Sometimes I look at my life now and regret how judgmental I was back in high school.
This is not to say I'm not happy with where I am. I like my apartment, I like my job, I like the city I live in, and I like my friends.
(I probably should have put the "friends" part first, but, well, you know...)
Do I, at twenty-three, have the rock star glamorous career I thought I would? No. Do I get my Saturdays to myself to do as I please? Not quite. Do I still have to deal with customers even though I've sworn off customer service-based jobs multiple times in the last several years? Yes. Yes I do.
I'm happy - I am. But I'm prone to worrying that the dreams I've had won't be the life I'll live.
I write when I can, but I work a lot. I'm a naturally lazy person that has only recently been forced to shed that character trait, which makes it harder to push myself when I'm tired after a long day at the dealership.
For today, I'm not so worried my life won't work out like it's supposed to. Maybe it shouldn't. And maybe it's up to me to decide, through hard work and smart decisions, if I get to where I've always wanted to be. Or maybe what I wanted isn't still what I want, and I have to consider other options.
No, today I'm more preoccupied with my lifestyle. I'll catch myself mopping my kitchen floor and think, "well gosh darn. I really am a grown-up." On my next day off, it'll be 1 PM, and I'll still be in my pajamas.
I'm tired all the time.
I shouldn't be. I get eight hours of sleep. I drink coffee. I've started working out again. I try to be healthy. I'm twenty-three. I enjoy my work. I don't hate everything and everyone.
Maybe fatigue is a state of being? Maybe it's mind over matter? Maybe if I tell myself I'm not tired, then I won't feel tired and I can go out and live a life outside of work?
Maybe it's the motion. Maybe if I force myself to do things outside of work, I'll need to constantly do things outside of work. It'll be a self-perpetuating cycle, and I'll be more and more and more productive and less and less constantly tired.
It's 1 PM on a Wednesday and I'm still in my pajamas. That example I mentioned above? I'm living it right now.
There are nights when I think to myself, "man, I really am a grown-up." Those nights consist of falling asleep on the couch at 9:45 PM and calculating how many minutes stand between me and bedtime (two minutes to brush my teeth, two minutes to wash my face, thirty seconds to climb the stairs...). I know this is grown-up behavior because this is also a typical Saturday night for my mother. And my grandmother. And they're, like, super grown-up.
This was my Saturday night.
There are nights when I think to myself, "I'm still twenty-three, I need to have fun." Those nights consist of going out with friends, getting drunk, making out with some guy who later texts me to hang out - only to find I've passed out on my friend's couch before I get the chance to respond.
That may or may not have been my Sunday night.
There are nights where, after having gone out the night before and worked all day, I'm too tired to make food and too lazy to go out and find it, so I decide to have the rest of my chocolate-covered pretzels for dinner. At 8:45 PM I jolt myself awake on the couch, realize I'm missing out on some serious Arrested plot Development in the recently-released season, and go upstairs to go to bed. In the bathroom mirror I see there's brown stuff on my shirt and my arm - melted chocolate from the pretzels.
"Huh," I say to myself before I climb into bed and pass out.
Those nights remind me that a) twenty-three is still a dumb age and b) I actually might just be a gross person.
I'm not outright admitting this was my Monday night, but there's probably a reason I'm writing this.
Then there are the nights where I drive straight from work to the gym to get some exercise in, take a shower, and go to bed at a reasonable hour so I can skype with a friend of mine at 7 AM the next morning - on my day off.
"Man," I say to myself. "I really have my life together. Good for me. Good. For. Me."
(Until I curl up in a ball on the floor of my room because the leftover chili burger in the fridge was, apparently, not the best thing to eat right before working out.)
This was my Tuesday night. Last night.
I guess... there are going to be times where I feel like I haven't changed or grown since college. And there are going to be times where I'll find that I have - out of necessity, I've matured here and there. Like, I wear mascara to work now.
That's pretty grown-up of me, I think.
I'm going to change out of my Spongebob Square PajamaPants now.
Wednesday, May 29, 2013
Tuesday, May 21, 2013
Concerning the Death of Proper English
In school, grammar was always one of the subjects that came most easily to me. It was a set of arbitrary rules with one singular purpose: to make clear, without a shadow of a doubt, just exactly what it was the writer or speaker wanted to communicate.
Proper English has strict guidelines that dictate language beyond communicating one's ideas. Never ending a sentence with a proposition, for example, is a rule set up because your sentence sounds nicer that way, not because it affects the message one is trying to express.
To correct one's grammar in an academic paper is necessary; if one is going to write such a paper, one must use their education to write correctly.
To correct one's grammar in a casual conversation is obnoxious; if one understands what the other is trying to say despite the use of "ain't" or some other, similar example, then they should kindly refrain from correcting one's speech simply because it is not entirely "proper."
If one's grammar is so horrendous as to render one's speech unintelligible, perhaps at that time one can be corrected.
There are other forms of communication, of course. Novels, scripts, essays, poems are all forms of creative writing that play around with the rules of grammar depending on the exact tone one wants to set.
Their Eyes Were Watching God is grammatically very different than, say, Pride & Prejudice, but that does not make one novel lesser than the other.
Even in Their Eyes Were Watching God, however, there was some adherence to structure, and when Hurston diverged from the path of proper grammar, she did so with a very express purpose. She did so to highlight a point she was making about a person's personality or background or education level.
In today's world, major online publications will post articles without fully proofreading them, and grammar mistakes abound. Most of the time, the reader can reasonably understand what the writer is trying to say, but there have been a few instances where the grammar is so poor that the reader cannot understand the message of the blog at all.
Even if the reader can understand what the writer is trying to express, does that excuse the writer from misusing the English language, especially when said writer is trying to create a living for him or herself using the written word? No, it does not. Mistakes should not make it to print.
They do, though. A quick perusal of any of the Gawker websites will demonstrate this concept. Some sites are more focused on quickness of reporting and volume of articles they need to push out.
This tendency has seeped into most pop culture blogging sites. Proofreading seems to be almost archaic. If there's an edgy joke in there, or a salient point, or some halfway decent analysis, the article's poor grammar goes unnoticed.
This begs the question: are we doing a disservice to our language, or are we freeing ourselves from the constraints of nonsensical rules written centuries before our birth?
It depends on the medium, and it depends on the grammar mistake. Blogging is by its nature informal. It is perfectly acceptable to use informal speech in a blog post. However, if it's clear the grammar issue is a mistake rather than on purpose, the writer should consider reading through before posting his or her thoughts.
Using the wrong "their" for example, is distracting. Beginning a sentence with an "and" or a "but" is acceptable if the writer does so with a purpose in mind, assuming the format is supposed to be more casual.
With more formal writing it is imperative, as always, to use proper grammar.
The English language is constantly changing, constantly growing. Alright is a word now. Who knows what else can happen?
However, to assume grammar is a meaningless set of rules with no purpose will ultimately hurt one's writing. Boundaries and rules force a writer to work within that framework to better oneself.
By boundaries in writing, I am also including curse words. Curse words, when used sparingly, can force the reader to understand the gravity of the situation. I am guilty of over-using curse words. I will defend the right to use them, but not to over-use them. Too many curse words are for shock value only, nothing more, and this is something I have tried to fix in my last couple of posts.
(What number is "too many" is of course up for debate.)
Can one imagine if Shakespeare had been allowed to write his plays without any grammar boundaries whatsoever? What kind of mess would he have created? What if Mae West had been allowed to curse in public? What would have happened to her sly, subtle wit?
Grammar is still taught in schools, but college-educated writers online that presumably make a living with their craft are more and more guilty of eschewing grammatical tradition in order to make an earlier deadline. In some ways, strict adherence to grammar is considered outdated. However, if this is how one makes one's living, it is important to do the job as well as possible.
I retain full rights to spell the word "h8" however I'd like to prove a point.
Proper English has strict guidelines that dictate language beyond communicating one's ideas. Never ending a sentence with a proposition, for example, is a rule set up because your sentence sounds nicer that way, not because it affects the message one is trying to express.
To correct one's grammar in an academic paper is necessary; if one is going to write such a paper, one must use their education to write correctly.
To correct one's grammar in a casual conversation is obnoxious; if one understands what the other is trying to say despite the use of "ain't" or some other, similar example, then they should kindly refrain from correcting one's speech simply because it is not entirely "proper."
If one's grammar is so horrendous as to render one's speech unintelligible, perhaps at that time one can be corrected.
There are other forms of communication, of course. Novels, scripts, essays, poems are all forms of creative writing that play around with the rules of grammar depending on the exact tone one wants to set.
Their Eyes Were Watching God is grammatically very different than, say, Pride & Prejudice, but that does not make one novel lesser than the other.
Even in Their Eyes Were Watching God, however, there was some adherence to structure, and when Hurston diverged from the path of proper grammar, she did so with a very express purpose. She did so to highlight a point she was making about a person's personality or background or education level.
In today's world, major online publications will post articles without fully proofreading them, and grammar mistakes abound. Most of the time, the reader can reasonably understand what the writer is trying to say, but there have been a few instances where the grammar is so poor that the reader cannot understand the message of the blog at all.
Even if the reader can understand what the writer is trying to express, does that excuse the writer from misusing the English language, especially when said writer is trying to create a living for him or herself using the written word? No, it does not. Mistakes should not make it to print.
They do, though. A quick perusal of any of the Gawker websites will demonstrate this concept. Some sites are more focused on quickness of reporting and volume of articles they need to push out.
This tendency has seeped into most pop culture blogging sites. Proofreading seems to be almost archaic. If there's an edgy joke in there, or a salient point, or some halfway decent analysis, the article's poor grammar goes unnoticed.
This begs the question: are we doing a disservice to our language, or are we freeing ourselves from the constraints of nonsensical rules written centuries before our birth?
It depends on the medium, and it depends on the grammar mistake. Blogging is by its nature informal. It is perfectly acceptable to use informal speech in a blog post. However, if it's clear the grammar issue is a mistake rather than on purpose, the writer should consider reading through before posting his or her thoughts.
Using the wrong "their" for example, is distracting. Beginning a sentence with an "and" or a "but" is acceptable if the writer does so with a purpose in mind, assuming the format is supposed to be more casual.
With more formal writing it is imperative, as always, to use proper grammar.
The English language is constantly changing, constantly growing. Alright is a word now. Who knows what else can happen?
However, to assume grammar is a meaningless set of rules with no purpose will ultimately hurt one's writing. Boundaries and rules force a writer to work within that framework to better oneself.
By boundaries in writing, I am also including curse words. Curse words, when used sparingly, can force the reader to understand the gravity of the situation. I am guilty of over-using curse words. I will defend the right to use them, but not to over-use them. Too many curse words are for shock value only, nothing more, and this is something I have tried to fix in my last couple of posts.
(What number is "too many" is of course up for debate.)
Can one imagine if Shakespeare had been allowed to write his plays without any grammar boundaries whatsoever? What kind of mess would he have created? What if Mae West had been allowed to curse in public? What would have happened to her sly, subtle wit?
Grammar is still taught in schools, but college-educated writers online that presumably make a living with their craft are more and more guilty of eschewing grammatical tradition in order to make an earlier deadline. In some ways, strict adherence to grammar is considered outdated. However, if this is how one makes one's living, it is important to do the job as well as possible.
I retain full rights to spell the word "h8" however I'd like to prove a point.
Monday, May 20, 2013
All I wanted was a burrito
Thursday I got to work around 10 AM. I was already planning my evening: leave work around 8/8:30, go for a run, make myself something healthy for dinner, do some writing, go to bed at a normal hour.
At 10:30 PM it was clear we weren't going to be able to sell the ES350 we had spent the last hour trying to push out. I got in my car thinking how I could salvage my evening, and figured I could get a burrito (there goes the healthy dinner), go straight home (there goes the exercise), and write (at least one of the three).
A burrito would make everything better, because burritos are delicious, and I was in a bad mood.
I got to the taco truck nearest my home and parked in what passed for a "parking lot," but it was just a bunch of cars next to each other without much structure. I got out of my car to make sure it's situated in a place where other people can still back out - going so far as to even ask a gentleman if I'm blocking his way (to which he replied that I was not) - before going to pay for the burrito.
The employee spoke to the customers before me in Spanish before easily transitioning to English when I got to the front of the line.
"You're about to make my night," I told the employee while handing him some cash.
I was getting some sauce to put on my burrito when a gentleman announced, "whoever has the Honda Civic, someone just ran into your car!"
Well fuck. I have a Honda Civic.
I hurried over to the parking lot and saw the damage. My driver's door was caved in, and three dudes in a beat-up Nissan were about to drive off. I stood between their car and the driveway and took a good look. They hit my car, and they were just about to run.
"Are you fucking kidding me?" I shouted. "You do that to my car and you're just going to fucking BOUNCE?"
So maybe this wasn't the best way to go about it. I mean, starting the conversation with an accusation is bad, and it's not like it's going to make them want to work with me to fix my car. But I had had a long day, and I was angry these people were so shameless as to damage my car and then drive off without paying any consequences.
I continued to yell, my vocabulary laced with profanities, until they finally got out of the car.
"I'm so sorry," the driver apologized.
"I'm more upset you were about to drive off than about the actual damage. I mean, I'm upset about the car too, but... whatever, I want your insurance information."
"Ahh..."
"Are you insured?"
"Yes. But this is my brother's car."
"Is your brother's car insured?"
"Yes."
"Okay. Well let's do all the insurance information. Whatever you have, let's do it."
The boys hesitated. I wasn't sure why. That's the next step, right? Trading insurance information? I took a picture of the license plate while the boys deliberated.
"We know a mechanic," the driver tried.
"No. Absolutely not. I don't have fucking time for this."
"We'll buy your car from you."
"What?"
"How much for your car?"
"It's not for sale. It's a piece of crap that's going to run another 100,000 miles. I want to fix it."
"How much for your car?"
"$5,000."
"Your car isn't worth $5,000."
"I got it appraised for $5,000; it's worth $5,000."
"We don't have the money here-"
"I don't want your money, I want your insurance infor-"
"-but we can go home and get it! It's at our home, let us go home and get it!"
"Absolutely not! I want to take my car to a body shop, see how much it costs, and bill you for the damage."
"I'm sorry, my English isn't so good. I don't understand."
At this point, it's important to note that up until now we had been conversing easily enough in English that we had no trouble understanding what the other was saying. I was so emotional, however, that I didn't focus on the stupidity of pulling the language barrier card at that time - I was focused on finding a solution.
The taco truck employee spoke both English and Spanish. He could translate.
"Well let's find someone to translate," I responded. I lightened up. I began to feel bad. Maybe they were confused about how to act after a car accident. Maybe they really didn't understand. So I motioned for them to come with me but they stayed put.
"Come on," I tried again.
Still nothing. I was back to being irritated.
"I'll help you," a man in his car said. The same man I had asked earlier if I was in his way when I parked.
So we repeat our conversation, only this time with a translator. Nothing changes.
"Hey," a man pulling out of the parking lot called me over. "If I were you, I'd call the cops."
"Really? Do I really need to do that?"
"Yeah. Because they're not going to give you their insurance information."
"That IS shady, right? They're acting shady, right?"
"Yes. Call the cops."
So I called the cops. I have never really done this before - I've never had to resort to the police. The emergency operator tells me to turn on my hazard lights. I did so.
"I'm so sorry," the driver continued to apologize.
"It's cowardly," I told him. "You were about to leave."
This is the point in the story where I wish I had been more accepting of their apologies. But I was too angry, their apologies seemed too insincere, and they were still not doing the only thing required of them at this point - giving me my insurance information.
A tow truck guy - Keith - showed up and asked what was going on. Two of the guys leave. The third told us they went to the bathroom. Bullhooey.
The third finally walked off as well, carrying a backpack. I waited another 40 minutes for the police before I finally gave up.
"Nobody has left to come meet you yet," the emergency operator said.
"I mean, I think at this point there's a legitimate crime here. They just walked away from their car. That's weird."
"That is strange. They left their car? The doors open?"
"Yeah."
"Huh. Well, I think you have all the information you need. You can just go to a police station in the morning and report it."
Fine. Fine fine fine. I was tired enough as it was. I canceled the call, went inside the car for identification purposes, and made plans to make a police report at the station in the morning. I also took a picture of an empty can of Bud Light in the passenger seat.
Going through people's cars when they're gone is illegal, apparently.
You can't take things out of another person's car. It's a felony. So when I showed the cops the license plates in the trunk that I pilfered, along with the insurance documents I took (I was going to just take a picture, but Keith told me I should just take the actual copy), they told me this was the weirdest case they'd ever seen - specifically because I had committed a major crime, not because these guys were acting so strange.
This is probably the dumbest and most entitled I've ever felt. People get in hit and runs all the time. I mean, people don't have the perpetrators offer to buy their cars and then walk away from the situation with their OPEN CAR left behind, but I am not the first - and certainly will not be the last - person to be involved in this kind of accident.
(Well, except for a few minor, strange details.)
Was I always such an angry person? Why the yelling without stopping to listen to how ridiculous the boys in front of me were being? Is this a new development? Why can't I be calmer? I see flashes of my mother shouting at airline employees when we were kicked off a three-hour delayed flight because there wasn't enough room to the point that they threatened security, and I wonder about the role genetics plays in how we respond to stressful situations.
Next time, I need to take a breath and consider the situation. Calm is always always always better - because calm allows you to make the more rational and smarter decision.
My mom has told me multiple times that I could have gotten myself killed that night, and that I need to watch my temper. I agree with the second half of the sentence, but I don't think those boys were going to hurt me. They were idiots, out for a drunken munchie stop at a taco truck, not giving a single thought to why driving drunk is illegal.
Thursday was exhausting from start to finish, but for right now I'm in a Nissan Altima rental, which is sweet because it comes with automatic locks and windows, and I feel like a freaking Rockefeller driving that thing around. The body shop can take its time with my car. I'll be just fine.
I really like those burritos, man. I hope I can muster the wherewithal to return some time soon.
At 10:30 PM it was clear we weren't going to be able to sell the ES350 we had spent the last hour trying to push out. I got in my car thinking how I could salvage my evening, and figured I could get a burrito (there goes the healthy dinner), go straight home (there goes the exercise), and write (at least one of the three).
A burrito would make everything better, because burritos are delicious, and I was in a bad mood.
I got to the taco truck nearest my home and parked in what passed for a "parking lot," but it was just a bunch of cars next to each other without much structure. I got out of my car to make sure it's situated in a place where other people can still back out - going so far as to even ask a gentleman if I'm blocking his way (to which he replied that I was not) - before going to pay for the burrito.
The employee spoke to the customers before me in Spanish before easily transitioning to English when I got to the front of the line.
"You're about to make my night," I told the employee while handing him some cash.
I was getting some sauce to put on my burrito when a gentleman announced, "whoever has the Honda Civic, someone just ran into your car!"
Well fuck. I have a Honda Civic.
I hurried over to the parking lot and saw the damage. My driver's door was caved in, and three dudes in a beat-up Nissan were about to drive off. I stood between their car and the driveway and took a good look. They hit my car, and they were just about to run.
"Are you fucking kidding me?" I shouted. "You do that to my car and you're just going to fucking BOUNCE?"
So maybe this wasn't the best way to go about it. I mean, starting the conversation with an accusation is bad, and it's not like it's going to make them want to work with me to fix my car. But I had had a long day, and I was angry these people were so shameless as to damage my car and then drive off without paying any consequences.
I continued to yell, my vocabulary laced with profanities, until they finally got out of the car.
"I'm so sorry," the driver apologized.
"I'm more upset you were about to drive off than about the actual damage. I mean, I'm upset about the car too, but... whatever, I want your insurance information."
"Ahh..."
"Are you insured?"
"Yes. But this is my brother's car."
"Is your brother's car insured?"
"Yes."
"Okay. Well let's do all the insurance information. Whatever you have, let's do it."
The boys hesitated. I wasn't sure why. That's the next step, right? Trading insurance information? I took a picture of the license plate while the boys deliberated.
"We know a mechanic," the driver tried.
"No. Absolutely not. I don't have fucking time for this."
"We'll buy your car from you."
"What?"
"How much for your car?"
"It's not for sale. It's a piece of crap that's going to run another 100,000 miles. I want to fix it."
"How much for your car?"
"$5,000."
"Your car isn't worth $5,000."
"I got it appraised for $5,000; it's worth $5,000."
"We don't have the money here-"
"I don't want your money, I want your insurance infor-"
"-but we can go home and get it! It's at our home, let us go home and get it!"
"Absolutely not! I want to take my car to a body shop, see how much it costs, and bill you for the damage."
"I'm sorry, my English isn't so good. I don't understand."
At this point, it's important to note that up until now we had been conversing easily enough in English that we had no trouble understanding what the other was saying. I was so emotional, however, that I didn't focus on the stupidity of pulling the language barrier card at that time - I was focused on finding a solution.
The taco truck employee spoke both English and Spanish. He could translate.
"Well let's find someone to translate," I responded. I lightened up. I began to feel bad. Maybe they were confused about how to act after a car accident. Maybe they really didn't understand. So I motioned for them to come with me but they stayed put.
"Come on," I tried again.
Still nothing. I was back to being irritated.
"I'll help you," a man in his car said. The same man I had asked earlier if I was in his way when I parked.
So we repeat our conversation, only this time with a translator. Nothing changes.
"Hey," a man pulling out of the parking lot called me over. "If I were you, I'd call the cops."
"Really? Do I really need to do that?"
"Yeah. Because they're not going to give you their insurance information."
"That IS shady, right? They're acting shady, right?"
"Yes. Call the cops."
So I called the cops. I have never really done this before - I've never had to resort to the police. The emergency operator tells me to turn on my hazard lights. I did so.
"I'm so sorry," the driver continued to apologize.
"It's cowardly," I told him. "You were about to leave."
This is the point in the story where I wish I had been more accepting of their apologies. But I was too angry, their apologies seemed too insincere, and they were still not doing the only thing required of them at this point - giving me my insurance information.
A tow truck guy - Keith - showed up and asked what was going on. Two of the guys leave. The third told us they went to the bathroom. Bullhooey.
The third finally walked off as well, carrying a backpack. I waited another 40 minutes for the police before I finally gave up.
"Nobody has left to come meet you yet," the emergency operator said.
"I mean, I think at this point there's a legitimate crime here. They just walked away from their car. That's weird."
"That is strange. They left their car? The doors open?"
"Yeah."
"Huh. Well, I think you have all the information you need. You can just go to a police station in the morning and report it."
Fine. Fine fine fine. I was tired enough as it was. I canceled the call, went inside the car for identification purposes, and made plans to make a police report at the station in the morning. I also took a picture of an empty can of Bud Light in the passenger seat.
Going through people's cars when they're gone is illegal, apparently.
You can't take things out of another person's car. It's a felony. So when I showed the cops the license plates in the trunk that I pilfered, along with the insurance documents I took (I was going to just take a picture, but Keith told me I should just take the actual copy), they told me this was the weirdest case they'd ever seen - specifically because I had committed a major crime, not because these guys were acting so strange.
This is probably the dumbest and most entitled I've ever felt. People get in hit and runs all the time. I mean, people don't have the perpetrators offer to buy their cars and then walk away from the situation with their OPEN CAR left behind, but I am not the first - and certainly will not be the last - person to be involved in this kind of accident.
(Well, except for a few minor, strange details.)
Was I always such an angry person? Why the yelling without stopping to listen to how ridiculous the boys in front of me were being? Is this a new development? Why can't I be calmer? I see flashes of my mother shouting at airline employees when we were kicked off a three-hour delayed flight because there wasn't enough room to the point that they threatened security, and I wonder about the role genetics plays in how we respond to stressful situations.
Next time, I need to take a breath and consider the situation. Calm is always always always better - because calm allows you to make the more rational and smarter decision.
My mom has told me multiple times that I could have gotten myself killed that night, and that I need to watch my temper. I agree with the second half of the sentence, but I don't think those boys were going to hurt me. They were idiots, out for a drunken munchie stop at a taco truck, not giving a single thought to why driving drunk is illegal.
Thursday was exhausting from start to finish, but for right now I'm in a Nissan Altima rental, which is sweet because it comes with automatic locks and windows, and I feel like a freaking Rockefeller driving that thing around. The body shop can take its time with my car. I'll be just fine.
I really like those burritos, man. I hope I can muster the wherewithal to return some time soon.
Wednesday, May 15, 2013
The Superhero Movie: or In Defense of the Status Quo
Superman has a perfect jawline and is so unbelievably macho, he makes spandex look hetero. Captain America wanted only to serve his country in the military but was deemed too scrawny - until a machine made him the physically perfect specimen. Batman is so wealthy it's actually stupid and defends the criminally corrupt Gotham City from the many villains who would change it. Iron Man is Batman with a sense of humor and a better suit.
We know these superheroes. We watch their movies. Most of them are entertaining - a few of them are actually good. But I've noticed in recent movies that although the morality of the lead players has gotten more ambiguous, the morality of the message of the movie has remained stagnant - which creates a very confused message in its final product.
Duh, there's good versus evil, and duh, it's on a global scale. In more recent years, however, the bad guy has a legitimate gripe, and the good guy finds himself teaming up with some pretty unsavory people.
Let's look at a couple scenarios in recent superhero movies, starting with the least morally ambiguous conflicts and ending with a story that makes the audience wonder if the wrong guy won.
Conflict: Iron Man vs. Obadiah Stane
Stark Industries is in the defense business, which means they make weapons for money. This arguably makes the world a less safe place (Jim Porter would disagree), but Tony Stark was too busy being a party-town playboy (Robert Downey Jr. was really the most inspired casting choice) to have anything to do with the business besides a bullshit "face of the company"-type role. Then a terrorist group called the Ten Rings attacks and kidnaps Tony in Afghanistan. Using his super brain, Tony not only saves himself but makes a superhuman heart and an iron suit to escape - only to decide Stark Industries will not manufacture weapons anymore.
Obadiah Stane, who as acting head of the company while Tony was off being a playboy sold weapons to the Ten Rings, insists on continuing to make weapons for profit. Then plot happens (this movie is truly great, but I'm not about to do a recap) and there's a showdown between Obadiah and Tony, and Tony wins.
Also he reveals his true identity to the world, which makes him the MOST badass superhero.
Greedy Obadiah, careless with people's lives if it means more money, versus unlikely savior of the people party animal Tony Stark? Iron Man for the win!
SIDE TO TAKE? IRON MAN - DEFINITELY.
2. The Dark Knight
Conflict: Batman vs. the JokerThis one makes it pretty easy. The Joker may be fun to watch, but he's also an insane mass murderer with no goal beyond total chaos and destruction. Batman doesn't want people to die.
SIDE TO TAKE? BATMAN - DEFINITELY.
Conflict: Batman vs. Two-Face
Two-Face is a little more complicated of a bad guy - Harvey Dent is a perfect human being before the accident, and Two-Face spends a fair amount of time exacting revenge on the people who killed his fiancée, and revenge is basically why Batman gets out of bed in the morning - but when he threatens Gordon's family it's pretty clear he's got to go.
SIDE TO TAKE? BATMAN - DEFINITELY.
(But still feel bad for Harvey Dent.)
3. Thor
Conflict: Thor vs. Loki
Thor is aggressive and arrogant, and when he confronts the Frost Giants, he destroys his race's peace with them and is stripped of his godly powers by his father Odin as punishment. Loki, his brother, was never slated to be the next king because Odin adopted him, meaning he's not really Odin's blood. Loki takes over while Thor is on Earth and Odin is in his deep "Odinsleep" to prove to his adopted father that he can rule - only he's, like, super evil. Convincing his real father Laufey to try to kill Odin, attempting to destroy the Frost Giants despite a truce, killing his actual father Laufey... he's a shitty leader and a terrible human being. So when Thor comes back to end Loki's rule, and Loki falls into the abyss after being rejected by a now-conscious Odin, and Thor admits he's not ready for rule, it's pretty clear that Thor rules and Loki totally drools.
We're now on the 4th example and it's still clear who is the good guy and the bad guy. This is just a touch more ambiguous, because Loki may be a total dick, but he's striving for something he was never given - something Thor took for granted - a strong father figure who is what he says he is.
SIDE TO TAKE? THOR - DEFINITELY (moved up from "mostly" to "definitely" through growth of character).
Conflict: The Avengers vs. The Chitauri
The Chitauri, under Loki, want to take over Earth. The Avengers want to save it. Pretty clear cut, but S.H.I.E.L.D. is considering using the Tesseract to develop weapons to save America against future invasions. On the one hand, this makes sense. On the other, these weapons are dangerous and maybe shouldn't be created? I mean, isn't this using the Tesseract for the exact same reason the bad guys want it?
SIDE TO TAKE? THE AVENGERS - MOSTLY.
Conflict: Captain America vs. HYDRA
Dr. Arnim Zola and Johann Schmidt of the HYDRA organization find the Tesseract, which allows them to harness energy to complete their Nazi experiments. Steve Rogers is an underdeveloped weakling not worthy of serving in the military to fight the Nazis in 1942 America when he undergoes Dr. Abraham Esrkine's controversial "super soldier" experiment and transforms into an insanely strong human in peak physical condition - Captain America. Heinz Kruger, working for the HYDRA organization, immediately kills Dr. Erskine, who is the only person with any information on the super soldier formula. While touring for the American troupes Italy as a super soldier to raise morale (rather than, say, fighting Nazis), Captain America finds out his friend Bucky has been killed. Captain America refuses to believe the news and searches for him. He finds Bucky in a HYDRA base and rescues him, along with several other soldiers. Together they decide to attack the other HYDRA bases. Team America wins, HYDRA loses, Schmidt dissolves in a bright light after handling the Tesseract personally, and Captain America crashes in the Arctic and wakes up 70 years later under Nick Fury's supervision.
Nazis? Always bad. But the superhuman experiment Steve Rogers went through is creeptastic - and if you're going to go through all that trouble, American government, you should really have the dude fight instead of traveling around like a circus freak. Captain America has a tough choice - fight for a somewhat shady and idiotic American government, or fight for the Nazis.
SIDE TO TAKE? CAPTAIN AMERICA'S - MOSTLY (points taken off for idiocy).
Conflict: Iron Man vs. Aldrich Killian
OKAY. NOW WE ARE GETTING TO MY POINT.
Tony Stark at a 1999 New Year's party in Switzerland is a total dick to disabled Aldrich Killian while planning on getting down and dirty with Maya Hansen. Fast forward to 2013, with Aldrich Killian now fully abled (and looking damn fine) and offering Extremis, a formula that regenerates its subjects when they are injured. However, the formula is still in its development ages, and when a person reacts badly to it, they explode. Aldrich is using terrible actor Trevor Slattery to pretend to be The Mandarin, a terrorist who hates America's excess and finds the country to be a destructive force on other nations. At one point, Trevor kills an innocent oil bigwig executive live on television to prove a point. Tony figures out a way to confront Aldrich and his Extremis goons while saving both the President's life and his girlfriend Pepper Potts's life.
The issue, then, is that when The Mandarin aims a gun at this "innocent' oil executive's life, he has a point: this man's greed has probably contributed greatly to the suffering of a lot of impoverished people. Obviously killing him isn't the answer, but it's hard to see the guy as a victim. The Mandarin may be a terrorist, but he's making some pretty solid points about the liberties America takes with poorer nations.
Besides, Tony can be a dick (see: first scene of the movie).
But also, Tony is legit and I love Robert Downey Jr.
SIDE TO TAKE? IRON MAN'S - BARELY.
Conflict: Spider-Man vs. The Lizard
Peter Parker is a super nerd who gets picked on by Flash Thompson. He finds out his late father was working to cure diseases by combining human and animal DNA with Dr. Curt Connors. Curt is pressured by his dick of a boss Dr. Ratha to speed his research along in order to save the terminally ill Norman Osborn (their boss at Oscorp). Peter gets bitten by a spider and uses his newfound powers to beat up his old bully Flash. Then he refuses to walk his aunt home and lets a convenience store thief run off - allowing the thief to murder his uncle. Meanwhile, Dr. Ratha demands that Curt try the serum they're working on before it's ready and subsequently fires Curt when he refuses. Curt, desperate, tries the serum and transforms himself into The Lizard and starts terrorizing the city. Peter gets him the antidote, but not before The Lizard mortally wounds Captain Stacy, father of Gwen Stacy (Peter's love interest). Captain Stacy asks Peter to stay away from Gwen for her safety (considering he's a target and half spider, half man), but Peter doesn't because he is an impulsive dickhead.
Honestly? Dr. Curt Connors is a tragic figure, and Peter Parker is a teenage asshole.
SIDE TO TAKE? TIE BETWEEN SPIDER-MAN AND THE LIZARD.
Conflict: Batman vs. Bane
Gotham City is insanely corrupt. That's a huge part of Batman mythology - Gotham City is run by terrible people who allow a ridiculous amount of psychopathic villains to run rampant, which is why Batman is necessary to begin with. Batman is wealthy, and defends the status quo so people may continue with their lives in relative peace. Up comes Bane from the sewers, railing against the injustice of the city and demanding the government be held accountable for its actions.
From the upper crust, a class that keeps the Banes of the world down, comes Bruce Wayne. The city is mostly destroyed, some very confusing plot twists happen (the more you think about this movie, the less it makes sense), and you leave the theater wondering if this wasn't some giant "fuck you" to Occupy Wall Street - courtesy of Christopher Nolan.
(Also, it's some serious bullshit that Batman survived in the end.)
SIDE TO TAKE? BANE'S - MOSTLY.
I love that superhero movies are allowing themselves to have more morally ambiguous bad guys - people with interesting motivations that end up going down an unfortunate path. It would just be nice if the movies themselves started acknowledging this fact.
Thursday, May 2, 2013
Somebody always pays for it
I work at a dealership in Santa Monica. About a month ago, I got promoted - from working as a product specialist on the floor to working as an Internet specialist in the Internet department. My pay plan completely changed. I tell other people's customers how their cars worked instead of my own, and I make appointments for other salespeople instead of myself. Sure, I can still do some of my own stuff - but on the side, and ain't nobody got time for that anymore, because I'm already working 65-70 hours a week.
I love it. I love everyone in my department. I calculated my next pay check and I love that. I love my new relationships with old bosses. I love going to work - I just wish I didn't always have to stay so long, but even that I don't even mind because I'm making money and I'm learning a lot.
Today I signed off on my new pay plan officially. But my pay plan wasn't the only one to change.
The other guys in the department - the people I'm paid to help - got their pay plans too, and it's less than it used to be.
And it is directly related to the fact that I've been moved here.
On the one hand, it's definitely not my fault that their pay plan went down. And they know that. On the other hand, they're not exactly happy about it, and it IS directly related to my presence.
Doug is in his 30s with a kid he pays child support for. Paul is in his mid-60s.
"Complaining won't do anything about it," Paul tells Doug. "You'll just antagonize the managers. This is the powers that be that decided on this."
"The pre-owned part is what I hate the most. That's how I make my money. I'm a used car guy. This is the sixth time in one year and eight months I've had my pay plan changed."
"Stop bitching about it. That changes nothing."
"I'm not bitching about it. I'm bitching to you and Caitlin."
"Well that's fine. Just don't bitch to anyone else."
"Is it really that much worse?" I ask.
"No. In some ways it's better," Paul tells me.
"Are you happy with it?"
"No, I'm not happy! I work weekends and holidays - I never get to see my family. I'm going to be 65 this year, it's too late for me to do anything about it. I'm stuck. For years I wanted to be something here, and it never happened. You" (he's referring to Doug) "have your whole life ahead of you. You can do whatever you want."
"I know that," Doug says.
"If they paid us for hourly on top of commission, I'd be fine," Paul explains. "I'm going to ask for that."
Paul is one of the nicest guys in the dealership. He works hard and is consistently one of the top salesmen. He's the easiest person in the department to work with - he gives great advice, he remains calm, and he genuinely loves the product he sells. His excitement is infectious, and his customers across the board love him.
He could have been a great manager. And before he said anything tonight, I just assumed he wasn't interested. Well, of course he was - he was just never given the opportunity.
Not to mention - Doug has his whole life ahead of him? He's 34. They're right, though. 34 - you have your whole life ahead of you.
I know I can't worry about it, or I'll always be worrying about shit like this. All that's left for me is to do the best I can and be nice to everyone else.
I just wish everyone was happy and nobody ever died or got old and high fives were a form of currency.
I'd be so rich.
I love it. I love everyone in my department. I calculated my next pay check and I love that. I love my new relationships with old bosses. I love going to work - I just wish I didn't always have to stay so long, but even that I don't even mind because I'm making money and I'm learning a lot.
Today I signed off on my new pay plan officially. But my pay plan wasn't the only one to change.
The other guys in the department - the people I'm paid to help - got their pay plans too, and it's less than it used to be.
And it is directly related to the fact that I've been moved here.
On the one hand, it's definitely not my fault that their pay plan went down. And they know that. On the other hand, they're not exactly happy about it, and it IS directly related to my presence.
Doug is in his 30s with a kid he pays child support for. Paul is in his mid-60s.
"Complaining won't do anything about it," Paul tells Doug. "You'll just antagonize the managers. This is the powers that be that decided on this."
"The pre-owned part is what I hate the most. That's how I make my money. I'm a used car guy. This is the sixth time in one year and eight months I've had my pay plan changed."
"Stop bitching about it. That changes nothing."
"I'm not bitching about it. I'm bitching to you and Caitlin."
"Well that's fine. Just don't bitch to anyone else."
"Is it really that much worse?" I ask.
"No. In some ways it's better," Paul tells me.
"Are you happy with it?"
"No, I'm not happy! I work weekends and holidays - I never get to see my family. I'm going to be 65 this year, it's too late for me to do anything about it. I'm stuck. For years I wanted to be something here, and it never happened. You" (he's referring to Doug) "have your whole life ahead of you. You can do whatever you want."
"I know that," Doug says.
"If they paid us for hourly on top of commission, I'd be fine," Paul explains. "I'm going to ask for that."
Paul is one of the nicest guys in the dealership. He works hard and is consistently one of the top salesmen. He's the easiest person in the department to work with - he gives great advice, he remains calm, and he genuinely loves the product he sells. His excitement is infectious, and his customers across the board love him.
He could have been a great manager. And before he said anything tonight, I just assumed he wasn't interested. Well, of course he was - he was just never given the opportunity.
Not to mention - Doug has his whole life ahead of him? He's 34. They're right, though. 34 - you have your whole life ahead of you.
I know I can't worry about it, or I'll always be worrying about shit like this. All that's left for me is to do the best I can and be nice to everyone else.
I just wish everyone was happy and nobody ever died or got old and high fives were a form of currency.
I'd be so rich.
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