Can't Have a Rainbow...

I've been thinking recently about my hatred for Twilight. Considering that I'm pretty sure, as a people, we recognize it to be pretty noxious, there is a real desire for it, and there are tons of people (ahem, girls) going to see it. I try to spend as little of my time worrying about things that aren't worried about me, but I can't seem to shake this deep-seated dislike for sparklepires. I mean, pusspires. I mean, those Twilight things. They are an abomination of everything that is good about vampires, those horrible scary creatures of the night that disdain humanity as one all-you-can-eat buffet, who are fast, strong, and don't mind having you over for dinner. But not in a lame Twilight way, where you all sit around and eat salads. No, no, no. It's just wrong.

I tried to think back to some lame thing I used to like when I was a kid. Oh wait, no, I was awesome when I was a kid an only liked great stuff. So, I decided to think about something that I like now that people think is lame. And it's called Kung Pow: Enter the Fist. You can Google it later. The point is that I love that movie. I think it's hilarious, but there are quite a few people who disagree with me. So, what do I do? I just keep soldiering on and watch it and laugh and laugh. I probably like a lot of things that other people find annoying. The Dixie Chicks (do not down the Dixie Chicks in the comments, or I will find you), old kung fu movies, Brendan Fraser (See Dixie Chicks note). I listen to oldies music and watch White Christmas all the time and like Mandopop. But there are people just like me, who love that stuff, just like there are people who hate it.

So, I think the point of all this is that, while, we all know that Twilight pretty much sucks. Hard. There are people who like it. Really, really like it. God knows why. And sometimes, you've just got to let those things go, and hope that Hollywood doesn't stop making good movies. Then, like after waiting through rainy days, we'll appreciate the sun more.

Over the Hill

I think blogs are a little done out, don't you? Blogs require words, real words with little to no emotion to sell them. I have to support my idea, or my opinion, or my totally illogical suggestion with nothing more than little black squilgglies on a white squiggly. And then you have to read it. Cause when you read it my squiggles go into your eye holes, and mix around with your brain, and they make you laugh, or make you cry, or make you think. If you don't read it, then my squiggles sit in cyberspace, sad and lonely, and crying where they would cry if squiggles had eye holes.

But blogs are on their way out, and vlogs are on their way in. They require much less work (thought, of course editing is still work, if you're not trained in it). We sit in front of a computer, and our face takes our squiggles, and bypasses the middle man: sending said squiggles right from our face, to your brain. There are eye holes involved, of course, and ear holes, but trust me: I'm a lot more charming, and funny, and interesting, when I've had time to write my thoughts down, and erase the ones that don't make sense, or make too much sense or remind me of a mackerel. Of course, you can write lines, and you can practice those lines until you've memorized them, and then you can deliver them with feeling. So much feeling that you'll win a thousand Academy Awards that you'll accept with glamorous speeches with plenty of tears and snot. But those words, and these squiggles aren't the same, and they'll never be. And I'm not Sissy Spacek.

So, I'm left with two choices: Become witty and charming, and beautiful(er), and not at all awkward, and make the camera love me and garner thousands of fans based on that. Or, and this is really the one I'm leaning towards, keep soldiering on with this blog because it's not in. It's not trendy or hip, or cool, and I'm way behind the curve, though I was ahead of the curve, and now I'm so far ahead, I'm behind again.

Words are who I am. The reason I sound so witty, and charming, and irresistible when I write (you know, or so I think), is because I love words. They roll around in my head, and I let them stew, and sometimes they sneak out when I'm dreaming or watching or kissing. Sometimes, they want to play with the other words so badly that I can hear them whispering to be set free. And when I do, they fall on the page and play and dance, and it's all worth it. It's worth all the effort that I took using the right side of my brain, and coming up with ideas, and writing and rewriting, and rewriting the rewriting. It's worth all the pain and sacrifice, and certainly the time. I write the story and finally the words are more than squiggles, they're a voice, they're a dream, they're a reality. So, let them sit up in their cafes, drinking their chai lattes, and vlogging about the world. I'll stick with my squiggles any day of the week.