This is (Almost) the End

Woo-hoo, the semester's nearly over!


I can finally take a break from the internet...for about a month, then I have to do summer school.


No matter, I won't look a gift unicorn in the mouth. I'll just enjoy the brief reprieve I've been given.


I've got a lot of reading to catch up on:


The End of Faith by Sam Harris


Night Shift by Stephen King


Tales of the Cthulhu Mythos by Divers Hands


Cabal by Clive Barker


Terror by Night by Ambrose Bierce


The King in Yellow by Robert W. Chambers


The Three Imposters by Arthur Machen


...and the last 2/3rds of The Bible.


Should be fun!

Stream of Consciousness

 

Confusing, confusing--it's really confusing--confusing kind of rhymes with "schmoozing"--schmoozing with the high elite--I don't mean to imply that they're stoned--unless you're counting opium, then yes, they very well might be stoned--opium is made from poppy seeds, as is heroin--and if you eat a poppy seed muffin you'll test positive for opium--it's true, I saw it on an episode of Seinfeld, and why would they think to lie about something like that? Lives might very well hang in the balance--Seinfeld is a show about nothing--kind of like how this blog post is about nothing--nothing comes from nothing, the creationists love to say--but I ask, have they ever even seen nothing? Nowhere you can go in the universe that has nothing in it, because the fabric of space-time is everywhere--it's inescapably--like death--I don't fear death, but I do have a healthy respect for it--other people are so sick in the head that they actually worship death--the religious icon for Christianity is a man being tortured and executed, that's really fucked up--Islam's not much better, they want to be martyred and take as many innocent civilians with them as possible--if they do this, they get 72 virgins, a race of beings called Houri, who, post coitus, reseal their hymens, so every time you have sex with them is like the first time, so every time you have sex you get all this blood on your schlong--that's some people's idea of heaven--heaven is just one example of highwaymen in funny hats making ridiculous promises they can't keep-- I say "don't make promises you can't keep", like I promised this blog post would be confusing, and it is (incidentally, this is exactly what reading Mrs. Dalloway is like--it's confusing).

A Friendly Letter to J. Alfred Prufrock

Hey J., I know you've been feeling down lately, thinking about how lonely and friendless and unloved you are, but things will get better. You're better. As our mutual friend, Stuart Smalley is often fond of saying "you're good enough, you're smart enough, and dog gone it, people like you." You should really trust his advice. He is a senator, after all. People have to like him or he'll lose his job.

 

Sure, you're going bald and your arms are super skinny, but you have a lot of good qualities. I mean... You're good at poetry--tons of high school students are forced to read your love song, and some actually enjoy it. Um...You've got a really good personality. Very deep and introspective. Any woman would be lucky to have you, and if they don't, that's okay.

 

Being alone is not so bad. You've got nobody to impress except yourself, you don't have to pay for expensive dinners, you don't have to deal with jealousy or infidelity, you don't have to buy a diamond ring that probably comes from child slave labor in Africa, you don't have to deal with in-laws. you won't get stuck with an crying baby, you can go to see the movie you want instead of sitting through some boring chick flick, really, the benefits here are endless.

 

And about the mermaids--forget them. If they don't want to sing to you, that's their loss. Really, it's kind of a blessing, things would never work out between you and them. They're narcissistic, high maintenance, and they get really mad if you buy them a seashell bra for their birthday. I mean, if they want to go to jail for public indecency, that's their own damn fault. No skin off my nose. Whatever. Besides, your naughty parts won't even match up, so you're mostly stuck with holding hands, which is hard since they're webbed, and kissing, which is not advised, and their teeth are really sharp. Like a shark kind of sharp. Which rules out something else they can do with their mouths... Anyway, mermaids make terrible lovers, trust me on this one.

 

Try to feel better, good buddy.

A Laundry List of Problems With Great Expectations

 

There's a laundry list of the problems I have with Great Expectations. It's mostly a matter of pacing--things happen far too slowly, and when they do finally happen they take the most anticlimactic route possible. The exact same story could have been told, with nothing valuable lost, in half the number of pages. I know Charles Dickens was probably being paid by the word to crank this thing out, but still, this is pure diarrhea of the mouth.

 

The biggest problem I have with Expectations, however, is a problem I often have with first person stories and that is: are we really supposed to believe that the protagonist has a photographic memory? How are they able to remember entire conversations they've had verbatim, so that the story they're narrating can be considered an accurate recollection of events passed? Pip, the protagonist of Expectations, can fully recall just about everything anyone's ever said to and about him from the age of seven onward. He even memorizes letters he receives and then is promptly ordered to destroy in said letters. Nowhere is it ever stated in the book that Pip has a good memory, much less an unfailingly perfect one. For me, this eidetic memory thing really stretches my suspension of disbelief. I know this isn't a fault original to Expectations, but when I was reading it I could be helped but be extremely bothered by it.

 

Dickens, I'm going to call "bah, humbug" on you.  

 

Victorian Doubt

So today I was reading about the Victorian Era for English class, and I came across a phrase that really struck a chord with me "The Doubt of Religion." Basically, what this means is that this was the first time people in the western world really started to doubt the veracity of religion (in this case, it was mostly Christianity). And I couldn't help but think to myself one of my favorite quotes from Religilous where it's host, Bill Maher, drops this chestnut: "doubt is humble, and that's what human beings need to be." Man, Religilous is such a great movie. You should watch it if you haven't already.

What's In A Name?

I think it's pretty common knowledge at this point that the monster in Frankenstein, and it's many movie adaptations, is not himself called Frankenstein, he is "Frankenstein's Monster (which is, admittedly, quite a mouthful).

Here's my quibble with this: the monster should have a name of his own. This is not just to make it easier to refer to him (although that's really important too), it's because not having a name greatly dehumanizes him as a character. To be constantly referred to as a "monster" or "creature" or "demon" plays into his creator: Victor Frankenstein's prejudices against him. By refusing to name his creation (more accurately, his son) Victor is making a deliberate point to refuse the creature any identity of his own, any social standing as a man. To Victor, his creation is an abomination, something to be swept under the rug, forgotten until he starts killing, and even then refusing to come clean about his personal failings as a father, and frankly, his sheer irresponsibility.

But when we learn about the creature from his own words, we see he is, in fact, a man, albeit one who's 8 feet tall with yellow skin and red eyes. He is not this mindlessly evil creature that doesn't deserve the common decency of a proper name.

So what do we call the creature, then? Well in one scene, the monster seems to name himself, telling Victor "I should have been your Adam" (the creature had just read Paradise Lost). Mary Shelley also called the creature Adam in private company, something that the makers of I, Frankenstein apparently knew about.

Okay so the creature's name is Adam. Is that it? Not quite, for as I said, you can make a very strong argument that the creature is Victor's son, so really, it wouldn't be wrong to call the creature Frankenstein too! The creator is Victor Frankenstein. The creation is Adam Frankenstein. Like father, like son.

There, I hope that clears up matters a bit.

On Romanticism

I'd like to tie up Romanticism, put it in a burlap sack, and beat it with a baseball bat till it admits the present is a million times better than the past.

Regarding "The Rime of the Ancient Mariner."

Getting accosted by a random old guy before a wedding is really weird.


Like, I've had to put up with family members I rarely see (with good reason), but I've never had to make small talk with a spooky drifter.


I mean, was the Ancient Mariner even invited, or is he a wedding crasher?


That's really bad manners, Ancient Mariner.


And then you're going to tell me your whole life story? And we'll just stand around? We aren't even going to bother to sit down at our table or anything?


And that's a really long time to be standing there. By the time the Mariner gets finished riming, the wedding will already be over, Dustin Hoffman will have arrived to break it all up, the couple will have said "I do", the rings would have been exchanged, the cake would have been cut and eaten, leaving none for me.


And all this because I decided to humor a senile senior citizen?


I don't think so!


Go tell someone else your crazy story, Ancient Mariner.


I really want some cake.

A Question Only my Christian Friends can Answer

Okay, so if the Devil is evil and the enemy of God, why does he punish bad people in Hell?

If The Devil was really against God, wouldn't he be nice to the people He has condemned to Hell, instead of doing God's dirty work for him?

And please don't tell me to look this shit up in the Bible, because there is no Devil in the bible. There is an angel ...called Satan in the Book of Job, but he is completely subservient to God

The snake in the Garden of Eden was just a talking snake

Christians said it was the devil centuries after Genesis was written

There is a fallen angel mentioned in the New Testament (though he is never called Lucifer) but he's stuck in Hell being tortured for all eternity. He doesn't run the show himself

So what I'm asking is why do Christians, without even following what's written in their own holy book, believe there's a Fallen Angel that really fucking hates God, but still helps him out by taking care of all the evil people?

Not trolling here, I'm honestly just curious about this discrepancy between what Christians believe the Devil to be, and how he actually acts

My Take On Creationism

 

You can believe in a god.

You can believe in the Judeo-Christian-Islamic God.

You can even believe the world is 6 thousand years old.

 

I don't care.

Really, I don't.

For all I care, you can believe in green polka dot elephants.

As long as it's not hurting anyone, I'm cool with it, even though I might (and when I say might I mean probably) think it's totally stupid.

 

But here's where I draw the line:

When you start demanding that high school science textbooks should include chapters about said green polka dot elephants, or that government funds should go to turning public land into nature preserves for the aforementioned green polka dot elephants THAT is when we're going to start butting heads, bucko.

 

The United States of America was founded on the right to believe stupid things; for instance: slavery.

 

But just because you believe in something stupid, that doesn't mean I or anyone else has to believe in it too.

 

I know you might not think your belief in green polka dot elephants is stupid, but if you can't provide any evidence (not arguments, actual tangible evidence) for the existence of the green polka dot elephants, I have every right to laugh in your face and call you a loon.

 

And that's where I stand on creationism.

I think the letter "W" (Pronounced Double-You) should instead be called "Double-Vee".


I mean really, W does not look like two U's put together, as the name implies.


Here's two U's put together: UU.


See, that doesn't look like a W at all!


Now put two V's together: VV.


Ladies and gentlemen, we have a winnah!


Two V's together look like a "Double-You", so why not just change the name of "W" to "Double-Vee?"


I realize this might seem silly and inconsequential to some, but it's the children I'm thinking of. Think about how their innocent little minds could be corrupted and perverted by the mispronunciation of a letter that should be pronounced "Double-Vee" as "Double-You."
Think about how this will lead to all kinds of delinquent behavior! And pretty soon, they'll all be addicted to meth and prostituting themselves and saying all kinds of naughty swear words like "dang" and "heck" and "cockamamie!"


Is this the kind of post apocalyptic wasteland we want to leave to our children, and our children's children (cause, let's face it, our children ARE going to get pregnant, and there's nothing we can do about it because abortion is sinful, as is masturbation, but I'll get to that in a later post)?


No, I say no!


I refuse to live in a Mad Max-style future, where rabid gangs of bikers in hockey masks roam the deserts (because in the future, all land will be deserts, which will have ABSOLUTELY nothing to do with global warming, no matter what the liberal media would have you believe) fighting each other relentlessly for oil and water!


I refuse to let Comrade Obama destroy everything we hold dear, like our bibles and our guns (not necessarily in that order)!


There's a line we must draw in the sand here, people! And it starts with how we pronounce the letter "W".


It should not be pronounced "Double-You", it should be pronounced "Double-Vee"!


I rest my case.