BRAINPAN LEAKAGE

Hey, kids… It’s time for me to be all unpopular again. So, as with my normal disclaimer at the beginning of my workshops, if you are going to be offended by the fact that I have a different opinion than you (if I do, because for some of you I may not), then go elsewhere. I have no intention of arguing with you in the comments section, via email, in person, or in any other fashion. To that end, I’ve turned off the comments because here you are in MY house, and you aren’t going to call me names in MY house.

So here’s the deal…

It seems that JC Penney has manage to spark a hubbub over a t-shirt. In particular, the text on the t-shirt. In case you haven’t heard about it, or seen it, I will post a pic:

The “TwitRage,” “FaceRage,” and “BlogRage” over this has been epic. People calling for boycotts of JCP, calling for heads on poles, blood, guts, veins in their teeth, dead burnt bodies, and all manner of nasty stuff (apologies to Arlo for borrowing his words). I’m not kidding.

One TwitBlogger (that being twitterer/blogger – NOT Twit who Blogs) said, “…it singlehandedly took the feminist movement back about sixty years. “

Wow.

I mean… F*ckin’ WOW…

Color me ignorant, because I had no clue that a shirt with some overtly silly – and satirical – prose scrawled across it could be so powerful. But then, when I made a similar comment on a blog – a blog which ended with “what’s YOUR opinion” mind you – I was told by another commenter that “Clearly, you understand neither the words ‘satire’ nor ‘stereotype’. “ I was also informed that 12 year-old kids do NOT understand satire. Someone should have told my sixth and seventh grade English/Lit teachers that little tidbit so they would have avoided teaching it when I was in school.

My Grand Offense

(click to enlarge)

Of course, it’s way too late to clue in my English/Lit Teachers from 36+ years ago, so that’s a moot point. However, I think maybe they should send a strongly worded letter to my 11 year-old daughter and inform her of this fact. She is apparently breaking the “kid rules” by having a firm grasp on satire, sarcasm (properly used, mind you), and comedy. They should also CC this letter to all of my daughter’s friends who have a similarly firm grasp on the concept. Maybe they should get detention or something…

However, I will admit, perhaps I shouldn’t have said, “Get Over It.” Maybe that was just too strong a comment and it offended the sensibilities of the other commenters. I will, however, stand by my conviction that people will find something to get offended by if they want to.  I mean, what if it was a t-shirt that said “Real Men Don’t Eat Quiche”? Does that mean I’m not a real man? What about other “doods” who eat quiche? Do we have to turn in our Man Cards? Should we be offended by the fact that we are being labeled as… Oh… I dunno… Non-Men?

What about the t-shirts that say, “Too Cool 4 School”? I guess those are setting back the public education system by 100 years?

Here’s the thing – Folks who take offense to things will often do everything in their power to blow it out of proportion, because everyone should be just as offended by it as they are. Unfortunately, in this day of quick access via social media, they are able to beat their drum with a tweet or an update. Once there was a time when they would have had to sit down and write a letter, or get out the posterboard and sharpies to make a protest sign. That involved work, and time. Combined, those would allow a chance for them to consider their actions and say, “You know… My gut reaction was A, but now that I think about it, and view it from all sides, my reaction is B and I don’t feel anywhere near the moral outrage I did fifteen minutes ago.”

One would think that this process would take place in the subsequent 15 minutes anyway, but that’s not how it works. Someone lights the fire because it’s as easy as flicking a Bic. Next thing you know you have mob mentality taking hold. Once that happens, the mob ceases to think. They just act – or more accurately, act out.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m the first SOB who will jump up and down, scream, and beat the drum to protect the rights of anyone to have their opinion – and to express it. So, I’m not at all offended by the fact that these folks elected to express theirs – even though they were about me – and 12 year olds – but not the shirt. More power to them.

Still, I think – Umm, no, I’m downright positive – they are missing the point here. Just as they have a right to their opinions, JC Penney has every right to sell that shirt. And those who hate it have every right to hate it and therefore NOT buy it. They do NOT have the right to demand that JC Penney not sell it, because now they are infringing on JC Penney’s rights, as well as the rights of those who get the joke and might like to buy one.

What they also do NOT have the right to do is make unfounded accusations against the company, and the shirt. Neither JC Penney nor this shirt – which they have now removed from their website, by the way – did any damage to “the feminist movement.”

Nor did the Corona t-shirt I saw at Target damage Mothers Against Drunk Driving.

Nor did the “I’m With Stupid” t-shirt damage anyone standing next to the person wearing it.

It all comes down to this: It’s a t-shirt. An ugly t-shirt at that. Odds are it won’t (or wouldn’t have, as the case may be) sell very many, therefore it would be discontinued. However, by making such a big deal of it on the web, the people who hate it have now called it to the attention of people like me, who get the fact that it’s intended as humor – and there are a damn sight more of us than you think, both male and female.  Whether or not it succeeds in that aim isn’t the issue. Odds are you just created a demand for it.

You know what? I take it back. I did need to say Get Over It.

BTW – Go ahead and think I’m a misogynistic asshole all you want, I can’t stop you. However, I’m willing to bet my wife, daughter, sister, and every other female – scratch that… Every other person, be they male, female, or somewhere in between, who has actually spoken with me for more than five minutes will staunchly disagree with you.

More to come…

Murv

UPDATE: I just returned from walking my brilliant 11 year-old daughter home from school in the lovely 101 degree heat of a St. Louis Summer Afternoon… An informal poll of her friends, and her as well, asking “Would you want/buy a t-shirt that says ‘I’m too pretty to do homework so my brother has to do it for me” resulted in: “Uh… No… That’s stupid.”

A small sampling, yes, but I think you get my point. The only people getting outraged about it are the people who are looking for something to be outraged about. Kids today are more interested in plain shirts that say HOLLISTER or AEROPOSTALE on them. Trust me. I have the credit card receipts to prove it…

It really was one of those truly peculiar moments in life.

I mean the kind where you feel that sudden rush of elation because you know that the finely crafted, long-thought-out trap you have set has sprung, and in the process has snared the prey. Of course, what makes it so peculiar is that the bubble of elation pops quickly, and is replaced all at once by the vacuum of realization that you have no clue what you are going to do with said prey now that you have snared it.

Of course, that is also followed by the gut-wrenching fear you feel because of exactly what that prey is. In this case, it was a redhead.

I suppose I should back up a bit…

You see, around here, one of the favored snacks of Her Supreme Royal Redheaded Highness, the O-spring, and, well, Moi, is Triscuits. However, we especially like them after you lay them out on a plate, sprinkle them liberally with shredded cheese, then take them for a spin in the microwave for 15 – 45 seconds. Timing is crucial, but there’s a wide range. It largely depends on the type of cheese, as well as the thickness of the shred layer you lay down.

You don’t want them to go too long, otherwise the cheese goes nuclear and all but evaporates. Too little and the shreds are just a little sweaty, so they fall off. Nope… You have to time it exactly, so that you achieve the proper level of melty clingage and bubbly cheesiness. A second too much, and even if you don’t evaporate the cheese you end up with molten dairy lava that will take the skin right off your lips and the roof of your mouth.

Not good at all…

But, yeah, I’m sorta digressing. You see, the thing here is that whenever E K or the O-spring fixes themselves a plate of Melty Triscuit Treats, they eat them. I know… Sort of a natural progression. Makes all kinds of sense. Except when you add this to the mix: Whenever I make myself a plate of Melty Triscuit Treats, they eat them.

See what I mean? Kinda makes you wonder how it is that I know that I actually like them, eh? I mean, what with me not getting to eat them and all.

Well, that’s where the trap came in. As it happens, I like spicy food. Peppery spicy is my friend. I am a bit of a connoisseur of peppers, as much as a redneck like myself can be a connoisseur. Anyhow, that being the case, I happen to have a bottle of ground Chipotle pepper in the cabinet. If you are unfamiliar with Chipotle, it is a smoked Jalapeño. Good stuff.

See where I’m heading? Well, just in case you are being a little myopic today, allow me to explain: I discovered that I like ground Chipotle sprinkled on my Melty Triscuit Treats. I figured this out when I was home alone and fixed myself a plate of the little snack squares. I wanted to jazz them up a bit, and, well, there you go…

But, back to that whole trap thing…

So, I sprinkled my Melty Triscuit Treats with ground Chipotle, started them rotating in the microwave, then stepped out for the briefest of moments. As I exited the kitchen, a red blur flew past me on it’s way into said kitchen. I’m sure you can guess the identity of the blur. It’s like she had Melty Triscuit Treats radar or something.

Evil Kat being Evil

Anywho, the microwave squealed that it was finished, all the while joined by the excited clack of stiletto heels as The Redhead danced about in anticipation. A split second later I heard the door of the appliance open, and then… wait for it… the scream.

At first it was sort of a pained yelp, and that was followed by a rather loud, “What The…” Then, Her Worship began demanding my presence via her typical, stern,  “Lackey! Come here, NOW!”

I had to explain what I had done to the Melty Triscuit Treats, as they did not meet with her approval. I muttered something about ill gotten gains, and that’s pretty much the last thing I remember before waking up on the floor with crushed up, Chipotle sprinkled, Melty Triscuit Treats and size 7 E K shoe prints all over me.

I guess that’ll teach me to fix myself a snack, now won’t it?

More to come…

Murv