I Hate The Homeless

...ness problem that plagues our city.

A news article from KSL made the rounds a few weeks ago on the Facebooks, so pretty much the entire state of Utah saw their expose on the "business of begging."  The article revealed that many panhandlers use the money they get from begging to support drug habits, rather than purchase food or shelter for the night, as most people probably suspect they would.  The entire tone of the article seemed to imply that these panhandlers are criminally deceitful and do not deserve pity or charity.

And the whole thing pissed me right the &$#^ off.

I'm not a terribly compassionate person.  Given a bit of disposable income, I'm far more likely to purchase another seaon of Ducktales than provide a meal for a hungry family.  Heck, I'm still holding a grudge against some lady who cut me off in traffic three months ago.  So this isn't really a call to Christian charity or anything - or, if it is, I acknowledge it's a fairly hypocritical one.

See, the article also points out that many of the people we see around Salt Lake City begging for change are suffering from some pretty serious mental illnesses.  They're sick people, but since they use the money they get from appealing to the sympathy of the general population to feed their illnesses, they get exposed to all sorts of scorn.  And, guys, that's a big freakin' deal.

Good mental health care is very difficult to find in the Salt Lake area - heck, in just about the entire state.  Even if you do find it, psychiatric services can be quite expensive.  Insurance plans are now required to provide mental health coverage (or will be as of 2014), but, even so, most plans used by lower-income households won't pay for finer care.  A lot of people are forced to attend programs that are understaffed and overcrowded - assuming they have the resources and capacity to manage their care themselves.

The truth is, I suspect that many of the people who beg for change are really in need - just not the need that they're advertising in Sharpie on their cardboard signs.  Obviously, the ills of the homeless and the beggars won't be soothed by receiving spare change from the holiday shoppers - after all, I doubt that the $0.78 I drop in the panhandler's cup after I buy my daily bagel will be used to cover the cost of a Lithium prescription copay.  Frankly, I'm not sure what the best use of that $0.78 is.  But I feel that it's criminal of us to shut off our sympathy because someone lied about their problem.  They've still got other problems, maybe even more serious ones.  We can be better people than that.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm off to finish up my Batman fanfiction where the Caped Crusader punches out lousy drivers.

An Open Letter To Dirty Bikers Everywhere

Dear Motorcycle Rider,

I've seen you all out on the roadways, long hair flowing from your immaculately neglected scalps. I know how you must feel. Sure, you've got the increased mobility that comes from owning a hog. You get to save on gas. You can slide between cars and ride in the shoulder in direct defiance to what "the man" tells the rest of us to do. "Surely," I hear you say through my clairvoyant powers, "I must be nigh unto a leather-clad GOD!"

Stop. Just stop for a moment and consider what providence grants you this supposed invulnerability. Remember that, for all the privileges granted to you by law, you are but blades of grass on the great lawn of life, and those of us who continue to travel, as God intended, in a high speed, steel and plexiglass boxcar of death, are like really big feet. True, you ARE that grass which the powers that be have asked the rest of us to be extra super careful not to roll over in our exhaust-spewing demons of the roadways, but there remains the inescapable fact that, if we tread on you, you WILL go splat.

So let's make a deal: I'll pay attention when you zoom through the blind spot on my right, and you'll use your turn signals and wear a helmet, 'kay?

Love, Braddy

How To Write Absolutely Everything

Some people, I've learned, would love to write, only they have no idea how to come up with all those great ideas that fill the pages of the great books of the world. Luckily, I decided to put myself to work developing a system on how to get those pesky plots out of the way so you can get down to the serious business of writing - raking in piles of cash. It is with great pride I present to you a brief but accurate list on the strongest plots for your given genre. I call it

S.R. Braddy's Guide on

How To Write Absolutely Everything!

Dramatic Fiction

People talk about their feelings while the sky is gray.

Science Fiction

A classic movie plot is retold, BUT IN SPACE.

Fantasy Fiction

A small group of misfits defeat an evil wizard who threatens to eat the planet.

Romantic Fiction

Miserable people have sex and then stop being miserable.

Horror Fiction

Miserable people have sex and then die.

Literary Fiction

Miserable people have sex and then continue to be miserable.

Pornographic Fiction

Miserable people have sex and then continue to have sex.

Mystery Fiction

The husband did it.

Noir Fiction

The wife did it.

Suspense Fiction

The main character did it.
Seriously, it's never actually the butler.

Literary Nonsense

Boingo boingo fungal scrunchie.

Children's Literature

The main character has a dog.

Award-Winning Children's Literature

The dog dies.

Young Adult Literature

Kids in high school get bullied until they find a group of friends with similar interests.

Award-Winning Young Adult Literature

Kids in high school get bullied. Then someone dies.

Young Adult Science Fiction

Kids in high school get bullied. Meanwhile, the government is evil.

Young Adult Fantasy

One of the Universal Monsters falls in love with an unremarkable teenage girl.

Historical Fiction

Put historical documents into quotation marks.

Autobiography

Write everything that happens to you while thinking, "This'll be an awesome book."

Memoir

Write everything that happens to you. Compare your life to furniture.

Stage Drama

All characters talk about a years-old tragedy.

Stage Comedy

All characters talk with a British accent.

Stage Musical

Set the story of your favorite novel to the music of your favorite pop star.

Poetry

Write about any subject for ten lines. Write about your dead parent for two.

Children's Poetry

Rhyme. When you can't think of a rhyme, make up words.

Stage Musical

Set the story of your favorite novel to the music of your favorite pop star.

Young Adult Poetry

Copy and paste deviantart.com.

Slam Poetry

Rewrite your standup comedy routine in loose verse. Add more anger.

Beat Poetry

Get high. Write a bunch of gibberish. Painstakingly revise it for several months, and then tell everyone it was spontaneous.

If you like these entries, be sure to check out other fine products from S.R. Braddy's instructional writing guides, including:

S.R. Braddy's Guide on

How To Write Absolutely Anything! (Music Edition)

Pop Music Lyrics - Guys

Express love for any part of a woman's anatomy (eyes, lips, badonkadonk). Set to drum machine.

Pop Music Lyrics - Girls

Verbally hate on all men. Set to piano.

S.R. Braddy's Guide on

How To Write Absolutely Anything! (Comics Edition)

Superhero Comics

Trace pictures from Maxim magazine. Write in sound effects.

Newspaper Comics

Get a real job.

Musicals are Terrible

I've been a little bugged for the last week - ever since I saw Rent at the Midvale Main Street Theater. Something about the show completely unnerved me. It was a very upsetting experience.

Now, the production wasn't BAD - far from it, actually. I'm not going to review it here other than to say you should go see my friend Carolyn blow the roof off the place with her mad vocal skill. My friend Larissa did a full review here, and I agree with her all the way. It wasn't the performance of Rent that bugged me, but the story itself. Rent is basically terrible.

For those not in the know, Rent tells the story of a group of residents who live in an apartment building without paying rent. They all live sparse Bohemian lifestyles made possible by their independently wealthy landlord who turns a blind eye to their squatting on his property. Oh, and they all have AIDS.

I don't really have a problem with the "content" issues in Rent, but I am bothered by what they try to pass off as a "happy ending." After a year of bickering and squabbling, our friends are reunited just as one of their number, a girl named Mimi, dies. Roger, who has just realized that the song he's wanted so desperately to write can be found in his love for Mimi, sings her a song as she passes, only for her to suddenly revive. Everyone then lives happily ever after, except for the drag queen, who died a half hour earlier.

Here's how it breaks down:

• Mark quits his job as a news anchor where he gets paid to do what he loves so that he can say he didn't "sell out."
• Joann and Maureen get back together, despite the fact that they have done nothing but bicker for the last two hours.
• After losing his lover, Tom rigs an ATM to dispense free cash to anyone with the secret code. The play ends before the police track him down and arrest him.
• Roger, who sang an amazing song about writing one great song before he dies, finally writes a song so forgettable that it... um... brings his coke-addled girlfriend back from the dead?

The play glamorizes "La Vie Boheme," despite the fact that this lifestyle is actively destroying everyone who lives it. The only person whose future actually looks promising is Benny, the landlord, who is generous enough to pay for the funeral of the man who killed his cat AND put his ex-girlfriend through rehab.

In short, while the music is fantastic, the play itself is just not very good. It kinda bungles the message it's trying to deliver without realizing it. It's indicative of a prominent problem in musical theater, where storytelling takes a backseat to production values.

Seriously, when you look at the genre as a whole, you find that most musicals are actively terrible from a storytelling viewpoint. Musicals are full of fantastic scenery, beautiful dances and costuming, and, of course, catchy and memorable music. The problem, though, is that these flashy and engaging productions are often tied together by flimsy stories with awful morals.

Don't quite believe me?

• The Music Man teaches us that it's okay to let yourself get taken advantage of.
• Annie, Get Your Gun teaches us that you need to suppress your natural talents to be with the one you love.
• Seven Brides for Seven Brothers glorifies Stockholm syndrome.
• Damn Yankees says one can make a literal deal with the devil and walk away consequence-free.
• The Phantom of the Opera is potentially worse than Twilight, since the creepy romantic stalker it idolizes is a cold-blooded killer.
• Speaking of murderers, Oklahoma! lets a killer go completely unpunished because the deceased was super creepy.
• My Fair Lady shows that even rampaging misogynists can win the hearts of the girls they bully.

It's not a problem I see going away at all, either, possibly because you have plays like The Drowsy Chaperone, which affirms that the purpose of musical theater is only to temporarily distract audiences from their problems, rather than enable them to confront those problems.

Maybe I'm being a little unfair. After all, musical theater is hardly alone in presenting stories with suspect lessons. And besides, most musicals fall into the "comedic" category, where morals and lessons are often used for parodic purposes. However, if I had to make a list of musicals that give equal weight to the story as the music, the list would be really short (Les Miserables, Chicago, The Fantasticks...).

I think musical theater should just try a little harder to not be utterly miserable, that's all.

On the Opposite End of the Hitchcock Scale...

...there's Birdemic.

Last week I settled down with a bunch of friends to watch Birdemic, a film legendary for it's... well, horrifyingly low quality. And as far as bad movies go, I can't say that I've ever seen worse. Birdemic has got some of the worst production values I have ever seen. Ever.

I mean, the CG birds look like they came from After Dark.

I'm pretty sure you can still see the orange tips on the guns people shoot:

Overall, the film has all the crisp video clarity of a low-budget porno... or, um, so I hear.

Speaking of "porn" (please don't read too much into that, Mom), I don't think I've ever laughed harder than I did during the "love scene" in Birdemic. We see our two lovebirds shacked up in some third-class hotel. As they snuggle down for the night, the camera pans tastefully down to their feet, where we see...

...that our lovely leading lady has been running around in the parking lot outside.

Oh, and then there's the music, which mostly sounds like someone made MIDI files of the bass track of several popular songs - like John Lennon's "Imagine," for example.

Really, we could talk about all the terrible aspects of Birdemic and be here all day. Seriously, if you took all this movie's faults and laid them out flat, to look at it all would somehow take longer than it takes to actually WATCH the movie.

Which, by the way, you should never do.

This may sound strange coming from someone who (almost) unironically called Shark Night 3D the best movie of 2011, but something about the way Birdemic was put together REALLY rubbed me the wrong way. Maybe it was the outright theft of classic music. Maybe it was the less-than-YouTube camerawork. Maybe it was the complete insanity of the presumption that somehow global warming causes birds to explode acid.

Actually, I can sum it all up to one word: effort.

See, even when a movie (like Shark Night 3D) KNOWS it's going to be bad, the production staff can still turn the movie into an enjoyable experience. Bad writing can be spiced up with a tongue-in-cheek tone. Bad effects can be played up for their cheesiness. Movie makers can give the audience SOME sign that they're in on the joke.

That's what I loved about Shark Night 3D. Everything about the movie - from the camerawork to the performances to the plot itself (I STILL go ga-ga for the concept of "shark snuff films") - indicated that the minds behind the film were trying to make an enjoyable movie experience, if not a particularly QUALITY one. Birdemic, on the other hand, takes itself ENTIRELY too seriously without ANY of the skills it would take to back it up.

And, yes, I mean skills. Surprisingly, as much fun as I had watching Birdemic, I was ultimately kind of offended that this movie, which gave no indication that it was actually TRYING, achieved some sort of cult status. The actors phoned in every line, the plot was poorly thought out and formulaic, and the camerawork was so amateurish it actually sent my filmmaking friend into spasms of physical pain.

If I got the impression that Birdemic was some kind of labor of love, I think I'd be a bit more generous in my evaluation. Of course, if Birdemic HAD been a labor of love, there is NO WAY its mother would let it come outside dressed like it is.

Blog Comments Make Me a Better Man

The usual metrics for popularity don't seem to apply online. In real life, popularity is simply measured by the number of friends you have. Online, sheer volume of friends actually makes no difference, seeing as how most people who "friend" you on Facebook probably wouldn't recognize you if you ran into them in the mall while wearing a T-shirt with your high school yearbook photo on it. No, the REAL measure of online popularity is the number of comments or posts you're able to accrue.

I just got a little more popular on my blog last night. I picked up two new comments, and that makes me the queen of this particular Homecoming parade. I thought I'd share the comments with you.

The first comes from an anonymous commenter on my review of the book Bossypants. The comment came in response to my statement below:

As a young man, a single adult who comes from a family of all boys and has no experience with women outside of watching a few episodes of Jem, I got a kick out of reading that. It matches how I feel about thing - I'm not actually sexist, I'm just ignorant. While that's not exactly an ideal state of being, at least ignorance is treatable.

Here's what my sweet little Anonymous commenter had to say:

Actually...you are just sexist. But how adorable that you think you aren't because you are completely stupid about the opposite sex.

Well, yeah... Anonymous is probably right. I've got a long and well-documented history of being sexist, so I might as well just cop to it. Thanks, Anonymous! I appreciate your candor and honesty.

ADD: So my friend Heather, who's been posting some very insightful thoughts of feminism on her own, has commented on my post here (you can read her response below). I just want to say that I appreciate her opinion and am very glad she chose to express herself to me. If my comments have offended anyone, I do apologize.

The anonymous poster was a bit of a jerk, yeah, but that doesn't mean they were WRONG. I fully admit that I have some backwards attitudes and can say some pretty thoughtless things at times. I appreciate getting called out on stuff. Just, you know, be nice about it.

Okay, all passive-aggressive sarcasm aside, I did get a pretty nifty comment from someone who'd never commented on my blog before. This comment comes from my snarky little post on the Fantagraphics Mickey Mouse comic reprints:

Glad we're converting you to the real Mickey Mouse, S. R. Thanks to some more piecemeal late '70s reprints, Gottfredson's Mickey is the Mickey I cut my teeth on as a kid. It's a labor of love to keep him circulating. While I could never call him a scoundrel (I only count three cartoons where he pushes Minnie too far—and this never happens in the comics), he's quite the adventurous and defiant little squirt, isn't he? Collecting the supplementary material that goes in the books is an adventure itself! (Hope you're following our Facebook page... that's where we put the overflow.) Re: sad racial stuff: Disney Publishing allows us to run the strips unabridged because we're aiming the books at adults, and have extensive text putting that content in context. Luckily, most of what's left is timeless—and that's just how I like it. —David Gerstein (Series Editor)

I'm a little flattered that the guy putting these books together actually took the time to post such an enthusiastic response to what was mainly just a big sarcastic rant. This guy is totally classy.

One thing I forgot to mention in my original post on the Gottfredson comics (probably because I was more interested in posting a pic of Mickey Mouse in blackface than I was at giving a balanced review) is that the books are full of insightful commentary on the period in which the comics were written. I probably love the commentary about as much as the comics themselves - things always make more sense in context. So thanks to Mr. Gerstein for doing such an excellent job on this wonderful collection.

De-Mystifying Dating: The Commitment Conundrum

Ours is the blandest love the world has ever known.

Even though I tend to look at dating the same way most people look at an unknown substance stuck to the bottom of their shoe, the concerns of the "Great Unattached Generation" still command a lot of interest from me, mainly when it comes to courtship etiquette and rituals. I've been even more preoccupied with the dating question, especially since everyone from my roommate to my dad, from my ecclesiastical leaders to my court-ordered therapist seems to think that I'm not socializing enough (I honestly don't know WHERE they get that idea - after all, I've been on a date in the last six months, and that should be enough for anyone). Anyway, with so much... shall we say subtle encouragement to re-enter the dating scene, I decided to attend a presentation offered by my church group on the subject, "De-Mistifying Dating."

Let me first say that, despite the onslaught of sarcasm and verbal eye-rolling that is about to ensue, I respect both the workshop coordinators and all its attendees. Of course, respect never got a giggle out of anyone, so let the mockery commence!

Before the presentation actually began, we were all given a large booklet entitled "The Dating Diner Menu," which... Man I hate food metaphors. I find them demeaning to all parties involved. I'm plagiarising myself a bit here, but if romance were REALLY like going to a restaurant, a person would be able to sit down, snap for a waiter, and say, "Yes, I'll have a tall brunette, curly-haired with good housekeeping skills. Hold the career aspirations."

That person would be sexist, and he would terrible.

"The Dating Menu" contains a huge list of ideas for different dating activities, some of them legit, some a little silly, and one that's... well...

"Blindfold your date and drive around so he/she loses track of where you are. Go somewhere unfamiliar (like a friends [sic] attic or basement), take the blindfold off and have your date. This could be a dinner that you have prepared in advance, watch a movie, play games, etc. Blindfold your date and take him/her home. Your date will have no idea where he/she has been for a few hours."

Heck, if THAT'S your goal...

I almost forgot to mention - as part of this workshop, the coordinators had us all stand up, pair off, and play the "Pass the Orange" game. You know the one - one person holds an orange under his chin and has to pass it to his partner using only his chin. Yeah, THAT one. And they roped in most of the attendees at the workshop to participate (including one particular young man who really hates being touched). The IDEA was to show that physical intimacy doesn't necessarily imply a committed emotional relationship. I learned that necking yields sweet fruit, which is an odd lesson for a church group to try and pass on.

That awkwardness aside, let's actually get to the POINT of this post. One of the questions raised during the workshop was, "At what point should you move from dating around with a person to dating exclusively?" There were a lot of opinions thrown around, of course. One person suggested a five-date minimum. Another person tried to be the voice of reason and say "it's different for everyone." Surprisingly, the workshop coordinators admitted that they were not an exclusive item until they were engaged.

"Will you break up with Kevin?"

I mentioned this to a friend who (despite the fact that he is in a committed relationship) said he agrees. He would never ask out a girl who WAS "going steady" as you kids say, but that's more because he's a gentleman than because he thinks there's something inherently WRONG with it. As odd as it is, I find as I think about it more that... well, I agree too. If you really want to commit to a dedicated relationship, then you're already heading towards marriage, so why not make it official?

Wiser than we knew.

If there's one problem the good little Mormon boys and girls of my generation have (myself included), it's that they take the subject of dating FAR too seriously. I've heard many people say they hate asking a girl out on a date because they feel it's almost akin to a marriage proposal. The solution, it seems, would be to take the sense of obligation and commitment OUT of the dating stage in a relationship and put it where it belongs - back in the engagement.

I guess the whole purpose of the seminar could have been summed up with a two by four with the words "Lighten Up" written on it in black marker.

A Voice In The Choir

Last Sunday was Stake Conference for my little Mormon neighborhood. A bunch of single kids 18-30 years old gathered in a big room to be told how much they need to get married (spoiler: they need to get married thiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiis much). I was in the choir, so I sat up on the stand the whole time. Apparently, my face was in the monitor the whole time, so I got projected up on the screen with all the speakers. That may be a problem, because my ability to express sarcasm with my face is inversely proportionate to my ability to gauge how appropriate it is to express sarcasm with my face in a given scenario.

Anyway, being in the choir was kinda cool. I actually LOVE singing, and, now that I’m not involved in school choirs and musicals as much as I used to be, I have very few opportunities to sing in quality productions. Thankfully, the stake choir had the talent and direction to be a powerful, positive singing experience. We sang some pretty standard Mormon musical numbers, including a hymn arranged by Mack Wilberg, considered by some to be the LDS equivalent of Handel (and others the LDS equivalent of Randy Newman).


The NICE thing about Wilberg (and Handel, for that matter) is that he really knows how to write good bass parts. Most of the Mack Wilberg pieces I’ve ever sung have really strong closing chords. The basses frequently wind up on a middle C, which isn’t too high in the bass range to be difficult to sing, but high enough that they get the high note rush that explains why most tenors I know are emaciated stoners.

Just kidding. Tenors are great people. Hardly stoned at all. I just like to incite bass/tenor rivalries everywhere I go. I’m probably the only person in the world who thinks it’s funny.

Really, there’s a bit of a rush that comes when you get to sing the high notes in your register at full voice and hold them for a long time. That’s the moment when you realize that, as a singer, you’re not really the artist at all. You’re the instrument. Your entire body is designed to transport and transform this air you breathe into a sound worth listening to. Your vocal chords vibrate with the passing air, much like the strings in a piano or the reed in a saxophone. Truly, the singer is like God’s Clarinet. Or, in my case, God’s Kazoo.

The Question of Art, or, Why Braddy Hates Hipsters

Ever see a picture that looks like it was drawn in MS Paint or something and cock an eyebrow? The comment I usually hear is something along the lines of, "Is this art?"

You know what? Screw that question.

The question "What is art?" is hugely problematic and always bugs me. See, when I hear someone asking what art IS, I get the impression that they're more interested in what art ISN'T. I think the question is most often applied to commercial art, where the attitude seems to be "If everyone likes it, then it must not be any good."

If there ever was a reason to hate hipsters, this is it. I remember sitting in once on a conversation (that sounds so much nicer than "eavesdropping," doesn't it?) some friends had about a song they both loved. They had a little bit of a dance party while they played the song on their iPod. Eventually, this song that they loved so much - "Home" by Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeros - got a lot of exposure on commercials and television. I mentioned this to one of my friends, only to hear her say, "Man, the song sucks now."

Frankly, that's a terrible attitude. You can argue that the song is overplayed, or that the band sold out, but those are issues that have little to do with the basic QUALITY of the piece. When you hear a good song, watch an awesome movie, or see something that makes you smile, you should want to SHARE it with people. Otherwise, what's the point?

Oh, you mean the point is to maintain a fragile sense of superiority over others? Sorry, my bad. Carry on, then.

The Half-Moon Thong

Can't BELIEVE I'm making another post on sartorial decency...

Let me start by saying this: I LIKE women. I really do. I also like LOOKING at women. It makes me happy. Of course, since I'm a practicing Christian, I feel GUILTY about looking at women, but I still LIKE it.

That said... Ladies, please hitch up your pants.

I'm not really a "sagging" detractor. I don't buy into some of the more pervasive arguments from naysayers about sagging, but I also don't get why people feel the need to show off their particular brand of underoos. If you want to sag with your boxers, I guess you can go ahead. Thug life forever or whatnot.

However, I've seen how some women with their low-rise jeans deliberately make sure their skimpy thongs are visible above the waistline, and that's a practice I just can't get behind... partially because I'd have to look at their half-moon thong hanging out the back.


There's a REASON men who sag so much you can see their Great Posterior Crevice are often ridiculed - it's usually a sign that they're either too distracted to pay attention or too slovenly to think it matters. Same holds true with women. Personally, when I see a woman's thong riding up in the back, I tend to think of some of the women I've seen come through the mental health system - and those are usually people who are so stoned out of their minds that they can't remember how to work a belt.

That's not exactly the "sexy vibe" people are trying to give off, I think.

Again, maybe I'm overstepping my bounds here in demanding all women conform to MY definition of modest attire (and on the internet, too, where everyone has to do what I say). It's a sight that's bugged me a bit too much recently, though, so there you go. End verbal vomit.

Just remember: what would Richard Blackwell do?

The Burden of Language: Braddy's Most Hated Words

I obsess over words a bit more than most people (goes hand-in-hand with the whole degree in English thing that I got). Now, the truth is that I really LIKE words - I think they're fun, expressive, and downright interesting. I don't read the dictionary (well, I don't read the dictionary OFTEN, that is), but I love discovering new words and how to use them.

That said, there are a LOT of words that I just can't stand. My reasons for disliking words vary from case to case, but, once I've selected a word to go in my "hate pile," it STAYS there until its had a good hard think about what it's done.

Let's look at some of my most hated words:


bureaucracy - I may just be petty, but I HATE words that I can't spell easily. Spelling should come easily to people who study English, right? Right?

Unfortunately, some words just never got the hint. For the life of me, I can't ever seem to spell "bureaucracy" right the first time (I actually tried three different spellings while compiling this list before finally looking it up). The word's got so many stupid vowels just to make a simple "ah" sound, while the "yoo" sound in the first syllable SHOULD be where all those extra vowels wind up.

If I had MY way, "bureaucracy" would be spelled "beurahcracy." And, um, I guess we'd all be from Georgia.

(As an aside, I have similar problems with the words occasion and silhouette.)


fail - The internet is hell for English majors. When a particularly terrible linguist dies, he is damned to wander the message boards of the great wide web forever, where he will spend his days hacking through the prickly undergrowth of bad grammar and his nights hiding from the ravenous, marauding "LOLs" and "STFUs," which have been known to strip a man's flesh from his bones in SECONDS.

I GET it, though - the internet generation hates words. It's okay. Most people would probably skip straight over this post because there are words with more than one syllable in it. When you post a funny picture of a man with his hand caught in a vending machine, you don't WANT to post a caption that says, "Oh, dear me, look at this silly chap and laugh at the foolish way he has chosen to acquire his tasty carbonated beverage, ho ho ho," while you adjust your monocle and take a sip from your tea cup. It's easier just to type "FAIL" and move on. That's fine.

Here's a fun fact: most of the time, "fail" is NOT a noun. If a person fails at something, their loss is not called a "fail." The correct word is "failure." It's true. We already have a word that means "an act of proving unsuccessful," and unfortunately for you, it DOES have two syllables.

Seriously, if you EVER say, "This is full of fail," I will kill you. I will unchain my rabid "ROFL" and it will destroy you.


emergency - Working for health care, this is a word I've grown to dread. The word "emergency" has a very specific connotation in health care. It means "a life-threatening situation." Emergencies are bad - very, very bad, and I always HATE hearing the word in a phone call.

Only two people ever use this word when they call in to a doctor's office. It doesn't matter HOW they choose to employ the word, my blood pressure always spikes when "emergency" is uttered. The first kind will use the word correctly, as in, "I have an emergency! My husband is on the ledge, threatening to jump." When I get this call, though, the biochemical response I undergo is appropriate - someone's life is in danger, and I get worked up so I can act more quickly.

However, the second type of person who calls will usually say something like, "I ran out of my Ritalin four days ago and forgot to call. I haven't had it in FOREVER, and it's an emergency." Unfortunately, I have to say, your situation ISN'T that severe, you WON'T die without your medications, you SHOULD have called last week, and I WILL NOT interrupt the doctor so you can get your script. Sorry.

(Strangely enough, I had more empathy BEFORE I started working for the industry whose only purpose is ostensibly to help others.)


accompanist - I think everyone has a word like this one - a word that they have to use frequently but can't ever quite say right. I encountered my personal evil word (my arch-lexemenemy, if you will) back in high school, when I was heavily involved in the choir program. I participated in several solo competitions, and every time, of course, I had to find someone to play the piano for me.

"Accompanist" is one of those words that, for some reason, I can't stop saying. Or, rather, once I start saying it, I can't stop. Picture, if you will, a teenaged Mr. Braddy (slightly lankier and, can you believe it, even MORE awkward), approaching the microphone, dressed in his choral tuxedo and a nervous grin, stringy hair parted at the side. He clears his throat and says:

"Hello. My name is Stephen. I will sing 'Vittoria, Mio Corre' by Giacomo Carissimi, and my accompianimanimanimanimanimanist is Kerry Moore."

Pronouncing "Giacomo Carissimi"? No problem. My poor little teenage self, though, couldn't muster the lingual agility to cut the word "accompanist" off.

I've gotten better, but I was an insecure adolescent at the time. That kinda thing SCARS.


moist - Actually, there's nothing wrong with this word. "Moist" even SOUNDS moist - it's the perfect combination of sound and definition. Get over it.

Have Any Extra Hours To Spare?

If you do, GIVE THEM TO ME BECAUSE YOU DO NOT DESERVE THEM!

I'm kidding, but only just a bit. Life is pretty darn busy right now. Work's still got me swamped, what with me being acting manager for probably another week. I have to finish final preparations for Jesters auditions tomorrow. And, of course, there's a little writing project I've picked up.

Basically, I'm saying that if it seems like all I've done the last couple of weeks is read and write... well, that's because that IS all I've done the last couple of weeks.

The real trouble, though, is that I feel like there's a ton more that I WANT to do, but I simply don't have the time.

• I haven't had time to dedicate to drawing for almost a month, and I have all these pretty little charcoal crayons just WAITING for me to use them.
• Speaking of art, I also have a watercolor set I've been really excited to experiment with. Trouble is, I have absolutely NO concept of watercolor technique, so that's going to be a pretty in-depth project, too.
• My church group is organizing a service auction to raise money for a sick family in Russia, and I've volunteered to put up a picture for bid... that I haven't yet completed.
• All the writing I've been doing for NaNoWriMo has got me wanting to go back and revise LAST year's project, which I haven't touched in MONTHS.
• I've got yet ANOTHER storytelling project I want to start working on NOW (a comic, perhaps?).
• I'm pretty sure that I have friends with whom I can hang out, but I may have misplaced them, as I feel like I haven't really seen them in a couple of months.
• Umm... isn't it, like, Christmas time soon or something? So, um, maybe I should do some shopping or something like that?

Well, I've gotta focus on what's right in front of me for now - which would be work, Jesters, and NaNo - and then I'll get to the other stuff later.

In the meantime, Happy Thanksgiving. If you need me, I'll be at my desk, writing. Try your best NOT to need me, okay?

Social Graces and Button Clicks

Back in our grandparents' day, there existed a social expectation of reciprocity. Good manners demanded you to respond to letters you received in the mail or visit someone who had been to see you the week before. Even an invitation to a social function came with the expectation of a written RSVP.

In today's world of social media, it seems the same expectations still exist. Photo tags demand comments, comments demand responses, and all friendings and followings should be mutual (Google+ would beg to differ, but what do they know). Frankly, it can be difficult to keep up with all the responses and repostings that modern online etiquette demands.

Thank goodness for the Facebook "Like" button.


The "Like" button can indicate a variety of things - assent, satisfaction, and even pleasure. Most often, however, it fills the role of an expected response - "I appreciate that you acknowledged I have something to say."

The "Like" button also frees us from the chains of reciprocity. Once something is "Liked," no more action is needed. Someone may, if they choose, "Like" a post in return for the "Like" they received, but no such demand is made. And it's impossible to "Like" a "Like," for that would lead to a "Like" on a "Like" on a "Like," and that's the doorway to madness right there.

The Facebook "Like" button - one more way the internet helps you be less polite.

We Suck At Language

Now look what you did!

I doubt this is a new concept to anyone who has ever gotten a text message before (and, if you haven't, let me be the first to say, "Good morning, Mr. Van Winkle!"), but I get the impression that English speakers don't understand how to best use their own language. In reading some of the great books of the English language, I've noticed that masters of language use words as a painter would use a fine brush - to carefully mark almost imperceptible yet meaningful distinctions. Unfortunately, it seems that the bulk of the English-speaking population uses words more like a preschooler with fingerpaints and an IV full of paste.

I got to thinking about the subject of language and definition last weekend, when I sat through a performance of Little Happy Secrets, wherein the lead uttered the line, "Whoever invented the cell phone needs to be drawn and quartered." While the author narrowly avoided a major cliche by invoking the ancient act of drawing and quartering, I've heard this line and several variations so often that I don't think I ever need to hear anything beyond the line "Whoever invented..." unless the speaker actually means to PRAISE the invention - which would be a nearly revolutionary use of the phrase.

In Politics and the English Language, George Orwell condemned the use of cliches and stock phrases (like the above "Whoever invented" phrase) which "save much mental effort." Prefabricated phrases make the meaning behind the words almost impossible to determine and take nearly all the art out of speaking. The English language, with all its potential for shining beauty, is thus rendered dulled and lusterless.

Which, by the way, makes me a little embarassed to have a blog with a cliche title like "The Life and Times of S.R. Braddy." The same title formula describes biographies of everyone from Allen Ginsberg to Scrooge McDuck.

I've also reflected a bit on words that have been used so often that their meaning has been diluted. Take the word "awesome," for example. Merriam-Webster defines the word "awe" as "an emotion variously combining dread, veneration, and wonder that is inspired by authority or by the sacred or sublime." Now, with that in mind, take a look at this monolog from comedian Eddie Izzard:

The universe is "awesome" using the original version, the meaning of the word awesome, yeah? Not the new one which is sort of for socks and hot dogs: "Hey! Red and yellow - awesome! You got red and yellow socks, they're awesome!" You know... I saw an advert for 'awesome hot dogs, only $2.99'. If they were awesome you'd be going, "I can not breathe for the way the sausage is held by the bun. It is… it is speaking to me. It is saying 'we are lips and thighs... of a donkey. Please eat us... but do not think that we are lips when you eat us, otherwise you'll throw up.'" Which is true! It's awesome!

America needs the old version of awesome, because you're the only ones going into space. You've got a bit of cash and you go up there, and you need "awesome" because you're going to be going to the next sun to us. And your President's going to be going, "Can you tell me, astronaut, can you tell me what it's like?"

"It's awesome, sir."

"What, like a hot dog?"

"Like a hundred billion hot dogs, sir."

I wish we could blame the texting generation for what's happened to words which used to be full of meaning, but I'm pretty sure my generation (also known as the "Ninja Turtle Generation") must shoulder most of the blame for this decidedly un-bodacious turn of events.

Cowabunga.

Ironically, the trend of shortening words that dominates text messages may actually save the language in some respects. The word "love," for example, now looks a bit like a bruised apple in normal conversation. In texting, the word "love" is often abbreviated as the symbol "<3" which has in turn been converted to the unusual verb "heart," as in "Oh Em Gee I Heart You Lawl." In my normal foul temper I'd be inclined to condemn this practice as vapid and shallow; however, that very negative association could actually save the word "love" from falling into the same void of meaning where we now find "awesome." See, I may not know how I feel when someone says, "I love you": should I be worried that I don't reciprocate their deep and profound feelings or offended that they esteem me as much as their favorite Beefy Cheese Burrito? On the other hand, I know EXACTLY how to respond to "I heart you."

It'd be difficult to demand that EVERYONE carry a pocket dictionary and refer to it repeatedly during conversation - but that won't stop me from trying. At the very least, I hope we all can be a little more aware of what the words we say actually mean. George Orwell and I both thank you.

Aftermath: YSA Rejiggered

Destination or Bust!

Note: The following post contains several disclaimers which may affect your perception of the author's impartiality. You have been warned.

In case you missed it, the LDS church recently reorganized their program for young single adults. Now, there are a lot reasons why the program's been mixed up, but the main one seems to be to get all us single folks hitched. And we know how I feel about that.

So I attended my brand spanking new Young Single Adult ward on Sunday. I'd like to say "with an open mind"... but... well...

The first hour of the ward meeting, our bishopric took the opportunity to introduce themselves... by telling us to get married. Over. And over. And over. And... actually, I don't know if they stressed it again, because eventually I zoned out and doodled.

Now, in my LAST singles ward, I LOVED the age-mix, or lack thereof. See, when I first moved into that area at 25, I was actually one of the younger people in the ward. Even now, at 27, I would have been sitting comfortably on the median.

In this new ward, though, I guess I look a bit older. Or, maybe, I should just say that everyone ELSE looks quite a bit YOUNGER. It's... discouraging, to say the least.

The kicker, for me, came during the testimony portion of the meeting. A young woman rose to give what I guess would be her farewell from the ward. "I'm getting married in a few weeks," she said, "but I remember what it was like thinking I'd never get married, and I just I wanted to say that you're time will come..."

UGH!!!

I'm sure she meant well, but, seriously, I thought I'd long-since outgrown "singles insecurity." I mean, yeah, I'm single, and it'd be nice to NOT be single, but I think I do pretty well on my own.

Anyway, Sunday WAS Mother's Day, when a lot of singles head home. It was also the first meeting of the new ward, so people may have been a bit off balance. And, obviously, I myself wasn't necessarily in the best mood. Here's hoping things get better next week.

But, still... Holy crud.

Geek Shame

Please be sure to don appropriate eyewear before reading.

Last night I somehow got involved in a conversation between a couple of Dune aficionados. A young woman passing by overheard the discussion and got excited. She hadn't heard of Dune, but she's been on the lookout for a new sci-fi obsession since Battlestar Galactica ended. So she listened to the conversation with interest, but you could tell there was something stopping her from expressing her enthusiasm.

Turns out she was EMBARRASSED to be seen discussing sci-fi in public.

Huh.

It's funny how some hobbies people are free to discuss in public, while others... well, I've never seen a conversation about The Lord of the Rings that ended with two people having a deepened understanding for each other unless they were already wearing elf ears.

The thing I find funny about "geek interests" is that they capture the imaginations of thousands and thousands of people, but if one were to express interest in the latest entry in the Robert Jordan's Wheel of Time series he or she would likely be greeted with plaster grins and face an immediate decline in social standing.


I'll be the first to admit that learning the names of the American presidents is probably SLIGHTLY more important than learning to name by sight all the aliens in the Cantina scene from the first Star Wars movie. That said, though, is there really any interest out there that is so frivolous that it IMMEDIATELY renders its subscribers socially unfit for conversation.

While it's true that not everyone wants to discuss the minute yet significant differences between different breeds of Pokémon, most self-proclaimed "geeks" have enough self-awareness to KNOW when a topic of conversation has overstayed its welcome - at least going by what this chart says:


For the record, I consider myself a geek - though I admit to dancing more than occasionally on that pink line right next to "Nerd." I make no apologies for liking the things I do - in fact, I'd say my life is actually quite a bit better for what I choose to indulge in.

And, truthfully, I see a lot of other interests that aren't strictly "geeky" but demand the same level of interest and attention from their participants. And, really, they're not that different from the types of activities "geeks" participate in.

• If you have ever painted your chest or face for a sporting event, you have participated in cosplay. YOU ARE A GEEK, and shall be shunned


• If you have ever indulged in Fantasy Football, you'd find those skills are likely transferable to selecting a killer Pokémon line up. YOU ARE A GEEK, and shall be shunned.


• If you have ever fantasized about getting swept off your feet by Fitzwilliam Darcy, you have just indulged in some self-insert fan-fiction. YOU ARE A GEEK, and shall be shunned.


• If you can easily insert a quote from Arrested Development into daily conversation, then that's one more thing you have in common with Monty Python fans. YOU ARE A GEEK, and shall be shunned.


• If you own a complete television series on DVD, you have shown that you're about as completist as any Lost fanatic. YOU ARE A GEEK, and shall be shunned.


• If you spend an hour or more playing Farmville, Bejeweled, or even Solitaire, you're not that much different from your neighbor and his level 56 Night Elf Hunter. YOU ARE A GEEK, and shall be shunned.


• If you've ever looked down on someone for not liking/not being aware of your favorite band, know that there's someone just as appalled that you never saw Howl's Moving Castle. YOU ARE A GEEK, and shall be shunned.

Now, since everyone is shunning everyone else, maybe I'll finally have time to finish playing through Elder Scrolls IV: Oblivion before the sequel comes out.

Based on True Events

Larissa (who, by the way, explains it all) pointed out that my last post is based on a true story. Which, by the way, is true.

What she didn't tell you, though...


I'm THAT guy.

On A Completely Unrelated Note...

Apropos of nothing, John Lasseter, the guy who heads up Pixar's animation studios, is known for having said:

"Our challenge [as animators] is to make stories that connect for kids and adults."

Seriously now, I won't fault anyone for LIKING Cars, or even for being excited for Cars 2 - but I'm not, and I have my reasons.