Terrible Lessons I Learned From Children’s Lit (part 1)

So in re-reading and re-watching some of my favourite children’s/YA books/movies, I’ve realized some really disturbing things.  In fact, I figured I’d share them here so you can all see exactly how my demented mind works.

Let’s start with Mathilda, shall we?  I’m gonna talk about the movie ’cause it’s what I had handy and when you’re dealing with Roald Dahl, the book and the movie are very different things. (Hint: the books are even more terrifying.)  But don’t worry; he’ll turn up  again.  I learn lots of terrible lessons from the film adaptations of his books particularly.  This is what I learned from Matilda:

•If you want a child to grow up intelligent and independent, you should absolutely neglect them, thoroughly. It will make them smart and strong.

•If you are that child, your life has been crappy enough that while you’re generally a good person, you have a free pass to act like a sociopath at least once.

•Acting like a sociopath will get you the life you always wanted.

Some of you are probably wondering if we watched the same movie.  We did.  I’m just more warped than you are.  Still, it’s all there.  Matilda’s parents neglect her from the day she’s born, bringing her home from the hospital in the back of a station wagon and then forgetting her there until, presumably (we’re never told in the movie) she can walk herself in.  Because of this neglect, she learns to take care of herself, cook for herself, navigate a metropolis and manipulate the adults around her.  Oh, wait. We’re not to the sociopathy yet. Forget that bit.

Actually, let’s go ahead with the sociopathy:  If you’re Matilda and you’ve grown up in that atmosphere of neglect and indifference your entire life, you learn to play by a different set of rules and that’s okay in fiction but doesn’t play out well in the real world.  But in fiction, if your parents are “bad,” you can punish them.  In the movie, this takes the form of pranks, mostly, from replacing dad’s hair tonic with mom’s peroxide to gluing his hat on his head.  (Interesting, mom is never punished for her indifference and shallowness. But that’d be another bullet point and in preaching class, I learned 3 points are plenty, thanks.)

Anyway, apart from punishing her dad in order to get her way (which was to make him allow her to go to school), she finds that the principal at her new school is also bad and therefore can and should be punished.   I should probably point out that this is about the time that Matilda learns she has superpowers.  These are important because that’s what she uses to punish the bad adults at that point, through trespassing, theft and vandalism on the principal’s private property on the hunch that it was wrongly obtained (because 7 year olds are notorious for knowing the complexities of any given situation).  Later, she uses those same powers to physically assault the principal.  Trunchbowl is no peach and she definitely is a bully, but thanks to this movie, I learned that bullies just need someone to bully them back with supernatural powers.

In the end, this scares the bad principal while her parents get some federal justice aimed at them. Her parents flee the country, however, but Matilda, who apparently thought about this well ahead of time, had adoption papers prepped so that she could ditch her bad family, have her favourite teacher adopt her and they lived happily ever after in the house that had belonged to evil Ms. Trunchbowl.

So in the end, kids, remember that if you are smarter or more talented than someone else, it’s totally okay to use that to your advantage to manipulate the people around you into doing your will — as long as you have an adorable lisp and an exit strategy.

Join us next time on Auntie Hazard’s Story Time  to find out why it’s okay to take candy from strangers in pimp suits!

So Where’ve I Been?

Despite the possibility of taking a comedy blog too seriously for a moment, we’ll drop in with a note along these lines:  if you hadn’t noticed, I’m a bit nuts. Sometimes being nuts is unwieldy.  When it is, things don’t flow well.  It’s a bit like mental constipation — there’s stuff there and you’d probably be much better off to be rid of it, but without something like a chemical explosion, it’s not going anywhere.

So that’s where I’ve been.  But I’ve also been writing.  Things I wrote about while I wasn’t here included my recollections on becoming a thespian without ever once participating in a “Shakespeare play.”

Primarily, though, I’ve been ingesting large amounts of British television and avoiding paperwork.  It’s been more entertaining, but on the other hand, I think I witnessed Stephen Fry become a cult leader and I’m not entirely sure how I feel about that.

Anyhow, I’ll be writing nonsense again, I think, because it’s better than writing nothing.

My Month As A Hobo

Actually, this entry isn’t about my month as a hobo. It’s mostly to inform you that I have recently spent a month as a hobo and that there will be hobo-related adventures forthcoming. Highlights include: Wichita is purgatory, improbable injuries, bear fights that didn’t happen, dogs made of methane, bus trips from the twilight zone and more! Stay tuned because I honestly can’t keep sitting in the lobby here trying to write funny things while people vacuum and glare at me. It’s just impolite.

So I’m going to sit here and read funny things that I didn’t write while I wait for my brother and his best friend to trek the last 20 miles to pick my tuchus up.

But seriously, being a hobo can be pretty cool if you hobo in trucks with other people.

Expertise: I haz it.

In the age old trope of letting commenters supply content, I’m going to answer questions posed in the comments today. Unfortunately, they were all spam and seemed to be very interested in the illicit candy post.  Oh well: you gotta work with what you’ve got!

From Spammer McSpamsalot:

Excellent put up, very informative. I’m wondering why the opposite experts of this sector don’t understand this. You must continue your writing. I am confident, you’ve a huge readers’ base already!|What’s Going down i’m new to this, I stumbled upon this I’ve discovered It positively useful and it has aided me out loads. I hope to give a contribution & aid other customers like its aided me. Great job.

Dear McSpam:

Aww!  You flatter me!  I had no idea you needed so desperately to know about the existence of cooterpops. Actually, now that I think of it, I was rather glad to have no idea… You know what? Let’s move on.  Because now I’m kind of afraid you’re going to tell me what the “opposite experts of this sector” think about these things and that’s going to give me nightmares. Thanks.  I can assure you, though, that as long as the world is bizarre, I will continue my writing. My huge readers’ base will be happy to know that the Internet is still full of terrifying things and I will continue to write about them, even though today I’m answering spam comments on my blog. You and the porn comment were tied for being featured today, I might add. Thanks for pulling ahead by being sufficiently vague; I didn’t really want to talk about Russian brides today. When I fell over the existence of cooterpops, it was my sole mission to point it out so that others need not stumble into those parts of the web. And as you seem prone to this whole “stumbling upon” thing, it’s good to know the sacrifice of my dignity and the searing of my retinas “aided you out loads.”  I think.  Unless that’s a bad thing, in which case, I’m sorry?

Love & Liquor,

Auntie Ms. Hazard

Tune in next time for “Top Ten Reasons Mitt Romney Really Needs Me As A Running Mate.” (Probably.)

That’s…not how lollipops work…

Okay, so it started innocently enough. A friend linked me to a gourmet lollipop site. This is the friend who’s also sending me some kind of witchcraft that’s apparently a sandwich spread MADE FROM COOKIES.  So she’s totally the good kind of friend!  We got to talking about the particular lollipops in question.

When I say “gourmet lollipops,” I mean that they make their own lollipops and feature flavours like Habañero Tequila, Chai, Maple Bacon (about which I will speak in a moment) and, my personal favourite name, the Pan-Galactic Gargle Blaster.

Maple Bacon lollies.  The description is something about being the first ever to make a “bacon-based” maple bacon lollipop, which I guess is the same thing movies mean when they say “based on a true story,” because there’s no actual bacon in them. In fact, it’s both kosher *and* vegan — two things I’m pretty sure real bacon can’t be. Then that same friend — the “I’m sending you spreadable cookies” friend — pointed out that the picture chosen to represent the fake-bacon monstrosity pop was a lasciviously posed woman being far too friendly with a bacon lollipop.

Turns out that the company is going to be changing all their lollipops pictures over to pictures chicks really enjoying these lollipops.  Aside from the whole “Lolita” aspect, which is problematic enough from a feminist perspective — but this is not a thinky blog, so don’t look to me for a sociological breakdown — there’s apparently a dark side to candy, guys.

I don’t know how to put this, especially since my mother occasionally reads this blog, but there’s a whole candy-coated perversion out there.  Lollipops are not the innocent candies of youth anymore.  I don’t think I’ll ever buy another lollipop again.

Did you know that there are people who will apparently buy lollipops that have been entirely too close to someone’s netherbits for anyone’s comfort?  (And isn’t that just begging for a yeast infection?  And… and… I don’t even want to think about this.)

Since I invented shark rockets to save NASA, I figured someone might need some proof that I’m not inventing hootiepops.  So, garnering every bit of dignity I have ever had and immediately shredding it, I googled. FOR YOU.  That’s how much I love you people.

But I couldn’t click any of the links and I felt intensely nauseated — because holy cow, people, the THINGS that turn up! — and I hated all of humanity and this time I was reasonably certain it wasn’t my own insanity pushing me toward misanthropy.

Cooterpops, people.  And that’s only the beginning. I’d tell you more, but my brain is threatening to leap out of my skull and strangle me if I even try to type — for the good of mankind — and, more importantly, I can’t think of witty euphemisms for the worst of them. It’s like humanity moved out of caves, put on some clothes and the following occurred:

Mankind: “We’ve invented the Internet!”

Internet: “Yay! Have vagina lollipops!”

Society: dies, screaming

Once you start selling herpes-flavoured crotchpops, society has broken down beyond repair.  I’m going to go loot the liquor cabinet and try to forget. Feel free to do the same.

I...I can't even look them in the eye. Wait. Since when do they have EYES?? I'm never going to sleep again.

North Korea: Solved.

So after I saved NASA with brilliant shark rockets, NASA basically rolled over and gave up by sending Discovery to the Smithsonian. Thanks, NASA.  If you didn’t want shark rockets, all it would have taken was a polite email. Or even a tweet.  I’m not stuffy; I consider tweets decent for communication.  But just rebuffing me and giving up?

Anyway, this post isn’t about my apparent feud with NASA.  It’s about Korea — specifically North Korea because they’re the ones flinging missiles at people. On the one hand, I want to tell them to just stop already because that’s just RUDE.  But then I remember that their last “fearless leader” claimed immortality and then up & died — which is ALSO rude — so I wonder if nobody ever taught North Korea how to behave in polite company (i.e., the rest of the damn world.).

The more I thought about it (and realizing that this post will get me beheaded if I ever wind up in North Korea), I decided to be the courageous person who would finally step up and say, “Hey, North Korea:  knock it off.”

So that’s what I’m doing here today.  I hope North Korea is listening because I realize that Kim Jong Un basically inherited a whole country full of people who were forced to believe that Kim Jong Il was immortal and stuff and they’re understandably confused, hurt and kind of chaotic because immortal leaders don’t usually die.  I realize that there are some religions with leaders who are considered spiritually immortal or whatever, but this isn’t a religion, it’s a country and so far as I can tell, Kim Jong Il is still rather dead.  So I figured I’d step in and give N. Korea a few pointers on how to behave.

Lesson 1:  Don’t fling missiles

Seriously. North Korea, you might not have noticed, but that’s usually considered an aggressive thing since missiles (if properly made) tend to explode. And explosions are no fun for anyone. Flinging missiles really just makes the other nations want to fling them back at you — or worse, fling them first so they don’t have to worry about whether or not you’re going to fling freaking missiles at the next birthday party.  (Note: this is part of why you don’t get invited to UN slumber parties. That and that time that you wet the bed.)

Lesson 2:

Maybe let someone who isn’t crazy be in charge for a little while.  I know you have a long and proud history of super crazy dictators and while there’s something to be said for tradition, there’s also something to be said for not being that kid at the global lunch table that everybody thinks is 3 seconds away from eating a live kitten just to get some attention.  Settle down. It’s way cooler to get attention for doing good things, I promise.  You don’t have to chomp down on kitty tartar just to get someone to look your way. Believe me:  we’re all watching you already. I’m not saying you have to have a revolution, but … you might need a revolution.

I have lots of others, but really? I think these 2 might be enough to keep you busy for the next 20 – 40 years, if you apply yourselves, North Korea.  Just… think about it, okay? Next time, we’ll talk about picking more stable friends. I don’t really think you need to be hanging out with India so much until we get this settled, okay? Now go have a good nap and think about it.

 

I’m not stabbing people. I think it means I’ve grown.

I was going to write about the incredible trip with my best friends to Eureka Springs a few weeks ago — which was awesome. But it was a 4 day trip and that’s a lot of work and I just don’t feel like it, but I did start it. Then I was going to write about politics because I *totally* solved the problem of North Korea (you’re welcome, world).  But I wrote about half of it and realized that it was just making me mad, so I checked my email and found a company telling me how I could advertise for them (for free) because that’s apparently a thing they feel entitled to now and then I popped my knee and decided I hate everything and everything is stabby.

And then I remembered that I lose my mind sometimes, so I checked my calendar and, yeah, I’m crazy right now.

I was Dx’d with PMDD a few years ago and if anyone even hints that it’s PMS, I will find you and slap you, so shut up.  It is NOT PMS.  PMS is maybe you feel cranky and bloated and you have cramps and it sucks enough. PMDD means you lose your damn mind.

Seriously. I already knew I was crazy because I’ve dealt with depression most of my life.  But then I started taking medication for that and I was substantially less prone to kill myself most days.  But for a few weeks out of every month, I would lose my grip on rational thought, cry or rage (or both) over everything, including microwave directions, become convinced that life was absolutely HOPELESS and anyone who said differently was a liar and I hated them.

It was kind of like having the worst years of being a teen compressed and shoved into my brain through a convenient opening for maximum crazy.

It made me think I was beyond help because I was taking the medication for depression and it obviously wasn’t working, except when it did, but that didn’t count because it wasn’t working now. (If that made sense to you, you should probably see a psychiatrist.) Once I could convey that yes, I was taking my meds, but I was still flipping out every month, I had a doctor ask me if I’d heard about PMDD and I said I thought maybe it was something in one of those commercials that I never paid attention to because it made me homicidal.  She said that yeah, we should probably treat this before I became a felon.

So we did. And for the last couple of years, the meds I take mean that I experience something less like “batshit insanity” and something more like what I imagine bad PMS must be, what with the cramps and bloating and cranky-kind-of-emotional, but I don’t automatically assume that I’m responding absolutely logically and that the best thing for everybody is for me to die so the world can go on.

And while I’m writing this rather tongue-in-cheek, it’s not a tongue-in-cheek kind of topic.  PMDD is actually really serious. (And yeah, I’m dropping the smartass for a minute to say this).  If you find yourself flipping out and nothing in the world makes sense anymore but it all makes you angry or depressed, seek help. It can get better.

And maybe, some day, you can not stab people too.  We’ll not stab people in solidarity. But call me after you’re drugged because I don’t want to be that last person you stab before treatment. I love you, but there are limits. Also, if you want to read something by someone who isn’t currently blogging weird stuff and tweeting irrational hatred for stupid marketing moves by major corporations, you can click here. I hear these people have medical training and stuff. Show offs.

And here’s a picture to take your mind of stabbing things:

If this makes you feel stabby and you're not female, you might be a sociopath. Either way, I suggest you ask a professional. I'm a blogger. They're not the same.