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…

Something people like to ask me is whether or not I have ever killed someone off  in a story. Well, since I write suspense thrillers about serial killers one would think that I could just look at them and say, “Duh.”

Well, sometimes I do, actually.

Then they go on to explain that what they really mean is, “Have you ever put a real person into a story and killed them off in the story because you were mad at them or something?”

Then I look at them and say, “What? Are you some kind of sicko or something?”

After I spend a few minutes watching them get all flustered I let them off the hook and give them a real answer.

That being, “Yes. Of course.”

I have made real live annoyances in my life into characters, then had them meet an ugly demise. This is something that every fiction author on the planet who writes a murder mystery, suspense thriller, or the like has done at one time or another. If such an author tells you otherwise, s/he is lying. Guaranteed. They can tell you I am full of it if they want, but they are still lying. I take a dump every morning.

Hell, just look at the facts – they even have coffee cups and t-shirts that say, “Be careful or I’ll kill you in my next book.”

Those didn’t happen by themselves, let me tell you.

So, yes, over the years I – like most all of my word slinging colleagues (some of them write non-fic) – have named fictional victims in my novels after old girlfriends… I have named them after the idiot behind the counter at the local shop ‘n stop… I have named them after someone who did me wrong… And then I have offed them in some horribly gruesome and terribly painful fashion – all on the pages of a novel.

It’s one of those cathartic writing exercises. It makes you feel good and just a little evil at the same time.

However, one particular “story killin'” stands out in my mind above all others. It actually didn’t happen in a novel. It was in a short vignette I wrote while in High School. You see, I was in a film study class – mostly because it was an English Credit, and I had already taken all of the truly academic English/Lit courses. This is not to say it wasn’t a good class, because it was. I actually learned quite a bit and enjoyed it immensely. But I digress…

During that semester there was this girl seated in the desk next to mine. We’ll call her Janice, mostly because that was her name. Now, Janice wasn’t a horrible person by any stretch. At least, not that I am (or was) aware. She was, however, insanely annoying. You see, she had no desire whatsoever to think for herself, so even in a class so subjective as Film Study, she wanted everyone else to provide her with the answers. Since I was sitting a mere three feet to her left, and was “gettin’ good grades” as Timbuk 3 would say, she figured I was a good candidate for providing them.

In keeping with the song reference theme, she had another issue – Just like Joe Walsh has crooned, “she just would not shut up…”

Yeah, Janice was a talker, and that just made her even more annoying.

So moving right along… One day Janice happened to notice that I didn’t just write for the school newspaper. This happened because I dropped some papers and she got to them before me. My guess is she was probably looking to see if there were answers she could steal. What the papers were, however, were some of my short stories.  For whatever reason, this intrigued her, and she embarked upon a mission to talk me into writing a story that featured, who else, her.

She kept on me, and on me, and on me for more than a week. Every time I saw her in a class. Now, it bears mentioning here that Janice and I weren’t exactly friends, nor were we dating or anything like that. She was just one of those bizarre folk who would glom onto someone and drive them crazy just because… well… she could.

Anyway, after finally becoming fed up with the harassment, I gave in. That evening, I went home and rolled a sheet of paper into my trusty Smith-Corona manual typewriter (yes, I’m old) and proceeded to tap out a 2 or 3 page vignette featuring none other than Janice herself. It was a sci-fi sort of setting, with her being a high level operative of some government organization who had been captured by very bad people – but in a stroke of blonde genius (yes, Janice was blonde and a poster child for the negative stereotype) she had managed to subdue her immediate captors and was making her escape from the maximum security facility where she was being held for interrogation. (wow… that was a long sentence)…

Anyhow, as I am sure you have guessed, she didn’t make it. It was a sad and horrible death. Not overly gruesome. Just the right amount of gore, mixed with pain, and a healthy dose of “holy shit, I should have turned left instead of right.”

The next day, in Film Study class, as we were taking our seats and she was bugging me, I handed over the pages. Ten minutes later, as we were all sitting quietly, working on our assignments, she blurted out while waving the papers wildly, “WHAT? YOU KILLED ME?!”

Now, there is something else I should mention here – Our teacher, whose desk was nearby, had been hearing Janice annoy me about this story for the entire week prior. In fact, the teacher had even told her to lay off on several occasions, not that it really did any good, obviously.

So, as Janice belted out her umbrage over my having dared to do her in on the page, drawing quiet attention from every corner of the room, the teacher looked up from her desk and without missing a beat said, “Can you blame him? You’ve been annoying the poor guy all semester.”

Hmm… I think maybe I should name a victim Janice in a future novel. After all, that’s one of the great things about being a fiction author – you can always dig  up your enemies and kill ’em again…

More to come…

Murv