There's gonna be a Deadpool movie coming out next year, and I'm pretty excited about it. In the comic books, Deadpool has a motor-mouth, always talking and making wisecracks. He breaks the 4th wall regularly to speak directly to the adult/kid who is reading his comic.
I very much enjoyed breaking the 4th wall when I was performing, but only when it was called for. In improvisational-based sketch comedy, though, you could make it "called for" regularly.
Something that I have found interesting/mildly frustrating about the psychology of entertainment is the expectation of passivity in the audience. Movies, TV shows, plays, concerts, just about any live performance has the expectation that an audience will enter a space (theatre, living room, performance hall, etc.), and then allow the performance to be presented to them while they take it in. There is very little activity or thinking expected from an audience.
One of the most exciting times, and it's truly exciting, is when an audience is JOLTED into action, either mental or physical action, by the performance. This is best described as the action that is taken when an audience at a scary movie gets startled to the point of jumping or gasping. But you can get it other places, too: a professional wrestler performs a huge flip and lands belly-first on his opponent, and the audience cheers; the chandelier comes crashing down in the live stage version of "Phantom of the Opera" and the audience squirms to get out of the way; in the live stage version of "Tommy" during the "Pinball Wizard" number, the pinball machine literally explodes into a ball of fire onstage, and the audience gasps. It is exciting to move your audience to immediate action, and I love thinking about ways in which to do just that.
Now combine the thought of moving your audience to action with a character who regularly talks to the audience, is a smartass, and kills people.
Here's the gimmick I hope they use in the Deadpool movie (and if they don't, I hope I can make movies and use this gimmick someday).
Make the movie so that the actual projection of the movie is larger than the screen by about a foot or two on all sides. You would simply increase the size of your projection at the theatre. HOWEVER, the filmmakers would realize this would be happening, and they would lessen the size of the movie by about a foot or two on all sides. The ultimate effect would be a large black frame of space surrounding the screen on all sides. This would allow you to project an image off the screen and on the wall or curtain of the movie theatre. Like if an animal or hero were going to appear to crawl off the screen and into the theatre, this little manipulation would make that possible.
SO--
You could film the entire Deadpool movie in a way that would make it look like any other movie. Yeah, maybe people would notice at the start of the movie that there was some extra blackness being projected around the screen. But honestly, when was the last time that you paid attention to the area of the movie projection? Never, that's the answer. You never have. So the movie starts, and for a moment you may have the thought of, "oh, there's extra blackness being projected around the screen on all sides," but very quickly you're going to forget this and be pulled into the movie. Later in the movie, though, when Deadpool is killing everybody awesomely, he will turn to the audience and say something like "I'm now coming to kill you all!" Then he shoves his arm OFF THE SCREEN AND ONTO THE WALL OF THE ACTUAL MOVIE THEATRE as he starts to pull himself out of the movie world and into ours, because he's coming to kill us!! And women and children LOSE THEIR MINDS AND SHIT ALL OVER THEMSELVES!! And I scream my everlovin' head off!! And then the movie goes black, and the end credits roll, and EVERYBODY STANDS UP AND CHEERS FOR THE BEST MOVIE THEY'VE EVER SEEN!!
Brilliant!
Friday, April 17, 2015
Thursday, April 16, 2015
The Yelling Man
The Man yelled.
"You are obviously mistaken! You don't know me well enough to make those kinds of judgments on me! I have legs and you know it!! You are stupid and vile and other nasty names! How dare you?! How! Dare! You!!"
The servants holding the three-quarter-length mirror in front of the Man looked at each other. The Man was yelling at a mirror showing him only his upper three-fourths, as that's all the mirror was focusing on at the moment. The mirror was simply showing him him. The servants, trying to appease the Yelling Man, slowly lowered the mirror to the floor. Now the Man's lower three-fourths were visible to him in the mirror.
The Man yelled.
"You are grandly ignorant! I most certainly have a head! I use it every day! In fact, I'm using it right now to yell at you, you most terrible, terrible awfulness!!!"
"You are obviously mistaken! You don't know me well enough to make those kinds of judgments on me! I have legs and you know it!! You are stupid and vile and other nasty names! How dare you?! How! Dare! You!!"
The servants holding the three-quarter-length mirror in front of the Man looked at each other. The Man was yelling at a mirror showing him only his upper three-fourths, as that's all the mirror was focusing on at the moment. The mirror was simply showing him him. The servants, trying to appease the Yelling Man, slowly lowered the mirror to the floor. Now the Man's lower three-fourths were visible to him in the mirror.
The Man yelled.
"You are grandly ignorant! I most certainly have a head! I use it every day! In fact, I'm using it right now to yell at you, you most terrible, terrible awfulness!!!"
The Bathroom Door of Town
The people of Town had a broken door.
The door wouldn't open.
Normally, this wouldn't be a huge problem.
Except this door was the only entry point, and for that matter exitry point, to the bathroom.
And the people of Town were going into the ocean to pee and poop.
It was getting to be a hassle.
Plus, Greg said "Hey, after a while of us peeing and pooping in the ocean, won't we stop wading out into the ocean to pee and poop and just be wading out in other people's pee and poop?"
No, not exactly, Greg, but that thought was enough to light a fire under the people to get the broken door fixed.
Pete was mayor of Town.
He looked at the door.
And he made speeches to the people.
"My Fellow Townies," he said, "this door blah blah blah," and other words that politicians say when they want people to believe something is being done.
Pete and his advisers looked at the door.
They tried to open the door.
It opened just a little bit, but then stopped.
"Well I'm stumped," Pete said.
Pete got the people of Town to vote on a tax that would pay for a new door.
Obviously the door was broken, and a new one would open unlike this old door.
The people, eager to stop wading in their own waste, agreed to the tax.
This would allow the bathroom door to open, and then the People of Town could stop standing in ocean-watery shit all the time.
The people were taxed.
Workers were hired to replace the door.
And, after turning the five-lane highway into a one-lane highway for 8 months during peak driving times without any sign of work being done, one day, seemingly overnight, the door was replaced with a new door.
It had that New Door smell.
And the People of Town rejoiced.
Pete addressed them.
"Today, is a day that will yadda yadda yadda."
And the people pushed on the door.
It opened a little, but then stopped.
Just like the old door.
What?
The door had been fixed.
It had been replaced.
We were all going to be able to go to the bathroom, the people of Town collectively seemed to think together.
Well, apparently not. This door worked as unwell as the last door.
And the People of Town had to continue to wade out into the ocean of excrement to do their business.
Pete was voted out of office.
Sheila was voted into office.
Sheila made speeches about fixing the door.
She didn't need to visit the door.
We all knew it was broken, and it needed fixing.
She proposed another tax to pay for another door from a different door construction corporation.
That, Sheila promised, would fix our door problem.
The people of Town voted for the tax.
They paid for a different corporation to block traffic for 8 years.
And at the end of it, they had not only forgotten that a tax had been imposed on them, but they also saw a brand new door on the bathroom of Town.
Hooray, they all said, and they even spelled it "hooray" rather than "hurray" because "hooray" is the better way to spell it and "hurray" just looks stupid and only dumb people spell it that way. But nobody was really hopeful.
It had been so long since the door had actually worked nobody really remembered what it was like to pee and poop in the bathroom. Nobody really remembered what the bathroom looked like. Fewer and fewer people were around who could remember what it was like to actually have access to the bathroom. And with every passing year that the bathroom wasn't accessible, hope for a functioning door faded. At this point, years had passed, and hope was just an old man, sitting in the corner, having overstayed his welcome at the party, having consumed too many drinks, and now the hosts of the party were left wondering why Hope was still around and how the hell do we get him out of the kitchen so we can feel comfortable going to sleep? Didn't this party end a long time ago? Why does he still have a bottle of whiskey? And why the hell is Hope drinking whiskey? Seems out of character.
So, at last, the new door was there.
And Sheila said words that, essentially, reduced to Elect Me Again.
And a semi-big ceremony happened where they drank cheap champagne and wore rented tuxedos.
And a genuine ribbon made out of imitation, processed ribbon spread was used and cut with oversized novelty scissors.
And then Sheila pushed on the door.
It opened a little, and then stopped.
And the people weren't really surprised.
They had been through it before.
And Sheila blamed the other political party.
They were to blame.
And somehow children were involved. They needed to be educated so that doors could be fixed.
And somehow evil people were trying to hurt the people of Town. Terrorists, or maybe immigrants. Certainly the atheists were to blame, they want chaos.
And somehow it all tied into the broken bathroom door.
Which still didn't work.
And the People of Town kinda gave up on having a working door.
What was the point? It wasn't going to work, and nobody was going to get it fixed.
Let's focus on more positive things, things we actually have control over.
Like... oh, I dunno... videos of cats jumping off bookshelves, or the latest episode of According To Jim.
And they did.
Did you see that one where Larry Joe sat down and farted, but he blamed it on the pleather couch? Hysterical!
Brandon was just a boy when he found himself in the bathroom of Town.
He had been playing hide and seek with his friends, and he found this super good crack in the wall, and, of course, he crawled into it.
And just beyond the reach of the outside light, inside this crack, Brandon found The Bathroom.
He had sorta heard his legal guardian/step-something talk about it with her new lover/insurance salesman, but he didn't really listen to them much. They didn't have much to say that was important ("Did you see the one where Larry Joe was fat and did something fatty? Hysterical!"). And he didn't really care too much about current events, like bathrooms.
But here he was.
In the Bathroom of Town.
It was kinda dusty and dark in the bathroom. It hadn't been used for a very, very long time.
It sorta looked dated, like it was built in a different time with a different mindset.
When people put thought into things like faucets.
And shapes of toilet seats.
And making things strong so that they don't break.
Break... wasn't there something broken in here?
Oh... maybe the door? Is the door broken?
Brandon went over to the door.
It was far away from the window, in the darkest part of the bathroom, and Brandon had to wait for his eyes to adjust before he could make out the door and it's silvery handle.
He pulled on the handle.
The door opened a little.
And then stopped.
And he heard a very slight crunch.
He looked to where the crunch was heard, and he noticed another shiny something.
It looked like a zipper pull?
As his eyes adjusted more, he could tell that the zipper pull belonged to a zipper, which belonged to a hoodie, which was hung on the back of the bathroom door.
The zipper pull had fallen in between the door and the inside door jamb, and was getting stuck in that space in such a way that it was preventing the door from opening completely.
Brandon removed the hoodie.
He pulled on the silvery bathroom door handle.
The door opened a little.
Then the door opened completely.
Brandon smiled as he put together what he knew about the history of this door.
The door had worked at one time.
Then the door didn't work.
And Brandon guessed it stopped working when the owner of the hoodie very honestly forgot the hoodie on the back of the bathroom door.
Sometimes things can get intense in a bathroom, and it was very possible that somebody had taken off the hoodie in haste in order to properly take care of business, and then when the relief of Business Taken Care Of arrived, it was equally as possible that the hoodie had been completely forgotten, hanging on the back of the door.
Where the zipper fell into the space between the door and the jamb.
And the hoodie zipper caused the door not to work.
And workers had been hired to fix the door.
The door had been replaced several times.
And each time, Brandon guessed, the workers had simply replaced the hoodie back on the new door because it had been there when they arrived so it must belong there. The workers hadn't been hired to create a working door, after all, they had only been hired to replace the old door, which they did. Making the door actually work wasn't their job.
Brandon was kinda excited, because he was certain he had just done a good thing.
People had lost hope about the bathroom door for so long, maybe now it would be cool to stop swimming in their own waste and actually use the bathroom like it had been designed to function.
Maybe the People of Town could have hope again.
But mostly Brandon felt good because it feels good to actually solve problems and be self-sufficient.
Brandon was smart and good and felt good about himself for helping others.
When Brandon got home, he told his guardian-salespeople/step-whatevers about what had happened to him today.
They grounded him for breaking and entering into a public building.
They grounded him double for taking a hoodie that didn't belong to him (oh yeah, Brandon had taken the hoodie from the bathroom hoping to return it to its owner, making him a theif in the eyes of step-insurance salesguardians).
Then, the female authority figure shamed him for being bad and thoughtless.
Then, the male authority figure pushed him down and around for being dumb.
They then reported what Brandon told them to the police so that they proper authority figures could take care of this issue.
The Hoodie was made an example of, and political commentators said that the hoodie was just as much to blame for the broken door as the broken door itself.
Just look what happens when you wear a Hoodie!
And people took sides, for the Hoodie or against the Hoodie.
Black Hoodies Matter, after all.
And some people wanted to find the owner of the Hoodie, and they set up charities so that people could give money to blah blah blah and assuage their guilt about not doing anything actually helpful.
And the police told the new mayor of Town about the bathroom and the door and the hoodie and the crack in the wall and... Braden? Brenden? Something like that. He's just a kid.
And the mayor realized there was a crack problem.
Children were playing with crack, and a War on Crack was declared.
And the first step was to remove the crack.
So the wall and everything around the wall was demolished.
And secretly, the mayor was thankful that nobody realized that the crack was actually surrounded by the bathroom that no politician or adult could find a way to get into. The mayor was thankful that nobody remembered the bathroom was a good thing for the town and the people. The mayor was thankful they didn't remember that no solution was discovered for the problem-- the problem of a hoodie zipper getting in the way of opening to door-- by the people who had been elected, hired and promoted to fix the problem. It was embarrassed that tax money had been spent on something that didn't actually work, and then thing that did actually work was a child playing a child game.
A child who didn't care about politics or money.
A child who just wanted to fix a problem.
Well thank Christ that child was no more.
Was it legal to burn children anymore? No?
Well, can we incarcerate him? Maybe? He is, obviously, smart. Surely we can use that to say that he should be tried as an adult, right?
And then we can lock him up for a long time, yeah?
Oh good.
That'll work.
And the mayor of Town told the people that a new tax had to be paid in order to properly prosecute Brecken, the black boy... he isn't black? He's half Hispanic, half Russian? That's kinda black, isn't it? And definitely communist... Blappen, the Black Communist boy who played with crack and illegally crossed our borders in order to steal our jobs away from us good, hard-working tax-payers of Town.
There are real problems, People.
And your tax dollars will fix these real problems.
And the people weren't even given the option of voting for the tax increase anymore.
Because taxes are needed to pay for goods and services that help the people of Town.
They were just told taxes were going to happen.
And it happened.
Please focus on what you can control, like backyard wrestling videos and Angry Birds.
And Brandon sat in a jail cell for years while people tried to figure out how to prosecute him. Can you prosecute a communist in a free-market society? Nobody could remember from their economics class if that was something you could do or not, and nobody had kept their textbooks past the end of the semester, so there was no way to check if that was even a possibility.
And the long-forgotten bathroom and its long-forgotten broken/fixed door were something almost nobody thought about.
And when they did, it was sorta like remembering the Ed Sullivan Show, or Walter Cronkite and Integrity in Journalism, and television quiz programs that actually awarded knowledge rather than awarding grown-ass adults who are willing to eat a handful of maggots in order to win a stainless steel juicer, and walking to school, and exercise, and reasonable portions of food, and spending time with your family, and valuing education, and working toward the good of everyone in the country rather than the profit of the individual's bank account. It was a dusty thought, an old thought. A thought that really had no place in today's world. A thought of times past. Like Rome. It wasn't really even worth thinking about.
There were real problems, People.
Thinking thoughts wouldn't help fix those problems, People.
But I know how to fix your problems.
My Fellow Townies,
I am just a simple blogger
I come from humble beginnings
And blah blah blah yadda yadda yadda.
The door wouldn't open.
Normally, this wouldn't be a huge problem.
Except this door was the only entry point, and for that matter exitry point, to the bathroom.
And the people of Town were going into the ocean to pee and poop.
It was getting to be a hassle.
Plus, Greg said "Hey, after a while of us peeing and pooping in the ocean, won't we stop wading out into the ocean to pee and poop and just be wading out in other people's pee and poop?"
No, not exactly, Greg, but that thought was enough to light a fire under the people to get the broken door fixed.
Pete was mayor of Town.
He looked at the door.
And he made speeches to the people.
"My Fellow Townies," he said, "this door blah blah blah," and other words that politicians say when they want people to believe something is being done.
Pete and his advisers looked at the door.
They tried to open the door.
It opened just a little bit, but then stopped.
"Well I'm stumped," Pete said.
Pete got the people of Town to vote on a tax that would pay for a new door.
Obviously the door was broken, and a new one would open unlike this old door.
The people, eager to stop wading in their own waste, agreed to the tax.
This would allow the bathroom door to open, and then the People of Town could stop standing in ocean-watery shit all the time.
The people were taxed.
Workers were hired to replace the door.
And, after turning the five-lane highway into a one-lane highway for 8 months during peak driving times without any sign of work being done, one day, seemingly overnight, the door was replaced with a new door.
It had that New Door smell.
And the People of Town rejoiced.
Pete addressed them.
"Today, is a day that will yadda yadda yadda."
And the people pushed on the door.
It opened a little, but then stopped.
Just like the old door.
What?
The door had been fixed.
It had been replaced.
We were all going to be able to go to the bathroom, the people of Town collectively seemed to think together.
Well, apparently not. This door worked as unwell as the last door.
And the People of Town had to continue to wade out into the ocean of excrement to do their business.
Pete was voted out of office.
Sheila was voted into office.
Sheila made speeches about fixing the door.
She didn't need to visit the door.
We all knew it was broken, and it needed fixing.
She proposed another tax to pay for another door from a different door construction corporation.
That, Sheila promised, would fix our door problem.
The people of Town voted for the tax.
They paid for a different corporation to block traffic for 8 years.
And at the end of it, they had not only forgotten that a tax had been imposed on them, but they also saw a brand new door on the bathroom of Town.
Hooray, they all said, and they even spelled it "hooray" rather than "hurray" because "hooray" is the better way to spell it and "hurray" just looks stupid and only dumb people spell it that way. But nobody was really hopeful.
It had been so long since the door had actually worked nobody really remembered what it was like to pee and poop in the bathroom. Nobody really remembered what the bathroom looked like. Fewer and fewer people were around who could remember what it was like to actually have access to the bathroom. And with every passing year that the bathroom wasn't accessible, hope for a functioning door faded. At this point, years had passed, and hope was just an old man, sitting in the corner, having overstayed his welcome at the party, having consumed too many drinks, and now the hosts of the party were left wondering why Hope was still around and how the hell do we get him out of the kitchen so we can feel comfortable going to sleep? Didn't this party end a long time ago? Why does he still have a bottle of whiskey? And why the hell is Hope drinking whiskey? Seems out of character.
So, at last, the new door was there.
And Sheila said words that, essentially, reduced to Elect Me Again.
And a semi-big ceremony happened where they drank cheap champagne and wore rented tuxedos.
And a genuine ribbon made out of imitation, processed ribbon spread was used and cut with oversized novelty scissors.
And then Sheila pushed on the door.
It opened a little, and then stopped.
And the people weren't really surprised.
They had been through it before.
And Sheila blamed the other political party.
They were to blame.
And somehow children were involved. They needed to be educated so that doors could be fixed.
And somehow evil people were trying to hurt the people of Town. Terrorists, or maybe immigrants. Certainly the atheists were to blame, they want chaos.
And somehow it all tied into the broken bathroom door.
Which still didn't work.
And the People of Town kinda gave up on having a working door.
What was the point? It wasn't going to work, and nobody was going to get it fixed.
Let's focus on more positive things, things we actually have control over.
Like... oh, I dunno... videos of cats jumping off bookshelves, or the latest episode of According To Jim.
And they did.
Did you see that one where Larry Joe sat down and farted, but he blamed it on the pleather couch? Hysterical!
Brandon was just a boy when he found himself in the bathroom of Town.
He had been playing hide and seek with his friends, and he found this super good crack in the wall, and, of course, he crawled into it.
And just beyond the reach of the outside light, inside this crack, Brandon found The Bathroom.
He had sorta heard his legal guardian/step-something talk about it with her new lover/insurance salesman, but he didn't really listen to them much. They didn't have much to say that was important ("Did you see the one where Larry Joe was fat and did something fatty? Hysterical!"). And he didn't really care too much about current events, like bathrooms.
But here he was.
In the Bathroom of Town.
It was kinda dusty and dark in the bathroom. It hadn't been used for a very, very long time.
It sorta looked dated, like it was built in a different time with a different mindset.
When people put thought into things like faucets.
And shapes of toilet seats.
And making things strong so that they don't break.
Break... wasn't there something broken in here?
Oh... maybe the door? Is the door broken?
Brandon went over to the door.
It was far away from the window, in the darkest part of the bathroom, and Brandon had to wait for his eyes to adjust before he could make out the door and it's silvery handle.
He pulled on the handle.
The door opened a little.
And then stopped.
And he heard a very slight crunch.
He looked to where the crunch was heard, and he noticed another shiny something.
It looked like a zipper pull?
As his eyes adjusted more, he could tell that the zipper pull belonged to a zipper, which belonged to a hoodie, which was hung on the back of the bathroom door.
The zipper pull had fallen in between the door and the inside door jamb, and was getting stuck in that space in such a way that it was preventing the door from opening completely.
Brandon removed the hoodie.
He pulled on the silvery bathroom door handle.
The door opened a little.
Then the door opened completely.
Brandon smiled as he put together what he knew about the history of this door.
The door had worked at one time.
Then the door didn't work.
And Brandon guessed it stopped working when the owner of the hoodie very honestly forgot the hoodie on the back of the bathroom door.
Sometimes things can get intense in a bathroom, and it was very possible that somebody had taken off the hoodie in haste in order to properly take care of business, and then when the relief of Business Taken Care Of arrived, it was equally as possible that the hoodie had been completely forgotten, hanging on the back of the door.
Where the zipper fell into the space between the door and the jamb.
And the hoodie zipper caused the door not to work.
And workers had been hired to fix the door.
The door had been replaced several times.
And each time, Brandon guessed, the workers had simply replaced the hoodie back on the new door because it had been there when they arrived so it must belong there. The workers hadn't been hired to create a working door, after all, they had only been hired to replace the old door, which they did. Making the door actually work wasn't their job.
Brandon was kinda excited, because he was certain he had just done a good thing.
People had lost hope about the bathroom door for so long, maybe now it would be cool to stop swimming in their own waste and actually use the bathroom like it had been designed to function.
Maybe the People of Town could have hope again.
But mostly Brandon felt good because it feels good to actually solve problems and be self-sufficient.
Brandon was smart and good and felt good about himself for helping others.
When Brandon got home, he told his guardian-salespeople/step-whatevers about what had happened to him today.
They grounded him for breaking and entering into a public building.
They grounded him double for taking a hoodie that didn't belong to him (oh yeah, Brandon had taken the hoodie from the bathroom hoping to return it to its owner, making him a theif in the eyes of step-insurance salesguardians).
Then, the female authority figure shamed him for being bad and thoughtless.
Then, the male authority figure pushed him down and around for being dumb.
They then reported what Brandon told them to the police so that they proper authority figures could take care of this issue.
The Hoodie was made an example of, and political commentators said that the hoodie was just as much to blame for the broken door as the broken door itself.
Just look what happens when you wear a Hoodie!
And people took sides, for the Hoodie or against the Hoodie.
Black Hoodies Matter, after all.
And some people wanted to find the owner of the Hoodie, and they set up charities so that people could give money to blah blah blah and assuage their guilt about not doing anything actually helpful.
And the police told the new mayor of Town about the bathroom and the door and the hoodie and the crack in the wall and... Braden? Brenden? Something like that. He's just a kid.
And the mayor realized there was a crack problem.
Children were playing with crack, and a War on Crack was declared.
And the first step was to remove the crack.
So the wall and everything around the wall was demolished.
And secretly, the mayor was thankful that nobody realized that the crack was actually surrounded by the bathroom that no politician or adult could find a way to get into. The mayor was thankful that nobody remembered the bathroom was a good thing for the town and the people. The mayor was thankful they didn't remember that no solution was discovered for the problem-- the problem of a hoodie zipper getting in the way of opening to door-- by the people who had been elected, hired and promoted to fix the problem. It was embarrassed that tax money had been spent on something that didn't actually work, and then thing that did actually work was a child playing a child game.
A child who didn't care about politics or money.
A child who just wanted to fix a problem.
Well thank Christ that child was no more.
Was it legal to burn children anymore? No?
Well, can we incarcerate him? Maybe? He is, obviously, smart. Surely we can use that to say that he should be tried as an adult, right?
And then we can lock him up for a long time, yeah?
Oh good.
That'll work.
And the mayor of Town told the people that a new tax had to be paid in order to properly prosecute Brecken, the black boy... he isn't black? He's half Hispanic, half Russian? That's kinda black, isn't it? And definitely communist... Blappen, the Black Communist boy who played with crack and illegally crossed our borders in order to steal our jobs away from us good, hard-working tax-payers of Town.
There are real problems, People.
And your tax dollars will fix these real problems.
And the people weren't even given the option of voting for the tax increase anymore.
Because taxes are needed to pay for goods and services that help the people of Town.
They were just told taxes were going to happen.
And it happened.
Please focus on what you can control, like backyard wrestling videos and Angry Birds.
And Brandon sat in a jail cell for years while people tried to figure out how to prosecute him. Can you prosecute a communist in a free-market society? Nobody could remember from their economics class if that was something you could do or not, and nobody had kept their textbooks past the end of the semester, so there was no way to check if that was even a possibility.
And the long-forgotten bathroom and its long-forgotten broken/fixed door were something almost nobody thought about.
And when they did, it was sorta like remembering the Ed Sullivan Show, or Walter Cronkite and Integrity in Journalism, and television quiz programs that actually awarded knowledge rather than awarding grown-ass adults who are willing to eat a handful of maggots in order to win a stainless steel juicer, and walking to school, and exercise, and reasonable portions of food, and spending time with your family, and valuing education, and working toward the good of everyone in the country rather than the profit of the individual's bank account. It was a dusty thought, an old thought. A thought that really had no place in today's world. A thought of times past. Like Rome. It wasn't really even worth thinking about.
There were real problems, People.
Thinking thoughts wouldn't help fix those problems, People.
But I know how to fix your problems.
My Fellow Townies,
I am just a simple blogger
I come from humble beginnings
And blah blah blah yadda yadda yadda.
Tuesday, April 14, 2015
Seizure Mom
15 year old girl applies for disability review. This means that she was already receiving disability from a previous application, and she would like to continue receiving disability benefits based on her continued allegations that she is disabled.
She states she cannot function normally because she has seizures.
Mother agrees.
I request records for this girl.
The doctor's records state that she is having seizures once every six months and she's doing quite well. He states this on more than one occasion. In order to continue to receive disability benefits, she needs to have seizures at least once a month during the day. At this point, she would no longer receive disability benefits.
Except...
Her school records indicate that she needs a helper, a paraprofessional, in her classes because of "intellectual disabilities".
Because of this one statement, I am now required to investigate her mental status. I send the case off to one of our doctors and ask what he would like to do. He says we need to order an exam in order to have a record of any intellectual disabilities.
I order a mental exam.
Then the mother calls, very frustrated and angry, saying that her daughter should receive disability benefits because she has seizures. I am not allowed to tell her that her daughter isn't going to receive benefits anymore because, according to the law, I'm not allowed to make that decision, therefore I'm not allowed to tell anyone that is the decision. However, despite what the law says, I know she will not be receiving benefits because of her seizures. If she is going to continue receiving benefits, it will need to be because of another reason. I tell the mother that I am not a doctor, nor am I the person who will ultimately make the decision whether her daughter continues to receive disability benefits or not. What I know is that a doctor has requested a mental status exam, and unless she can give me some kind of evidence to take to the doctor, the exam is needed.
The mother then tells me that her daughter has no mental issue, has no intellectual disabilities, has no emotional issues, and the only reason why she has a paraprofessional with her is because of her seizures, which "happen all the time, every day". Then she asks if this is enough to make the mental exam not necessary. I tell her the best I can do is make note of what she has said and send it back to the doctor. The mother then starts to speak angrily at me, telling me that I don't know what it's like to deal with a daughter who has seizures all the time every day, and it's very draining and frustrating to have to deal with the likes of me. I try to tell her I understand, but she doesn't want to hear it.
What I know, as I'm being verbally battered by this lady, is that she has just made her position worse. Her daughter doesn't have the medical records saying that she has seizures all the time, and that's what's important to Social Security. You can't just call up Social Security and say, "my daughter has seizures all the time, check please!" They need proof from a doctor. And the proof from that doctor is that this girl is fine. So her best hope to continue to receive benefits is to go to the mental exam and be super depressed or retarded. And with her mother saying she's neither of those things, I've got no more reasons to say she should continue to receive benefits.
And I know all of this while she's getting more and more angry with me. And I continue to tell her that I'm doing what I can for her, but at this point, the best that I can do for them is not rush this case through the system, because the quicker I rush the case, the quicker mother is going to find out Social Security isn't going to send you checks anymore.
And I think about all of that and become mildly concerned about why people don't listen to me fully, with open ears and hearts, when I tell them this is what is in your best interests for a positive outcome on your case.
And then I think about my recent interactions with lawyers.
And therapists, for myself and my wife.
And I realize that those people are impediments in my mind.
Stumbling blocks of egos I must traverse and climb around in order to protect and help my family.
They don't have ideas that help.
They do more damage than good.
They are not worthy of listening to.
And they proved that over and over and over.
And I think this mother has probably lived through that prior to getting me on the phone.
"This jerkoff isn't worth listening to," she thinks to herself about her interactions with me.
And I can't say that I blame her.
People are fucking shitty.
She states she cannot function normally because she has seizures.
Mother agrees.
I request records for this girl.
The doctor's records state that she is having seizures once every six months and she's doing quite well. He states this on more than one occasion. In order to continue to receive disability benefits, she needs to have seizures at least once a month during the day. At this point, she would no longer receive disability benefits.
Except...
Her school records indicate that she needs a helper, a paraprofessional, in her classes because of "intellectual disabilities".
Because of this one statement, I am now required to investigate her mental status. I send the case off to one of our doctors and ask what he would like to do. He says we need to order an exam in order to have a record of any intellectual disabilities.
I order a mental exam.
Then the mother calls, very frustrated and angry, saying that her daughter should receive disability benefits because she has seizures. I am not allowed to tell her that her daughter isn't going to receive benefits anymore because, according to the law, I'm not allowed to make that decision, therefore I'm not allowed to tell anyone that is the decision. However, despite what the law says, I know she will not be receiving benefits because of her seizures. If she is going to continue receiving benefits, it will need to be because of another reason. I tell the mother that I am not a doctor, nor am I the person who will ultimately make the decision whether her daughter continues to receive disability benefits or not. What I know is that a doctor has requested a mental status exam, and unless she can give me some kind of evidence to take to the doctor, the exam is needed.
The mother then tells me that her daughter has no mental issue, has no intellectual disabilities, has no emotional issues, and the only reason why she has a paraprofessional with her is because of her seizures, which "happen all the time, every day". Then she asks if this is enough to make the mental exam not necessary. I tell her the best I can do is make note of what she has said and send it back to the doctor. The mother then starts to speak angrily at me, telling me that I don't know what it's like to deal with a daughter who has seizures all the time every day, and it's very draining and frustrating to have to deal with the likes of me. I try to tell her I understand, but she doesn't want to hear it.
What I know, as I'm being verbally battered by this lady, is that she has just made her position worse. Her daughter doesn't have the medical records saying that she has seizures all the time, and that's what's important to Social Security. You can't just call up Social Security and say, "my daughter has seizures all the time, check please!" They need proof from a doctor. And the proof from that doctor is that this girl is fine. So her best hope to continue to receive benefits is to go to the mental exam and be super depressed or retarded. And with her mother saying she's neither of those things, I've got no more reasons to say she should continue to receive benefits.
And I know all of this while she's getting more and more angry with me. And I continue to tell her that I'm doing what I can for her, but at this point, the best that I can do for them is not rush this case through the system, because the quicker I rush the case, the quicker mother is going to find out Social Security isn't going to send you checks anymore.
And I think about all of that and become mildly concerned about why people don't listen to me fully, with open ears and hearts, when I tell them this is what is in your best interests for a positive outcome on your case.
And then I think about my recent interactions with lawyers.
And therapists, for myself and my wife.
And I realize that those people are impediments in my mind.
Stumbling blocks of egos I must traverse and climb around in order to protect and help my family.
They don't have ideas that help.
They do more damage than good.
They are not worthy of listening to.
And they proved that over and over and over.
And I think this mother has probably lived through that prior to getting me on the phone.
"This jerkoff isn't worth listening to," she thinks to herself about her interactions with me.
And I can't say that I blame her.
People are fucking shitty.
Single Cabin Boat Schedule
i was on the boat, and i had a roommate.
and i hadn't had any privacy for more than 6 months.
and, honestly, i didn't have anywhere i could masturbate.
so i asked if it were even possible to get cabins shifted so that each of us might get to be in the single cabin some of the time.
and, somehow, i did something wrong just by asking me, and everybody got their feelings hurt.
and my roommate yelled at me.
"you didn't even think about me, did you?!"
well, no. i was really only thinking about masturbating, but if you'll tell me why you, also, wouldn't enjoy masturbating, i'd love to hear your side of this thing.
plus... yelling? really? what's with the yelling? why are you yelling at me? i still don't get it.
so our company leader took some time and then called a meeting.
in the meeting, he handed us a piece of paper.
the paper had two possible schedules printed on it for who would be in the single cabins and who would be sharing a cabin with somebody else.
he told us that i had wanted to change, and so we were going to change cabins.
i wanted to say that i had asked if it was possible, but i didn't.
it was too far passed that time.
he said that he had tried to work out a schedule for everyone to have the single cabins, and on the paper he handed us were the only two possible schedules he could come up with for us to vote on.
two of our members were leaving soon, and they wondered why they were being called to be a part of this meeting, which had nothing to do with them.
the company manager told them that they were part of the company and needed to help vote on this issue since they were still here.
this is what the schedules looked like
Schedule 1
single cabin shared cabins
week 1: me everyone changes
week 2: me everyone changes
week 3: me everyone changes
week 4: me everyone changes
week 5: me everyone changes
week 6: me everyone changes
week 7: me everyone changes
week 8: me everyone changes
week 9: me everyone changes
week etc: me everyone changes
Schedule 2
single cabin shared cabins
everyone changes monthly everyone changes monthly
the visual of that schedule is still vivid in my mind. my name down the left side of the page, while on the right, everyone else changed weekly.
*i* had asked for a change (which i hadn't), and she he made sure that it inconvenienced as many people as possible, including the people that wouldn't be involved in the decision.
*I* was the cause of this issue.
and then the insult of the schedule.
*I* didn't even want to vote on the schedule that had me in the single cabin the entire time.
it was so grandly lopsided, in life and visually on the paper, that it was embarrassing.
i was being shamed.
for wanting some privacy to masturbate.
i wanna let go of this.
but it still hurts.
why did they do that?
why did they hurt me like that?
i'm guessing i did something to hurt them, but i don't know what i did.
and i don't know how to apologize for something i didn't know i did.
stuff like that comes back every so often and stings me.
i just don't get it.
how did i come out so wrong that i don't understand why people do stuff like that?
it's this kind of thing that makes me want to rage.
somebody is hurt and they lash out at me.
and i don't understand why.
and they continue to lash out at me.
a lot.
over and over.
and it continues.
it's not just once, but repeatedly.
and i keep being forced to live in a world that doesn't make sense.
i act one way, i am lashed.
i act a different way, i am lashed.
i don't act at all, i am lashed.
well, motherfucker, if i'm gonna be lashed no matter what i do, then fuck you and everyone like you. i'm gonna fucking rage all over you and fucking fuck it all!
and then, when i'm done raging,
i'll go back to being confused and hurt and baffled.
what in the world did i do?
and i don't buy it that they were jealous.
or that i was good and they wanted to destroy me to give themselves a better ranking in our group.
i don't buy that anymore.
i've been jealous before. i didn't try to destroy people. i didn't intentionally shame the person or people.
what IS it??
it's SO hurtful, and i'm SO confused by it all.
just so super confused and i can't seem to let go of it.
and i hadn't had any privacy for more than 6 months.
and, honestly, i didn't have anywhere i could masturbate.
so i asked if it were even possible to get cabins shifted so that each of us might get to be in the single cabin some of the time.
and, somehow, i did something wrong just by asking me, and everybody got their feelings hurt.
and my roommate yelled at me.
"you didn't even think about me, did you?!"
well, no. i was really only thinking about masturbating, but if you'll tell me why you, also, wouldn't enjoy masturbating, i'd love to hear your side of this thing.
plus... yelling? really? what's with the yelling? why are you yelling at me? i still don't get it.
so our company leader took some time and then called a meeting.
in the meeting, he handed us a piece of paper.
the paper had two possible schedules printed on it for who would be in the single cabins and who would be sharing a cabin with somebody else.
he told us that i had wanted to change, and so we were going to change cabins.
i wanted to say that i had asked if it was possible, but i didn't.
it was too far passed that time.
he said that he had tried to work out a schedule for everyone to have the single cabins, and on the paper he handed us were the only two possible schedules he could come up with for us to vote on.
two of our members were leaving soon, and they wondered why they were being called to be a part of this meeting, which had nothing to do with them.
the company manager told them that they were part of the company and needed to help vote on this issue since they were still here.
this is what the schedules looked like
Schedule 1
single cabin shared cabins
week 1: me everyone changes
week 2: me everyone changes
week 3: me everyone changes
week 4: me everyone changes
week 5: me everyone changes
week 6: me everyone changes
week 7: me everyone changes
week 8: me everyone changes
week 9: me everyone changes
week etc: me everyone changes
Schedule 2
single cabin shared cabins
everyone changes monthly everyone changes monthly
the visual of that schedule is still vivid in my mind. my name down the left side of the page, while on the right, everyone else changed weekly.
*i* had asked for a change (which i hadn't), and she he made sure that it inconvenienced as many people as possible, including the people that wouldn't be involved in the decision.
*I* was the cause of this issue.
and then the insult of the schedule.
*I* didn't even want to vote on the schedule that had me in the single cabin the entire time.
it was so grandly lopsided, in life and visually on the paper, that it was embarrassing.
i was being shamed.
for wanting some privacy to masturbate.
i wanna let go of this.
but it still hurts.
why did they do that?
why did they hurt me like that?
i'm guessing i did something to hurt them, but i don't know what i did.
and i don't know how to apologize for something i didn't know i did.
stuff like that comes back every so often and stings me.
i just don't get it.
how did i come out so wrong that i don't understand why people do stuff like that?
it's this kind of thing that makes me want to rage.
somebody is hurt and they lash out at me.
and i don't understand why.
and they continue to lash out at me.
a lot.
over and over.
and it continues.
it's not just once, but repeatedly.
and i keep being forced to live in a world that doesn't make sense.
i act one way, i am lashed.
i act a different way, i am lashed.
i don't act at all, i am lashed.
well, motherfucker, if i'm gonna be lashed no matter what i do, then fuck you and everyone like you. i'm gonna fucking rage all over you and fucking fuck it all!
and then, when i'm done raging,
i'll go back to being confused and hurt and baffled.
what in the world did i do?
and i don't buy it that they were jealous.
or that i was good and they wanted to destroy me to give themselves a better ranking in our group.
i don't buy that anymore.
i've been jealous before. i didn't try to destroy people. i didn't intentionally shame the person or people.
what IS it??
it's SO hurtful, and i'm SO confused by it all.
just so super confused and i can't seem to let go of it.
Listening to the Ravenous Tigers
You stand before two doors.
In front of each door, there stands a guard.
One door leads to Good.
One door leads to Bad.
One Guard always tells the truth.
One Guard always lies.
Each Guard knows which door leads to Good and which door leads to Bad, knows which Guard always lies and which Guard always tells the truth, and knows that both Guards know the same things about this entire situation.
You are allowed to ask the Guards one question.
Both Guards must be asked the same question.
What one question, when asked to either Guard, will lead you towards going through the door with Good behind it?
I always loved this puzzle. Something about it really intrigued me. I guess something about it still does. There are some versions of this puzzle where the doors lead to Heaven and Hell. I don't care for those. There's another version where one door leads to the sexiest woman I've ever imagined, and the other door leads to a ravenous tiger who will eat me. I don't like that one either because who's to say I'm not interested in seeing what the Guards would do when faced with a ravenous tiger being released from behind a door? A sexy girl is just sexy with no guarantee of sex, and seriously, isn't that why she's "sexy" to begin with? It's not like she's "intellectually stimulating" or "the most perfect person to spend the rest of your life with". No. She is "sexy" to make you think, "A sexy woman, huh? Yes, I would love to have sex with a sexy woman!" Except she's just a sexy woman, she's not necessarily a sexy, Willing To Have Sex With You woman. She's just sexy. You might as well give me a blow-up doll for all the good an Unwilling Sexually sexy woman does me. But a ravenous tiger and three humans scampering to save their lives?? Now that's entertainment! Plus you get a really good story out of it! "My dearest Blow-Up Doll, You'll never believe what happened to me today in front of the two doors. I let the tiger out, and he ate the Guards. Then I opened the other door while he was digesting the two Guards and... well, you know the rest. Sincerely, the Unsexy Yet Willing Man On Top Of You."
If you're still trying to figure out the answer to the puzzle/riddle, then don't read any further. I'm going to write the answer in the next paragraph. So if you're still reading and you want to figure it out on your own, you should have stopped when I told you to stop reading. Okay, you've been warned.
The one question that will lead you to knowing which door reveals Good is, "What door would the other Guard tell me to go through to get to Good?"
The Guard who always tells the truth knows that the lying Guard will tell you the incorrect door, so the truthful Guard will tell you the lying Guard will tell you the wrong door.
The Guard who always lies knows that the truthful Guard will tell you the correct door, so the lying Guard will lie and tell you the truthful Guard will tell you the wrong door.
Whether you ask both or just one, the answer from either Guard will be the same: the wrong door. Therefore, you hear their answer, and then choose the other door-- the door the Guards didn't mention-- and you've found the door leading to Good!
I think this riddle is always kinda floating around in my head, sorta like a childhood memory that never really leaves you, but you're not really aware of it always.
I've been wanting to make movies for a long time.
But I don't have the motivation.
Or the motivation.
Or the energy or motivation.
But some days, I fool myself into thinking I'm going to make a movie.
Because I really want to.
And I fool myself into thinking it's going to be important.
Or entertaining.
Or fun.
Or... a completed movie.
And in those moments, I get to thinking about what I could make a movie about.
I don't really have access to actors, or sets, or costumes, or lights, or scripts, or special effects of any huge range.
I kinda just have me and cameras.
Sounds like I have the set-up to make a documentary, doesn't it?
So, of course, one needs to find a subject for the documentary.
What is your documentary going to be about?
Well, the least amount of work would be to pick a person, any person, and make the documentary about them.
Turn the camera on them and start shooting.
But, honestly, I don't really know a lot of people who would agree to me making a documentary about them.
And I don't know a lot of people I would be interested in watching in documentary form.
"Beverly got up. He shaved. He went to work. He sniffed his fingers. He wished he hadn't agreed to having me narrate his life out loud and is now running across the parking lot trying to escape me. Beverly has fallen and is bleeding. Beverly is asking me why I'm not calling an ambulance. Beverly is crying deeply."
Bo. Ring.
So I gotta come up with something for them, my people, to do.
Some story.
Some gimmick.
Some something.
Okay, how about if I put people in a room and then ask them questions.
Great, I love it.
What if they were exciting, taboo, oft-unasked questions? Questions about sex, politics, religion, love, conservative ideas, homosexual agendas, things we don't really have solid answers for. Answers that would change from person to person.
Okay, I'm still listening...
But how do you string together a bunch of people talking about politics, sex, and things we don't have solid answers for?
That's not a documentary, that's called The Evening News.
Or A Current Affair.
(I'm dating myself now... I guess the kids are calling it TMZ... or Vlogging...)
And I'm not interested.
Okay, wait a minute.
I get the feeling, just listening to the general discourse, that people aren't listening.
Politicians aren't listening to the people they represent.
The people they represent aren't listening to each other.
Nobody is listening to anybody else.
For example, prior to the 2008 presidential election, my father told my 8-year-old brother and 7-year-old sister that he was not going to vote for Barack Obama because, "...he's pro-abortion." I stopped my father, saying that he wasn't pro-abortion, as that made it sound like my father was saying that Barack Obama wanted to force everyone to get an abortion. My father said that's exactly what he meant: Barack Obama wanted to force everyone to have an abortion. At which point I circumvented the lunacy standing next to me in the shape of my father and addressed my brother and sister. "Abortions are currently legal, and nobody wants to get one. There's a big difference between saying you have the freedom to treat your body in the best way you know how, no matter how difficult the choice may be, and saying you don't have that choice. Nobody wants abortions. And nobody wants to force you to get an abortion. And saying that they do is irresponsible, especially when you know it's a lie, and if you don't know it's a lie, you are being willfully ignorant and belligerent to the detriment of a difficult national issue."
That was not the last time I saw my father, but it was close. But I digress...
So people aren't really listening to each other.
Is there a way that I could get them to listen to each other?
What if I made a documentary like the puzzle/riddle. Sorta.
You have to know what the other guy is going to say.
So you get a group of willing participants together.
And you ask them questions about themselves.
How do you identify yourself politically? Sexually? Gender?
How do you get your information? How many different sources do you check before making up your mind about things/life?
What is your educational background?
How did you pay for your education?
How do you make a living?
How many times have you been married?
And when you know where people stand, you make them answer like they're the other people.
So you make the Conservative debate the Liberal on gun control or abortion or immigration, you know, subjects that are typically divisive based solely on political affiliation, but you make them debate the other side's views. The Conservative, then, must debate why gun control is a good thing, based solely on what he or she knows about the liberal gun control argument. And the Liberal must debate the gun control issue based solely on what the conservative argument is.
You ask all the straight people when they chose to be straight.
You ask all the people making $60,000 a year or less why they aren't working harder to become wealthier and, ultimately, become part of the 1%. Why are they too lazy to achieve the American Dream?
And maybe, now that I'm thinking about it, maybe that's a stupid idea.
Because nobody is listening.
So you'll get a whole bunch of Fox News watchers saying that Barack Obama is wanting to force people into getting abortions.
And you'll get a whole bunch of MSNBC watchers saying that the NRA wants to kill babies by putting large-capacity magazines in their breast milk.
And it won't go anywhere.
Maybe if I got high school debaters together...
but that's not exciting.
That's a debate.
Do you remember who won the third presidential debate in 2012?
No.
Or if you do, you will remember it differently depending on who you wanted to win.
If you liked Barack Obama, he won.
If you hated Barack Obama, Mitt won.
Nobody actually liked Mitt, by the way.
Mitt was just the guy who wasn't Barack.
You "liked" Mitt because you hated Barack, not because you liked Mitt.
In the election of 2008 and 2012, you either voted for or against Barack Obama.
You see how that turned out.
The reason I'm so confident about that is not because every single political commentator has said this, but because I saw this happen in 2004. You either voted for G.W. Bush, or you voted against him. It's difficult-- nee, impossible-- to cast a vote against somebody. Strangely, they want to you cast a vote for somebody. You don't win if you're casting votes against. Only the "for" votes get counted.
I guess my documentary idea is dumb.
Plus I'm tired and I'm being forced into a mandatory background check at work. I just got an email. Meeting is tomorrow. And that just makes me even more tired than I already am.
So fatigued and exhausted and tired.
Just done. Supremely done.
I'm really, really, really, really, really ready for some relief.
Sometime really, really soon.
In front of each door, there stands a guard.
One door leads to Good.
One door leads to Bad.
One Guard always tells the truth.
One Guard always lies.
Each Guard knows which door leads to Good and which door leads to Bad, knows which Guard always lies and which Guard always tells the truth, and knows that both Guards know the same things about this entire situation.
You are allowed to ask the Guards one question.
Both Guards must be asked the same question.
What one question, when asked to either Guard, will lead you towards going through the door with Good behind it?
I always loved this puzzle. Something about it really intrigued me. I guess something about it still does. There are some versions of this puzzle where the doors lead to Heaven and Hell. I don't care for those. There's another version where one door leads to the sexiest woman I've ever imagined, and the other door leads to a ravenous tiger who will eat me. I don't like that one either because who's to say I'm not interested in seeing what the Guards would do when faced with a ravenous tiger being released from behind a door? A sexy girl is just sexy with no guarantee of sex, and seriously, isn't that why she's "sexy" to begin with? It's not like she's "intellectually stimulating" or "the most perfect person to spend the rest of your life with". No. She is "sexy" to make you think, "A sexy woman, huh? Yes, I would love to have sex with a sexy woman!" Except she's just a sexy woman, she's not necessarily a sexy, Willing To Have Sex With You woman. She's just sexy. You might as well give me a blow-up doll for all the good an Unwilling Sexually sexy woman does me. But a ravenous tiger and three humans scampering to save their lives?? Now that's entertainment! Plus you get a really good story out of it! "My dearest Blow-Up Doll, You'll never believe what happened to me today in front of the two doors. I let the tiger out, and he ate the Guards. Then I opened the other door while he was digesting the two Guards and... well, you know the rest. Sincerely, the Unsexy Yet Willing Man On Top Of You."
If you're still trying to figure out the answer to the puzzle/riddle, then don't read any further. I'm going to write the answer in the next paragraph. So if you're still reading and you want to figure it out on your own, you should have stopped when I told you to stop reading. Okay, you've been warned.
The one question that will lead you to knowing which door reveals Good is, "What door would the other Guard tell me to go through to get to Good?"
The Guard who always tells the truth knows that the lying Guard will tell you the incorrect door, so the truthful Guard will tell you the lying Guard will tell you the wrong door.
The Guard who always lies knows that the truthful Guard will tell you the correct door, so the lying Guard will lie and tell you the truthful Guard will tell you the wrong door.
Whether you ask both or just one, the answer from either Guard will be the same: the wrong door. Therefore, you hear their answer, and then choose the other door-- the door the Guards didn't mention-- and you've found the door leading to Good!
I think this riddle is always kinda floating around in my head, sorta like a childhood memory that never really leaves you, but you're not really aware of it always.
I've been wanting to make movies for a long time.
But I don't have the motivation.
Or the motivation.
Or the energy or motivation.
But some days, I fool myself into thinking I'm going to make a movie.
Because I really want to.
And I fool myself into thinking it's going to be important.
Or entertaining.
Or fun.
Or... a completed movie.
And in those moments, I get to thinking about what I could make a movie about.
I don't really have access to actors, or sets, or costumes, or lights, or scripts, or special effects of any huge range.
I kinda just have me and cameras.
Sounds like I have the set-up to make a documentary, doesn't it?
So, of course, one needs to find a subject for the documentary.
What is your documentary going to be about?
Well, the least amount of work would be to pick a person, any person, and make the documentary about them.
Turn the camera on them and start shooting.
But, honestly, I don't really know a lot of people who would agree to me making a documentary about them.
And I don't know a lot of people I would be interested in watching in documentary form.
"Beverly got up. He shaved. He went to work. He sniffed his fingers. He wished he hadn't agreed to having me narrate his life out loud and is now running across the parking lot trying to escape me. Beverly has fallen and is bleeding. Beverly is asking me why I'm not calling an ambulance. Beverly is crying deeply."
Bo. Ring.
So I gotta come up with something for them, my people, to do.
Some story.
Some gimmick.
Some something.
Okay, how about if I put people in a room and then ask them questions.
Great, I love it.
What if they were exciting, taboo, oft-unasked questions? Questions about sex, politics, religion, love, conservative ideas, homosexual agendas, things we don't really have solid answers for. Answers that would change from person to person.
Okay, I'm still listening...
But how do you string together a bunch of people talking about politics, sex, and things we don't have solid answers for?
That's not a documentary, that's called The Evening News.
Or A Current Affair.
(I'm dating myself now... I guess the kids are calling it TMZ... or Vlogging...)
And I'm not interested.
Okay, wait a minute.
I get the feeling, just listening to the general discourse, that people aren't listening.
Politicians aren't listening to the people they represent.
The people they represent aren't listening to each other.
Nobody is listening to anybody else.
For example, prior to the 2008 presidential election, my father told my 8-year-old brother and 7-year-old sister that he was not going to vote for Barack Obama because, "...he's pro-abortion." I stopped my father, saying that he wasn't pro-abortion, as that made it sound like my father was saying that Barack Obama wanted to force everyone to get an abortion. My father said that's exactly what he meant: Barack Obama wanted to force everyone to have an abortion. At which point I circumvented the lunacy standing next to me in the shape of my father and addressed my brother and sister. "Abortions are currently legal, and nobody wants to get one. There's a big difference between saying you have the freedom to treat your body in the best way you know how, no matter how difficult the choice may be, and saying you don't have that choice. Nobody wants abortions. And nobody wants to force you to get an abortion. And saying that they do is irresponsible, especially when you know it's a lie, and if you don't know it's a lie, you are being willfully ignorant and belligerent to the detriment of a difficult national issue."
That was not the last time I saw my father, but it was close. But I digress...
So people aren't really listening to each other.
Is there a way that I could get them to listen to each other?
What if I made a documentary like the puzzle/riddle. Sorta.
You have to know what the other guy is going to say.
So you get a group of willing participants together.
And you ask them questions about themselves.
How do you identify yourself politically? Sexually? Gender?
How do you get your information? How many different sources do you check before making up your mind about things/life?
What is your educational background?
How did you pay for your education?
How do you make a living?
How many times have you been married?
And when you know where people stand, you make them answer like they're the other people.
So you make the Conservative debate the Liberal on gun control or abortion or immigration, you know, subjects that are typically divisive based solely on political affiliation, but you make them debate the other side's views. The Conservative, then, must debate why gun control is a good thing, based solely on what he or she knows about the liberal gun control argument. And the Liberal must debate the gun control issue based solely on what the conservative argument is.
You ask all the straight people when they chose to be straight.
You ask all the people making $60,000 a year or less why they aren't working harder to become wealthier and, ultimately, become part of the 1%. Why are they too lazy to achieve the American Dream?
And maybe, now that I'm thinking about it, maybe that's a stupid idea.
Because nobody is listening.
So you'll get a whole bunch of Fox News watchers saying that Barack Obama is wanting to force people into getting abortions.
And you'll get a whole bunch of MSNBC watchers saying that the NRA wants to kill babies by putting large-capacity magazines in their breast milk.
And it won't go anywhere.
Maybe if I got high school debaters together...
but that's not exciting.
That's a debate.
Do you remember who won the third presidential debate in 2012?
No.
Or if you do, you will remember it differently depending on who you wanted to win.
If you liked Barack Obama, he won.
If you hated Barack Obama, Mitt won.
Nobody actually liked Mitt, by the way.
Mitt was just the guy who wasn't Barack.
You "liked" Mitt because you hated Barack, not because you liked Mitt.
In the election of 2008 and 2012, you either voted for or against Barack Obama.
You see how that turned out.
The reason I'm so confident about that is not because every single political commentator has said this, but because I saw this happen in 2004. You either voted for G.W. Bush, or you voted against him. It's difficult-- nee, impossible-- to cast a vote against somebody. Strangely, they want to you cast a vote for somebody. You don't win if you're casting votes against. Only the "for" votes get counted.
I guess my documentary idea is dumb.
Plus I'm tired and I'm being forced into a mandatory background check at work. I just got an email. Meeting is tomorrow. And that just makes me even more tired than I already am.
So fatigued and exhausted and tired.
Just done. Supremely done.
I'm really, really, really, really, really ready for some relief.
Sometime really, really soon.
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