This is the last post I'll be making from here.
Check out my new website at sandy-charlton.com for my new site.
Content goes up everyday!
Sincerely,
The Illustrious Mr. Charlton
p.s. Thanks Blogger, for all the good times. Time to put on my big boy pants and make my own site!
Tuesday, 17 May 2016
Tuesday, 5 January 2016
New Years Resolutions, or How I Decided to Sell Out.
I'm not very good at resolutions. I haven't actually been able to stick with any for as long as I can remember. Over the break I was invited to my girlfriend's cabin. They have a ritual where they put their predictions for the next year in a champagne bottle, breaking it open the next year to see if what they had put in came true. I'm not a fan of trying to predict the future, so I left my resolutions pretty vague.
The only thing I put in for certain is I'd love to get paid to write something.
Writing comes pretty easy to me. I can sit down, start hammering away at the keyboard, and have hours whittle away, not noticing that time is flying by. I can crank out thousands of words in a session without having to think about it very much. The more I think about it, the more I like the idea of being a writer. It's a sexy profession for an introvert. You work, by and large, for yourself. You'll have fans who'll tend to be less stalkerish than fans of musicians or movie stars; they tend to also be literate. You might have deadlines, but everything else does.
Writing is easy. Sitting down to write, well, that's something else altogether.
Once you get going, writing is a breeze. What people forget though, and this is true in any vein of artistry, whether it's written or drawn or sculpted or shot or played out on a guitar, is this; art is still work.
It's great work, if you can get paid for it. The words 'Starving Artist' are used for a reason though. At the end of the day, if you come home and write or paint or make internet videos or create a game, it's work. It's work that nurtures the soul, sure, but it is still work. It's not a break.
You know what I'd rather be doing right now? I'll give you a list.
Playing video games
Watching a movie
Having sex
Making food
Eating food
Surfing the internet
Reading a book
Going for a stroll
Building a lego sculpture
Drinking with friends
Lying on my back and pouring Christmas chocolate down my throat while making gurgling sounds.
etc...
Creating art is still work. It's also work that people don't really want to pay for. People have no issue paying five dollars for a coffee. People have a hard time paying for ten dollar book, or a five dollar video game. Artists tend to starve. It's a feast for the very few who find commercial success. It's famine for most.
That's okay. Truthfully, it's always been that way.
So then why is my resolution to get paid for writing? Why do I want to get paid for my art, even if it's terrible? It's because in my head that legitimizes it. When someone asks me what I do I can say, head held high, "I'm a writer. At one point, I have put words onto paper, and then someone gave me money for them. I tricked some jerk into buying my thoughts completely based in fantasy. Currency was transported from their hands to mine." Does it make me a better artist? I doubt it.
They say that success is getting paid for doing something that you are passionate about. I'm a lousy designer. I don't always work well with other, especially when it comes to creative ventures. The only thing I can say I am good at is coming up with ideas. And writing is just putting those ideas down on paper. Someone else can make a movie or a game or a painting or a song about it, if it ever comes to that. Right now, the only thing I've got is a head full of dumb ideas. Hopefully someone is looking to buy dumb ideas.
But then again, Trump is the front runner for the Republican party. Maybe selling dumb ideas won't be that hard.
Sincerely,
The Illustrious Mr. Charlton
p.s. I realise that self publishing is a thing. Writing I'm good at. Selling myself, not so much.
p.s.s. If I get desperate, there is a huge market for Yif Erotic Fiction. I can totally write sexy trash.
p.s.s.s. I also pride myself on being a very good amateur cook. I have that going for me as well.
p.s.s.s.s. This took me approximately forty five minutes for approximately seven hundred and fifty words. If you want to know, I can bang out a thousand words of decent writing in about an hour.
The only thing I put in for certain is I'd love to get paid to write something.
Writing comes pretty easy to me. I can sit down, start hammering away at the keyboard, and have hours whittle away, not noticing that time is flying by. I can crank out thousands of words in a session without having to think about it very much. The more I think about it, the more I like the idea of being a writer. It's a sexy profession for an introvert. You work, by and large, for yourself. You'll have fans who'll tend to be less stalkerish than fans of musicians or movie stars; they tend to also be literate. You might have deadlines, but everything else does.
Writing is easy. Sitting down to write, well, that's something else altogether.
Once you get going, writing is a breeze. What people forget though, and this is true in any vein of artistry, whether it's written or drawn or sculpted or shot or played out on a guitar, is this; art is still work.
It's great work, if you can get paid for it. The words 'Starving Artist' are used for a reason though. At the end of the day, if you come home and write or paint or make internet videos or create a game, it's work. It's work that nurtures the soul, sure, but it is still work. It's not a break.
You know what I'd rather be doing right now? I'll give you a list.
Playing video games
Watching a movie
Having sex
Making food
Eating food
Surfing the internet
Reading a book
Going for a stroll
Building a lego sculpture
Drinking with friends
Lying on my back and pouring Christmas chocolate down my throat while making gurgling sounds.
etc...
Creating art is still work. It's also work that people don't really want to pay for. People have no issue paying five dollars for a coffee. People have a hard time paying for ten dollar book, or a five dollar video game. Artists tend to starve. It's a feast for the very few who find commercial success. It's famine for most.
That's okay. Truthfully, it's always been that way.
So then why is my resolution to get paid for writing? Why do I want to get paid for my art, even if it's terrible? It's because in my head that legitimizes it. When someone asks me what I do I can say, head held high, "I'm a writer. At one point, I have put words onto paper, and then someone gave me money for them. I tricked some jerk into buying my thoughts completely based in fantasy. Currency was transported from their hands to mine." Does it make me a better artist? I doubt it.
They say that success is getting paid for doing something that you are passionate about. I'm a lousy designer. I don't always work well with other, especially when it comes to creative ventures. The only thing I can say I am good at is coming up with ideas. And writing is just putting those ideas down on paper. Someone else can make a movie or a game or a painting or a song about it, if it ever comes to that. Right now, the only thing I've got is a head full of dumb ideas. Hopefully someone is looking to buy dumb ideas.
But then again, Trump is the front runner for the Republican party. Maybe selling dumb ideas won't be that hard.
Sincerely,
The Illustrious Mr. Charlton
p.s. I realise that self publishing is a thing. Writing I'm good at. Selling myself, not so much.
p.s.s. If I get desperate, there is a huge market for Yif Erotic Fiction. I can totally write sexy trash.
p.s.s.s. I also pride myself on being a very good amateur cook. I have that going for me as well.
p.s.s.s.s. This took me approximately forty five minutes for approximately seven hundred and fifty words. If you want to know, I can bang out a thousand words of decent writing in about an hour.
Friday, 31 July 2015
The Not So Curious Case of Cecil the Lion
Right off the bat I'm going to tell you the Lion King is not my favorite Disney movie. It was basically Hamlet with African animals, and it was also a blatant ripoff of the famed anime Kimba the White Lion. We all know the greatest Disney movie is Escape from New York, starring Kurt Russel, He plays the ex-special force commando Snake Plissken, and must infiltrate the city of New York which has now been turned into the largest maximum security prison on the planet.
I digress.
Anyhoo, people online have been up in arms over a dentist who gets his rocks off by killing large animals. Walter Palmer paid $50,000 big ones to off a lion. This kind of trophy hunting is actually pretty standard over there, and although deplorable in this instance, happens far more often than most people like to think.
I'll go through the details anyways. Dr. Palmer paid a bunch of money to shoot a lion. Cecil (the lion in question) is an older lion that lives in a National park in Zimbabwe. It's against the law to shoot a lion in a national park. Dentist McShooty and friends lure the lion OUT of the park to kill him, They use a bow, because it's quiet. They shoot him, Cecil decides he still has some fight left in his old bones, and doesn't die. Dentist Not-Very-Good-Shot takes a nap. They take up the chase much later, and finally kill Cecil. They cut off his head and skin him, leaving the rest. But Cecil still has some tricks up his sleeve, namely the GPS collar that was used to track him. The collar that was attached by the Oxford University. So Dentist Realizes-Somethings-Amiss tries to destroy the collar. No such luck. Gets caught with his hand in the cookie jar.
As a result, he had to close up shop and disappear.
This is what the internet is telling me. The problem with the internet is that it is frequently full of shit. As for Dr. Palmer, I can guarantee that he'll be laying low for a while, open a new practice somewhere in Wisconsin where they don't give two shits about lions. As for Cecil, his legacy will live on through his cubs, which are now more than likely being killed by the next male lion, because that's the law of the jungle.
What bothers me about this isn't the killing of Cecil. Yes, if true, that shit is absolutely deplorable and Walter Palmer should be prosecuted to the full extent of the law. IF it's true. I'm not sure if it's true, at least the way the internet has put forth. I'm a little bit more worried about the rise of public shaming through the internet.
The problem with public shaming, online justice, or internet vigilantism, is that it's very much the equivalent of grabbing a pitchfork, some torches and joining a mob. There's another name for this. It's called lynching. Although these days it doesn't involve the closest tree and a noose, it's still feeding the shitty, unthinking, hyper-emotional parts of the brain that is unfortunately keeping our species much closer to our monkey ancestors than I'd care to admit.
But let's be honest, you didn't come here for rationality. You came to hear me rant.
Fuck these hypocritical clowns who get outraged over shit like this. ISIS still is beheading and raping people in the middle east, we deal with corrupt bureaucracy all over the world, cancer has not been cured, and this is what you get pissy about? An oversized cat? Let's be frank. You don't give a shit about animals, you give a shit about cute, cuddly, photogenic animals. Put it this way, if you get outraged over shit like this, yet still buy meat from Superstore or Walmart or large chains, you honestly don't give two flying fucks about animals. You're just looking for an excuse to let out your inner monkey. And one day, some over-paid physiotherapist from Minnesota with too much time on their hands is going to bait a hot car with a poodle in it. When you decide to let out your inner monkey, Dr. Schmucko is going to be waiting with a cross-bow. Hopefully your ass is endangered and looks good on camera, because if not, no one is going to give a shit.
Sincerely,
The Illustrious Mr. Charlton
p.s. If predators were delicious, we'd be eating cats and dogs, and keeping cows as pets.
p.s.s. I always wanted a chicken, just because I'd name him 'Poulet'.
Kurt Russel is my favorite Disney Princess
I digress.
Anyhoo, people online have been up in arms over a dentist who gets his rocks off by killing large animals. Walter Palmer paid $50,000 big ones to off a lion. This kind of trophy hunting is actually pretty standard over there, and although deplorable in this instance, happens far more often than most people like to think.
I'll go through the details anyways. Dr. Palmer paid a bunch of money to shoot a lion. Cecil (the lion in question) is an older lion that lives in a National park in Zimbabwe. It's against the law to shoot a lion in a national park. Dentist McShooty and friends lure the lion OUT of the park to kill him, They use a bow, because it's quiet. They shoot him, Cecil decides he still has some fight left in his old bones, and doesn't die. Dentist Not-Very-Good-Shot takes a nap. They take up the chase much later, and finally kill Cecil. They cut off his head and skin him, leaving the rest. But Cecil still has some tricks up his sleeve, namely the GPS collar that was used to track him. The collar that was attached by the Oxford University. So Dentist Realizes-Somethings-Amiss tries to destroy the collar. No such luck. Gets caught with his hand in the cookie jar.
Dentists really shouldn't be eating cookies anyways
As a result, he had to close up shop and disappear.
This is what the internet is telling me. The problem with the internet is that it is frequently full of shit. As for Dr. Palmer, I can guarantee that he'll be laying low for a while, open a new practice somewhere in Wisconsin where they don't give two shits about lions. As for Cecil, his legacy will live on through his cubs, which are now more than likely being killed by the next male lion, because that's the law of the jungle.
What bothers me about this isn't the killing of Cecil. Yes, if true, that shit is absolutely deplorable and Walter Palmer should be prosecuted to the full extent of the law. IF it's true. I'm not sure if it's true, at least the way the internet has put forth. I'm a little bit more worried about the rise of public shaming through the internet.
The problem with public shaming, online justice, or internet vigilantism, is that it's very much the equivalent of grabbing a pitchfork, some torches and joining a mob. There's another name for this. It's called lynching. Although these days it doesn't involve the closest tree and a noose, it's still feeding the shitty, unthinking, hyper-emotional parts of the brain that is unfortunately keeping our species much closer to our monkey ancestors than I'd care to admit.
Where Youtube comments come from
But let's be honest, you didn't come here for rationality. You came to hear me rant.
Fuck these hypocritical clowns who get outraged over shit like this. ISIS still is beheading and raping people in the middle east, we deal with corrupt bureaucracy all over the world, cancer has not been cured, and this is what you get pissy about? An oversized cat? Let's be frank. You don't give a shit about animals, you give a shit about cute, cuddly, photogenic animals. Put it this way, if you get outraged over shit like this, yet still buy meat from Superstore or Walmart or large chains, you honestly don't give two flying fucks about animals. You're just looking for an excuse to let out your inner monkey. And one day, some over-paid physiotherapist from Minnesota with too much time on their hands is going to bait a hot car with a poodle in it. When you decide to let out your inner monkey, Dr. Schmucko is going to be waiting with a cross-bow. Hopefully your ass is endangered and looks good on camera, because if not, no one is going to give a shit.
Sincerely,
The Illustrious Mr. Charlton
p.s. If predators were delicious, we'd be eating cats and dogs, and keeping cows as pets.
p.s.s. I always wanted a chicken, just because I'd name him 'Poulet'.
Monday, 25 May 2015
Fantasy Smantasy
The last really good book I read was 'The Handmaid's Tale' by Margaret Atwood. It was a horrifying book, but I could not put it down. I ended up reading the whole thing front to back in less than a day right as I was headed down to Victoria for Christmas. It was so good, in fact, that when I arrived to Victoria, I didn't talk to my brother or his wife until I was done the book.
My friend got me started on 'The Malazan Book of the Fallen' series, a ten book mega-novel that spans three continents (maybe more), more characters than I have appendages, and god knows how many wizards, assassins, thieves, ghosts, demons, gods, races, species and animals that have been made up.
It is ok.
It's cheesy. Shit, one of the character's name is 'WhiskeyJack'. The author came up with the name by looking at the bottle of Jack Daniels he was obviously drinking for breakfast. Or the classic 'throw in a bunch of apostrophes' names such as 'Dhul'Lik'Ko'Meh', as if I'm going to announce that every time this asshole walks into a room.
I like books. I like to read. I think everyone does if they're given the right books. Not to long before I started this Malazan series, the very same friend gave me a book called 'Bolo!' (yes, there was in fact an exclamation at the end of the title). That book was about sentient tanks in the future. It was cheesy as sin and not exactly well written. But I ate it up! I couldn't put the stupid book down. What I noticed between the cheesy sci-fi novel and the cheesy fantasy novel has been one reoccurring theme between the two genres. Sci-fi novels are most often pretty tongue and cheek, and the sci-fi that doesn't tends to be grounded in a fair amount of reality. Fantasy almost always takes itself too seriously, and well....
Look dude, or dudette, or in-between, whatever, if you're going to have fucking orcs and dragons and flying beetles the size of volkswagens in your stories, I'm gonna have a hard time taking anything else seriously. Ooooooo, a large battle between warring nations is looming on the horizon? Better hop on your flying cat-snake and find the amulet of 'Who'gives'a'shit', 'cause apparently a magic talisman is the only thing that will win the war. Somehow the winged ferret made the social overtones of your story harder to take seriously.
Fantasy is not a serious subject that some people take way too seriously. I'm not a fan of the 'A Song of Ice and Fire' series, also known to people who only watch TV as 'Game of Thrones'. The show is alright. I tried to read the first novel in the book series years ago and I couldn't even get half way through. How many goddamn things have to 'glisten', George RR Martin? Everything in your universe glistens. That whole goddamn world is breathing heavily and sweating, It's like your fatass decided to take the stairs for once. An entire, way-too-long, pulsating, heaving series.
And that's my biggest gripe with the whole fantasy genre. Everything is a series, this mega-novel garbage. I hear this bullshit all the time, "The first book or two, he's just warming up and finding his voice. It gets REALLY good after that". Really? I have to read over a thousand pages of mediocre crap to get to the good part? That is the very definition of a shit sandwich. If I have to chow down on poop just so I can get to the really good part of the sandwich, why the fuck don't I just go and buy a sandwich that isn't half poop?
I'm going to throw a little advice to writers out there regarding the mega-novel. If you are going to create a world full of characters, you can't spend the first novel giving out exposition. You're not going to be able to build that world in a book, Exposition is boring as all hell, and I'll be damned if I'll crunch through seven hundred pages of ass-flavored explanation. Also, it couldn't hurt to write a goddamn outline. A beginning, middle and an end. Don't sit here and wax the 'I'm surprised and shocked by where my characters lead me' schtick. If your characters surprise you, then you don't know your characters well enough. You know who got surprised by their characters? The writers of Lost. Look how that turned out.
The only series I've read that I thought was really well done was the Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy. I've only read one book of the MaddAddam series by Margaret Atwood, and I hear the rest is as good as the first book, Oryx and Crake. I've also got a mind to read the Discworld books by Terry Pratchett, the few I've read are hilarious. If someone thinks that they can recommend me a book series, I'll sit down and read it. Keep in mind though, I'm a notorious asshole, so much so that French people have been put off regarding my criticism.
I'm not against fantasy, nor am I against the mega-novel. I've yet to read a fantasy book besides Terry Pratchett's stuff that didn't have it's head up it's ass, though (I'm looking at you, Terry Goodkind). I've yet to read a mega-novel that wasn't boring as fuck for the first novel or two and a goddamn mess of loose ends by the seventh or eighth book. BUT, if you have some suggestions, send 'em my way. I can burn through a book pretty quickly.
Every piece of media these days is a series, whether it's books, movies, television, or video games. I think all of it could benefit from the 'True Detective' model, the acclaimed television series. If you're going to have a brand, there is nothing wrong with a self-contained story that takes up a single season. I thought that entire production was phenomenally done. I think the mega-novels could learn from that. But hey, if you want to write a dozen novels or have nine movies that all carry the same characters and converge on the same plot, be my guest. Keep and mind that trying to weave a pattern with hundreds of strings is difficult even if you have an idea of the tapestry your creating. If you don't have an idea, don't be surprise if your blanket looks like trash.
TL;DR: If you're writing a series of novels, have a goddamn point. They call it 'theming'. And don't take yourself so goddamn seriously. Also, The Lord of the Ring series was racist.
Sincerely,
The Illustrious Mr. Charlton
p.s. Seriously though, I'll read anything. Send some ideas this way.
p.s.s. And writers, stay the fuck away from adverbs. No one 'closes the door firmly'.
p.s.s.s. You see any black elves or hobbits or wizards in LOTR? I didn't.
My friend got me started on 'The Malazan Book of the Fallen' series, a ten book mega-novel that spans three continents (maybe more), more characters than I have appendages, and god knows how many wizards, assassins, thieves, ghosts, demons, gods, races, species and animals that have been made up.
It is ok.
It's cheesy. Shit, one of the character's name is 'WhiskeyJack'. The author came up with the name by looking at the bottle of Jack Daniels he was obviously drinking for breakfast. Or the classic 'throw in a bunch of apostrophes' names such as 'Dhul'Lik'Ko'Meh', as if I'm going to announce that every time this asshole walks into a room.
The Fantasy Writer's Axe of Creativity.
I like books. I like to read. I think everyone does if they're given the right books. Not to long before I started this Malazan series, the very same friend gave me a book called 'Bolo!' (yes, there was in fact an exclamation at the end of the title). That book was about sentient tanks in the future. It was cheesy as sin and not exactly well written. But I ate it up! I couldn't put the stupid book down. What I noticed between the cheesy sci-fi novel and the cheesy fantasy novel has been one reoccurring theme between the two genres. Sci-fi novels are most often pretty tongue and cheek, and the sci-fi that doesn't tends to be grounded in a fair amount of reality. Fantasy almost always takes itself too seriously, and well....
Look dude, or dudette, or in-between, whatever, if you're going to have fucking orcs and dragons and flying beetles the size of volkswagens in your stories, I'm gonna have a hard time taking anything else seriously. Ooooooo, a large battle between warring nations is looming on the horizon? Better hop on your flying cat-snake and find the amulet of 'Who'gives'a'shit', 'cause apparently a magic talisman is the only thing that will win the war. Somehow the winged ferret made the social overtones of your story harder to take seriously.
Need a fantasy creature? Just add wings!
Fantasy is not a serious subject that some people take way too seriously. I'm not a fan of the 'A Song of Ice and Fire' series, also known to people who only watch TV as 'Game of Thrones'. The show is alright. I tried to read the first novel in the book series years ago and I couldn't even get half way through. How many goddamn things have to 'glisten', George RR Martin? Everything in your universe glistens. That whole goddamn world is breathing heavily and sweating, It's like your fatass decided to take the stairs for once. An entire, way-too-long, pulsating, heaving series.
And that's my biggest gripe with the whole fantasy genre. Everything is a series, this mega-novel garbage. I hear this bullshit all the time, "The first book or two, he's just warming up and finding his voice. It gets REALLY good after that". Really? I have to read over a thousand pages of mediocre crap to get to the good part? That is the very definition of a shit sandwich. If I have to chow down on poop just so I can get to the really good part of the sandwich, why the fuck don't I just go and buy a sandwich that isn't half poop?
No poop on my clubhouse, thank you
I'm going to throw a little advice to writers out there regarding the mega-novel. If you are going to create a world full of characters, you can't spend the first novel giving out exposition. You're not going to be able to build that world in a book, Exposition is boring as all hell, and I'll be damned if I'll crunch through seven hundred pages of ass-flavored explanation. Also, it couldn't hurt to write a goddamn outline. A beginning, middle and an end. Don't sit here and wax the 'I'm surprised and shocked by where my characters lead me' schtick. If your characters surprise you, then you don't know your characters well enough. You know who got surprised by their characters? The writers of Lost. Look how that turned out.
The only series I've read that I thought was really well done was the Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy. I've only read one book of the MaddAddam series by Margaret Atwood, and I hear the rest is as good as the first book, Oryx and Crake. I've also got a mind to read the Discworld books by Terry Pratchett, the few I've read are hilarious. If someone thinks that they can recommend me a book series, I'll sit down and read it. Keep in mind though, I'm a notorious asshole, so much so that French people have been put off regarding my criticism.
I'm not against fantasy, nor am I against the mega-novel. I've yet to read a fantasy book besides Terry Pratchett's stuff that didn't have it's head up it's ass, though (I'm looking at you, Terry Goodkind). I've yet to read a mega-novel that wasn't boring as fuck for the first novel or two and a goddamn mess of loose ends by the seventh or eighth book. BUT, if you have some suggestions, send 'em my way. I can burn through a book pretty quickly.
Every piece of media these days is a series, whether it's books, movies, television, or video games. I think all of it could benefit from the 'True Detective' model, the acclaimed television series. If you're going to have a brand, there is nothing wrong with a self-contained story that takes up a single season. I thought that entire production was phenomenally done. I think the mega-novels could learn from that. But hey, if you want to write a dozen novels or have nine movies that all carry the same characters and converge on the same plot, be my guest. Keep and mind that trying to weave a pattern with hundreds of strings is difficult even if you have an idea of the tapestry your creating. If you don't have an idea, don't be surprise if your blanket looks like trash.
TL;DR: If you're writing a series of novels, have a goddamn point. They call it 'theming'. And don't take yourself so goddamn seriously. Also, The Lord of the Ring series was racist.
Middle Earth was a great neighborhood before these guys moved in.
Sincerely,
The Illustrious Mr. Charlton
p.s. Seriously though, I'll read anything. Send some ideas this way.
p.s.s. And writers, stay the fuck away from adverbs. No one 'closes the door firmly'.
p.s.s.s. You see any black elves or hobbits or wizards in LOTR? I didn't.
Sunday, 24 May 2015
Avengers 2: An Irrelevant Review
So I went and saw the new Avengers movie, Avengers 2: Age of Ultron. Now, I'm about to give my opinion about this film, as well as the Marvel Franchise as a whole. If you're the kind of person who gives a shit about spoilers, then I'd go read something else.
Spoiler; Avengers 2: Age of Ultron sucks.
I liked the first Avenger movie, I thought it was entertaining. It was fun to see a whole bunch of superheroes on the screen. To say it was some sort of masterpiece would be a stretch, but it was a good movie, at least I thought. It was a stand alone movie; if you hadn't seen the other Marvel movies like Iron Man or Captain America, you could still follow along and have it make sense. For the most part.
Unfortunately, it taken the 'comic book' part of the comic book movie to heart. And I'm hear to tell you that comic books are stupid.
This isn't an opinion, it's a fact. It's the same reason why Star Wars is stupid. The same reason I really don't have an interest in watching the fifth season of Game of Thrones. It's a trend that has been rising in the last decade especially. It's the mega-novel problem.
Right now we're clamoring for huge worlds, bigger stories, more characters. We're not satisfied with a stand alone movie, a novel that has no sequel, or anything that isn't a franchise. Comic books have had this problems for decades. Numerous reboots with dozens of different writers have created this bizarre world of multiple universes. This is fine for comics, because firstly, they're idiotic and secondly, they're designed this way because you need a new story every month. That's the format. You're expected to read the entire story arc. A single comic by itself rarely makes any sense whatsoever.
That's where the Avengers 2 fails. If you haven't seen Iron Man, Thor, Captain America: The First Avenger, The Hulk (the 2008 version, not the 2003 version), Iron Man 2, Thor 2:The Dark World, Iron Man 3, Captain America 2: The Winter Soldier, well, then the Avengers 2 isn't going to make any sense. If you've missed any of these films, then the chemistry between the characters isn't always going to make sense. Shucks, you might not even recognize some of the characters (who the fuck is War Machine?).
I'm a firm believer that in order for a film to succeed as a movie, it needs to be able to stand on it's own. I shouldn't have to sit and watch fifteen hours of back story in order to grasp what's happening in a film. I can't really blame the screenwriting either. How the hell do you juggle ten different characters? Television can kind of get away with this, Game of Thrones does alright with multiple characters, but even that is starting to get pretty thin. It also has the luxury of the new television format. Ten folks in a two and a half hour span is starting to stretch the limits of a narrative.
Avengers 2 was the exact same movie as the first. The stakes weren't raised (they have to save the world, again!), the plot was the same (team gets together, falls apart, gets together again), and the action was the same (Crazy epic superhero battles!). Aside from the slightly clever little arc with Hawkeye and the lame love story between the Hulk and Black Widow that took up 3% of screen time between the action porn, it was the same movie.
I'll be honest, I was bored to tears through most of it, waiting for it to be over. The whole Marvel franchise was sort of refreshing at first, but has gotten stale. It's the cinematic version of Olive Garden. It loved it when I was a teen, but as I got older I realized it's the same lousy Italian food every time I go. I don't go to Olive Garden anymore, and I doubt I'll go watch another Marvel film.
But hey, Marvel is putting out the new 'Ant-Man' movie this summer. I'm sure that'll be great, right?
Sincerely,
The Illustrious Mr. Charlton
p.s. Seriously, Ant-Man? I wonder if it'll be two hours of Stan Lee scraping the barrel.
p.s.s. I really only wrote this review because I'm going to shit all over the rise of the mega novels in the next post. Fuck George RR Martin.
Spoiler; Avengers 2: Age of Ultron sucks.
Two and a half hours reduced to one picture
I liked the first Avenger movie, I thought it was entertaining. It was fun to see a whole bunch of superheroes on the screen. To say it was some sort of masterpiece would be a stretch, but it was a good movie, at least I thought. It was a stand alone movie; if you hadn't seen the other Marvel movies like Iron Man or Captain America, you could still follow along and have it make sense. For the most part.
Unfortunately, it taken the 'comic book' part of the comic book movie to heart. And I'm hear to tell you that comic books are stupid.
Star Wars comics are twice as stupid
This isn't an opinion, it's a fact. It's the same reason why Star Wars is stupid. The same reason I really don't have an interest in watching the fifth season of Game of Thrones. It's a trend that has been rising in the last decade especially. It's the mega-novel problem.
Right now we're clamoring for huge worlds, bigger stories, more characters. We're not satisfied with a stand alone movie, a novel that has no sequel, or anything that isn't a franchise. Comic books have had this problems for decades. Numerous reboots with dozens of different writers have created this bizarre world of multiple universes. This is fine for comics, because firstly, they're idiotic and secondly, they're designed this way because you need a new story every month. That's the format. You're expected to read the entire story arc. A single comic by itself rarely makes any sense whatsoever.
That's where the Avengers 2 fails. If you haven't seen Iron Man, Thor, Captain America: The First Avenger, The Hulk (the 2008 version, not the 2003 version), Iron Man 2, Thor 2:The Dark World, Iron Man 3, Captain America 2: The Winter Soldier, well, then the Avengers 2 isn't going to make any sense. If you've missed any of these films, then the chemistry between the characters isn't always going to make sense. Shucks, you might not even recognize some of the characters (who the fuck is War Machine?).
I'm a firm believer that in order for a film to succeed as a movie, it needs to be able to stand on it's own. I shouldn't have to sit and watch fifteen hours of back story in order to grasp what's happening in a film. I can't really blame the screenwriting either. How the hell do you juggle ten different characters? Television can kind of get away with this, Game of Thrones does alright with multiple characters, but even that is starting to get pretty thin. It also has the luxury of the new television format. Ten folks in a two and a half hour span is starting to stretch the limits of a narrative.
Avengers 2 was the exact same movie as the first. The stakes weren't raised (they have to save the world, again!), the plot was the same (team gets together, falls apart, gets together again), and the action was the same (Crazy epic superhero battles!). Aside from the slightly clever little arc with Hawkeye and the lame love story between the Hulk and Black Widow that took up 3% of screen time between the action porn, it was the same movie.
I'll be honest, I was bored to tears through most of it, waiting for it to be over. The whole Marvel franchise was sort of refreshing at first, but has gotten stale. It's the cinematic version of Olive Garden. It loved it when I was a teen, but as I got older I realized it's the same lousy Italian food every time I go. I don't go to Olive Garden anymore, and I doubt I'll go watch another Marvel film.
But hey, Marvel is putting out the new 'Ant-Man' movie this summer. I'm sure that'll be great, right?
Sincerely,
The Illustrious Mr. Charlton
p.s. Seriously, Ant-Man? I wonder if it'll be two hours of Stan Lee scraping the barrel.
p.s.s. I really only wrote this review because I'm going to shit all over the rise of the mega novels in the next post. Fuck George RR Martin.
Wednesday, 20 May 2015
The Dad Bod Craze
Jesus Fuck. I can't believe I'm writing about this. The fact I have to explain some things to grown adults is startling, I'd like everyone to put on some boots and some rubber gloves, 'cause we're about to go wading in some shit.
A month and a half ago, a young woman by the name Mackenzie Pearson wrote an article titled "Why Girls Love the Dad Bod". It was a harmless little article that, summed up, stated that Mackenzie was attracted to guys who weren't in top physical condition. She wasn't into dudes who use words like 'shredded' or 'severe body-dysmorphia' to describe themselves. Cool, whatever. Personally, I've resigned to the idea that I like being skinny and limber, but, you know, whatever. Unfortunately, the internet decided to build a brick house by collectively shitting one out.
Numerous articles starting popping up, either praising the new movement as a godsend, or denouncing it as some sort of Jihad against gym rats. When I say blow up, this article exploded into articles, podcasts and was talked about on air, covered by major news channels such as CNN and FOX. Here, I did a search for you.
Now, I've got a bit of news for you, dad bod dudes. Even though it's hard to believe, women around the world who read this article didn't lobotomize themselves into finding this sexy. It's tough to fathom, but there's no switch on the backside of women that has an 'on/off' switch for dudes rocking a gut. That's not how it works. Our friend Mackenzie was stating a preference that's pretty well known in the world of people who have the slightest shred of perception on human sexuality. People have a preference that varies among person to person. Some women dig the dad bod! Some women love guys with washboard abs and veiny arms. It was like that before the article and it will continue to be like that well after the article is forgotten about.
I'm not surprised that a bunch of lazy guys got up to pat themselves on the back after this article was released. I'm a little more surprised at the fitness side of the line, though. The amount of whining that came from that camp was deafening. It seems that every motivational image that shouted 'I get in shape for ME!' of 'The only thing I'm trying to be better than is myself from YESTERDAY!' was the load of bullshit most of us thought it out to be. Most fit dudes aren't doing it for themselves, and have now gotten themselves into a frothy mess now that they've realised that not every woman on the planet wants to have sex with them.
Look, meat heads. I get it, you're upset. You've worked really hard, and have now realized that not everybody wants to bang a human version of a Lamborghini. Welcome back to reality. Dad bods, kudos to you. You've now been presented with information confirming that, even though you don't look like Brad Pitt, someone may actually find you attractive. Crazy, I know. Just keep in mind that the number one cause of premature deaths to males is heart disease. You may want to put down the pizza and take the goddamn stairs every once and a while.
So yay, we can now celebrate all sorts of different body shapes. For men. Sorry ladies, we'd still like you to maintain the figure of an eighteen year old stripper. This body acceptance thing is a boys only club, 'cause the only thing that accessorizes a double chin is a double standard.
Sincerely,
The Illustrious Mr. Charlton
p.s. Just so everyone is aware, my calves look like granite wrapped in silk. Don't skip leg day.
p.s.s. Leg day? What I actually meant is that my calves are big because I walk around the house on the balls of my feet like a ninja.
p.s.s.s. Probably more like a ballerina, to be honest.
p.s.s.s.s. The prettiest ballerina, I might add.
(1) - Brick building by Henry Mühlpfordt
A month and a half ago, a young woman by the name Mackenzie Pearson wrote an article titled "Why Girls Love the Dad Bod". It was a harmless little article that, summed up, stated that Mackenzie was attracted to guys who weren't in top physical condition. She wasn't into dudes who use words like 'shredded' or 'severe body-dysmorphia' to describe themselves. Cool, whatever. Personally, I've resigned to the idea that I like being skinny and limber, but, you know, whatever. Unfortunately, the internet decided to build a brick house by collectively shitting one out.
The Internet's Poop House (1)
Numerous articles starting popping up, either praising the new movement as a godsend, or denouncing it as some sort of Jihad against gym rats. When I say blow up, this article exploded into articles, podcasts and was talked about on air, covered by major news channels such as CNN and FOX. Here, I did a search for you.
Now, I've got a bit of news for you, dad bod dudes. Even though it's hard to believe, women around the world who read this article didn't lobotomize themselves into finding this sexy. It's tough to fathom, but there's no switch on the backside of women that has an 'on/off' switch for dudes rocking a gut. That's not how it works. Our friend Mackenzie was stating a preference that's pretty well known in the world of people who have the slightest shred of perception on human sexuality. People have a preference that varies among person to person. Some women dig the dad bod! Some women love guys with washboard abs and veiny arms. It was like that before the article and it will continue to be like that well after the article is forgotten about.
I'm not surprised that a bunch of lazy guys got up to pat themselves on the back after this article was released. I'm a little more surprised at the fitness side of the line, though. The amount of whining that came from that camp was deafening. It seems that every motivational image that shouted 'I get in shape for ME!' of 'The only thing I'm trying to be better than is myself from YESTERDAY!' was the load of bullshit most of us thought it out to be. Most fit dudes aren't doing it for themselves, and have now gotten themselves into a frothy mess now that they've realised that not every woman on the planet wants to have sex with them.
I WORKED SO HARD
Look, meat heads. I get it, you're upset. You've worked really hard, and have now realized that not everybody wants to bang a human version of a Lamborghini. Welcome back to reality. Dad bods, kudos to you. You've now been presented with information confirming that, even though you don't look like Brad Pitt, someone may actually find you attractive. Crazy, I know. Just keep in mind that the number one cause of premature deaths to males is heart disease. You may want to put down the pizza and take the goddamn stairs every once and a while.
So yay, we can now celebrate all sorts of different body shapes. For men. Sorry ladies, we'd still like you to maintain the figure of an eighteen year old stripper. This body acceptance thing is a boys only club, 'cause the only thing that accessorizes a double chin is a double standard.
Sincerely,
The Illustrious Mr. Charlton
p.s. Just so everyone is aware, my calves look like granite wrapped in silk. Don't skip leg day.
p.s.s. Leg day? What I actually meant is that my calves are big because I walk around the house on the balls of my feet like a ninja.
p.s.s.s. Probably more like a ballerina, to be honest.
p.s.s.s.s. The prettiest ballerina, I might add.
(1) - Brick building by Henry Mühlpfordt
Wednesday, 6 May 2015
Why the NDP was a Bad Choice
If you would have told me a month ago that the NDP in Alberta would be holding a solid majority, I would have politely told you 'When Hell Freezes Over'. Well, it's been snowing in Edmonton today, so close enough. It looks like Sata....I mean Jim Prentice, will have to find new digs, as from the looks of his speech last night I'm certain he's about to go pout somewhere down in Phoenix, Arizona.
I kid.
Right now all of my friends who worked hard campaigning for the NDP are nursing well deserved hangovers, my journalist friends are busy typing away at twitter and getting the message out, my teacher friends are happy they might actually get the funding they need to make sure the next generation doesn't grow up to be absolute fuckheads, and finally my conservative friends who work in the oil and gas industry are currently making that noise that a dog makes when you spray it in the face with a water hose.
The PCs have been in power forty four years here in Alberta. Like all parties who hold the throne for that long, they got complacent, lazy, and arrogant. Our coffers are dry. The PCs sucked resources away from education, health care, and social programs in exchange for tax cuts for incredibly wealthy corporations. Alberta is an oil province, for sure, and that isn't going to change in the next four years, I can guarantee you that. But the idea that foreign companies get a pass while the citizens of the province have to carry the tax burden is something that obviously wasn't sitting well for the people who went out and cast their votes yesterday.
The big observation I want to make is that the NDP earned this one, if only for the fact they seemed to be the only ones who were campaigning. All my conservative friends, well, didn't. It proves something radical is happening in Alberta, and that's the triumph of a grass roots movement. It happened when Naheed Nenshi got voted in as Mayor of Calgary, It happened to Don Iverson when he got voted in as Mayor of Edmonton. Last night it happened again with the NDP with Rachel Notley at the helm. As a citizen of a democratic society, you are involved in politics whether you want to be or not. If you want change, get out on the streets and make change. Voting is the absolute bare minimum.
As for my opinion, I'm cautiously optimistic. They're rookies, for sure, but change can be a good thing, and I'm the kind of guy who gets excited when the pot is stirred. A good friend of mine once said "Not knowing the future is cool" and I have to agree. I'm not sure what the next four years will hold for Alberta, but one thing is certain. It has proven that the little people can make a difference.
Sincerely,
The Illustrious Mr. Charlton
p.s. The Title? Total Clickbait. But hey, you clicked, didn't you?
I kid.
Right now all of my friends who worked hard campaigning for the NDP are nursing well deserved hangovers, my journalist friends are busy typing away at twitter and getting the message out, my teacher friends are happy they might actually get the funding they need to make sure the next generation doesn't grow up to be absolute fuckheads, and finally my conservative friends who work in the oil and gas industry are currently making that noise that a dog makes when you spray it in the face with a water hose.
WHARRGARBL
The PCs have been in power forty four years here in Alberta. Like all parties who hold the throne for that long, they got complacent, lazy, and arrogant. Our coffers are dry. The PCs sucked resources away from education, health care, and social programs in exchange for tax cuts for incredibly wealthy corporations. Alberta is an oil province, for sure, and that isn't going to change in the next four years, I can guarantee you that. But the idea that foreign companies get a pass while the citizens of the province have to carry the tax burden is something that obviously wasn't sitting well for the people who went out and cast their votes yesterday.
The big observation I want to make is that the NDP earned this one, if only for the fact they seemed to be the only ones who were campaigning. All my conservative friends, well, didn't. It proves something radical is happening in Alberta, and that's the triumph of a grass roots movement. It happened when Naheed Nenshi got voted in as Mayor of Calgary, It happened to Don Iverson when he got voted in as Mayor of Edmonton. Last night it happened again with the NDP with Rachel Notley at the helm. As a citizen of a democratic society, you are involved in politics whether you want to be or not. If you want change, get out on the streets and make change. Voting is the absolute bare minimum.
Or, you know, put up some signs or something
As for my opinion, I'm cautiously optimistic. They're rookies, for sure, but change can be a good thing, and I'm the kind of guy who gets excited when the pot is stirred. A good friend of mine once said "Not knowing the future is cool" and I have to agree. I'm not sure what the next four years will hold for Alberta, but one thing is certain. It has proven that the little people can make a difference.
Sincerely,
The Illustrious Mr. Charlton
p.s. The Title? Total Clickbait. But hey, you clicked, didn't you?
Monday, 4 May 2015
May the Fourth be With You
Today is May fourth, and that's an incredibly special day for most people. It's international Firefighters day, so we should should all be glad there's a section of the population crazy enough to run into buildings that happen to be on fire. I keep arguing that maybe we shouldn't be building our structures out of wood and paper mache, but I digress.... Hold on a moment, that's not what you're celebrating today, is it? So what exactly are you celebrating?
News flash, people. Star Wars sucks.
I don't use the word sucks very often anymore. I prefer to use lame, or shitty, or a host of other words to describe something I'm not particularly fond of. In this case, sucks works perfectly, because that's the sound of the gaping vacuum that this abomination of a cultural phenomenon has created. Star Wars is a slurping, ugly, hot mess of a franchise.
Now, given, the first three films released a few decades ago are pretty good. The special effects were mind blowing at the time, they had an interesting new story and have held up pretty well since then. The acting is lousy, but I'm pretty sure everyone in the late seventies/early eighties was so high on cocaine that they had to be reminded that still they teeth in their mouths. But those three films are just a slice into the Star Wars universe, and most of that Universe is absolutely ridiculous.
There aren't just movies about Star Wars. There are books, games, toys, costumes, dinner ware, spin-offs, bed sheets, action figures (which are NOT toys, apparently), Iphone apps, party themes, wedding themes, and a Christmas special that George Lucas would like you to pretend never actually existed in the first place. That is a sliver of the amount of stuff that Star Wars has licensed. It is not a universe of space fantasy, so much as it's a cash cow that lactates golden milk.
I thought people would have learned after the Phantom Menace, but they kept making movies, and games, and books. People kept buying them. And my Darth Lord, there is a new Star Wars movie coming out, and I can hear people frothing at the mouth already. Sit down for a second. I hate to break it to you, but this new movie will never live up to anyone's expectations. It can't. The fan base has become so rabid we actually have a day of the year now dedicated to it. All across the world, people are calling in sick, so that they can sit down and watch all six films back to back, spending their mornings trying to fast forward to the good parts of the prequels.
The worst lot is the Star Wars books. Ever read one? Don't. Do you want to know how many people have authored Star Wars books in the last three and a half decades? Seventy Five. That isn't novelisation at that point anymore. That is slash fan-fiction at it's best. I would complain, but truthfully the longest peace of fiction ever written isn't War and Peace, but a slash fan-fiction piece about Super Smash Brothers that contains over 3,500,000 words. That would be slash fan-fiction at it's best.
What it boils down to is this; I don't like Star Wars because when it started it was a space adventure that was shot on a budget of eleven million dollars. George Lucas was once a rebellious young film maker who took chances and now he's the head of a vast empire of knock-offs, merchandise and what borders on a lifestyle brand. George Lucas was seduced by the dark side.
If you find yourself getting worked up over this, then heed your own words. There is no passion, only serenity. Jedi code mother bitches.
Sincerely,
The Illustrious Mr. Charlton
p,s. Help us JJ Abrams, you're our only hope.
p.s.s. Star Trek is for real nerds.
p.s.s.s. Not that Action balderdash with the JJ Abrams (although the casting was pretty fantastic)
p.s.s.s.s. Actually, with JJ Abrams, the only thing I can hope for is to walk away from the theatres not blinded by lens flares.
News flash, people. Star Wars sucks.
Search your feelings
I don't use the word sucks very often anymore. I prefer to use lame, or shitty, or a host of other words to describe something I'm not particularly fond of. In this case, sucks works perfectly, because that's the sound of the gaping vacuum that this abomination of a cultural phenomenon has created. Star Wars is a slurping, ugly, hot mess of a franchise.
Now, given, the first three films released a few decades ago are pretty good. The special effects were mind blowing at the time, they had an interesting new story and have held up pretty well since then. The acting is lousy, but I'm pretty sure everyone in the late seventies/early eighties was so high on cocaine that they had to be reminded that still they teeth in their mouths. But those three films are just a slice into the Star Wars universe, and most of that Universe is absolutely ridiculous.
Referred to on-set as the Force
There aren't just movies about Star Wars. There are books, games, toys, costumes, dinner ware, spin-offs, bed sheets, action figures (which are NOT toys, apparently), Iphone apps, party themes, wedding themes, and a Christmas special that George Lucas would like you to pretend never actually existed in the first place. That is a sliver of the amount of stuff that Star Wars has licensed. It is not a universe of space fantasy, so much as it's a cash cow that lactates golden milk.
I thought people would have learned after the Phantom Menace, but they kept making movies, and games, and books. People kept buying them. And my Darth Lord, there is a new Star Wars movie coming out, and I can hear people frothing at the mouth already. Sit down for a second. I hate to break it to you, but this new movie will never live up to anyone's expectations. It can't. The fan base has become so rabid we actually have a day of the year now dedicated to it. All across the world, people are calling in sick, so that they can sit down and watch all six films back to back, spending their mornings trying to fast forward to the good parts of the prequels.
Please don't make me fast forward through 80% of the movie, JJ
The worst lot is the Star Wars books. Ever read one? Don't. Do you want to know how many people have authored Star Wars books in the last three and a half decades? Seventy Five. That isn't novelisation at that point anymore. That is slash fan-fiction at it's best. I would complain, but truthfully the longest peace of fiction ever written isn't War and Peace, but a slash fan-fiction piece about Super Smash Brothers that contains over 3,500,000 words. That would be slash fan-fiction at it's best.
It still doesn't compare to my Pokemon Fan-Fiction
What it boils down to is this; I don't like Star Wars because when it started it was a space adventure that was shot on a budget of eleven million dollars. George Lucas was once a rebellious young film maker who took chances and now he's the head of a vast empire of knock-offs, merchandise and what borders on a lifestyle brand. George Lucas was seduced by the dark side.
Darth Schlock
If you find yourself getting worked up over this, then heed your own words. There is no passion, only serenity. Jedi code mother bitches.
Sincerely,
The Illustrious Mr. Charlton
p,s. Help us JJ Abrams, you're our only hope.
p.s.s. Star Trek is for real nerds.
p.s.s.s. Not that Action balderdash with the JJ Abrams (although the casting was pretty fantastic)
p.s.s.s.s. Actually, with JJ Abrams, the only thing I can hope for is to walk away from the theatres not blinded by lens flares.
Sunday, 3 May 2015
Floyd vs. Manny
Last night, Floyd 'Money' Mayweather Jr. faced Manny 'The Pac-Man' Pacquiao in one of the most anticipated
fights of the last two decades, and the former won by unanimous
decision at the end of the night. Some would say that the fight came
too late, as both fighters were past their prime, but it didn't
matter to fight fans, as the fight was billed at a half billion
dollars, which Floyd pocketed roughly two hundred million.
I'm not here to talk about who won or
who lost, who was the better boxer. I heard speculation that Manny
had torn his rotator cuff before the fight and that's why he wasn't coming in as strong as some would have liked. I don't know shit about
boxing, and the little I do know comes from a friend of mine who's a huge
boxing fanatic. What I do know is that Floyd Mayweather Jr. is an
abusive piece of shit and is known to use his fast hands to batter
women. So why aren't more people talking about it?
Okay, okay, okay, plenty of people know
that while he wins most of his fights by decision, he has no problem
K.Oing his loved one at home. That Floyd kicks the crap out of women
is well known and documented. The big argument here is why are we
condoning his actions so he can continue to box in the ring. The
answer is incredibly simple, and it also happens to be Floyd's
monicker.
Money.
Money Money Money!
A half billion dollars is what the
fight cost, not what the fight generated, and no one in the boxing
world does anything for free. Between HBO, the MGM Grand, the
casinos, the hotels, the restaurants, the airlines, everyone is going
to get a little slice of that boxing pie. If you're wondering why Floyd has been charged numerous times for instances of violence against women, and so far has only had do spend sixty days in jail because of it, well, there's your answer. Money talks. But is money the real driving force here?
Let's roll back the tape to February 2014, when Ray Rice was caught on tape knocking his then fiancee out in an elevator, then dragging her back to his room. Jail time? None. Hell, they got married not too long later.
But shucks folks, let's go all the way back to 2007, and bring in Micheal Vick. Now, Micheal has done some shady deals in the past, but battering women didn't seem to pop up. Drug use, theft and the notorious dog fighting scandal came up, but nothing about battering women. I'm not sure if you remember 2007 all that well, but people were pissed, I mean really pissed that Micheal was breeding dogs to fight. People were calling for his head. People on my feed who aren't even interested in sports were up in arms.
When you compare how people reacted to Floyd and Ray, with a 'That's guy is a piece of shit, why does anyone watch their sports anyways' compared to Micheal's 'That guy fought dogs? INNOCENT PUPPIES BLARGRGRAGR!!!!!!! CUT OFF HIS HEAD!!!!!'
\
Spousal abuse doesn't just happen in sports. It happens everywhere. Some abusers are engineers, or lawyers, or doctors. There's plenty of spousal abuse in the entertainment industry. Even women have been known to abuse men in relationships as well. Violence is shitty any which way you cut it, and I'd say that sports and entertainment get a bad rap simply because they're in the spotlight. I'm almost certain that if you were to compare the statistics of sposal abuse between regular jobs and vanity jobs like football players and thespians, you'd find that they're on even ground.
I'm not condoning the actions of Micheal Vick here, what he did was atrocious. It did open up my eyes about how we view the abuse of women. They may be mothers, they may daughters, hell, women might actually be people who walk the planet with hopes, desires, and dreams like the rest of us 'cough'. And we might continue to turn a blind eye towards the abuse of women, in favor of entertainment, money, and the ability to sleep a little bit better at night.
But if you ever fuck with man's best friend, we will cut your sack off and feed it to the goddamn sharks.
Sincerely,
The Illustrious Mr. Charlton
p.s. I had a dog once. It was delicious.
(1) - "Dachshund-puppies" by Alex Khimich - Own work. Licensed under CC BY-SA 3.0 via Wikimedia Commons - http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Dachshund-puppies.jpg#/media/File:Dachshund-puppies.jpg
Let's roll back the tape to February 2014, when Ray Rice was caught on tape knocking his then fiancee out in an elevator, then dragging her back to his room. Jail time? None. Hell, they got married not too long later.
But shucks folks, let's go all the way back to 2007, and bring in Micheal Vick. Now, Micheal has done some shady deals in the past, but battering women didn't seem to pop up. Drug use, theft and the notorious dog fighting scandal came up, but nothing about battering women. I'm not sure if you remember 2007 all that well, but people were pissed, I mean really pissed that Micheal was breeding dogs to fight. People were calling for his head. People on my feed who aren't even interested in sports were up in arms.
A Pack of Blood Thirsty Wiener Dogs (1)
![(1)](https://www.blogger.com/%22%3Ca%20href=%22http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Dachshund-puppies.jpg#/media/File:Dachshund-puppies.jpg">Dachshund-puppies</a>" by <a href="//commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/User:Alex_Khimich" title="User:Alex Khimich">Alex Khimich</a> - <span class="int-own-work" lang="en">Own work</span>. Licensed under <a href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0" title="Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 3.0">CC BY-SA 3.0</a> via <a href="//commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/">Wikimedia Commons</a>.){kind=link}
\
Spousal abuse doesn't just happen in sports. It happens everywhere. Some abusers are engineers, or lawyers, or doctors. There's plenty of spousal abuse in the entertainment industry. Even women have been known to abuse men in relationships as well. Violence is shitty any which way you cut it, and I'd say that sports and entertainment get a bad rap simply because they're in the spotlight. I'm almost certain that if you were to compare the statistics of sposal abuse between regular jobs and vanity jobs like football players and thespians, you'd find that they're on even ground.
I'm not condoning the actions of Micheal Vick here, what he did was atrocious. It did open up my eyes about how we view the abuse of women. They may be mothers, they may daughters, hell, women might actually be people who walk the planet with hopes, desires, and dreams like the rest of us 'cough'. And we might continue to turn a blind eye towards the abuse of women, in favor of entertainment, money, and the ability to sleep a little bit better at night.
But if you ever fuck with man's best friend, we will cut your sack off and feed it to the goddamn sharks.
Sincerely,
The Illustrious Mr. Charlton
p.s. I had a dog once. It was delicious.
(1) - "Dachshund-puppies" by Alex Khimich - Own work. Licensed under CC BY-SA 3.0 via Wikimedia Commons - http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Dachshund-puppies.jpg#/media/File:Dachshund-puppies.jpg
Saturday, 2 May 2015
Baltimore - I'm Not Racist, But....
Baltimore. Located in Maryland, It's
the twenty-sixth largest city in the United States. It's home to the
Oriels and the Ravens. The Wire, one of the most acclaimed television
series ever to grace the tubes takes place there. Both the famous
singer Billie Holiday and the baseball legend Babe Ruth hail from
Baltimore. And unless you've been under a rock or on the moon for the
last few weeks, you would know that the city is in chaos over the
death of Freddie Grey, a man of twenty five who died of spinal cord
injuries while in police custody.
I'll break down what happened, but
we're not going to spend a lot of time on it. Freddie made eye
contact with police officer, then proceeded to flee. The officers
took chase, pinned him down and processed him for carrying a
switchblade. They threw him in the back of a van. When Freddie told
the officers he had sustained injuries, they ignored his pleas. You
can read about the whole thing here. They found out his switchblade
was actually a folding knife, which is not illegal. As for running
from the police, the supreme court has determined this action is not
a crime a while ago. Technically, Freddie Grey was illegally detained.
Now, you didn't come to Mr. Charlton to
hear the facts. No, you came here for an opinion and I'm going to
give you one. There is a race problem and it's mostly white people.
Ouch.
Now, it doesn't have to do so much with
the pigment of white people. If white people were neon green, then
we'd have a neon green people problem. You could argue history has
documented numerous accounts of white people committing atrocities
against other white people, and you would be right. You could also
argue that history has documented numerous accounts of not-white
people committing atrocities against other not-white people, and you
would also be right. Again, it doesn't have as much to do with
pigment as people would have us believe.
It has more to do with what I like to
call 'White-Washing'. The term white-washing is an old one, and it
meant other ethnicities were encouraged to act white, to be more
palatable to a broader audience. I like to use the term differently,
in which history is down played or forgotten to make the history more
palatable to white people. It stems from what I hear all the time
from white people. “Well, all of that is in the past, why can't we
just get along now?”
This is how I was raised when I was
younger. I remember learning in school that racism is bad, and we
should be nice to everyone, no matter what their skin colour was.
People used to mistreat others based on their ethnicity, and that was
bad. I moved to the big city, big ol' small town heart, and I then I
learned that I was actually pretty racist. Coming to that conclusion
was an eye opener, and actually made me more racist in the process.
All of the shit white people did, I
never really learned about. The enslavement of black people in
America, the genocide of aboriginals in Canada, residential schools,
forced sterilization. Christ, it used to be illegal for black and
white people to get married. This all fell under 'mistreatment'. Long
story short, the cruel history of murder, rape and enslavement was a
very long story made short.
Again, this kinda shit has been
happening for almost as long as human beings have been humans. The
issue today is, again, what I term White-Washing. We've made it look
as this part of our past and history isn't that big of deal, or we
pretend it never happened at all. The truth is, it has shaped the
current state of how we view the deaths of young black Americans in
the United States. We don't get upset or pay attention when one of
these people die in the hands of law enforcement, we get upset when
they start to riot because of that death. That's when the cameras
turn to those impoverished communities. Maybe that's a large part of
the reason of why people riot in the first place. If you can't get
attention with a peaceful protest or by pursuing legal action, then
maybe the only way left is the violent approach.
I'm not condoning the riots. What I am
going to say is this sort of thing is going to continue to happen
unless we start having a frank and honest discussion about race, and
what that means to everyone. As white people, we might have to start
being more honest about our own history. I think that kind of
discussion is already taking place, due to the large leaps in
technology in both photography and distribution. It won't happen over
night, but even in the midst of all the chaos, I'm starting to see a
light at the end of the tunnel. Maybe I'll live long enough to step
into it.
I don't know what it's like to be
black. But if you want to know what it's like to be white, I call
tell you that aside from the homicidal urges and the compulsive need
to devour human flesh at the end of the month, it's pretty damn
sweet.
Sincerely,
The Illustrious Mr. Charlton
p.s. The human flesh eating. You guys
all get that too, right?
p.s.s. Seriously, I'm in Golden right
now and the selection of of human meat is pretty weak.
Tuesday, 17 March 2015
Touring my Bathing Suit Area
I used to grab my cock when I was a child. I mean, I really used to hold on to my penis at
all times, as if it were some sort of lifeline and it was the only
thing keeping me tethered to the planet. There's pictures of me, and
there I am, holding my dong. You'll see videos of me, my father
asking aloud, “Mr. Charlton, why are you holding on to your penis?” and
I would shrug, and wander off with my pecker in hand.
This is something I did for years, to
the point where my penis actually curves to the left now a
little bit. I'm not sure if this is a direct result of
having been holding onto the thing as much as I did, but I can be
assured that it certainly didn't help. So yeah, I was the dick
holding kid. It stopped for the most part when I got old enough;
where it was no longer cute but seen as incredibly inappropriate. I
can't remember the exact time in my childhood, but there was a very
definitive line from where my father would gently ask why I was
holding my johnson, to where he would angrily shout at me to relinquish
my dick grip. But it still sprouted up from time to time.
Mostly it was when I was playing video
games. I has a tendency to be a bit of a hog when it came to taking
turns and playing fairly with my brothers or whichever of our friends
happened to be over at the time. This was even more apparent when I
had to use the wash room, as I would use the bottom half of my hand,
the ring and pinky fingers, to grab my pecker as the other half of
the hand, the far more dexterous part of my hand, to hold the
controller and continue playing, leading me to hold in my urine for an extended period of time. I believe it's this act alone is
why, at the age of twenty-six, I had to see a number of doctors, even
one urologist, to ascertain why at such a young age I was pissing
like an old man.
I remember first going to the doctor's
to see about my problem. This was a private clinic, not far away from
where I was working at the time. My first doctor was an incredibly
attractive Vietnamese woman who was in her early thirties. She took a
few samples of urine and blood, then let me out. I came back a few
weeks later. Tests came out negative, no STDs or irregularities. Now
the good doctor was going to give me a prostate exam. I was dressed
smartly, I always was for work. Here I am, suit and tie, pants around
my ankles while this cute Vietnamese doctor with knee high leather
boots and smelling of lilacs is sticking her index finger up my
asshole and checking my prostate. I remember, when she was done,
turning around and, after a few exchanged words regarding the health
of my inside cock, I looked at her and said “Nice boots, by the
way”. I remember her looking at me, her face saying 'Did you just
flirt with me after I had my finger up your ass?' and I shot her a
look back with 'Yes, yes I did just flirt with you after you had your finger up my ass'. I did not get her number.
There were more tests, a visit to an
ultrasound clinic, a few more prostate checkups. I was lucky that,
for whatever reason, the doctors performing the exams were always
attractive women. My idea of a prostate exam may be skewed as I
haven't had an unpleasant one. Finally, they sent me to a urologist
at Rocky View hospital in Calgary. My father took me there, as he was
in town at the time. To lend support, I guess. I was nervous, because
I was informed that the procedure would be to take a camera and stuff
it up my urethra, a procedure called a cystoscopy. Not a particularly
fun procedure. We waited in the dick surgery department, I being the
youngest person in the room; my father being the second.
My name came up, and I was led to a
room. After waiting no more than thirty seconds, a nurse came in. In
the most clinical way possible, she told me to take off my pants and
underwear, lay down on the table, and that she would be administering
a numbing cream on the tip of my penis. There was no flirting here,
this woman meant business. I did as I was told. I stripped, laid
down, and she unceremoniously put the cream on, as if she were lubing
up break pads in a car. I had to admire her professionalism to turn
what most would find to be an embarrassing situation into a grease
job at a garage.
The doctor came in. He was a nice man
who very quickly explained the procedure. He would be cramming a tube
like apparatus up my no-no area, he would look around and make a
diagnosis depending on what he saw. There was a large television in
front of both of us and he slid the camera into my body. As we took a
stroll into my bathing suit area, he narrated the adventure as if he
were a tour guide and I was a tourist. I was almost hoping to find a
kiosk outside the room, where I would be able to get a photo in a
cardboard frame, with the caption 'My First Cystoscopy'. Perhaps a
hat with a slogan that read 'Dick Adventurer' would suffice.
The procedure finished, and to my
dismay, everything checked out fine. There was no reason for my pain
or my difficulty urinating, it may just have been a small start to
the eventual and complete breakdown of my body. I grabbed my father
and we began to leave the hospital. Just before the exit, I had a
sudden urge to pee. This made sense, as the cystoscopy procedure
pumped the bladder full of saline solution. I opened the door to the
boys room, found a suitable urinal and proceeded to take one of the
greatest pees in my life. It was glorious.
Now, the doctor mentioned that he's be
pumping fluid into my bladder. What he didn't mention is that there
would be some air in there as well. So as I'm whizzing away,
blissfully re-leaving myself, the air started coming out of my cock.
I'm now farting out of my dick, my penis whipping around like an
elephant's truck as the bathroom fills with the sounds of dong farts.
THPPPIIIIPPPPPPP, THPPIIIIPPIPIPPPP, rang out my knob as I howled
with laughter as my dink spun around violently. It had to be one of
the funniest things I had ever seen.
A man came in and I've tried so hard to
picture what he saw. There's this young man, laughing to with point
of tears as he stares at his penis, while the audible farting is
coming from the front of the body and not the back. I remember
hearing him coming in and I stopped, looked over my shoulder, then
loudly proclaimed “Don't worry buddy, I'm just dweefing.”
And that was when I, like many
storytellers before me, had been presented the opportunity to create
a new word. Dweefing; the act of farting out of your dick.
Sincerely,
The Illustrious Mr. Charlton
p.s. The wiener works great now, I
couldn't tell you what was wrong with it. Maybe it was the stress of
being an awesome penis.
Monday, 23 February 2015
Back by Popular Demand
Well fuck.
So, how long has it been since I've
written anything down on this here blogtown? A year? Two years? We'll
say it's been a while. I've had the pleasure of talking to some of
you, and I guess that four, maybe five of you are excited as shit to
see me type words onto the internet again. For the rest of you, well,
there's always pornography. Mr. Charlton isn't going to blame a
person for wanting to touch themselves instead of reading what I have
to say. As far as why I quit the blog, there's a few reasons.
- I had a career.
Also.
There were some good things about this,
and some bad (mostly bad), but long story short, being a at computer
all day, then coming home to a computer and writing well into the
evening was looking less and less appealing to this handsome man. As
well, a lot of companies want your online personality to shine. I'm
not saying I don't shine like a diamond. I do. But the idea that I
was now representing the company on my free time made writing about
dolphin cocks a little harder than usual. I found a fantastic
solution though. I quit my job.
Yes, yes, yes, you've heard this all
before. This wouldn't be the first time Mr. Charlton took a good long
at his life and politely said...
“Fuck this shit.”
I've a had a lot of people ask me what
I'm going to be doing. I've been telling them plenty of things.
- I'm going to travel to South East Asia and become a wandering monk.
- I'm going to go back to school to teach myself computer science.
- I'm going to finally sit down and finish writing that damn book.
- I'm going to train an elk to be my stead because that's the closest thing to a Unicorn I might ever get to ride.
Anyone telling me they wouldn't ride a horse with a fucking spear on it's head into battle is a liar
So here's the deal. I'm going to flat
out say I've got an idea of what I want to do. But I'm keeping that a
secret. Some of y'all know what I'll be doing for certain. Most of
you don't. Mr. Charlton likes mystery, so it's going to stay that way
for a while. Feel free to drop me a line if you really need to know.
I'm going to remind you that mystery is way sexier than honesty, and
I'd love for you fine people to stay sexy as all sin. But when I say
some of you know what the scoop is, right now it's two people. And
one of them is Mom.
I'm going to keep this short, 'cause
this is more of a re-introduction than a full on post. If you're
wondering where I am, I'm hanging out in Golden for a bit. Getting my
bearings, getting rid of some shit (If you need a fondue set, I have
a KILLER little number that is perfect for re-creating 1970's
parties. Quaaludes not included).
How long are you going to be there? For
a while, but not for too long. Vagueness is sexified mystery.
Where am I going? Honestly, that's a
little irrelevant to me at this point. I ain't too worried about the
actual location.
What am I doing? Goddamnit people, stay
sexy for me. Keep the mystery alive!
Why am I doing this? I've been in the
consulting game for a decade people. I've been a desk jockey for ten
damn years. I've got no kids, no mortgage, no career and nothing but
time. If I'm going to do something crazy, this might be the last
ticket I can punch.
Who are you? Well.... hold on a sec. Is
the next question going to be How something question again?
Uhhhh..... Listen, captain twenty
questions, let's lay down some ground rules.
- I don't know when I'm going to update this shit.
If this were business, then yeah, I'd
be saying shit like 'New content every Monday and Thursday!' But I
forfeited my internet dollars the second I started swearing on the
blog. It's through Google, and if you read the fine print, they like
to keep things kid friendly. I'm about as kid friendly as rat poison.
I've got no fuckin' idea when I'm going to update shit. All four to
five of you are going to have to wait until inspiration strikes.
- I don't know what I'm going to write about.
I was aiming for some sort of theme the
last go-around with this blog, and that ain't happening. Will pretty
much be off the cuff. There was some good topics last time, there
were some bad topics last time. I'm not going to be putting junk up
here just to meet an invisible quota for myself. Let's shoot for good stuff.
- I do not edit this shit all that much.
I wrote a short story two days ago, one
that I'm really proud of. I had a couple of people look at it and rip
it to shreds. Did a re-write, and now I'm really, really proud of it.
I'm going to have one or two more people take a peek, tweak it, and
I'm hoping it will be blooming after that. Good writing takes
editing, it takes fresh eyes, it takes feedback. With this junk, I
might take one good look at it, do a re-write, then ship it, warts
and all. This isn't my Sistine Chapel. This is my ledger where I
doodle.
With that last bit I said, fuck people,
feel free to criticize a guy. How the hell is a guy supposed to
improve if nobody is telling me it's shit?
Look, if you know me, you know that I
have an ego that borders on being a problem. When I masturbate, I
look in the mirror and think of me. If some of you think that you'll
hurt my feelings, just remember this; my last girlfriend called my a
soulless, emotionless robot, and part of me took it as a compliment.
Maybe one day my programming will allow for love.
Anyways, I'll be in touch. I've had a
few adventures, a number of stories, and a couple of yarns to spin.
It'll be sooner than later. Until then, you fine, sexy,
not-going-to-ask-a-lot-of-questions people, this gentleman is signing
off.
Sincerely,
The Illustrious Mr. Charlton
p.s. Mad apologies to Dr. Hottie for
being a robot. Keep kicking cancer's ass.
p.s.s. I get it. Sexified is not a word. I'm still using it, damnit.
Thursday, 27 June 2013
Last Call
It's been awhile. As I sit down late in the evening, I'm contemplating exactly why I haven't written a blog post. I've been writing, yes, but not here. Not on the tubes. I've been shying away for some time, between bouts of calm meditation and exercise on one end, drunken fueled orgies of excess on the other. Business as usual, I guess, but the sway between the two states seems to be greater than usual, especially the last few months. New job, new friends (as well as old ones), small trips and cooking experiments have left me little time to entertain you all. Let me explain.
I was going to write about how I had lost a lot of my writing to this infernal site. You see, there seems to be an issue between the mobile app and blogger's page, and it had reverted copy to the blog that were unedited or incomplete. In some cases it had deleted many paragraph and much humour. Google's free little service may not be the best place to host these words.
I was going to write about the current devastation in Calgary, my former home, my home for over ten years. I was going to express my love for the city and the good times that took place. Calgary welcomed many of my 'first's' and brought me more friends than I could shake a stick at. Calgary was so good to me that I've turned down more opportunities than most people get in a lifetime. I even shed a tear into my Manhattan when I saw the extent of the flood.
I even have a post written about the difference between Edmonton and Calgary, my own personal 'Battle of Alberta', although I've only lived in this city for less than a year (hint: Edmonton is very nice, but Calgary still wins by a nose or two). I was also going to talk about my biases regarding this decision, but the truth is a good portion of the blog disappeared.
So why am I writing? Because I've come to conclusion that I'm done with the blog. For now, at least. I'd like to say that it was a tough call, but truthfully, it was not. A small factor was when a voice in my head spoke out as I was writing and said Are people going to like this? For me, that was a slippery slope between being a writer and being an entertainer. And although entertainment is good, writing about dolphin sex was a little too base as well as not going to win me a Pulitzer. Not to mention I can only play the monkey when I'm hammered and that's starting to wear thin.
It wasn't you, dear reader, all six of you. Nor was it the cause mentioned above, to be honest. To be perfectly frank, it is because of the computer. I could go into detail, but it's getting past my bedtime. Long story short, I spend eight to ten hours a day at work in front of a computer and the last thing I want to do when I get home is spend more time on here. I want to cook. I want to write. I want to read books, take walks and go jog around for a bit. I want to learn origami and go to scotch tastings. I want to suck in some life, now that it's summer, and every moment I'm sitting here is making me slightly ill and less interesting.
So, for now, I bid adieu. Last call was twelve minutes ago and I'm getting up early to make a fantastic breakfast with turkey, spinach and eggs. Maybe one day I'll get around to getting some stuff back on the web. But it won't be until the snow hits and I'm stuck inside. Even then, I may instead buy snowshoes.
Sincerely
The Illustrious Mr. Charlton
p.s. I'm going to be hitting up Calgs for two weeks in August. You people let me know what the score is.
I was going to write about how I had lost a lot of my writing to this infernal site. You see, there seems to be an issue between the mobile app and blogger's page, and it had reverted copy to the blog that were unedited or incomplete. In some cases it had deleted many paragraph and much humour. Google's free little service may not be the best place to host these words.
I was going to write about the current devastation in Calgary, my former home, my home for over ten years. I was going to express my love for the city and the good times that took place. Calgary welcomed many of my 'first's' and brought me more friends than I could shake a stick at. Calgary was so good to me that I've turned down more opportunities than most people get in a lifetime. I even shed a tear into my Manhattan when I saw the extent of the flood.
I even have a post written about the difference between Edmonton and Calgary, my own personal 'Battle of Alberta', although I've only lived in this city for less than a year (hint: Edmonton is very nice, but Calgary still wins by a nose or two). I was also going to talk about my biases regarding this decision, but the truth is a good portion of the blog disappeared.
So why am I writing? Because I've come to conclusion that I'm done with the blog. For now, at least. I'd like to say that it was a tough call, but truthfully, it was not. A small factor was when a voice in my head spoke out as I was writing and said Are people going to like this? For me, that was a slippery slope between being a writer and being an entertainer. And although entertainment is good, writing about dolphin sex was a little too base as well as not going to win me a Pulitzer. Not to mention I can only play the monkey when I'm hammered and that's starting to wear thin.
It wasn't you, dear reader, all six of you. Nor was it the cause mentioned above, to be honest. To be perfectly frank, it is because of the computer. I could go into detail, but it's getting past my bedtime. Long story short, I spend eight to ten hours a day at work in front of a computer and the last thing I want to do when I get home is spend more time on here. I want to cook. I want to write. I want to read books, take walks and go jog around for a bit. I want to learn origami and go to scotch tastings. I want to suck in some life, now that it's summer, and every moment I'm sitting here is making me slightly ill and less interesting.
So, for now, I bid adieu. Last call was twelve minutes ago and I'm getting up early to make a fantastic breakfast with turkey, spinach and eggs. Maybe one day I'll get around to getting some stuff back on the web. But it won't be until the snow hits and I'm stuck inside. Even then, I may instead buy snowshoes.
Sincerely
The Illustrious Mr. Charlton
p.s. I'm going to be hitting up Calgs for two weeks in August. You people let me know what the score is.
Wednesday, 20 February 2013
Losing my Religion
If you haven't heard the news (I am speaking to literally no one who has an internet connection) is that the Pope has resigned at the ripe ol' age of eighty-five. The last time a Pope resigned was St. Celestine the Fifth in 1294 (you could argue that the last time it happened was Gregory the Twelfth in 1415, but I'm not of that opinion). For most people, this isn't really news. It happens to be incredible news if you are a Catholic, or in my case, an ex-Catholic. Yes, ladies and gentleman, something that many of you may not know if that I was raised Catholic in the Sacred Heart church.
I know what most of you are thinking, but yes, I can walk into a church without bursting into flames
I'm not here to talk about church politics though, although most governments have a clean slate compared to the corruption that underlies the largest church on the planet. I could spend hours talking about the pedophilia, the incredibly poor treatment of any native population that was encountered by the church or the role (singular) of women as seen by the church. On the other hand, it does do charitable works across the world and has existed for (roughly) two thousand years. Again, not talking about that. I'm here to tell you about my experience as a Catholic growing up.
Growing up, I didn't have a lot of good things to say about the church. I didn't have a lot of bad things to say either. There was one bad incident I remember, where when I was six and was chasing girls outside. An older women took me out back and kicked my ass screaming at me over and over "You be NICE to girls" (which actually screwed me up well into my twenties). But I wasn't molested. I was never caned for forgetting my Hail Marys. My youth in the Catholic church was... boring. Really, really boring. I could not for the life of me a time where I was that bored.
One of the things, in order to become a full member of the church, is Catechism. Basically school for learning about the church. There are steps you have to take each year, steps like; Confession, where you explain to the priest about all of the bad things you've done or Confirmation, where... I don't know, strengthens your ties to the church? Fuck it, these steps are called 'Sacraments' and in after school Catholic school, we learned about 'em in great detail.
At about the age of nine or ten, I started to to slip from 'God, church is so BORING' to 'Wait a minute, these people actually believe some of this stuff...'. I always thought it was a big metaphor. One of my little 'Aha' moments happened to be when, in make believe school, we had to write two hundred words about how great Jesus was. I was totally not interested so I sped through the assignment as quickly as possible, pouring saccharine and sap all over this sucker like it was fresh golden brown waffles. A week later I found out my little paper was the best one of SOME sort of region, and won fifty dollars. Two things sprung to mind. One, that what I wrote was complete drivel and I meant zero of it, and Two, I made fifty bones. Now if I had been part of another Christian denomination, I probably would have become preacher at one of those Mega Churches, driving a Benz while I did mounds of cocaine before I exorcised demons from good paying town folk.
Instead, Catholicism got weird for me at about the age of twelve. This was about the time that the third sacrament, the Eucharist (from now on will be referred to Magic Crazy Cracker Time), was popping up in my life. Now, Magic Crazy Cracker Time is something that, as a kid, you're REALLY looking forward to, because as a kid, you get to watch all these adults take part in Magic Crazy Cracker Time. You'd wonder to yourself "Damn, is the cracker THAT tasty? They get wine too? Are they getting their buzz on? Maybe that's why the priest is always so happy (He was seriously drunk all the time)". Basically, it's one of those 'The adults get to do it, why can't I?' kinda things.
A cracker ain't the only thing he's asking you to swallow
Anyways, we start to learn about Magic Crazy Cracker Time, and transubstantiation. What the hell is that big word, you may be asking? I give you a brief insight into not just mine, but almost all young Catholics when they are told what this means.
"And when you take the Eucharist into your body, you are taking in Jesus Christ."
"Okay, so we believe it's the body of Jesus Christ. Gotcha."
"No. It is the body of Jesus Christ."
'Okay, yeah, but like a metaphor, right?"
"No."
"I've watched you all eat that thing. It's a cracker."
"No but the priest blesses it, and through the power of transubstantiation it literally becomes the flesh and blood of our Savior, Jesus Christ."
"So, we're eating flesh, like cannibals."
"No, that's not exactly..."
"Yes, when people eat other people, that's cannibalism."
"Look, can't you kids just agree with me and do what you're told?"
And it's not like I'm some sort of Wunderkind over here, I saw the same look on a lot of young people's faces. But we went along with it, not because many of us believed it, but because we couldn't leave class until we agreed. So we took part in Magic Crazy Cracker Time and ate the body of our Savior (tasted stale) drank the blood of our lord (tasted like old people spit) and earned another merit badge on the 'Getting into Heaven' sash.
Our family stopped going to Mass (what catholics called going to church) as often then. Church wasn't a fun or spiritual place for anyone in my family, I think. But we still went the odd time, and I still had to do the occasional outing with the church. And that was the last straw.
I was 14-15 at the time. We were invited to a youth rally held for catholics in Nelson, BC. A weekend of prayer, song and fun is what was promised. We all piled into a van and headed south. We were the last to arrive, and after we arranged our things, headed to the main hall for the 'festivities'. There were sketches about Jesus (how awesome and cool he was), dancing about Jesus (sometimes a dude was dressed as Jesus and break dancing) and songs about Jesus. The guy next to me, an older kid maybe 16-17, was REALLY the songs. So much so, that when he asked me why I wasn't clapping. I replied that I had sprained my wrist playing basketball earlier that week. An he was so thoroughly into our Hero J to the C that he looked at me, right through me with cold dead eyes, and said "Funny, most people sprain their angles playing basketball". The music must have started to move through me because I started slapping my arm like my life depended on it.
With that kind of zealotry, you can even grow up to be Prime Minister!
Later that evening, me and this girl started hitting it off. Chemistry was bubbling, sparks were flying, the whole puppy love thing was in full effect. We spent the night and any time we had the next day chatting, flirting, being young kids. We were both really excited for the dance later that evening. Did I mention there was a dance? Yes, the catholic church was pulling out all the stops this weekend, and there was gonna be a dance. With touching! Fuck yeah! I was stoked! She was stoked! A lot of kids with repressed sexual desires were stoked! It was something we were all looking forward to!
But... they had rules. I know, catholics with rules. Craziness. One rule, their big rule, was the very simple "We like to see Blue, we like to see Pink, we don't want to see Purple". When we translate that into mature human being talk, it means that they wanted a foot between dance partners. A foot! Might as well be a mile. They had a stick to break you up if you got too close, and people, me and this girl got broken up a lot. We spent the evening trying to look over each other's shoulders so we could sneak a quick hug or a peck. It was kinda sad.
I remember the next day, I was pissed. The writing fake words about Jesus for money, no big deal. Pretending a cracker is flesh and that I'm a zombie? I thought it was funny. But this? The church, catholicism at it's whole, was now cock blocking a teenager. Let me get this straight... Flood happens, God's will. Letting a girl my age rub up against me because we're full of hormones and confused as shit, now I'm the asshole. Shit catholic church, did you ever stop to think that letting us touch each others fun bits was God's will? That day I did two things; I started smoking regularly and stopped being a catholic
There are a lot of things in the bible that apply, if this was two thousand years ago. The whole Leviticus thing? Perhaps persecuted slaves, most of what made up early christianity, were probably pissed at the current oligarchy and their ways, including homosexuality. No sex before marriage? People used to get married at the age of whenever puberty hit. It's not like you had to wait long before getting your rocks off, this rule basically said 'No fucking children'.
Look, the whole of catholicism and christianity I find incredibly odd. To each there own, but when I spell it out for without the mysticism or the Grandeur, it's the story of God, who gave people free will but had a plan, who loved people so much that it turned itself into a human form of itself by impregnating a lady, so it could be tortured and put to death (which, because it's all part of it's plan, knew this was coming) so that people could thank the human form of itself for doing this so that they wouldn't go to Hell (Hell, which by the way, was started by an angel who thought that God's plan was pretty lame), because even though they had free will, they were only free to worship God as it decreed, a very poor declaration I might add.
Honestly, looking back on what I just wrote, I'm certain God is simply a big fan of BDSM who came down to party with a bunch of hookers for thirty years. What was it's plan in all that? To experience life through a human's eyes? Isn't it omniscient? Wouldn't after experiencing that much sorrow and pain decide that those were shitty things to give people? Fuck it, I like my first idea better. God loves BSDM, and Jesus has more than likely been reincarnated as Rob Halford from Judas Priest.
He is better known as the 'Metal God' (seriously)
Sincerely,
The Illustrious Mr. Charlton
p.s. Fun Fact! I've been listening to Judas Priest for two weeks straight! I still think British Steel is their best album.
p.s.s. Painkiller is also their best album, so is Screaming for Vengeance.
p.s.s.s Defenders of the Faith? Possibly the best album.
p.s.s.s.s. You may have noticed that I refer to God as an 'It'. I'm pretty certain a deity has no use for genitals.
Tuesday, 29 January 2013
Idle No More, From the Mouth of an Incredibly Entitled White Man
Goddamnit people, really now, you're going to make me talk about this, aren't you? Oh, I WAS going to write a hilarious post about Lance Armstrong finally having the ball to come clean about his drug use. So thanks, people. You just ruined a Goddamn joke about sack cancer. I fucking hope you're happy. Now I have to talk about this bullshit and why everybody is an asshole.
I'm going to be frank. Every single post that I've seen regarding Idle No More has been pretty stupid. All of them. If you've been posting stuff for or against the movement, chances are I've seen it. Chances are high that I wasn't impressed either. So I'm here, as a representative of white people everywhere, I come forward as their King, to explain very clearly why both parties are completely wrong.
Oooooo, I should also mention that out of both parties, neither include the actual people protesting, a.k.a the First Nations people. They actually have a pretty good reason for protesting, the same reason they've protested in the past and the reason they are more than likely going to protest again unless things are figured out. I've got no beef with them, in fact, I agree with the movement. That's not saying I have criticism or varying ideas, but that's neither here nor there. The parties that happen to be completely out to lunch on the subject are in two camps. The 'Entitled White Assholes who don't understand why the First Nation people are protesting in the first place', and the 'Entitled White Assholes with university degrees who are stunningly bad at explaining exactly why the First Nation people are protesting in the first place'.
I'm almost convinced that a degree in sociology will actually lower a person's IQ
So, let me talk to the first group, the 'Entitled White Assholes who don't understand why the First Nation people are protesting in the first place'. I'm not actually mad at y'all. You see, the other camp has been pretty ignorant on exactly what an average entitled white asshole would know about Treaty laws, not to mention most of you work in trades or went to school for something useful. What you have to understand is that when party #2 starts throwing around words like 'Solidarity' and 'Hegemony' or concepts like 'White Privilege' or 'Colonization', they're actually talking about something quite a bit deeper, it's just that you need to spend a lot of time learning and reading about the subjects to understand exactly what the fuck they are talking about. Don't worry, ol' Mr. Charlton here is gonna define some things.
White Privilege.
Fuck you Mr. Charlton! I've worked for everything I got!
Whoa whoa, Lone Star, let me explain this idea for a sec. White privilege doesn't mean you get money handed to you at birth, or that you get a free handy at the local rub-and-tug. Part of what it means is that because of your skin color, society at large will make a stereotypical assumption about your character. When you're white, that stereotypical assumption is void.
Let me give you an example. Let's say Peter McWhity, John Runs-with-Dreamcatchers and Darkay Token are hanging out at party. Things are winding down, so the three friends nab a bottle of cheap scotch from the liquor cabinet and head down the road, passing it amongst each other. They finish the bottle and head their separate ways. Both Peter McWhity and John RWD hop on the transit. When Peter gets on the train, somebody sees them and thinks to them self "Man, that guy is WASTED". When John hops on a bus, somebody sees them and thinks to them self "Man, that guy is WASTED. Why are Native people drunk ALL THE TIME?". Spot the difference?
The next day, Peter McWhity gets confronted by one of the home owners about the missing scotch. Peter fesses up. Home owner thinks to himself "That guy is an ASSHOLE". One of the other home owners confronts Mr. Token about the missing scotch. Darkay confesses. Home owner thinks to himself "That guy is an ASSHOLE. I should have known it was the black guy!".
This sort of thing happens all the time, and is damaging to the group as a whole. Part of what white privilege means your personal actions aren't going to count against your entire ethnicity. These subconscious ideas can stay around for decades. You ever here that Irishmen are big drinkers? Totally false, Britain actually consumes the most alcohol in Europe by leaps and bounds. But the myth arose in the late nineteenth century when Americans saw a huge rise in Irish immigrants. Rumors were spread that the Irish were lazy drunkards to discourage them from getting hired over Americans. This idea has stuck around for years and will more than likely keep sticking around.
The most vile form of racism
Back to our three amigos. When they all apply for the same job, Peter McWhity has the advantage because his ethnicity doesn't conjure up the stereotype that he's a drunk or a thief. In fact, that's why our society has things like affirmative action in place, to combat stereotypes. So what does this have to do with Idle No More? Well, let's get to the very bottom of why the protesters are actually protesting. Keep in mind that, yes, I am simplifying things a whole bunch.
What you need to understand is that Canada is a TREATY nation. When our ancestors came to Canada, it was already inhabited by the native population. Being white Europeans, we assumed any one who didn't drink tea or line up in a big field during war times was an absolute savage. We were also interested in colonizing this land because the way Europeans measured their penis lengths at the time was how many colonies one had. But there was an issue. The natives! Although they were un-Christian pagan sinners who weren't ashamed of their fun bits, they were considered extremely well versed in the art of war. Now, the European settlers could have gone to war with them and more than likely won, it would have cost a lot of money and a lot of white Christians would have died. So all parties involved decided to sign a treaty! And that treaty still stands today! It meant that we were going to be friends!
A big part of the treaty was concerned with reservations. What the treaty stated was that the Native reservation was considered it's own little nation state, to be governed by the people that lived on them. If any change to the law of Canada was to any way affect the land of the First Nations people, it had to be put on the table and discussed with them before it was allowed to pass. Any attempt to move forward without the First Nations people was considered an act to colonize the reservations, what we'll call colonization.
Unfortunately, Europeans are shitty neighbors. Britain, France and Spain have rich history of signing treaties amongst themselves, breaking them and then going to war. In fact, I'm pretty sure that's all they were doing for well over a thousand years. And we've managed to keep up the tradition.
Recently, a bill when through the house of commons called Bill C-45. Bill C-45 has to do with the waterways in Canada and how they were protected. It went from 'All waterways and water bodies are protected at a federal level' to 'Only a few waterways and water bodies are protected at a federal level'. As far as how many a few is, I think it's about nine that are still protected. It means that if you want to build a dock on your lake or a pipeline by a river, you used to have to get permission from the federal government. Studies had to be done in order to assess the impact your dock or pipeline had on the water surrounding it. That's no longer the case. The First Nations people are pissed because a dock or a pipeline might have consequences to the tiny little bit of land they call home, and technically the federal government was supposed to talk to them first because it's the law. That's what Idle No More is about. It's about the fact that the First Nations people are supposed get a seat at the table to discuss laws that affect them and the federal government keeps blowing them off. Pretty much EVERY protest involving the First Nations people has this issue at the very core of it.
Now! Back to the white privilege thing. I said part of WP involved not having any stigma attached to your ethnicity. The other part is not understanding that because you have privilege, it also means you have more power. And the biggest problem with being in power is that you'll consider how you do things is normal.
You hear this all the time. "Man, if only ALL Native people acted THIS way, things would be fine!". Or the classic "I don't have a problem with gay people, but it bothers me when they act SUPER gay and faggoty". What you are actually saying is "Man, I hate it when people act differently than I do. If they all acted like me, there'd be nothing wrong!".
Chris is awesome because he doesn't act like a nigger
See, because you're in a position of power, you see the boat as going the course, smooth sailing. Then this uppity group of people start making demands. The nerve! Why can't things continue to be like they are? Well, the boat ride has been pretty rocky for others.
And that's what you don't about how Canada as a country has treated the First Nations in the past. Really shitty. I mean, REALLY shitty. When we wanted them to go to school to learn European things, they got raped as children. When they celebrated festivals, we considered them un-Christian and had them banned. Up to as recently as 1972 we were actually sterilizing some of them so they couldn't have children. Ms. Dances-with-Rain became Ms. Never-Bears-Fruit. Shitty things too numerous to list. That mistreatment over the years, a lot of which was very, very recent, is the reason why suicide rates among native is way higher, why they make up a huge portion of the prison population and why native women are far more likely to disappear.
Combine all that with the fact that we, as a Nation, can't even follow treaty law that was signed, makes for a pretty pissed off bunch of people. I mean, c'mon! We rape 'em, take away their fun festivities, tie their tubes so they can't have babies and NOW we can't even follow our own laws? Fuck, I'd be pissed too!
Is it more complicated than that? Obviously. What I'm getting at is this protest isn't about money or handouts. It's about the deal we originally struck as law and our inability to follow it. That's what's at the heart of Idle No More.
So, to the people of the 'Entitled White Assholes who don't understand why the First Nation people are protesting in the first place', I didn't write this piece to change your mind, but open it up to the idea that way things are benefit you more than it benefits others. Maybe it'll change your mind, maybe it won't. At least you'll hopefully have a better idea as to why they are blocking roads and making you late for work.
To the 'Entitled White Assholes with university degrees who are stunningly bad at explaining exactly why the First Nation people are protesting in the first place'. Goddamnit. I had to do your fucking job? I didn't go to school for this shit, I draw lines and circles on a computer for a living. I had to do a shit load of research into this complicated mess. I don't want to be spending my weekends looking into treaty law. You smug cocks. Instead of writing papers geared towards your peers, maybe you should be writing with the people you are trying to convince in mind. I hear the word 'Solidarity', I instantly think this person went to Talk-Like-a-Dickhead University. Mike the Mechanic or Susan the Nurse isn't going to spend an evening brushing up on terms like 'Principles of Stratified Diffusion'. They wanna come home, eat some chicken and maybe get drunk or stoned. That's it. Tasty chicken and getting fucked up. Mike doesn't berate you for not knowing how your car runs and Susan spends her day cleaning up after your piss and shit. The least you can do is not act like a smug prick when explaining things. It makes you look like a spoiled, privileged, entitled asshole.
Hopefully that clears things up. Did I make some gross generalizations? Of course. But I can get away with it because I'm the King of the White people.
Sincerely,
The Illustrious Mr. Charlton
p.s. I swear, every person I meet that has studied sociology acts like that cargo-cult science is the end-all, be-all of the academic world.
p.p.s. As far as the cargo-cult claim goes, the definition of science is 'Repeatable Results'. Anything else is just academics.
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