Girls Will Run The World

    A fellow blogger, whom I respect dearly, recently posted about the new Steve Carrell film: Crazy Stupid Love. She opened by noting that men no longer make grand gestures for the women they love, especially those they are about to lose, or have not won yet.

    I agree that these gestures are vital to successful partnerships of any kind. I also agree that they’re probably missing, these days. I posted a comment, which I have copied below, regarding my personal theory as to why. No it’s not, “Chivalry is dead and women killed it.” Nor is it, “You wanted equality—now you got it.” Those theories are ridiculous and only partially true.


    Oh come now.

    The hopeless romantic isn’t dead, he’s terrified. Female empowerment has finally taken a firm hold on his balls. There’s still more squeezing to come, I think, before women have a strong enough sense of identity to lessen the grip. It’s understandable—recovery from being treated as second class citizens does not come easy.

    The new woman scares him. This modern woman; Beyonce and all that. Man has always been terrified of women. Why else would he have oppressed them? Once he sees they’re not a threat, he can begin to reasses his own identity, and the cycle of gender evolution continues.

    Man is actually a sucker for romance, for grand gestures. Man is vain. Most gifts are vanity in disguise. Man loves to be loved. But that vanity, that need to be loved, is much more fragile in man than it is in woman. Man doesn’t watch romantic movies because man will simply crumble before the screen. Besides, man has his own media-enforced programming to cope with. Man’s social confusion is often overlooked, which is understandable because it is definitely not their turn.

    If I don’t stop here this’ll end up a book, so I’m stopping. Just be patient. Have a little faith. Man isn’t romantically retarded; man is retarded.


    To check out the original post from the blog of Eleanor Gwyn-Jones, From a Corner of a Foreign Field, click here.

Published in: on August 12, 2011 at 12:58 am  Comments (3)  
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Spray-Tan Xenocide

    My name is Michael J. Coene–proprietor of the Bloggery–and I am very upset. If you would lend me your ear… eye? Ear. Ear sounds better. If you would lend me your ear, I will tell you exactly why I feel this way.

    A certain mantra is being bantered about cyberspace. Self-proclaimed writers of all shapes and sizes are playing volleyball, gleefully smacking the motto back and forth over the net, congratulating themselves on a job-well-done. All fine and dandy, but it seems the ball is deflated. It’s a wrinkled mass of rubber and seams, and it keeps flopping into the sand by their tender little spray-tanned feet. Yet these volleyball writers continue to pat themselves on the back. Good show, people. Good show.

    Versions of the incantation are numerous and varied, despite Twitter’s 160-character limit. The volleyball writers manipulate these variations deftly–which is shocking, given the context.

    The following is a quote which seeks to replicate the hymn’s general philosophy. If I accidentally write something you actually tweeted (that word is almost as awful as blog), then I sincerely apologize.

    Wait… no I don’t. If you ever tweeted this nonsense, you should be ashamed of yourself.

    Okay… here goes…


    “Writers who like their work aren’t good writers at all! : )”



    … come again?

    Have you ever read a book? Have you ever met a writer? These people are veritable emblems of arrogance. A writer’s ability is quantifiable by varying degrees of pomp. It’s no secret.

    What? You think Poe was a modest little birdie? You think when Twain revolutionized narrative vernacular, he berated himself for the failure? Do you honestly expect me to believe Shelley considered “Frankenstein” the pinnacle of mediocrity?

    Any recorded moments of insecurity on behalf of literary geniuses are due only to their massive egos. The larger the ego, the more fragile it is (bigger they are, harder they fall–you know the drill). Not because the writer thinks the work is bad, but because somebody in the world has failed to recognize the sheer genius of it. The writer cannot cope with this, and thus becomes fueled and inspired to prove the critic wrong. At no point does lack of skill enter as a possibility.

    The reason for this phenomenon is simple. Excessive confidence is absolutely necessary, in becoming a noteworthy artist. This fact applies to every art form. Convinced of genius, an artist can readily, easily share the conclusion with others. How? With words, folks. With words.

    According to these volleyball writers, a bad writer who acknowledges a lack of skill is a good writer, and a confident, skilled writer is, in fact, remarkably terrible.

    Well, you know what? Fuck. You.

    Look, I’m not saying I love everything I’ve ever written. Certainly, there is work I think is weaker than others. Each work is better than the last, every time–such is the nature of the craft. The older the piece, the worse the prose.

    That said, do I think I’m a bad writer? Not at all. Actually, I think I’m pretty damn good. I love what I do because I’m good at it. If I thought I sucked, I would take up plumbing or occupational therapy or something.

    Volleyball writers would have us be ashamed of our prowess. Quite frankly, I am insulted. Thinking you suck does not make you better, people. That doesn’t make any sense. Modesty does not equal ability.

    It works both ways, you know. Just because some English major has a fancy vocabulary and a published Young Adult Vampire novel does not make the person talented. Excessive confidence, though necessary, is not the only ingredient in aptitude.

    Assert yourself. Be proud of your work. Write like you fucking mean it. Then re-write, re-write, re-write, and re-write some more, until the arrogance is scraped away, and what’s left is solid, effective, vibrant prose. That’s all there is to it. Nowhere does meekness enter the equation.

    Please, volleyball writers, I beg of you–stop tossing this airless ball around. You are misguided. You are misguiding other, impressionable writers who are just starting-out. Because of you, they’ll think their crappy fan-fiction piece about Buzz Lightyear facing Lady Gaga in a dance-off is good, and as a result, they will never, ever grow.

    I work as an IEP Assistant for a special education school. The biggest problem we have is parents who are unwilling to accept their child’s shortcomings. If we don’t work on the parts that need to be worked on, then the kid will continue to masturbate in public long after the parents are dead. In other words, the kid will think the fact that he sucks is a good thing. Get what I’m saying?

    Stop patting yourselves on the back for feeling insecure. Self-doubt is not a positive attribute, so stop trying to convince everyone it is. You are disguising passive-aggressiveness and anxiety as pep-talk. The longer you refuse to re-write the same ten paragraphs for five hours straight, the longer you refuse to read enough quality literature to actually grow in your craft, the longer you will continue to suck. No amount of spray-tan can fix your voice, folks.

    Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go write “Gaga vs. Buzz – The Lady Years” before somebody takes my idea.

Published in: on April 19, 2011 at 9:16 am  Comments (2)  
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