If We Can't Trust Mean Girls, What Can We Trust?

Here's the thing.

Firstly, apologies, because I feel like this blog is all of a sudden getting like...serious. Ick. 

Secondly, rant time. (It's the rant that never fails, makes me want to wag my tail, when I hear it gotta wail RAAAAANNT TIMME!)

Using derogatory slang against your own sub-group is not okay. It's not. Just because you're black, it doesn't mean you get to say "nigger" stigma-free. Just because you're gay, it doesn't mean you get to say "faggot."

Now understand me. I'm not going to come up in here and give you an entire speech on censorship of language, and how some words should never be used, because no. Maybe there are times when "faggot" is the only appropriate word. I don't know.

Here's what I'm trying to say: the fact that the insult happens to include you does not make it any different from any other slur. If you want to call yourself, and ONLY yourself, a "chink" or something for whatever reason, then sure. Be my guest. 

But you don't get to decide that for other people. And you definitely don't get to be offended when other people use the same terms. It's not okay. It's a ridiculous double standard that is only perpetuating every kind of bigotry. It's creating a situation wherein it is almost impossible to think of people exclusive of their various backgrounds. 

Sometimes these words can be funny, and I'm all for humor. But when you're just casually greeting someone "hey, faggot" you're only supporting identification of people as something other than people.

Basically, to sum up: 

"Stop calling each other sluts and whores. It's only making it okay for guys to call you sluts and whores."

Tina Fey is never wrong. 

Of Course It's Happening In Your Head, Harry

Fellas, let's clear something up.

It's a serious pet peeve of mine, and we're gonna talk about it, because I have the power to do that here.

Novels are fiction. They're not true. However, that doesn't mean they aren't real. Novels have a message. They are usually meant to effect change, or thought, or emotion, or all three. If you choose not to read them that way, if you choose to read them as entertainment and take from them no greater purpose, if you choose to view the world the same way after reading them, that's your choice. I'm not arguing about that right now.

However, a lot of people don't like to read them that way.  They like to view them as fiction with a message, as a medium to communicate social views.

Here's the problem. The world is one large, amorphous shade of gray. There is right and wrong and good and evil and rationality and emotion and acceptance and prejudice. But none of these things exists in a vacuum, or in fact can exist in a vacuum. They only make sense within a strange, overlapping set of contexts that are constantly manipulated and infinitely malleable.

When people are viewing novels, however, specifically intended messages of novels, they disregard this entirely. They view messages as prejudiced or unprejudiced, valid or invalid, one extreme or the other.

It does not benefit anyone, writer or reader, to view them this way. If you intend to apply a message (or even acknowledge that the message was meant to be applied) to a real world full of conditions and uncertainties, it makes zero sense to view them through a lens without those uncertainties. If they're to have any meaning at all in a wider context, they need to be afforded themselves the privilege of that same context.

Oversimplifying the message of a book -- makeup is bad, the world is going to hell, Jesus is Lord -- without regard to the contexts, emotions, and conditions within that book is just as bad as oversimplifying a person you meet on the street. You are doing the book and its message a severe injustice by regarding a real affirmation in a fictional world without the weight of a real affirmation in a real world.

This is the way it is.

You cannot convince me that messages within fictional contexts have any less weight, any less validity, or indeed any less complexity than other messages. If you view it as a silly moral of an untrue story, it can never have profound weight.

If a character has a flawed worldview, and is observing phenomena within that world, it is absurd to assume their views are unflawed. If an author has a political leaning, and is commenting on the politics or worlds real or fictional, it is absurd to assume their views are unbiased. This is a world of few simplicities, and it is important to remember that novels exist in that world.  The set of contexts should not narrow under the umbrella of fiction, but rather widen to include the fictional contexts as well as the real ones.

So the next time you affirm that a book is saying that the government is prejudiced without considering the context of the world and the author and the characters and your own reading, you yourself are practicing prejudice. You are disregarding the possible effects and lasting resonances of fiction, and robbing it of a world of possible value.

I Won't Lie to You, this Post has Zero Plan. Zero.

I'm not kidding about the plan thing.

Usually I at least have some sort of idea when I go to write one of these. So as not to bore the teeming masses of invisible intangible imaginary people who read them. You know, courtesy.

But fellas, today there really isn't anything. I just wanted to write something, I really did. But the only thing I can think about is my freakishly small ears.

It's not that I think they look freakishly small, because I don't. In fact I've never found myself displeased with the proportion of my ears, and as I am a woman and have thus studied all my body parts in detail and with a fierce critical eye, this is an achievement. Ear-wise. But I have to conclude they're freakishly small because OH MY GOD THE PAIN.

You know those earbuds that come with iPods, right? The white ones? Of course you do. I know you're using them to listen to Aerosmith right now. (Why do I assume that the people who read my blog like Aerosmith...? I don't even like Aerosmith...in fact, I can't even name an Aerosmith song. Not one.) The point is, they come in the box, they're not bad sound quality, they, like, provide music. Everyone uses them. They're free (well, relatively. More like a sunk cost. But if your dad is an economist like mine, that means free.)  So they seem like the perfect option for listening to your explicit Aerosmith lyrics when Nana is in the room. (Does Aerosmith have explicit lyrics? And why am I using so many parentheses in one paragraph?)

Except here's the problem. THEY HURT ME LIKE HELL.  Oh, my God, I can't even stand it. It's almost as if they were designed specifically for my torture. Firstly, I can't force them to nestle how I assume they're supposed to in my ears in any way. They're always awkwardly wedged in there, like the proverbial square pegs in round holes. And they defy all logic, too, because they manage to be both too tight and too loose at the same time. I kid you not. They are so tight in my ear that both of mine are literally going numb right now from the pain of using them, but at the same time, they will lift free with the slightest provocation. I barely need to twitch before one or both come careening out of my ears. Personally, I think my ears are forcing them out in self-defense.  It really hurts me, and I forgot how much.

I must be the only one who feels this way. I have to be. Otherwise everyone else is taking great care in the global conspiracy to lie to me. And since no one else is discomforted, I must have freakishly small ears. Which doesn't make sense, because they look normal, and I have a huge head, so they would look even smaller in comparison if they were unusually small.

And I can't just not use the headphones, because my nice ones broke and I don't have any money to buy ones that are not a sunk cost.

Fellas, life is hard.
On the upside, I managed to eek out a post about basically nothing. Feel free to skip it. In fact, just happen navigate away from the page and then come back so you can skip it. I'll wait.

Trachea Envy would Crush the Best of Us

So, this may shock you because I'm the type of person who complains about the syntactical choices of popular fantasy authors, but until very recently I was a Star Wars virgin.

I mean, it's not like I knew NOTHING. I do live in the world as we know it, the one with the internet and such. So I knew everything. That Luke and Leia were siblings. That Darth Vader was Luke's father. That Han Solo gets frozen by the Empire after saying "I know" in response to "I love you." That Chewbacca doesn't get a medal at the end of A New Hope.  I'm telling you that I knew. But I'd never actually seen it, you know, all the way through. From hillbilly farmboy to his elegant weapon from a more civilzied age to light-saber fights to frost planets to Yoda to Death Star 2.0 to Endorian rebellion. (I still haven't seen the prequels, but the Internet at large assures me that I'm not missing much. Except, Natalie Portman, fellas. Even as a straight girl I have to show some love for the Natalie Portman.)

Anyway, I hadn't seen it. So I forced my friend to show me the original trilogy in his basement and we had a gay old time. It was magical. But I actually have a couple of questions.

First, like, what the hell happened to Obi-Wan? I mean, he was "hit" by a light-saber, allegedly, and then he up and vanished. When anyone else in the series gets hit by a light-saber, they get up and dead but the rotting corpse tends to stick around. I don't understand. And then he becomes like an advice-dispensing hologram thing like the carnival game in Big that turned a boy into Tom Hanks. I mean, he was supposed to be dead, right? Like Anakin at the end? (I think that was changed from the original: I saw some sort of DVD version that was prequel-friendly. Don't ask me.) I mean, were they like hi-tech ghosts or was Luke just using The Force to access their...spirits, or whatever?

Also, I'm gonna say something now that may shock you. I want to know where the name Ewok came from. Because, and I promise, fellas, I'm not lying. Seriously. You may want to sit down for this.

They never say the word "ewok" in any of the goddamn films.

I'm telling you. I told you before, I knew everything going in. I knew what an ewok was. I just expected them to say it at some point. But no one. Ever. Does.

So, what, was that a George Lucas press release or something? Or did some fan just come up with it and everyone assumed it was cannon? Because, really. Really.

Also, there is no rational reason on any planet ever that Luke would figure out Leia was his sister. Let's break it down. Obi-Wan's ghost/hologram/Zoltar machine told Luke that his sister was well hidden for her safety or whatever. Do you know what Luke says right after that?

"Leia!" with an air of "Of course!"

Where the hell did he get that? I mean, I don't normally consider prominent public figures to be "well hidden."  Particularly since early in the series Leia and Darth Vader are shown interacting. Personally. And it's clear by their conversation that they've done it before. So it seems like someone who was supposed to be hidden from Darth Vader was absolutely the opposite of Leia. And don't tell me that he like "felt the Force" in her or something, because a) she didn't even feel it herself and b) he would have had to have noticed that much sooner, considering b1) he was practically a Jedi master when he figured this out and b2) Darth Vader had "sensed" Luke's Force being "strong" while he was chasing him in a completely separate fighter jet ship thingy and b3) Luke had actually exchanged genetic material with Leia by this point.

So the only logical conclusion is that Luke immediately went to the first and only girl he knew and Obi-Wan happened to confirm it. It's a good thing that there weren't any other female rebels (or really female people around period), or else it would have been a long guessing game.

Lastly, I have a theory. And that's that Darth Vader is only all mad because of trachea envy.
Examine the evidence.

1) He clearly must not have a normally functioning trachea because you can hear his iconic breathing while he is talking, which is not normal lung/throat/mouth functioning. Therefore, his mask/suit/evil masculinity must be respirating for him independently of his trachea, producing an unrealistic workaround if his trachea actually did work properly.

2) Every time -- and I mean every time -- Darth goes to kill someone who is not a Jedi, he does this by using the Force. To asphyxiate them. By making a pinching motion with his fingers. On his victims' tracheae.

Fellas, it makes so much sense. Anakin is just upset that he can't breathe like a real boy anymore, and it makes him do all sorts of cranky stuff.

Think about that before you smoke: you could be the next Imperial villain.

The Epic Saga Journey of no just stop it

Rant time!
Well, no, I don't think it's ranting if you're just mildly irritated. But the internet likes rants, so for our purposes it's a rant.


Okay, here we go. Fellas, when did it stop being okay to just call something a "series"?


Or even a "trilogy"?


I'm talking here about things like The Twilight Saga and The Inheritance Cycle and there are probably other examples but it's hard to Google that sort of thing. Now I get that the Inheritance Cycle was meant to be a trilogy, and that's what Christopher Paolini used to call it, until publishers or money or an immense overabundance of plot-lines killed that dream. But why did you have to throw in the word "cycle?" Are you too good for "series," like everyone else? Is it because it's about magic and dragons and stuff, and you felt you needed to be special? (I do get that you didn't go for "Quartet,"  because 1. I would expect it to burst into four-part harmony at any moment and 2. that way you can pretend it was always gonna be a "cycle" not a "trilogy". "They printed 'Trilogy' on the first two? THOSE ASSHOLES!")


Even more confounding is The Twilight Saga. We all know you weren't planning three books and one startlingly infuriating paperweight from the start, Stephenie Meyer. We know you thought Twilight was the end of the line, until the cash started rolling in and you threw it at your keyboard to produce more words.  So why throw "saga" on there? Why not series? In fact, why call it anything at all? You could just say "Sequel to Twilight" or "Sexy Vampires Inside" on the cover of New Moon. Honestly, it's a black book with something red on the cover.  Your target audience of pre-teen and adolescent girls with self-esteem problems is going to pick it up whether your name's on the front or not. 


If you're not going to name the series something different than the first book anyway, you might as well not bother with words like "saga." It just makes it sound like it's about more than lusty vampires who once every 700  pages or so have a fight.  That, and it makes it sound like you just had no idea how long you could draw the story out before it became ridiculous. (I'm thinking the point of no return was somewhere in New Moon, unless Taylor Lautner has abs now, in which case TEAM JACOB!!!! <3)


Actually, that's probably what happened. That would explain the entirety of Breaking Dawn. Well, the parts that weren't just sharing personal wedding fantasies. (I'm not judging; we all have them. I just haven't made thousands of dollars on mine. You know, pointing that out.)


And it's different, to me at least, if it's something like The Chronicles of Narnia. There's no backing out on that one. You pull out the word Chronicles from the title and replace it, people are going to notice. And in that case it's not just the name of the series: it's the name of the book, too. It's called The Chronicles of Narnia: The Lion, the Witch, and the Blatantly Obvious Jesus Allegory.  Or something like that. Hell, you can't even tell which one abcfamily is showing today because all the guide can choke out is "The Chronicles of Na--" before they're out of room. And don't tell me that Twilight is the same, Stephenie. I know for a fact you did not pitch the first one as The Twilight Saga: Twilight.


Anyway, the point is that "chronicles" is okay there because starting every book title with "The Series of Narnia" is stupid. The Series of Narnia is some dumb mathematical law your dad tries to teach you on the car ride to Target. The Chronicles of Narnia are badass stories of witches and large wild cats and swords and some shit. And Jesus. Never forget Jesus.


For the rest of you, I think "series" will do. You could even be clever and use it in wordplay like A Series of Unfortunate Events, but then you'll probably have to compensate for your Middle-Child Syndrome with a pen-name like Lemony Snicket.


Win some, lose some.

It's A Lost Art, And I'm the One Who Lost It

Welcome. Welcome to this post.

That's a horrible beginning. But you know what, it's late, and I'm not changing it. In fact, I'm not even apologizing. 

What're you going to do, stop reading my blog? Ha! Impossible! You haven't started! You probably googled "where can i buy glasses" and wound up here by mistake. My unkownedness (that's a word) is why I win this time. 

I WIN. 

Okay, what was my point? I swear there was one. Really. 

Oh, right, letters.

 Fellas, letters are hard. (Okay, if by chance you are a sentient human and reading this, which is slim enough alone, and are female, which narrows that chance to exactly zero, I'm not insulting you or excluding you or anything. I swear. I just like to say "fellas" because it makes me feel like I'm writing to a screaming crowd of admiring males. But classy ones. Like all those guys in the brothel at the beginning of Moulin Rouge when Nicole Kidman is swinging on things. I mean, yeah, they're in a brothel, but they're all wearing tuxes and top hats and stuff, plus they get really excited when all Nicole has to do is swing a little, and I figure swankily dressed men as easily impressed as kindergartners are, like, my ideal target audience.)

Seriously.

You're looking at me funny, I feel it. You're like, "What, the alphabet confuses you?"

Ha-ha, you're hilarious. I'm sure that kills over appletinis at Thursday happy hour. 

But I mean letters, like written letters. To other people. 

Now here's the puzzling bit. It's not that I lack communication skills. I can talk to people very effectively. I can be funny, reasonably charming, energetic, endearingly modest...I can do that. I can talk to people in person, on the phone, by e-mail, instant messenger, facebook chat. I can even write one hell of a birthday card.

But for some reason, when I get a LETTER in front of me, like I start it with "Dear Whoever," I just FREEZE. All of my words just sort of frolic away. I begin to wonder how I ever had any thoughts on any subject EVER, because I cannot conjure a single one. I resort to forced humor in serious situations and writing in fancy script to distract you from the lack of content. 

I just wrote two letters. One was more formal and sentimental, a sort of goodbye letter. That went okay, but only because I'd planned it out first. On a computer. Where the world makes sense. Then I went to write this totally casual  (I mean I-could-have-opened-with-"hey, you"-casual) letter, and I CHOKED. Absolutely lost it. I had to stop early because I was breaking out in a cold sweat. 

Maybe I was freaking out because I was writing in pen, and you can't change that except with correction tape, which is totally visible and sometimes kind of hard to write over, so everyone knows that you don't have brains enough not to screw up the first time. But, come on. It was for one of my best friends, with whom I am frequently ridiculous. And yet writing her a letter almost gave me hives. 

I always thought people were crazy when they said letter-writing was a lost art, because I figured it was pretty much the same as talking or emailing. 

OH HOW WRONG I WAS. 

I'd be curious to know if anyone else feels this crippling fear of letters, or if I'm alone as usual. But seeing as there's no one there to tell me, the world may never know. Because biting the Tootsie Pop is cheating, Mr. Owl. I thought a bird with all the credentials to wear a graduation cap could grasp that.

Okay, Peace out, Fellas. Yup, I'm going to call you that forever. 

Writing is Hard. Except for Blogs, because Nobody Reads it Anyway

Woohoo. No preamble whatsoever, because that's how I roll.

So I wrote a book. Yes, actually. And don't be a jerk and be all "Can I like buy it, like at Borders?" because A) Borders is closed now and I miss it and thanks for rubbing that in, jackass and B) no, because it's not published. You don't just write a book and then Harper Collins and Scholastic show up the next morning and bid for your attention. At least not while you're awake.

So I wrote a book. But I'm not DONE writing the book, I just FINISHED the book. I know. It makes no sense. Here's what I mean. I wrote the whole thing. It has a beginning, a middle, and an end. If it were Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone (and oh that it were), I wrote the part where he becomes a wizard ("but I cahn't be a wizard, I'm just -prepubescent squeak- Harry!") and the part where he has friends and does spells and Seamus burns his eyebrows off a couple times and we learn blond kids are jerks and Jesus I don't remember anything that happens in this book and the part where he goes down and looks in a mirror and defeats Voldemort through the magic of self-confidence or something. I'm not sure. It's been a while.

The point is, I WROTE all that. I have it. I even printed it out, so it's on paper and everything.
But I'm not happy yet. I don't like it. Like Ron still has purple hair and Hermione pretty much sounds like a jerk the whole time and there's this whole character named Barney that just needs to go. Or comparable issues, but in my book.  So I'm fixing it. Revising it. Editing, you know, that fancy writing term.

But I can never bring myself to actually do it. It's always late at night, when I'm almost asleep, that I'm like "YES WRITE A NOVEL NOW NOW NOW THIS WOULD BE THE PERFECT THING TO DO RIGHT NOW I SWEAR."
And that doesn't happen, because half of that thought was already a dream about sneaking off to the Potions room with a Slytherin boy anyway. (It should be clear by now that I like Harry Potter too much.)

So what do I do? I write a blog instead. Because that's productive. All 28 of you who have ever viewed this page, in, you know, all time surely are glad that I'm back. Woofreakinghoo.
Ah, look, I ended the same as I started. That's consistency right there.