be easier to simply fillet them. The point is to gain clarity of focus.
Critical thought is never so powerful and destructive as when we turn it on ourselves.
I say this in hopes you will turn a critical eye towards yourself.
My defense mechanism is star wars style deflector shields, which I angle towards whatever point of attack I perceive as most critical at any given time. Sometimes things creep in around the sides, but for the most part it works, until it is too late and I find myself lost and frightened, like a little boy without his mommy or blanket.
What do you do?
What are you protecting yourself from?
What are you afraid to risk?
I am afraid to risk rejection and hurt. I am afraid to be told I am not good enough.
What is it that you fear so much that you need to shield yourself from it by lying to yourself, or worse, lying to others?
What can't you admit because admitting it would mean exposing yourself?
If you cannot admit what it is, can you admit what you fear?
I am not a particularly brave man, but I did it. I have done it all along, despite what I keep telling myself is the right thing to do.
So now can you be brave enough to admit any of these things?
Can you step outside yourself, risk the status quo, risk what feels safe, and yet unnatural to find out what life feels like? Can you feel alive?
Sunday, October 10, 2010
Fantastic
I noticed that I may have lost my mind recently. While this does not surprise me, or even worry me, it does make me feel guilty.
I am feeling guilty that maybe you didn't sign up for this. I feel like maybe I have pulled of an epic bait and switch, much like say George clooney did in this.
You see, the Rick Roll, which I know I overuse, and I promise that I will stop for at least 2 weeks, I swear, is perhaps the world's best example of the bait and switch. You go in expecting something, are told in fact that you will get something, and then instead you get Rick Astley telling you lies about never giving you up.
I think this blog has become one long Rick Roll. I made several claims as to what you can expect from this sorted little affair. I made some vague outlines of what you can expect here; however, as vague as they are, I still feel like I have lost touch with that and treated this stupid thing more like my personal journal and less like my Internet musings on ridiculously unimportant subjects.
So let's get back on track. Let's remember that Star wars references, Kevin Smith resets, bewbs, and bad tunes is what brought us here in the first place.
We need to breath new life in to our Internet courtship, lest we end up in divorce court arguing over google visitation and who gets to keep the porn collection.
To that end, let me begin the new era....of returning to the old era, by keeping the present era inline with the old era's vision of the future era (friggin Roddenberry made time travel so confusing)by simply stating....
WTF IS WRONG WITH PEOPLE?!?
By people I am referring to fans of stuff. It really doesn't matter what stuff. Any stuff will do....apparently. There is a fan for almost anything these days. I used to think that people who wanted to have sex with duct tape were the craziest thing on this planet until now.
Don't believe me? Go back to that toilet paper fan site and type the weirdest thing you can think of in to the search field. The Internet is a wondrous, and all too scary place. This is not really about that. This is more about how scary the human mind is.
For some reason, when someone becomes a fan, they loose all sense and reason. I understand that fan is a shortening of the term fanatic, and fanatic is defined as:
fa·nat·ic
/fəˈnætɪk/ Show Spelled[fuh-nat-ik] Show IPA
–noun
1.
a person with an extreme and uncritical enthusiasm or zeal, as in religion or politics.
yet, the shrinking of the term to just fan should have also carried with it a shrinking definition.
fan 2 (fn)
n.
An ardent devotee; an enthusiast.
An enthusiast makes sense. I enjoy xyz. It makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside, sort of like watching a kitten....get blended....uhmmm did I type that out loud?
But really, an enthusiast sounds so tame, and much more in line with what I have in mind for my fandom.
I like certain things, like say Wil Wheaton. I like Wil Wheaton. He is generally funny and occasionally insightful in a manner that speaks to me. I can say this and also say. Wesley Crusher was the most annoying television character of all time. I can also say sometimes, he misses the mark and bores me, or tries to hard and I look at him with pity. Sometimes, he just isn't entertaining or insightful. It happens. I would also tend not to compare said Wheaton with say...I don't know, George Carlin.
Carlin was a master at entertaining and insighting (it is a new word, shut up) me and many others. He is one of the all time kings of comedy, and a true master of his art. Wil Wheaton, as much as I like him is no George Carlin.
Now, why am I saying all of this?
Because I had a true WTF moment earlier. No it isn't about why fanatics seem intent on wishing dead people a happy birthday, but rather because some tool decided to make the following statement (real geekshit incoming)
DL (dragonlance, a series of novels and a campaign setting for dungeons and dragons, which was pretty entertaining when I was a kid)is in no way near the the same literary standing as LOTR. Maybe so, maybe not. Again, I suppose we will just have to wait and see.
This person, on an internet webboard thought it would be within the realm of serious discourse to suggest that maybe draginlance and lord of the rings were on the same level.
Hands up everyone who knows what dragon lance is.
Thanks geekiest of the geeks.
Now, hands up everyone who knows what lord of the rings is.
Ok, I can't count that high, so put your hands down everyone who doesn't live in a third world country or a shack outside of civilization in the middle of Pennsylvania.
Need a slightly more dramatic example?
Ok. So the reference that this person was making was in regard to the dragonlance movie. A movie which this person felt should have been done slightly differently.
Here is the imdb site for said movie. In case you are wondering, when IMDB writes video inside the bracks with the release date, they are denoting a direct to video release.
Dragonlance the movie was treated the same as all 7,834 (or so) Olsen twins movies.
So I can see how you could compare the value of that product with say, the 2 billion dollar release of the Tolkien masterpiece.
Right well I can see how you could say a live action version might have done well, and the following qualifying statement might apply:
Personally, for me, this series could dethrone LOTR if the movies were made right.
The important part was where the person said "for me" because that means in their eyes, it might have been better. You and all six of your closest friends may have thought that way.
That is the difference between fan and fanatic. The difference between enthusiast and uncritical devotee. The difference between thinking Beiber and Lennon are the same and Wil Wheaton isn't bad, but he's no Carlin.
I could sit here and inform you about how Dragonlance steals many of it's architypes from LOTR, I could show you how setting is the only major difference between the struggles faced by each group, and thus the only true difference between the two series would be in the quality of the writing, and if that is true, then one needs not go very far in determining this person is off their rocker.
Why can't people enjoy something based on its own merits and resist the urge to compare it insanely to masterpieces?
I can draw stick figures, and I may be able to brain wash one person in to thinking that I am a better artist than Van Goh, but that doesn't make it true.
In short, no name mac and cheese is not KD. Stop saying it is, and stop trying to say it is as good or better than. It is a pale imitation. Acceptable when the real thing is not available, but seriously, it is not as good.
Stop thinking that all this new crap is better than the old crap just because it has a shinier coat of paint. And for the love of Paladine, stop thinking a second rate imitation of quality groundbreaking work is new and innovative and can dethrone the master.
Sometimes something new can be better, but most of the time it is just a water downed version of it. If you don't believe me, check out the new Santana album. It is all covers of guitar awesome songs. On the surface you would think, good guitar songs, done by a good guitarist would be good. Yet here's the thing:
He brings nothing new to the table, nor does he honour the old. He simply repackages the old, puts a new coat of paint on it and tells you you should buy it.
This is the difference between loving the old song, and hating the new one.
The difference between hunting down the vinyl for the original, and downloading a free copy of the Sanatana (and then promptly deleting it in a vein attempt to wipe it from the official record of reality).
This is the difference between a 2 billion dollar oscar winning theatrical release and a direct to video release.
Dragonlance may be cool, but it isn't as cool. Thank the ground that LOTR walks on for proving to the industry that fantasy is a viable genre. Don't complain when they realised that as viable as it is, the individual sub genres are only worth a few million bucks from us weirdos.
All of a person's complaints about generalizing or making a story more accessible to a broader audience are what make it a viable production and worth spending the money on. If the audience is so narrow as to provide only a certain level of profit, then all you are going to get is what they can afford to make for that profit.
In the end, just because we are all crazy about something, doesn't mean everyone is.
Beauty and quality are always in the eye of the beholder.
Not everyone is going to find what I like as cool as I do, but generally, I don't care about them, cause they're stupid.
Note 013/06/2012 - I actually began re-reading the Dragonlance series and watched that movie.... The books are good, well thought out and generally of good quality. That movie is tremendously shitty.
I am feeling guilty that maybe you didn't sign up for this. I feel like maybe I have pulled of an epic bait and switch, much like say George clooney did in this.
You see, the Rick Roll, which I know I overuse, and I promise that I will stop for at least 2 weeks, I swear, is perhaps the world's best example of the bait and switch. You go in expecting something, are told in fact that you will get something, and then instead you get Rick Astley telling you lies about never giving you up.
I think this blog has become one long Rick Roll. I made several claims as to what you can expect from this sorted little affair. I made some vague outlines of what you can expect here; however, as vague as they are, I still feel like I have lost touch with that and treated this stupid thing more like my personal journal and less like my Internet musings on ridiculously unimportant subjects.
So let's get back on track. Let's remember that Star wars references, Kevin Smith resets, bewbs, and bad tunes is what brought us here in the first place.
We need to breath new life in to our Internet courtship, lest we end up in divorce court arguing over google visitation and who gets to keep the porn collection.
To that end, let me begin the new era....of returning to the old era, by keeping the present era inline with the old era's vision of the future era (friggin Roddenberry made time travel so confusing)by simply stating....
WTF IS WRONG WITH PEOPLE?!?
By people I am referring to fans of stuff. It really doesn't matter what stuff. Any stuff will do....apparently. There is a fan for almost anything these days. I used to think that people who wanted to have sex with duct tape were the craziest thing on this planet until now.
Don't believe me? Go back to that toilet paper fan site and type the weirdest thing you can think of in to the search field. The Internet is a wondrous, and all too scary place. This is not really about that. This is more about how scary the human mind is.
For some reason, when someone becomes a fan, they loose all sense and reason. I understand that fan is a shortening of the term fanatic, and fanatic is defined as:
fa·nat·ic
/fəˈnætɪk/ Show Spelled[fuh-nat-ik] Show IPA
–noun
1.
a person with an extreme and uncritical enthusiasm or zeal, as in religion or politics.
yet, the shrinking of the term to just fan should have also carried with it a shrinking definition.
fan 2 (fn)
n.
An ardent devotee; an enthusiast.
An enthusiast makes sense. I enjoy xyz. It makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside, sort of like watching a kitten....get blended....uhmmm did I type that out loud?
But really, an enthusiast sounds so tame, and much more in line with what I have in mind for my fandom.
I like certain things, like say Wil Wheaton. I like Wil Wheaton. He is generally funny and occasionally insightful in a manner that speaks to me. I can say this and also say. Wesley Crusher was the most annoying television character of all time. I can also say sometimes, he misses the mark and bores me, or tries to hard and I look at him with pity. Sometimes, he just isn't entertaining or insightful. It happens. I would also tend not to compare said Wheaton with say...I don't know, George Carlin.
Carlin was a master at entertaining and insighting (it is a new word, shut up) me and many others. He is one of the all time kings of comedy, and a true master of his art. Wil Wheaton, as much as I like him is no George Carlin.
Now, why am I saying all of this?
Because I had a true WTF moment earlier. No it isn't about why fanatics seem intent on wishing dead people a happy birthday, but rather because some tool decided to make the following statement (real geekshit incoming)
DL (dragonlance, a series of novels and a campaign setting for dungeons and dragons, which was pretty entertaining when I was a kid)is in no way near the the same literary standing as LOTR. Maybe so, maybe not. Again, I suppose we will just have to wait and see.
This person, on an internet webboard thought it would be within the realm of serious discourse to suggest that maybe draginlance and lord of the rings were on the same level.
Hands up everyone who knows what dragon lance is.
Thanks geekiest of the geeks.
Now, hands up everyone who knows what lord of the rings is.
Ok, I can't count that high, so put your hands down everyone who doesn't live in a third world country or a shack outside of civilization in the middle of Pennsylvania.
Need a slightly more dramatic example?
Ok. So the reference that this person was making was in regard to the dragonlance movie. A movie which this person felt should have been done slightly differently.
Here is the imdb site for said movie. In case you are wondering, when IMDB writes video inside the bracks with the release date, they are denoting a direct to video release.
Dragonlance the movie was treated the same as all 7,834 (or so) Olsen twins movies.
So I can see how you could compare the value of that product with say, the 2 billion dollar release of the Tolkien masterpiece.
Right well I can see how you could say a live action version might have done well, and the following qualifying statement might apply:
Personally, for me, this series could dethrone LOTR if the movies were made right.
The important part was where the person said "for me" because that means in their eyes, it might have been better. You and all six of your closest friends may have thought that way.
That is the difference between fan and fanatic. The difference between enthusiast and uncritical devotee. The difference between thinking Beiber and Lennon are the same and Wil Wheaton isn't bad, but he's no Carlin.
I could sit here and inform you about how Dragonlance steals many of it's architypes from LOTR, I could show you how setting is the only major difference between the struggles faced by each group, and thus the only true difference between the two series would be in the quality of the writing, and if that is true, then one needs not go very far in determining this person is off their rocker.
Why can't people enjoy something based on its own merits and resist the urge to compare it insanely to masterpieces?
I can draw stick figures, and I may be able to brain wash one person in to thinking that I am a better artist than Van Goh, but that doesn't make it true.
In short, no name mac and cheese is not KD. Stop saying it is, and stop trying to say it is as good or better than. It is a pale imitation. Acceptable when the real thing is not available, but seriously, it is not as good.
Stop thinking that all this new crap is better than the old crap just because it has a shinier coat of paint. And for the love of Paladine, stop thinking a second rate imitation of quality groundbreaking work is new and innovative and can dethrone the master.
Sometimes something new can be better, but most of the time it is just a water downed version of it. If you don't believe me, check out the new Santana album. It is all covers of guitar awesome songs. On the surface you would think, good guitar songs, done by a good guitarist would be good. Yet here's the thing:
He brings nothing new to the table, nor does he honour the old. He simply repackages the old, puts a new coat of paint on it and tells you you should buy it.
This is the difference between loving the old song, and hating the new one.
The difference between hunting down the vinyl for the original, and downloading a free copy of the Sanatana (and then promptly deleting it in a vein attempt to wipe it from the official record of reality).
This is the difference between a 2 billion dollar oscar winning theatrical release and a direct to video release.
Dragonlance may be cool, but it isn't as cool. Thank the ground that LOTR walks on for proving to the industry that fantasy is a viable genre. Don't complain when they realised that as viable as it is, the individual sub genres are only worth a few million bucks from us weirdos.
All of a person's complaints about generalizing or making a story more accessible to a broader audience are what make it a viable production and worth spending the money on. If the audience is so narrow as to provide only a certain level of profit, then all you are going to get is what they can afford to make for that profit.
In the end, just because we are all crazy about something, doesn't mean everyone is.
Beauty and quality are always in the eye of the beholder.
Not everyone is going to find what I like as cool as I do, but generally, I don't care about them, cause they're stupid.
Note 013/06/2012 - I actually began re-reading the Dragonlance series and watched that movie.... The books are good, well thought out and generally of good quality. That movie is tremendously shitty.
Friday, October 8, 2010
Good Medicine
I see her standing there in my mind. I close my eye and I picture it, and the picture becomes so vivid I can smell it, taste it, hear it.
All my senses become electrified as I open the door and see her standing there.
She is wearing a brown track suit. It clings to her because it is raining outside. Slung over her shoulder is a fine purse, I don't know the make because I am a dude, but I can see it, it almost matches her track suit. It definitely matches her large rubber boots.
In her hands is a toaster. I have no idea what she plans to do with it, but it probably isn't natural.
My eyes get lost in hers. Their is mischief in there, and the light of a thousand lives, and the darkness of lost souls who had the misfortune to get lost in there.
This is not a nightmare, it is a dream. Sweet dreams are made of these.
I think I may have found a cure for the blahs and I am calling it good medicine, and no, I am not referring to this.
For the past few days I have been looking for a silver lining or a bright ray of sunshine. I have said that life needs purpose a reason, a redeeming quality and factor to it.
My life has been rough. I have had some of the worst things imaginable done to me, and have done some to others as well. Sitting alone with my thoughts, which some people know is a terrible idea, I find myself wondering what positive effects I have. Am I worth this blazingly wonderful thing called life?
Generally, I have never felt so. I can blame other people for that, and I would be right to do so. I can blame myself for that, and I would be right to do so.
Blame never solved any problem, but understanding cause can be helpful in the long run. I mean really, who do we blame for this. Though satisfying as it might be to rip someone apart for that, and punish them by doing this. In the end, that helps no one. So instead just think of the reason, and if you want to know the reason for Beiber, simply follow these steps.
1. Go to the nearest bathroom.
2. Look in the mirror.
3. Repent.
Ok, I am getting off track here, the important thing is, I almost never feel like anything I do matters. I have always felt that I am an easy person to cast aside and that there is nothing of value in me to other people. This used to depress me in many severe ways. That has passed for the most part as I am now able to really distinguish between flawed thinking and reality.
That being said, it is still a not fun thing.
Today, I learned something new about myself, and about someone I cherish deeply. I need to take some medicine from time to time.
Sometimes we all need to be reminded that despite all of our flaws, we are worth being around, even in the bad times where we need someone else to lean on.
The story doesn't end here though folks. It never does with me. I want to tell you about my medicine.
Cute as a button and yet that could not even begin to describe my medicine.
There is something about the way it is shaped that is just appealing. Some drug addicts talk about how appealing the package is, and while that i important, it is not enough in my good medicine.
Don't get me wrong, the reality is, my medicine is no Megan fox, but in a way, my medicine is so much better looking than Megan fox will ever be. Classic beauty is overrated and frankly leaves something out...I think it is the human equation. When I look at a Megan Fox, I can appreciate it in the same way I can appreciate a beautiful flower. tructuraly speaking it is perfect. That perfection is not beauty though, that perfection is a technical thing. Real beauty is about looking at omething that may not be perfect, but seeing it that way. My medicine may not be perfect, but my medicine is so damn beautiful that perfection is a leser thing.
My medicine's eyes contain a spark of life that is unlike any I think I have ever seen. It just seems like my medicine is there and real, never a placebo, never a low dosage, but always full and the perfect amount.
My medicine is smart. Not because my medicine can explain the theory of relativity, but because my medicine knows what to say, when to say it, and more importantly how to say it. So many people ssay the wrong thing at the wrong time, or merely get lost in their own mind and blurt out what seems to be the right thing based on their world view, but rather, my medicine knows what I need.
The remarkable thing about the intellect of my medicine is that my medicine knows what my medicine doesn't know. My medicine seeks out knowledge, eats it for breakfast lunch and dinner, and then asks for seconds. My medicine also doesn't accept crap answers.
My medicine is a special snowflake. Unique in the fact that it can do so much and yet cost so little. Nothing acts like my medicine. Frankly, nothing should, yet my medicine makes it work.
Sometimes I have to be strong for my medicine, and sometimes my medicine has to be strong for me. I am not sure why my medicine is strong for me, but I do know why I am strong for my medicine.
I once forgot that, and some jerk changed my prescription, but I have finally found the right doctor who is willing to prescribe the right medicine, the good medicine.
When I am feeling blue, my medicine makes me red.
When I am red, my medicine makes me blue.
Good medicine is what I highly recommend to anyone who is struggling with anything, because good medicine can make all the difference. Good medicine can motivate, satiate, aggravate, and just plain immolate the senses.
I am thankful for good medicine, because in some strange way I am comforted by the fact that my medicine is there for me when I need, in good times and in bad.
What can I say about my good medicine that I have not said before
Good medicine is beautiful, smart, kind, funny, short, and worth every penny.
My hope is that I will be paying for my medicine for the rest of my life, because once you have the right medicine, you never let go, you just ride it out and hope for the best.
Thank you for being there medicine.
Disclaimer:
Good medicine may cause
Drowsiness
headaches
heartaches
diarrhea
delusions of world domination
a burning sensation (only if good medicine has matches)
smiles
laughter
nasal leakage
The desire to put things in sterlite containers
a new found appreciation for track suits
sunny days
pathetic adoration
Consult a doctor if good medicine causes heartache that lasts for longer than 10 seconds, you get an erection for more than 4 hours, or if you experience sadness while on good medicine, cause something is not working.
I love my good medicine, and my good medicine loves me back, cause otherwise, good medicine wouldn`t work.
PS, I guess I am thankful for something after all. Must be the thanksgiving miracle charlie brown.
All my senses become electrified as I open the door and see her standing there.
She is wearing a brown track suit. It clings to her because it is raining outside. Slung over her shoulder is a fine purse, I don't know the make because I am a dude, but I can see it, it almost matches her track suit. It definitely matches her large rubber boots.
In her hands is a toaster. I have no idea what she plans to do with it, but it probably isn't natural.
My eyes get lost in hers. Their is mischief in there, and the light of a thousand lives, and the darkness of lost souls who had the misfortune to get lost in there.
This is not a nightmare, it is a dream. Sweet dreams are made of these.
I think I may have found a cure for the blahs and I am calling it good medicine, and no, I am not referring to this.
For the past few days I have been looking for a silver lining or a bright ray of sunshine. I have said that life needs purpose a reason, a redeeming quality and factor to it.
My life has been rough. I have had some of the worst things imaginable done to me, and have done some to others as well. Sitting alone with my thoughts, which some people know is a terrible idea, I find myself wondering what positive effects I have. Am I worth this blazingly wonderful thing called life?
Generally, I have never felt so. I can blame other people for that, and I would be right to do so. I can blame myself for that, and I would be right to do so.
Blame never solved any problem, but understanding cause can be helpful in the long run. I mean really, who do we blame for this. Though satisfying as it might be to rip someone apart for that, and punish them by doing this. In the end, that helps no one. So instead just think of the reason, and if you want to know the reason for Beiber, simply follow these steps.
1. Go to the nearest bathroom.
2. Look in the mirror.
3. Repent.
Ok, I am getting off track here, the important thing is, I almost never feel like anything I do matters. I have always felt that I am an easy person to cast aside and that there is nothing of value in me to other people. This used to depress me in many severe ways. That has passed for the most part as I am now able to really distinguish between flawed thinking and reality.
That being said, it is still a not fun thing.
Today, I learned something new about myself, and about someone I cherish deeply. I need to take some medicine from time to time.
Sometimes we all need to be reminded that despite all of our flaws, we are worth being around, even in the bad times where we need someone else to lean on.
The story doesn't end here though folks. It never does with me. I want to tell you about my medicine.
Cute as a button and yet that could not even begin to describe my medicine.
There is something about the way it is shaped that is just appealing. Some drug addicts talk about how appealing the package is, and while that i important, it is not enough in my good medicine.
Don't get me wrong, the reality is, my medicine is no Megan fox, but in a way, my medicine is so much better looking than Megan fox will ever be. Classic beauty is overrated and frankly leaves something out...I think it is the human equation. When I look at a Megan Fox, I can appreciate it in the same way I can appreciate a beautiful flower. tructuraly speaking it is perfect. That perfection is not beauty though, that perfection is a technical thing. Real beauty is about looking at omething that may not be perfect, but seeing it that way. My medicine may not be perfect, but my medicine is so damn beautiful that perfection is a leser thing.
My medicine's eyes contain a spark of life that is unlike any I think I have ever seen. It just seems like my medicine is there and real, never a placebo, never a low dosage, but always full and the perfect amount.
My medicine is smart. Not because my medicine can explain the theory of relativity, but because my medicine knows what to say, when to say it, and more importantly how to say it. So many people ssay the wrong thing at the wrong time, or merely get lost in their own mind and blurt out what seems to be the right thing based on their world view, but rather, my medicine knows what I need.
The remarkable thing about the intellect of my medicine is that my medicine knows what my medicine doesn't know. My medicine seeks out knowledge, eats it for breakfast lunch and dinner, and then asks for seconds. My medicine also doesn't accept crap answers.
My medicine is a special snowflake. Unique in the fact that it can do so much and yet cost so little. Nothing acts like my medicine. Frankly, nothing should, yet my medicine makes it work.
Sometimes I have to be strong for my medicine, and sometimes my medicine has to be strong for me. I am not sure why my medicine is strong for me, but I do know why I am strong for my medicine.
I once forgot that, and some jerk changed my prescription, but I have finally found the right doctor who is willing to prescribe the right medicine, the good medicine.
When I am feeling blue, my medicine makes me red.
When I am red, my medicine makes me blue.
Good medicine is what I highly recommend to anyone who is struggling with anything, because good medicine can make all the difference. Good medicine can motivate, satiate, aggravate, and just plain immolate the senses.
I am thankful for good medicine, because in some strange way I am comforted by the fact that my medicine is there for me when I need, in good times and in bad.
What can I say about my good medicine that I have not said before
Good medicine is beautiful, smart, kind, funny, short, and worth every penny.
My hope is that I will be paying for my medicine for the rest of my life, because once you have the right medicine, you never let go, you just ride it out and hope for the best.
Thank you for being there medicine.
Disclaimer:
Good medicine may cause
Drowsiness
headaches
heartaches
diarrhea
delusions of world domination
a burning sensation (only if good medicine has matches)
smiles
laughter
nasal leakage
The desire to put things in sterlite containers
a new found appreciation for track suits
sunny days
pathetic adoration
Consult a doctor if good medicine causes heartache that lasts for longer than 10 seconds, you get an erection for more than 4 hours, or if you experience sadness while on good medicine, cause something is not working.
I love my good medicine, and my good medicine loves me back, cause otherwise, good medicine wouldn`t work.
PS, I guess I am thankful for something after all. Must be the thanksgiving miracle charlie brown.
Thursday, October 7, 2010
casey jones- The Ungrateful Dead
So this weekend is thanksgiving, at least it is here in the Frozen North. That usually means people are scrambling to find family to torture or pathetic friends to save. It also usually means people will comb the surface of their brain like an over zealous stormtrooper on the sands of tatooine looking for droids.
If you expect me to do either of those things, this is not the blog you are looking for.
So many people are so thankful for all their gifts in this life, and try as I might, I am not one of them. I rarely if ever consider anything in my life a gift. This is almost exclusively to do with the yin yang of everything in my life.
Many people are thankful for their parents. I could try and be, but when your parents both love and hate you at the same time it isn't easy to be thankful.
Many people are thankful for love. I simply am not one of those. My love for others has always been misplaced or blown up real fast. Those who have professed to love me have simply dissipated. Ok not so simply in some cases but frig that, invisibility is invisibility.
It is at this point a normal person would scream out I am unlovable. I ain't gonna do that. First of all, I am not normal, and second of all, I am lovable in my own way.
Sure I am fucked up, but at least I have the balls to admit it, and the ridiculous lack of shame to blog about it on the internet.
Many people are thankful for their job. HAHAHA!
Moving on.
Many people are thankful for their friends. In a way I should be, but I am not. I am no longer comfortable with any of them. I may never have been simply because I am never able to be fully and truly me with any of them save 3. One dissapeared, one lives in another country and one expects more from me than I can deliver.
The vast majority of people are thankful for life. I am not. Like all yin tang situations, my life has been extraordinarily blessed and cursed. Yet those great joys seem hollow and empty now as I look back on them because they were never what I wanted. All those little victories were tainted by the fact that they could have been much more.
The pain. The pain was real.
Someone foolishly said to me today I should not rest on my laurels. I would like to gut him like a fish right now, and I hate fish.
No quarter given, no respect for the distance traveled so far, merely penalizing me for not having reached the finish line as posted by him.
Few know enough about me to actually say to me, I know you well enough by now.... in fact I think only two living souls have a right to say that...maybe three. That third is most likely not smart enough to actually know me.
At some point pride is valuable. Self esteem is valuable. Self worth is valuable.
To all those who climbed out of the gutter to stand on the side of the road I salute you, and welcome to the club.
There are gutters in life, and not those shiny ones in your bowling alleys that simply spit your ball back out when you slide it in there by accident. There are gutters that consume. Gutters that are full of quicksand and tar, with dirty needles for rocks and dead bodies for bumpers.
There are gutters full of the diseased, the sick the abandoned, the lonely.
This is the gutter of the abused. This is the gutter of the guilty. This is the gutter of the forgotten and the downtrodden. The gutter of the traumatized. The gutter of the addict. The gutter of the poor. The gutter of the misbegotten.
When someone crawls out of that gutter, stands up, looks around and says, can anyone help me find the way back home, you don't tell them find it yourself. You do not tell them hey I see you got yourself out of the gutter, why can't you find your way home?
My story is not that different from others.
Abused by 3.
Broken so badly that the vast majority of people with my injury can't feed themselves let alone think for themselves.
Scared, stalked and alone.
Abandoned and mistreated.
Lost and found in a place not for the weak of heart.
Abandoned again.
Guilty of so much hate and hurt.
Abandoned again.
Left to addiction, and almost lost.
Freed through willpower and inner strength, only to make the same mistakes again because my roadmap is shit.
Broken down and misguided.
Foolish in love to the point it breaks him again.
Lost and alone.
Reinvents himself and begins a wicked journey of self discovery that he hopes will lead him home.
Lost a drift. Begging for a light and help with the map.
Fuck you if you think I haven't done enough. Fuck you if you think it is so easy to get this far.
Ahh what have I done? Laid bare my angst and anger over everything. So be it. Feel free to judge me all you want. I am strong enough to withstand your opinions, it is myself that is the true harsh critic.
Personal savior indeed. Look for your strength in others if that warms you at night. I like the cold.
Go ahead and tell me again how I like the inner strength to make change. Go ahead.
Yay me for being stupid enough to share this with you all. The fact is, maybe you can learn from my mistakes, and even if you don't, I can still be a cautionary tale.
What I will not do is be thankful for all this shit.
It never really amounted to much, after all, I haven't amounted to jackshit. But, I have managed to accomplish something few do, I got out, and I breathed clean air for a bit. It was kinda fun, in a messed up sort of way.
Now, go forth children and be thankful. Be thankful you are not me, since I am weak and pathetic and not worth anyone's kudos.
If you expect me to do either of those things, this is not the blog you are looking for.
So many people are so thankful for all their gifts in this life, and try as I might, I am not one of them. I rarely if ever consider anything in my life a gift. This is almost exclusively to do with the yin yang of everything in my life.
Many people are thankful for their parents. I could try and be, but when your parents both love and hate you at the same time it isn't easy to be thankful.
Many people are thankful for love. I simply am not one of those. My love for others has always been misplaced or blown up real fast. Those who have professed to love me have simply dissipated. Ok not so simply in some cases but frig that, invisibility is invisibility.
It is at this point a normal person would scream out I am unlovable. I ain't gonna do that. First of all, I am not normal, and second of all, I am lovable in my own way.
Sure I am fucked up, but at least I have the balls to admit it, and the ridiculous lack of shame to blog about it on the internet.
Many people are thankful for their job. HAHAHA!
Moving on.
Many people are thankful for their friends. In a way I should be, but I am not. I am no longer comfortable with any of them. I may never have been simply because I am never able to be fully and truly me with any of them save 3. One dissapeared, one lives in another country and one expects more from me than I can deliver.
The vast majority of people are thankful for life. I am not. Like all yin tang situations, my life has been extraordinarily blessed and cursed. Yet those great joys seem hollow and empty now as I look back on them because they were never what I wanted. All those little victories were tainted by the fact that they could have been much more.
The pain. The pain was real.
Someone foolishly said to me today I should not rest on my laurels. I would like to gut him like a fish right now, and I hate fish.
No quarter given, no respect for the distance traveled so far, merely penalizing me for not having reached the finish line as posted by him.
Few know enough about me to actually say to me, I know you well enough by now.... in fact I think only two living souls have a right to say that...maybe three. That third is most likely not smart enough to actually know me.
At some point pride is valuable. Self esteem is valuable. Self worth is valuable.
To all those who climbed out of the gutter to stand on the side of the road I salute you, and welcome to the club.
There are gutters in life, and not those shiny ones in your bowling alleys that simply spit your ball back out when you slide it in there by accident. There are gutters that consume. Gutters that are full of quicksand and tar, with dirty needles for rocks and dead bodies for bumpers.
There are gutters full of the diseased, the sick the abandoned, the lonely.
This is the gutter of the abused. This is the gutter of the guilty. This is the gutter of the forgotten and the downtrodden. The gutter of the traumatized. The gutter of the addict. The gutter of the poor. The gutter of the misbegotten.
When someone crawls out of that gutter, stands up, looks around and says, can anyone help me find the way back home, you don't tell them find it yourself. You do not tell them hey I see you got yourself out of the gutter, why can't you find your way home?
My story is not that different from others.
Abused by 3.
Broken so badly that the vast majority of people with my injury can't feed themselves let alone think for themselves.
Scared, stalked and alone.
Abandoned and mistreated.
Lost and found in a place not for the weak of heart.
Abandoned again.
Guilty of so much hate and hurt.
Abandoned again.
Left to addiction, and almost lost.
Freed through willpower and inner strength, only to make the same mistakes again because my roadmap is shit.
Broken down and misguided.
Foolish in love to the point it breaks him again.
Lost and alone.
Reinvents himself and begins a wicked journey of self discovery that he hopes will lead him home.
Lost a drift. Begging for a light and help with the map.
Fuck you if you think I haven't done enough. Fuck you if you think it is so easy to get this far.
Ahh what have I done? Laid bare my angst and anger over everything. So be it. Feel free to judge me all you want. I am strong enough to withstand your opinions, it is myself that is the true harsh critic.
Personal savior indeed. Look for your strength in others if that warms you at night. I like the cold.
Go ahead and tell me again how I like the inner strength to make change. Go ahead.
Yay me for being stupid enough to share this with you all. The fact is, maybe you can learn from my mistakes, and even if you don't, I can still be a cautionary tale.
What I will not do is be thankful for all this shit.
It never really amounted to much, after all, I haven't amounted to jackshit. But, I have managed to accomplish something few do, I got out, and I breathed clean air for a bit. It was kinda fun, in a messed up sort of way.
Now, go forth children and be thankful. Be thankful you are not me, since I am weak and pathetic and not worth anyone's kudos.
Sunday, October 3, 2010
On the Shoulders of midgets on the shoulders of dwarves on the shoulders of men on the shoulders of half giants on the shoulders of giants.
Longest title ever! It will actually make sense, at least to my twisted world view at a certain point in my meanderings.
So, what is the monkey on about? He is on about creativity.....again. This time not just his own, but also that of every other paper tiger and moving picture hack. You see, there is nothing new anymore. This is a tragedy. Even I must steal from me in order to complete my latest assignment.
That assignment is instructing you on the sadness of the creative world.
I recently had a convoluted idea of a story, which in my head was greatness. It was going to change the way people saw the world. This idea was going to shape the generations that follow. It would be so profoundly mesmerizing interesting, creative and insightful that I would live off of it for the rest of my life.
This one idea would put food on my table, give me something to do and force others to worship me....you know not in that god way, but like they would any flavour of celebrity or minor deity of genius...or at least like Val Kilmer. This joke works because Val is a minor celebrity, and was in a movie called real genius...which btw is the third best movie ever made).
I had it all mapped out in my head. It had compelling characters, a gritty raw emotional feel that would be understood and felt by all. It had just the right amount of explosions and boobs...which is pretty much the hardest equation to accomplish. It could be said that Under Seige had either too little boob or too much explosion for example. My idea had emotional and spiritual attraction for the ladies, and knife fights for the dudes. It had no pirates either, gay or otherwise, though I imagine in my mind Johnny Depp would still want a part in the movie version because that guy knows genius.
I percolated on said idea for a few days, really shaping it and molding it in to the brilliant idea that would not only win me writing awards, but also an Oscar and the love of a good Megan fox. All was going well, until my muse/evil partner/hate filled midget/destroyer of fine dreams everywhere got involved.
I laid bare my plan for winning the hearts and minds of the masses, and this is what she said.
"Oh, so like lost, but in a bomb shelter."
For the 37th time, she broke my heart. I believe she now takes joy in it, as if it was a sport, or at least a hobby.
She also managed to put a small, angry, disaffected voice to my other thought. There is no creativity anymore.
I can Prove it.
CSIMINDSINTHENAVYORDEROFNUMBEREDBONES.
LOSTHEROESDURINGTHEEVENT.
I first noticed this trend of patheticism during the summer of discontent in which every movie was about some type of Ragnarok. Ben Affleck needed to save the world from a deep impact or some such nonsensical Armageddon.
I blogged about a similar phenomenon not too long ago in regards to GI Joe. It has only gotten worse.
Not only are people purchasing the rights to other stories, they are now simply rebooting dead movies.
I noticed this with Batman. It had been a whole series of movies, then it died. Then it was reborn with a new, grittier feel and a scary crazy actor.
This trend is continuing. They are going to continue to simply remake old movies. They are going to continue to remake television shows....there can be only one filler of the daisy dukes, and I do not care if she is a lesbian.
What is worse than all of those examples is the trend of noticing someone else`s success, and rather than using it to motivate you to reach for your own pot of gold, it drives you to envy, jealousy and desperate measure. It drives you to write the exact same story in a new location. It drives one to copy what others have done, set it in an exciting, exotic locale, slap your own name on it and resell it to people.
If you liked CSI, then you will love CSI Tahiti. Same great dead bodies, now with 60% more bikini clad women and speedo wearing six packs.
I get that there are true victims in all of this...besides the dulled minds of the masses, those victims are the barely creative wannabes like me.
Having never seen lost, I had no idea I was copying them. In that case, I could have continued with my idea and felt reasonable that I was being creative. Yet in the end, I would only be disappointed by the masses when they in fact paid me for my product; after all, we buy no name ketchup right? There must be some kind of math equation hollywood uses to determine the deteriorating return on a good idea.
AB-u=X
ab-u=Y
Repeat step 2.
When Y=0 search for A
A=new idea
B= Sales of new idea
U-Budget costs
X equals profit
a=retread
b= diminishing returns
u= ridiculously low production cost.
Y= reduced profit MArgin
That seems about right. Spend high at first, then reduce quality, dilute product until the masses no longer accept the product, then start over.
I fail to see the appeal in this. I fail to see why we should reward people for stealing other's ideas, repackaging them and giving them to us, even if it is at a reduced pricve...which it rarely is, or if it is, it is because quality is so pathetic.
Having said all of this, I think it matters to point out that Shakespeare stole all the good ideas anyway, so what are we left with?
Pretty much stuff that goes Boom or stuff that goes Bump.
To sum up, Shakespeare is a jerk, short people are mean, I am uncreative...accidentally, and I managed to make a Val Kilmer reference and a Paris Hilton reference in a single blog post. Now that takes creativity.
So, what is the monkey on about? He is on about creativity.....again. This time not just his own, but also that of every other paper tiger and moving picture hack. You see, there is nothing new anymore. This is a tragedy. Even I must steal from me in order to complete my latest assignment.
That assignment is instructing you on the sadness of the creative world.
I recently had a convoluted idea of a story, which in my head was greatness. It was going to change the way people saw the world. This idea was going to shape the generations that follow. It would be so profoundly mesmerizing interesting, creative and insightful that I would live off of it for the rest of my life.
This one idea would put food on my table, give me something to do and force others to worship me....you know not in that god way, but like they would any flavour of celebrity or minor deity of genius...or at least like Val Kilmer. This joke works because Val is a minor celebrity, and was in a movie called real genius...which btw is the third best movie ever made).
I had it all mapped out in my head. It had compelling characters, a gritty raw emotional feel that would be understood and felt by all. It had just the right amount of explosions and boobs...which is pretty much the hardest equation to accomplish. It could be said that Under Seige had either too little boob or too much explosion for example. My idea had emotional and spiritual attraction for the ladies, and knife fights for the dudes. It had no pirates either, gay or otherwise, though I imagine in my mind Johnny Depp would still want a part in the movie version because that guy knows genius.
I percolated on said idea for a few days, really shaping it and molding it in to the brilliant idea that would not only win me writing awards, but also an Oscar and the love of a good Megan fox. All was going well, until my muse/evil partner/hate filled midget/destroyer of fine dreams everywhere got involved.
I laid bare my plan for winning the hearts and minds of the masses, and this is what she said.
"Oh, so like lost, but in a bomb shelter."
For the 37th time, she broke my heart. I believe she now takes joy in it, as if it was a sport, or at least a hobby.
She also managed to put a small, angry, disaffected voice to my other thought. There is no creativity anymore.
I can Prove it.
CSIMINDSINTHENAVYORDEROFNUMBEREDBONES.
LOSTHEROESDURINGTHEEVENT.
I first noticed this trend of patheticism during the summer of discontent in which every movie was about some type of Ragnarok. Ben Affleck needed to save the world from a deep impact or some such nonsensical Armageddon.
I blogged about a similar phenomenon not too long ago in regards to GI Joe. It has only gotten worse.
Not only are people purchasing the rights to other stories, they are now simply rebooting dead movies.
I noticed this with Batman. It had been a whole series of movies, then it died. Then it was reborn with a new, grittier feel and a scary crazy actor.
This trend is continuing. They are going to continue to simply remake old movies. They are going to continue to remake television shows....there can be only one filler of the daisy dukes, and I do not care if she is a lesbian.
What is worse than all of those examples is the trend of noticing someone else`s success, and rather than using it to motivate you to reach for your own pot of gold, it drives you to envy, jealousy and desperate measure. It drives you to write the exact same story in a new location. It drives one to copy what others have done, set it in an exciting, exotic locale, slap your own name on it and resell it to people.
If you liked CSI, then you will love CSI Tahiti. Same great dead bodies, now with 60% more bikini clad women and speedo wearing six packs.
I get that there are true victims in all of this...besides the dulled minds of the masses, those victims are the barely creative wannabes like me.
Having never seen lost, I had no idea I was copying them. In that case, I could have continued with my idea and felt reasonable that I was being creative. Yet in the end, I would only be disappointed by the masses when they in fact paid me for my product; after all, we buy no name ketchup right? There must be some kind of math equation hollywood uses to determine the deteriorating return on a good idea.
AB-u=X
ab-u=Y
Repeat step 2.
When Y=0 search for A
A=new idea
B= Sales of new idea
U-Budget costs
X equals profit
a=retread
b= diminishing returns
u= ridiculously low production cost.
Y= reduced profit MArgin
That seems about right. Spend high at first, then reduce quality, dilute product until the masses no longer accept the product, then start over.
I fail to see the appeal in this. I fail to see why we should reward people for stealing other's ideas, repackaging them and giving them to us, even if it is at a reduced pricve...which it rarely is, or if it is, it is because quality is so pathetic.
Having said all of this, I think it matters to point out that Shakespeare stole all the good ideas anyway, so what are we left with?
Pretty much stuff that goes Boom or stuff that goes Bump.
To sum up, Shakespeare is a jerk, short people are mean, I am uncreative...accidentally, and I managed to make a Val Kilmer reference and a Paris Hilton reference in a single blog post. Now that takes creativity.
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