Because everyone thinks all I ever do is pick on other people--I thought that this week I'd pick on myself. Actually, I'll let my sister Amber do the picking. She wrote the following "roast" for a speech class.
Enjoy:
"Imagine a six-foot one, nine-teen year old college sophomore who still lives in his mom's basement. His hair has not been cut in one year and he is just starting to be able to put his hair into a ponytail. And His favorite past time is playing on his Xbox. He also enjoys watching the Adult Swim on Cartoon Network every Sunday night instead of doing his homework. He is very sarcastic and most of the time acts like a complete jerk. He takes afternoon classes at Longview so he can sleep in and walk around in his underwear.
He's so rude that one time while taking me home from school one day he saw a woman on the side of the road and instead of leaving her alone like every other normal human being of course he had to say something. He proceeded to honk his horn at her all while yelling your fat! The woman just looked at us in horror as we drove by and I felt so bad while on the other hand my brother was laughing so hard he started to cry. And then there was the time he went out with my best friend and decided he wanted to break up with her so he did it while I was in the car. And of course neither one of them told me they were going out so you can imagine what kind of car ride that was.
And then there was the time he was working at Walgreen's and he accidentally locked himself in the freezer and he had to crawl through a vent on the floor and when he got out there was a customer just standing there looking at him. There are a million other incidents that I could tell you about if only they were school appropriate. So that is all I have to say about the strange creature that is my brother Jason."
Showing posts with label Criticism. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Criticism. Show all posts
Friday, March 12, 2010
Friday, December 4, 2009
Thank You for Being a Friend
It was a hot summer night, and my sister and I were taking part in our usual late-night routine. Hunkered down on the floor of my bedroom, we sprawled out onto the floor with our pillows and blankets. Staring up at my thirteen-inch television set, we waited for MASH to come on, little did we know what we were about to see…
Growing up in the 1970’s, when the show was new, my father would be ridiculed at school because he was one of the few kids who didn’t watch MASH. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to—he did—it was that his parents came from an older generation and wanted nothing to do with it.
Since this was in the ear BEFORE kids had TV sets in their bedrooms, my poor father grew-up missing out on one of the era’s greatest television achievements (with the invention of Saturday Night Live being the second). If you’ve never seen MASH, it’s a show about medical officers during the Korean War (1950’s) however the show was REALLY about the Vietnam War (which was still going on when the show first aired).
Sometime after it went off the air, my grandparents developed a love for MASH when it went into syndication. So, whenever my family would go and visit them on Sundays we’d often sit and eat Kentucky Fried Chicken—and watch MASH. My Dad adores this show, and it became a regular part of our lives to watch it with him, late at night on one of the local channels during the weekend.
We’d sit up late, and watch MASH. My dad would drink beer and we’d all eat peanuts. Then one day, ABC started putting MASH on weeknights after the ten o’clock news. We were ecstatic. This was in the pre-TV-on-DVD days, so this was our only way to see this show. Once summer began, we’d stay up late and watch MASH all by ourselves. Our Dad worked an overnight shift, and my Mom would have to go to bed fairly early…but my sister and I could certainly stay up late for MASH.
We were in TV heaven for a few months, and then something happened.
I can remember that night, just like it was yesterday. It started off like any other, first we snuggled up on the floor and patiently waited for the news to end. Then a repeat of Roseanne came on (a show which we tolerated but didn’t really feel anything for). After that it was two episodes of MASH before it was time for bed.
But that night, once Roseanne’s credits ended, instead of the faded green hills of Korea (really sunny California standing in for Korea, as I would learn later) my sister Amber and I were greeted with an aerial view of…sunny Florida?
And then the title appeared: “The Golden Girls.”
What the hell was this? Old ladies? Where was Hawkeye and Frank Burns?
Needless to say we were pissed and promptly shut the TV off. The next day we scanned the TV schedule in the newspaper and saw that rather than show back-to-back episodes of MASH, our ABC affiliate was going to show one episode of this thing called “The Golden Girls.”
I’ve always been freaked out by old people, so this show scared me at first. But, being lazy children, we started to just sit through The Golden Girls. I guess we couldn’t think of anything better to do for 30 minutes.
I can’t remember exactly how long it took, but eventually our loathing melted away. Pretty soon we both secretly liked the show. Of course, neither of us would dare admit it to the other. Instead we laughed, pretending that we were making fun of it—but we weren’t laughing at it. We were laughing with it.
Recently, before we pulled the plug on our cable (it’s too expensive and my wife and I don’t watch TV) I caught a Golden Girls marathon on Lifetime. The show surprisingly still made me laugh. But as an adult I’m not only shocked that someone like me (young, male) can find so much to enjoy in a show about four 60+ year old women living together in Florida—I’m shocked that such a show EVEN GOT ON THE AIR.
TV like all forms of American popular entertainment has always been geared towards young people. If you don’t look a certain way or if you’re over a certain age…you’re almost always excluded. Women and men over 35 aren’t very attractive to advertisers. And yet this show was put on the air, was a success, and is loved by many to this very day.
This tells me a couple of things. First off, it tells me that funny is funny regardless of race, gender, sexual orientation, or age. Secondly, it tells me that corporate American really is as stupid as everyone says it is. There are numerous instances of HUGE success stories that fly in the face of their “conventional wisdom,” and yet they still keep making the same “safe” choices year in and year out.
Where is our show about old women today? There is no show like that. They have Gossip Girl and Secret Life of the American Teenager, but nothing for or about anyone over the age of 30. This is not only stupid, but probably the reason why TV is so crappy (and why I don’t have cable). As the baby boomers grow even older, this huge “golden years” population is not being represented in our popular culture. I don’t know about you, but I don’t tend to watch TV I can’t relate to (on at least some level). The TV Executives are going to lose a pretty big part of their viewing public, I predict (at least, even bigger than what they’ve ALREADY lost).
Anyway, when the subject of “good” TV comes up, it’s easy to point to a show like MASH and say “that was a good show.” It was a good show, it was well-written and daring. And yet, a show like The Golden Girls is almost just as daring. Imagine the meeting for both shows.
“How about a comedy about the Korean War?”
Now with shows like McHale’s Navy and Hogan’s Heroes having kinda/sort gone that route, I can see how MASH was green-lit. Even though MASH was more of a drama/comedy mix, there was still a precedent for war-themed comedy shows.
But think about the pitch for the The Golden Girls: “I want to make a show about four old ladies…hanging out together…one is a sexaholic…”
I bet you could a PIN DROP at that meeting.
So what I’m saying is: I think America needs another show about over-sexed old ladies. Thank you.
Growing up in the 1970’s, when the show was new, my father would be ridiculed at school because he was one of the few kids who didn’t watch MASH. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to—he did—it was that his parents came from an older generation and wanted nothing to do with it.
Since this was in the ear BEFORE kids had TV sets in their bedrooms, my poor father grew-up missing out on one of the era’s greatest television achievements (with the invention of Saturday Night Live being the second). If you’ve never seen MASH, it’s a show about medical officers during the Korean War (1950’s) however the show was REALLY about the Vietnam War (which was still going on when the show first aired).
Sometime after it went off the air, my grandparents developed a love for MASH when it went into syndication. So, whenever my family would go and visit them on Sundays we’d often sit and eat Kentucky Fried Chicken—and watch MASH. My Dad adores this show, and it became a regular part of our lives to watch it with him, late at night on one of the local channels during the weekend.
We’d sit up late, and watch MASH. My dad would drink beer and we’d all eat peanuts. Then one day, ABC started putting MASH on weeknights after the ten o’clock news. We were ecstatic. This was in the pre-TV-on-DVD days, so this was our only way to see this show. Once summer began, we’d stay up late and watch MASH all by ourselves. Our Dad worked an overnight shift, and my Mom would have to go to bed fairly early…but my sister and I could certainly stay up late for MASH.
We were in TV heaven for a few months, and then something happened.
I can remember that night, just like it was yesterday. It started off like any other, first we snuggled up on the floor and patiently waited for the news to end. Then a repeat of Roseanne came on (a show which we tolerated but didn’t really feel anything for). After that it was two episodes of MASH before it was time for bed.
But that night, once Roseanne’s credits ended, instead of the faded green hills of Korea (really sunny California standing in for Korea, as I would learn later) my sister Amber and I were greeted with an aerial view of…sunny Florida?
And then the title appeared: “The Golden Girls.”
What the hell was this? Old ladies? Where was Hawkeye and Frank Burns?
Needless to say we were pissed and promptly shut the TV off. The next day we scanned the TV schedule in the newspaper and saw that rather than show back-to-back episodes of MASH, our ABC affiliate was going to show one episode of this thing called “The Golden Girls.”
I’ve always been freaked out by old people, so this show scared me at first. But, being lazy children, we started to just sit through The Golden Girls. I guess we couldn’t think of anything better to do for 30 minutes.
I can’t remember exactly how long it took, but eventually our loathing melted away. Pretty soon we both secretly liked the show. Of course, neither of us would dare admit it to the other. Instead we laughed, pretending that we were making fun of it—but we weren’t laughing at it. We were laughing with it.
Recently, before we pulled the plug on our cable (it’s too expensive and my wife and I don’t watch TV) I caught a Golden Girls marathon on Lifetime. The show surprisingly still made me laugh. But as an adult I’m not only shocked that someone like me (young, male) can find so much to enjoy in a show about four 60+ year old women living together in Florida—I’m shocked that such a show EVEN GOT ON THE AIR.
TV like all forms of American popular entertainment has always been geared towards young people. If you don’t look a certain way or if you’re over a certain age…you’re almost always excluded. Women and men over 35 aren’t very attractive to advertisers. And yet this show was put on the air, was a success, and is loved by many to this very day.
This tells me a couple of things. First off, it tells me that funny is funny regardless of race, gender, sexual orientation, or age. Secondly, it tells me that corporate American really is as stupid as everyone says it is. There are numerous instances of HUGE success stories that fly in the face of their “conventional wisdom,” and yet they still keep making the same “safe” choices year in and year out.
Where is our show about old women today? There is no show like that. They have Gossip Girl and Secret Life of the American Teenager, but nothing for or about anyone over the age of 30. This is not only stupid, but probably the reason why TV is so crappy (and why I don’t have cable). As the baby boomers grow even older, this huge “golden years” population is not being represented in our popular culture. I don’t know about you, but I don’t tend to watch TV I can’t relate to (on at least some level). The TV Executives are going to lose a pretty big part of their viewing public, I predict (at least, even bigger than what they’ve ALREADY lost).
Anyway, when the subject of “good” TV comes up, it’s easy to point to a show like MASH and say “that was a good show.” It was a good show, it was well-written and daring. And yet, a show like The Golden Girls is almost just as daring. Imagine the meeting for both shows.
“How about a comedy about the Korean War?”
Now with shows like McHale’s Navy and Hogan’s Heroes having kinda/sort gone that route, I can see how MASH was green-lit. Even though MASH was more of a drama/comedy mix, there was still a precedent for war-themed comedy shows.
But think about the pitch for the The Golden Girls: “I want to make a show about four old ladies…hanging out together…one is a sexaholic…”
I bet you could a PIN DROP at that meeting.
So what I’m saying is: I think America needs another show about over-sexed old ladies. Thank you.
Friday, October 2, 2009
Crappy Poetry Makes Me Cry “Grape-flavored Teardrops”
When it came time to pick a major there was really only two choices for me—English or History. So I did the sensible thing and chose History (on the basis that I couldn't make any money with an English degree!). I ended up going back to English after just one semester as a History major.
My reason for switching?
I didn't have to read or write as much as an English major (and yes, I’m perfectly aware of the irony in that statement). What people don’t realize is that History majors read a TON of books and write a TON of papers. In the one semester that I was a History major I was expected to write twice the amount of papers that I did my second year as an English major.
But it wasn't just laziness that brought me back—I had a few encouraging teachers that told me I should make the switch, and I missed reading novels for homework.
However, there was one thing that discouraged me from coming back to the English department.
Poetry.
I know this is going to sound really bad, but I hate poetry. At least, I hate the academic definition of poetry. Which by the way, what is that again?
One of the pitfalls of poetry is that just about anything COULD be poetry. It really just depends on how liberal your instructor is.
Poetry (as defined by Wikipedia): is a form of literary art in which language is used for its aesthetic and evocative qualities in addition to, or in lieu of, its apparent meaning. Which basically means “pretty words chosen because they sound good, look good on paper, and will make the writer appear smart.”
Bonus points if the reader has no FUCKING CLUE what the exact message the author is trying to convey.
If it were a sport, Poetry would be Cricket. It’s needlessly complicated and aristocratic at its worse—and childish and unintelligent at its best.
I always catch hell for this belief, and I can understand that…most people have poetry shoved so far down their throats that they have it coming out their rectum. But the truth of the matter is, an appreciation for poetry is like an appreciation for cod liver oil. And just like cod liver oil, we ingest poetry because we’re told its “good for us.”
Prose is a superior medium to enlighten and convey ideas. Prose can be “poetic” in nature, but rarely is it as obtuse and maddening as 99.999% of the poetry I was forced to read. I’ve read books and novels with footnotes…but some of the poetry that I was forced to read in college required footnotes that often HAD footnotes.
I’m not even joking.
And don’t get me started on the poems whose footnotes were LONGER THAN THE ACTUAL POEM. When you’re in school, and you’re dealing with this strange/difficult to understand dribble…you often feel quite stupid. Poetry is often like a foreign language—you recognize some of the words, but the meaning is obscured behind fancy layer after layer of dual meaning and double entendre.
Now, just because something makes you feel stupid doesn’t necessarily mean that it’s bad (after all, you may just be stupid, right?). But if there’s one thing that Creative Writing classes have taught me (and Creative Writing has taught me more than just one thing) it’s that sometimes/most times NOT EVEN THE POET KNOWS WHAT THE HELL HIS/HER POEM IS ABOUT.
You have no idea how many times I’d sit there and listen to someone say they didn’t know what their poem was about. Of course, the rest of the class (and the teacher) had opinions about this. They’d claim to “know” what the poem was about. And the author would nod and agree. And just like that, the meaning of the poem was “decided.”
I often wonder how many of the “great” works in the poetry canon have been treated in just this manner. Picture it: some 17th century dude, drunk off his ass on Absinthe is just trying to get laid. So he writes a sloppy, drunken love letter to a courtesan he knows. She of course is a typical woman, and saves EVERYTHING. The letter gets passed down through the years AND BOOM! I’m stuck in British Lit II trying to figure out what the hell it all means.
Just because a guy was drunk and horny—he didn’t have any aim other than getting past a few chastity belts.
And yet I have to pay for his lechery.
No other literary medium can say that MORE PEOPLE ENJOY WRITING IT THAN READING IT. But it’s true. After all, how often do you sit down and read poetry? Exactly. Poetry was a fad that’s come and gone. If you stop and think about it, poetry is a lot like the messages on Twitter. Short and concise, the “Tweets” are mostly written by drunk guys trying to get laid.
Just like poetry.
Alright, time to retract some of that hate (after all I was an English major). There are some great poems, and some pretty good poets…but for the most part, I hated studying poetry. I hated feeling my eyes glaze over after the 150th line of free verse.
But I’ve saved the worse for last—when I was younger I too dabbled in the dark art of poetry. This is a shameful part of my literary career, one that I’m going to bravely share with you in the hopes of preventing such tragedy from every occurring again.
Bad poetry is all too common. Please, don’t judge me too harshly…
Yikes. See what I mean? Poetry sucks.
I didn't have to read or write as much as an English major (and yes, I’m perfectly aware of the irony in that statement). What people don’t realize is that History majors read a TON of books and write a TON of papers. In the one semester that I was a History major I was expected to write twice the amount of papers that I did my second year as an English major.
But it wasn't just laziness that brought me back—I had a few encouraging teachers that told me I should make the switch, and I missed reading novels for homework.
However, there was one thing that discouraged me from coming back to the English department.
Poetry.
I know this is going to sound really bad, but I hate poetry. At least, I hate the academic definition of poetry. Which by the way, what is that again?
One of the pitfalls of poetry is that just about anything COULD be poetry. It really just depends on how liberal your instructor is.
Poetry (as defined by Wikipedia): is a form of literary art in which language is used for its aesthetic and evocative qualities in addition to, or in lieu of, its apparent meaning. Which basically means “pretty words chosen because they sound good, look good on paper, and will make the writer appear smart.”
Bonus points if the reader has no FUCKING CLUE what the exact message the author is trying to convey.
If it were a sport, Poetry would be Cricket. It’s needlessly complicated and aristocratic at its worse—and childish and unintelligent at its best.
I always catch hell for this belief, and I can understand that…most people have poetry shoved so far down their throats that they have it coming out their rectum. But the truth of the matter is, an appreciation for poetry is like an appreciation for cod liver oil. And just like cod liver oil, we ingest poetry because we’re told its “good for us.”
Prose is a superior medium to enlighten and convey ideas. Prose can be “poetic” in nature, but rarely is it as obtuse and maddening as 99.999% of the poetry I was forced to read. I’ve read books and novels with footnotes…but some of the poetry that I was forced to read in college required footnotes that often HAD footnotes.
I’m not even joking.
And don’t get me started on the poems whose footnotes were LONGER THAN THE ACTUAL POEM. When you’re in school, and you’re dealing with this strange/difficult to understand dribble…you often feel quite stupid. Poetry is often like a foreign language—you recognize some of the words, but the meaning is obscured behind fancy layer after layer of dual meaning and double entendre.
Now, just because something makes you feel stupid doesn’t necessarily mean that it’s bad (after all, you may just be stupid, right?). But if there’s one thing that Creative Writing classes have taught me (and Creative Writing has taught me more than just one thing) it’s that sometimes/most times NOT EVEN THE POET KNOWS WHAT THE HELL HIS/HER POEM IS ABOUT.
You have no idea how many times I’d sit there and listen to someone say they didn’t know what their poem was about. Of course, the rest of the class (and the teacher) had opinions about this. They’d claim to “know” what the poem was about. And the author would nod and agree. And just like that, the meaning of the poem was “decided.”
I often wonder how many of the “great” works in the poetry canon have been treated in just this manner. Picture it: some 17th century dude, drunk off his ass on Absinthe is just trying to get laid. So he writes a sloppy, drunken love letter to a courtesan he knows. She of course is a typical woman, and saves EVERYTHING. The letter gets passed down through the years AND BOOM! I’m stuck in British Lit II trying to figure out what the hell it all means.
Just because a guy was drunk and horny—he didn’t have any aim other than getting past a few chastity belts.
And yet I have to pay for his lechery.
No other literary medium can say that MORE PEOPLE ENJOY WRITING IT THAN READING IT. But it’s true. After all, how often do you sit down and read poetry? Exactly. Poetry was a fad that’s come and gone. If you stop and think about it, poetry is a lot like the messages on Twitter. Short and concise, the “Tweets” are mostly written by drunk guys trying to get laid.
Just like poetry.
Alright, time to retract some of that hate (after all I was an English major). There are some great poems, and some pretty good poets…but for the most part, I hated studying poetry. I hated feeling my eyes glaze over after the 150th line of free verse.
But I’ve saved the worse for last—when I was younger I too dabbled in the dark art of poetry. This is a shameful part of my literary career, one that I’m going to bravely share with you in the hopes of preventing such tragedy from every occurring again.
Bad poetry is all too common. Please, don’t judge me too harshly…
Grape-Flavored Teardrops
A poem by Jason Wendleton (age 17)
It’s so cool and pure,
It’s so sweet
It can be so very, very sweet.
With a spring in the step
And the shuffle in your feet.
The smile on your face says
It all: Life can be so sweet.
As you flock to the sunshine
Wave to the people that you meet.
‘Cos like a grapeflavored teardrop,
Life is both sad and sweet.
Sad and sweet,
Get to know them both.
Sad and sweet,
Life’s both so sad—and sweet.
It’s so sweet.
Yikes. See what I mean? Poetry sucks.
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