One really should think very carefully about whether they really want to be in so many Facebook groups. Which, you do realize, the designers of the widely consumed social media site tend to heavily promote in the hopes of keeping large numbers of users immersed in the use of their platform for hours and hours on end - when maybe, just maybe, most of us really could (or should) be doing something else, something much more productive or beneficial with our valuable time.
Of course, I too like to find like-minded people to share my hobbies and interests with, and thereby conveniently connect with them via a remarkably versatile electronic platform such as Facebook, but the unfortunate fact remains that a whole lot of these social media groups actually end up serving as a vehicle for a high school (or even mafia) style clique to form; a cloistered, insular little world with its own built-in social structure (aka, pecking order), with a curious and sometimes rather shockingly obvious pseudo-cult-like dichotomy.
Take for example, the fact many of these clique-centric groups tend to be headed up by a more or less charismatic leader, who naturally provides a kind of dogma - a strictly defined way of behaving and even thinking that one is highly discouraged to not deviate from. Therefore, if one happens to not agree with any or even ALL of the established guidelines and strictures of a given group, they obviously do not really belong. After all, dogma is dogma. The rules are the rules. In other words, one is required to drive safely between the painted lines, and stop when and where indicated. And if you don't... well, you're a rule-breaker, a miscreant, a truant. That's just how it works.
And just like in the Real World, the one beyond our all-consuming personal computer monitors, when you get out of line (even just a little), there is always someone waiting to slap you down. Sometimes they slap you down gently. Sometimes however, they tend to be much, much more overbearing. Which is all fine, I guess. Because, after all, the group belongs to the charismatic leader and his or her trusted compatriots, doesn't it? They started the whole shebang in the first place, so obviously, they can do whatever they want. Within reason, of course.
But sometimes this head honcho, this "Grand Poobah," this charismatic Mao Zedong type dude who started the group in the first place has more than just a few simple rules. Sometimes they even have something akin to a "Little Red Book" (the Chinese Communist bible, for those not familiar with the man and his mythology). Sometimes though, the charismatic leader type person, the veritable Moses of any given Facebook group, doesn't even have time for all those tempestuous commandments! Sometimes, the group itself is merely a vehicle designed to worship the vaunted Numero Uno, the god-like el Presidente of their very own electronic banana republic. But then... little tin gods, or just mere shepherds, as the case may in fact be, also tend to be rather busy watching over their flock (or basking in the glow of their very own heavenly glory), you know.
So obviously, group leaders need lieutenants. They need enforcers. Therefore, as a natural result, there are usually at least a couple of 'Oz the Great and Powerful' types, who serve as almighty "group moderators." Sometimes there are even half a dozen of these free ranging, mounted policing sort of fellows. Or, God forbid, even more than that! In fact, some lesser group members, who may actually be positioned a bit further down on ye olde Totem Pole, are in fact so overzealous, and eager to climb the ladder skyward, just to hopefully ingratiate themselves with the Great Leader, that they tend to assume the unofficial role of moderator.
These self-appointed grand wizards of social media are always lurking in the background, ready to lower the boom on nasty miscreants. It's not even consciously vicious on their part most of the time though, thank God. Nah! That's just how human group dynamics tend to work, you see. Because obviously, there is always a natural need to both monitor and moderate what everyone in a given group writes or shares. Obviously. I mean, what if someone shares a sexually suggestive, or downright pornographic image? What if someone suddenly decides it's okay to make negative comments about a given race or ethnic group? What if someone is just too clueless to realize that they really shouldn't be dropping the F-bomb all willy-nilly on a social media platform that is actually intended to appeal to people of all age groups?
So let's be honest then; some people are simply not as nice, tactful, or polite as others. Some people are even rather clueless, and don't even seem to realize what they're really up to. They simply do not think too awful much, or deeply enough, rather, before they suddenly share a potentially disruptive post, and then... hastily press ENTER. But mostly, I think everyone at the heart of any given dispute or social media group kerfuffle actually just secretly covets the group leader's lofty position.
I mean, "Everybody wants to rule the world," don't they? Well, certainly not everyone, but you get the point. So, whether we all realize it or not, some folks within the group dynamic are just not quite as content as they really could or should be to simply be a mere member. You known, just another face in the crowd. After all, it's the group leader's world, you know. Get out of line, and you may get the cyber equivalent of ye olde death ray; the cruel and immediately punishing lighting bolt that suddenly comes raining down from the Internet heavens above to smite the wicked. Hence, the need for strictly defined group rules in the very first place.
Unfortunately however, overly restrictive Facebook group rules, or needlessly overbearing group moderators, can often stimulate the inadvertent creation of certain individuals who themselves may not realize that they have indeed become what is commonly known as a "troll." And as everybody who's ever been in any social media group for any appreciable length of time well knows, a troll is any particularly troublesome person who may, for various reasons, tend to feel quite alienated from (or simply in disagreement with) many of the other members. In other words, they feel (or may simply be made to feel) like a typical outsider.
It should be noted however, that these pesky trolls are often actually just deeply frustrated people who, for whatever reason, simply feel that they do not belong. They may even see some key flaw, or even a whole array of flaws, in the established parameters of the group dynamic, and therefore feel the need to antagonize, or "needle," the group leader and his or her wolf pack every single chance they get. In other words, a troll likes to harass the herd, perhaps in the hopes of picking off and feasting upon the life-giving crimson gore of the weakest (or simply most vulnerable) members when their carefully timed shenanigans inevitably cause a frightful stampede - or rather, a mass disruption of the otherwise calm and contented overall demeanor of the flock.
Because, really, that's actually what it's like when you're part of a group-think mentality. One really is just another one of the hopefully contented grazing herd - whether this fact may be fully realized or not. Which is a dichotomy that is perfectly fine for some, but for others, it may actually be a matter of waiting in the wings, always hoping beyond hope to one day be the next big, self-aggrandizing group leader type person, whose own excrement supposedly doesn't stink like everybody else's most certainly does. And yes, I really do think that most people really are just that tribal. I think human beings as a whole are often simply far too group-centric for their own good. Oh well.
Tuesday, March 31, 2020
Monday, March 30, 2020
Recreational Drug Use, Peer Pressure, and What It Really Means to Be All Grown Up
Here's the thing; I really like chocolate. I also like to drink a nice cup of tea almost every day. Yet even (and especially) people of the Mormon Faith aren't supposed to consume certain types of one of my all time favorite beverages. 'Cause, believe it or not, caffeine really is a mild stimulant. It's a drug. Likewise, at some point, somewhere down the line, such as in ancient Middle Eastern societies (primarily Jewish and Muslim), someone or other suddenly decided that they'd better not eat animals with ("parted") cloven hooves. Okay, okay, so God told someone or other among them not to partake. And that's perfectly okay, right? I mean, as they say, "To each his own." You know, "free will," "religious freedom," and all that.
But you know what? In addition to chocolate and many different types of teas (some that contain caffeine and many that do not), I also really love bacon. And when I say, "I love bacon," I mean I really, really love bacon. In fact, to me, there's just about nothing better for breakfast (or lunch, dinner, or even just a snack) than a whole plateful of nice, crispy, salty-sweet strips of well cooked porcine flesh.
What's more, I just happen to currently live in East Asia, where pork is a practically indispensable food stuff. You really wanna get even with authoritarian, organ harvesting, human rights abusing Communist China for starting yet another global pandemic? Just take all their pork away! Sounds silly, I know, but literally billions of people the whole world over would probably starve in pretty short order if all the pigs in the whole entire world were to suddenly die off en masse.
But me, I prefer chocolate. Though bacon is a close second. Or is it the other way around? Hmm. Well anyway, I eat something with chocolate on or in it at least once every single day for months at a time sometimes. No foolin! I mean, let's not forget that even Mormons eat chocolate. Or so I'm told. I'm not Mormon myself, so I think I'll just have to take the Internet's word for it.
Yet despite my sincere and abiding love for this often sugar-saturated tasty treat, I sometimes I go for literally weeks at a time when I don't eat any chocolate at all. And yet, curiously enough, I end up experiencing absolutely no withdrawal symptoms. No lying in the gutter because I'm unable to even think of anything except that next piece of chocolate, yet another Snicker's Bar, or even a scrumptious double decker, choco crunch ice cream cone. Sometimes, I actually even prefer vanilla. Blasphemous, I know, but... what's a guy to do, eh?
Yet still, believe it or not, I can also go for long periods of time when I don't eat chocolate at all. And that right there is the point, you see. In other words, my strong preference for chocolate may indeed be habitual in nature, but it's most certainly not indicative of any sort of addiction.
So that's why I actually do eat chocolate. Because choosing to periodically indulge in the joys of that particular sugar-sweeteed, cocoa-infused concoction simply does not affect most people in any appreciably negative fashion. Sure, it's often packed full of sugar and does contain mood emhancing chemical compounds, but eating chocolate doesn't cause significantly delayed response times and the markedly slowed reflexes that are commonly associated with the consumption of alcoholic beverages. Nor is it particularly prone to give most folks "the munchies." Or cause them to gradually withdraw from society, due to, perhaps, conspicuous over-consumption. Though I'm not entirely sure that all recreational drugs need be used more than once before they end up practically enslaving the user.
Worst of all though, I've even noticed that if I have a big package of Hershey bars, and I'm at a party, or some other typically shallow, show-offy public gathering, and I ask everyone, "Hey, do you all want one of my Hershey bars?" some will say yes, and take one. And some won't. Some will say, "No thanks, I'm on a diet." Still others may say, "Oh man, I wish I could, but I'm diabetic." And that's that. Dude or dudette said no. And the last time I checked, no most certainly meant just exactly that; NO.
Right?
But, let's just say, hypothetically, that you're at a party, or some other so-called "social" gathering, and somebody is drinking alcohol, certain individuals just tend to simply not be able to "drink alone." And by that, I mean if even just one person is doing his or her very best to get inebriated, so they can... I don't know... lose all their inhibitions, and gradually stop being able to even speak clearly, to the point where they often end up spitting in other people's faces, or manhandling them, while their words all start to slur together, they simply must get everyone else to join them in "the fun." I mean, that's the way it usually works, isn't it? No chemicals, no "social lubrication." Or... something like that.
Or maybe, curiously reckless individuals like this are simply motivated to slurp down copious amounts of whatever noxious libation they can get a hold of just so they can hopefully trick other members of the group into engaging in some sort of impromptu sexual activity. Something that not everyone involved may be able to fully recall later on. But I guess whatever it takes to get what you want from others, right? Although... I really don't think I'd want anything like that from anybody if I had to resort to getting it in that particular way.
I mean, yuck. And here I thought that consent was actually supposed to count for something when it comes to being a "consenting adult." But maybe that's just me.
Whatever the case may in fact be, I've just noticed over the years, that if I eat too many chocolate bars and then get behind the wheel of a motor vehicle, there is almost no chance whatsoever that all that sugar and caffeine will actually do anything more than simply sharpen my senses. See, that's why, in most cases, caffeine is fully legal and mostly unregulated almost everywhere in the world. Because, in most cases, it's just plain harmless. Okay, okay! In fact, chocolate also contains phenethylamine, a chemical that actually makes people feel more romantic. That's why it's such a staple of Valentine's Day festivities, and why, in the good old days anyway, when a guy wanted to impress a girl, he might give her a nice box of chocolates. And maybe some flowers too, of course.
But here's the thing; if I'm at some stupid party or "social" gathering, and I say, "No thanks" when someone wants me to "have a beer," or even do something else that's even stronger, everyone seems to suddenly turn into a horde of pubescent, peer-pressured high schoolers, and they look at you like you're some kind of creature from another planet or something! So that's why I never go to parties anymore. Or even class reunions. Ever. As in, never ever never.
Oh, I've tried over the years, to visit a "pub" or two, especially while I was teaching English in Taiwan, just to get out and meet people, but there always seemed to be some jerky little person in those kind of places - sometimes even the "friend" I came with - who would simply not listen when I said NO. And then they even ended up buying both of us glasses of this or that alcoholic beverage, and then they'd just sit there, just waiting for me to take a swig
But I never did. Ever. Which, yes, just in case you were wondering, I do know, really is rather odd when it comes to most members of this here fancy human race.
Once, in Taipei, Taiwan, I had this one girlfriend for a while. Nice girl. A very talented artist, she was. So anyway, one year, for Chinese New Year, or whatever it was, she invited me to her family's house for dinner. Her parents weren't even there, but one of her overly cocky A**hole Chinese American cousins from California just happened to be visiting family in Taipei. You know, the kind of guy who probably grew up feeling rather insecure because most of the "cool" guys around him were either black or Caucasian surfer dudes. Or... whatever this guy's personal problem may have in fact been.
And despite the fact that this hipster dude was told in advance that I never drink alcohol, he just kept giving me that "Are you serious?" look. And he kept repeating, "Like... you mean... never?" in that deep, overly "masculine" sort of voice that I've noticed that many clearly overcompensating individuals tend to affect sometimes. But hey! Maybe it really was his real voice. Who knows. I just know that in more than five years living and working in all sorts of places all over Taiwan, I never met any other Chinese/Taiwanese person who talked or presented himself quite the way this horrifically macho California Taiwanese dude did. "ABC" (American Born Chinese), they call them in Taiwan. But they're not all the same, of course. In fact, I've met some really nice ABCs. But that guy.... Uh-uh. Nope.
Whatever the problem may have in fact been, like other people I've unfortunately encountered throughout the course of my life, this cousin of my former girlfriend decided, like some kind of demented, socially challenged high school bully, that he was just going to have to make me drink. So he had a glass of whatever it was passed down from his end of the long dinner table to me. But being a dedicated teetotaler, I of course refused. And that did not make him at all happy. Not at all. No, not one little bit.
I mean, don't you just hate it when people don't get what they want by coercion, peer pressure, or even brute force?
So you see, that's what's actually really funny about socially acceptable drugs, you know. A person says no, but certain individuals just keep right on pushing. So, for some odd reason, when it comes to addictive, mind altering substances, many, many people just simply will not take NO for an answer! Go figure.
And then I look around, and I see all the lonely people standing or sitting around in some dingy, smoke-filled, often dark and extremely noisy drinking establishment, and almost none of them look all that happy to me. Even and especially when they start to get drunk and act really, really stupid. And irresponsible. Or even, sometimes, so aggressively, and even violently, that the bar, pub, or restaurant owner actually has to have some typically over-sized dude or other on staff on a regular basis, just to throw all the pathetic people who just don't seem to be able to resist overdoing it out ye olde door. I mean... they actually to pay people to do that.
And that right there, kids, is exactly why you can take your booze, and all your other "socially acceptable" drugs, and stick 'em right where the sun don't shine. But... that's only if you won't take no for an answer, of course. Otherwise, "To each his own." Right?
But you know what? In addition to chocolate and many different types of teas (some that contain caffeine and many that do not), I also really love bacon. And when I say, "I love bacon," I mean I really, really love bacon. In fact, to me, there's just about nothing better for breakfast (or lunch, dinner, or even just a snack) than a whole plateful of nice, crispy, salty-sweet strips of well cooked porcine flesh.
What's more, I just happen to currently live in East Asia, where pork is a practically indispensable food stuff. You really wanna get even with authoritarian, organ harvesting, human rights abusing Communist China for starting yet another global pandemic? Just take all their pork away! Sounds silly, I know, but literally billions of people the whole world over would probably starve in pretty short order if all the pigs in the whole entire world were to suddenly die off en masse.
But me, I prefer chocolate. Though bacon is a close second. Or is it the other way around? Hmm. Well anyway, I eat something with chocolate on or in it at least once every single day for months at a time sometimes. No foolin! I mean, let's not forget that even Mormons eat chocolate. Or so I'm told. I'm not Mormon myself, so I think I'll just have to take the Internet's word for it.
Yet despite my sincere and abiding love for this often sugar-saturated tasty treat, I sometimes I go for literally weeks at a time when I don't eat any chocolate at all. And yet, curiously enough, I end up experiencing absolutely no withdrawal symptoms. No lying in the gutter because I'm unable to even think of anything except that next piece of chocolate, yet another Snicker's Bar, or even a scrumptious double decker, choco crunch ice cream cone. Sometimes, I actually even prefer vanilla. Blasphemous, I know, but... what's a guy to do, eh?
Yet still, believe it or not, I can also go for long periods of time when I don't eat chocolate at all. And that right there is the point, you see. In other words, my strong preference for chocolate may indeed be habitual in nature, but it's most certainly not indicative of any sort of addiction.
So that's why I actually do eat chocolate. Because choosing to periodically indulge in the joys of that particular sugar-sweeteed, cocoa-infused concoction simply does not affect most people in any appreciably negative fashion. Sure, it's often packed full of sugar and does contain mood emhancing chemical compounds, but eating chocolate doesn't cause significantly delayed response times and the markedly slowed reflexes that are commonly associated with the consumption of alcoholic beverages. Nor is it particularly prone to give most folks "the munchies." Or cause them to gradually withdraw from society, due to, perhaps, conspicuous over-consumption. Though I'm not entirely sure that all recreational drugs need be used more than once before they end up practically enslaving the user.
Worst of all though, I've even noticed that if I have a big package of Hershey bars, and I'm at a party, or some other typically shallow, show-offy public gathering, and I ask everyone, "Hey, do you all want one of my Hershey bars?" some will say yes, and take one. And some won't. Some will say, "No thanks, I'm on a diet." Still others may say, "Oh man, I wish I could, but I'm diabetic." And that's that. Dude or dudette said no. And the last time I checked, no most certainly meant just exactly that; NO.
Right?
But, let's just say, hypothetically, that you're at a party, or some other so-called "social" gathering, and somebody is drinking alcohol, certain individuals just tend to simply not be able to "drink alone." And by that, I mean if even just one person is doing his or her very best to get inebriated, so they can... I don't know... lose all their inhibitions, and gradually stop being able to even speak clearly, to the point where they often end up spitting in other people's faces, or manhandling them, while their words all start to slur together, they simply must get everyone else to join them in "the fun." I mean, that's the way it usually works, isn't it? No chemicals, no "social lubrication." Or... something like that.
Or maybe, curiously reckless individuals like this are simply motivated to slurp down copious amounts of whatever noxious libation they can get a hold of just so they can hopefully trick other members of the group into engaging in some sort of impromptu sexual activity. Something that not everyone involved may be able to fully recall later on. But I guess whatever it takes to get what you want from others, right? Although... I really don't think I'd want anything like that from anybody if I had to resort to getting it in that particular way.
I mean, yuck. And here I thought that consent was actually supposed to count for something when it comes to being a "consenting adult." But maybe that's just me.
Whatever the case may in fact be, I've just noticed over the years, that if I eat too many chocolate bars and then get behind the wheel of a motor vehicle, there is almost no chance whatsoever that all that sugar and caffeine will actually do anything more than simply sharpen my senses. See, that's why, in most cases, caffeine is fully legal and mostly unregulated almost everywhere in the world. Because, in most cases, it's just plain harmless. Okay, okay! In fact, chocolate also contains phenethylamine, a chemical that actually makes people feel more romantic. That's why it's such a staple of Valentine's Day festivities, and why, in the good old days anyway, when a guy wanted to impress a girl, he might give her a nice box of chocolates. And maybe some flowers too, of course.
But here's the thing; if I'm at some stupid party or "social" gathering, and I say, "No thanks" when someone wants me to "have a beer," or even do something else that's even stronger, everyone seems to suddenly turn into a horde of pubescent, peer-pressured high schoolers, and they look at you like you're some kind of creature from another planet or something! So that's why I never go to parties anymore. Or even class reunions. Ever. As in, never ever never.
Oh, I've tried over the years, to visit a "pub" or two, especially while I was teaching English in Taiwan, just to get out and meet people, but there always seemed to be some jerky little person in those kind of places - sometimes even the "friend" I came with - who would simply not listen when I said NO. And then they even ended up buying both of us glasses of this or that alcoholic beverage, and then they'd just sit there, just waiting for me to take a swig
But I never did. Ever. Which, yes, just in case you were wondering, I do know, really is rather odd when it comes to most members of this here fancy human race.
Once, in Taipei, Taiwan, I had this one girlfriend for a while. Nice girl. A very talented artist, she was. So anyway, one year, for Chinese New Year, or whatever it was, she invited me to her family's house for dinner. Her parents weren't even there, but one of her overly cocky A**hole Chinese American cousins from California just happened to be visiting family in Taipei. You know, the kind of guy who probably grew up feeling rather insecure because most of the "cool" guys around him were either black or Caucasian surfer dudes. Or... whatever this guy's personal problem may have in fact been.
And despite the fact that this hipster dude was told in advance that I never drink alcohol, he just kept giving me that "Are you serious?" look. And he kept repeating, "Like... you mean... never?" in that deep, overly "masculine" sort of voice that I've noticed that many clearly overcompensating individuals tend to affect sometimes. But hey! Maybe it really was his real voice. Who knows. I just know that in more than five years living and working in all sorts of places all over Taiwan, I never met any other Chinese/Taiwanese person who talked or presented himself quite the way this horrifically macho California Taiwanese dude did. "ABC" (American Born Chinese), they call them in Taiwan. But they're not all the same, of course. In fact, I've met some really nice ABCs. But that guy.... Uh-uh. Nope.
Whatever the problem may have in fact been, like other people I've unfortunately encountered throughout the course of my life, this cousin of my former girlfriend decided, like some kind of demented, socially challenged high school bully, that he was just going to have to make me drink. So he had a glass of whatever it was passed down from his end of the long dinner table to me. But being a dedicated teetotaler, I of course refused. And that did not make him at all happy. Not at all. No, not one little bit.
I mean, don't you just hate it when people don't get what they want by coercion, peer pressure, or even brute force?
So you see, that's what's actually really funny about socially acceptable drugs, you know. A person says no, but certain individuals just keep right on pushing. So, for some odd reason, when it comes to addictive, mind altering substances, many, many people just simply will not take NO for an answer! Go figure.
And then I look around, and I see all the lonely people standing or sitting around in some dingy, smoke-filled, often dark and extremely noisy drinking establishment, and almost none of them look all that happy to me. Even and especially when they start to get drunk and act really, really stupid. And irresponsible. Or even, sometimes, so aggressively, and even violently, that the bar, pub, or restaurant owner actually has to have some typically over-sized dude or other on staff on a regular basis, just to throw all the pathetic people who just don't seem to be able to resist overdoing it out ye olde door. I mean... they actually to pay people to do that.
And that right there, kids, is exactly why you can take your booze, and all your other "socially acceptable" drugs, and stick 'em right where the sun don't shine. But... that's only if you won't take no for an answer, of course. Otherwise, "To each his own." Right?
Monday, March 23, 2020
Tales from "That Kid That Can Draw Real Good"
Once, some kid I went to elementary school with, way, way the heck back in the late 1970s, moved to my hometown. He was nice enough, I guess. He certainly liked me at first, because I was pretty friendly. Non-judgmental, even, so I always tried to be nice to new kids.
At any rate, I was reasonably well known in that very small town as "that kid that can draw real good." So this new kid suddenly decided, soon after meeting everyone else in our sixth grade class, that I should be the one to teach him how to "draw real good," too. Then, he reasoned, everyone might actually like him better. Ooo-kay....
Well, I actually had absolutely no idea how to do that! None. None at all. In fact, doing artwork is simply something that I was able to do, I think, before I could even legibly write my own name. I even remember my mother giving me scrap paper and crayons and using the "end table" at the side of the couch, to sit and draw for hours when I was only four years old or so.
My parents apparently really liked that about me, because, as they'd often say to adults who visited the house, "Oh, this one will sit quietly and draw for hours!" See, they had six kids altogether, so I guess it was quite a bonus that there was a way to keep at least one of us out of their hair for long periods of time.
But anyway, I told this new kid in the sixth grade that I had no idea how to teach him how to draw. He didn't listen, of course. Didn't wanna hear it. And he was extremely persistent. So, I basically had to drop all my other sixth grade friends that year, so that I could somehow attempt to "teach" this new kid how to "draw real good."
Didn't work.
After a few months of spending all kinds of free time with this new kid to teach him how to "draw real good," he ended up being extremely frustrated, because he simply could not, according to him, draw as well as I could. So I told him I was sorry. What else could I do? I was just a dumb little kid in the sixth grade, after all! Eventually, thank God, the new kid and I drifted apart. Or rather, he finally just gave up and left me alone.
Thank God.
Then... the years rolled by. Life got hard. Life even got downright crappy sometimes. And here, I thought life had already been crappy enough when I was just a kid! Oh, I worked as a professional artist for a while, but it's usually not as high a paid job as most people tend to think. In most cases, in fact, most companies do not want to pay an artist full time wages when they can instead pay them for individual odd jobs. But that also means no pension. No insurance. No security. So most artistically gifted people just end up doing their artwork on the side. And that's just how life sucks for a lot of people. That's just the way it is.
Believe it or not, even Michelangelo had an often extremely tumultuous relationship with Pope Julius II while he was painting the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel. Just for starters, Michelangelo considered himself a sculptor, not a painter, but the Pope wanted the ceiling painted. Then, they fought over the overall design. Then... the Pope was constantly upset because it took Michelangelo literally years to finish the enormous amount of work. And he didn't get paid a whole lot during that time. Sometimes he didn't even get paid at all. And that, kids, is just life in the real world, quite often.
So anyway, I went from my very first small town job working at the local grocery store, to a succession of slightly bigger towns and cities and I worked at all sorts of stupid jobs, most of which I thoroughly hated, until I eventually ended up where I'm currently at, all these sucky years later. And then... all at once, it seemed, in or around 2008 or so, I suddenly started getting tons of friend requests on Facebook from all sorts of people from my hometown that I still have not even physically seen in literally decades.
Okay. Swell. It's always nice to reconnect with nice people, of course. But then... that kid from the sixth grade friended me, too. And that was fine too, I guess. Hey! "People change," they say, right? I mean, we're all "adults" now, right? Water under ye olde bridge, eh?
Sure!
But then... one day this jerky new kid who had basically monopolized all my free time for literally months way back in the sixth grade one day found me on social media. Then, before long, he decided to private message me. Seemed he'd studied my Facebook profile, that clearly states that I'm a "teetotaler." Mind you, my profile does not say, I hate your stinking guts if you're not a teetotaler like me. It just says I am one.
Just in case you don't already know, being a teetotaler just means that I'm someone who never drinks alcohol. In my case, it also means I never smoke anything. And I don't do any kind of drug that isn't prescribed by a physician or isn't available over the counter at a pharmacy. NO IFS, ANDS, OR BUTS. No excuses. Zero. None. Na-da.
But hey. That's just me, right? "You do you, and I do me." Swell! Words to live by.
Only... this kid... this now overgrown man... type... person... that I haven't even laid eyes on for several decades, writes and tells me, "You know, I used to shoot up in the alley during the 90s, man." Apparently, he started with pot. Then he moved on to cocaine, and a lot of other stuff too, I guess.
"Okay. I'm sorry to hear that. I hope everything is going better for you nowadays. But... what does that have to do with me?"
Then, in a disgruntled huff, he unfriended me. Ooo-kay. Just like in the sixth grade, the new kid in town was totally and completely there one minute, and then he was just plain gone the next. Ooo-kay. Whatever!
At any rate, I was reasonably well known in that very small town as "that kid that can draw real good." So this new kid suddenly decided, soon after meeting everyone else in our sixth grade class, that I should be the one to teach him how to "draw real good," too. Then, he reasoned, everyone might actually like him better. Ooo-kay....
Well, I actually had absolutely no idea how to do that! None. None at all. In fact, doing artwork is simply something that I was able to do, I think, before I could even legibly write my own name. I even remember my mother giving me scrap paper and crayons and using the "end table" at the side of the couch, to sit and draw for hours when I was only four years old or so.
My parents apparently really liked that about me, because, as they'd often say to adults who visited the house, "Oh, this one will sit quietly and draw for hours!" See, they had six kids altogether, so I guess it was quite a bonus that there was a way to keep at least one of us out of their hair for long periods of time.
But anyway, I told this new kid in the sixth grade that I had no idea how to teach him how to draw. He didn't listen, of course. Didn't wanna hear it. And he was extremely persistent. So, I basically had to drop all my other sixth grade friends that year, so that I could somehow attempt to "teach" this new kid how to "draw real good."
Didn't work.
After a few months of spending all kinds of free time with this new kid to teach him how to "draw real good," he ended up being extremely frustrated, because he simply could not, according to him, draw as well as I could. So I told him I was sorry. What else could I do? I was just a dumb little kid in the sixth grade, after all! Eventually, thank God, the new kid and I drifted apart. Or rather, he finally just gave up and left me alone.
Thank God.
Then... the years rolled by. Life got hard. Life even got downright crappy sometimes. And here, I thought life had already been crappy enough when I was just a kid! Oh, I worked as a professional artist for a while, but it's usually not as high a paid job as most people tend to think. In most cases, in fact, most companies do not want to pay an artist full time wages when they can instead pay them for individual odd jobs. But that also means no pension. No insurance. No security. So most artistically gifted people just end up doing their artwork on the side. And that's just how life sucks for a lot of people. That's just the way it is.
Believe it or not, even Michelangelo had an often extremely tumultuous relationship with Pope Julius II while he was painting the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel. Just for starters, Michelangelo considered himself a sculptor, not a painter, but the Pope wanted the ceiling painted. Then, they fought over the overall design. Then... the Pope was constantly upset because it took Michelangelo literally years to finish the enormous amount of work. And he didn't get paid a whole lot during that time. Sometimes he didn't even get paid at all. And that, kids, is just life in the real world, quite often.
So anyway, I went from my very first small town job working at the local grocery store, to a succession of slightly bigger towns and cities and I worked at all sorts of stupid jobs, most of which I thoroughly hated, until I eventually ended up where I'm currently at, all these sucky years later. And then... all at once, it seemed, in or around 2008 or so, I suddenly started getting tons of friend requests on Facebook from all sorts of people from my hometown that I still have not even physically seen in literally decades.
Okay. Swell. It's always nice to reconnect with nice people, of course. But then... that kid from the sixth grade friended me, too. And that was fine too, I guess. Hey! "People change," they say, right? I mean, we're all "adults" now, right? Water under ye olde bridge, eh?
Sure!
But then... one day this jerky new kid who had basically monopolized all my free time for literally months way back in the sixth grade one day found me on social media. Then, before long, he decided to private message me. Seemed he'd studied my Facebook profile, that clearly states that I'm a "teetotaler." Mind you, my profile does not say, I hate your stinking guts if you're not a teetotaler like me. It just says I am one.
Just in case you don't already know, being a teetotaler just means that I'm someone who never drinks alcohol. In my case, it also means I never smoke anything. And I don't do any kind of drug that isn't prescribed by a physician or isn't available over the counter at a pharmacy. NO IFS, ANDS, OR BUTS. No excuses. Zero. None. Na-da.
But hey. That's just me, right? "You do you, and I do me." Swell! Words to live by.
Only... this kid... this now overgrown man... type... person... that I haven't even laid eyes on for several decades, writes and tells me, "You know, I used to shoot up in the alley during the 90s, man." Apparently, he started with pot. Then he moved on to cocaine, and a lot of other stuff too, I guess.
"Okay. I'm sorry to hear that. I hope everything is going better for you nowadays. But... what does that have to do with me?"
Then, in a disgruntled huff, he unfriended me. Ooo-kay. Just like in the sixth grade, the new kid in town was totally and completely there one minute, and then he was just plain gone the next. Ooo-kay. Whatever!
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