Serious Topics Taken Seriously

When I win the internet, I will be given a velociraptor-unicorn-pegasus hybrid, which I will ride whilst sipping from a goblet filled with vodka slushies.

This has nothing to do with anything, except that today on Twitter I have discussed the merits of owning a velociraptor vs. a dragon. I am firmly on the side of velociraptors. Wait! There is a logic to my choice.

I love dragons. I love them a lot, and would love owning one. But logically speaking, where would you keep it? What would you feed it? And what TYPE of dragon would it be? Would it be a Tolkien dragon? Because Smaug was scary as hell. Or would it be an Anne McCaffrey dragon? Or a Dungeons & Dragons type? Or one from Harry Potter? Or Jane Yolen? That's not even looking at the species themselves. There are dozens upon dozens of different types of dragons, with their own advantages and disadvantages.

The point is, some dragons talk and love gold and some don't and eat brimstone. Some sleep a lot. Some have wings. Some eat people. And I think when speaking hypothetically about wanting to own a fantasy creature, you need to consider these factors in a serious and rational manner. Do you have a surplus of gold? Does your house have insurance against pets that cause fires?

Raptors are easy. They eat meat. They are small enough to keep in a house, although not an apartment. That would be ridiculous. If you got it at a young age, you could probably train it out of eating your friends and neighbors. And I could ride one. AIRTIGHT LOGIC.

Speaking of dragons, my favorite dragon movie of ALL TIME is Flight of Dragons. It is life-changing and brilliant. It is The Last Unicorn of animated dragon movies. I just discovered that Netflix doesn't carry it, which means I'll have to buy it at some point. It's fantastic.

By the way, wouldn't Dragons Vs. Raptors be the best movie EVER? Forget Cowboys Vs. Aliens, I need Jon Favreau ON THIS. Imagine - dragons exist in the past, right? So why can't we go even further past, and have them battle velociraptors for dominance over the planet? Or they could both invade present day, and it could be the plot of the Jurassic Park reboot. That was a freebie, Hollywood.

This is the sort of post that results from it being very hot out, a surplus of sugar, and guilt over not having written anything of substance in about a week. So you get dragons and velociraptors. YOU'RE WELCOME.

Edit: DO NOT GOOGLE 'RAPTORS VS. DRAGONS'. OH MY GOD.

Edit 2: MY EYES ARE BLEEDING.

Edit 3: AND THOSE DINOSAURS ARE TOTALLY ANATOMICALLY INCORRECT. DINOSAURS DON'T BEND THAT WAY.

Edit 4: WHAT SORT OF JUST AND MERCIFUL GOD WOULD ALLOW SUCH A THING TO EXIST?

Edit 5: ALL I WANTED WAS A WHOLESOME, CHARMING MOVIE ABOUT DINOSAURS AND RAPTORS FIGHTING TO THE DEATH. THIS IS THE OPPOSITE OF WHAT I WANTED. UNCLEAN. UNCLEAN.

Edit 6: Sometimes, I really hate the internet.

Writer's Block Does Not Always Lead To Profound Passages

Note: I wrote this on virtually no sleep, on a Monday, while in a terrible mood. YOU'RE WELCOME.

Today has not been a good day for writing. As I had the day off, I figured I could accomplish something, and provide the blog with a clever new entry. Things haven't worked out quite that way.

It's the sort of day where you sit down, completely determined to type something witty and incisive. I sat at the keyboard and thought, 'Self, today I will post a blog entry that will break the internet with its brilliance. The world will shudder in exquisite ecstasy over the prose that issue forth from my fingers.'

Then after a few hours of staring at a blank screen that refuses to make words, I lower my standards. I am a realist, if nothing else, after all. 'OK, Self, let's write something that doesn't humiliate us. That produces a chuckle. No pressure.'

Right now I would settle for something coherent. Also, did you know that screaming, 'MAKE WORDS, YOU MISERABLE BASTARD!' at your laptop produces no effect? None at all. I tested this out, for science. You're welcome.

So to answer your question, no, things aren't going very well. I have applied for some freelance writing jobs. I purchased a shirt. This, in fact, is a succinct description of my day: Writer's block, writer's block, IMPULSE SHOPPING, writer's block writer's block, EXISTENTIAL VOID, writer's block writer's block....

And so on. So instead of a real, coherent blog entry, you have me yelling about how I need a career eating waffles:
About me: I want some fucking waffles, bitch.
Give me money to buy waffles.
Services Provided: Will eat ALL the fucking waffles.

I've been craving Belgian Waffles for like a week. In fact, my brilliant friend and I devised Rapture Waffles (PATENT PENDING): waffles covered in frosting. For the apocalypse. Look, it made sense at the time, and isn't nearly as weird as some of the things I ate to survive in college. Frankly, I think it was a perfectly rational reaction to the End Of Times.

So the majority of today has been spent attempting to write something semi-lucid, watching Black Books, chugging Diet Mountain Dew, and imagining a life wherein I get paid to eat waffles.

If you haven't seen Black Books, I recommend you rectify that post-haste. It is a brilliantly funny British show starring the glorious Dylan Moran. It consists of everything that is good in the world, and is the perfect recipe for when you feel nihilistic and sour about your future. BERNARD BLACK IS A GOD AMONG MEN. AND HE'S IRISH. THINK ON THAT.

Great. Now I want Dylan Moran to bring me Belgian Waffles and red wine. Can the internet make this happen? I mean, there are places where I can buy shoes made out of bread on the internet. For actual money, and not as a horrible joke. So why shouldn't a celebrity deliver me alcohol and waffles?

This blog entry should have ended ages ago. Instead it keeps going on and on, like some horrible cretaceous monster. IT HAS NO END. This is like the Jurassic Park of blog posts. It eats everyone you loves and wreaks havoc, and then there are two sequels of debatable quality.

This isn't like procrastination, when I don't want to write anything so I blather on endlessly, and usually the results amuse me for their randomness if nothing else. No, I WANT to write something good. Really, I do. I just can't. But there are only two blog entries on this page, and they're JUDGING me.

I can't believe I used to write every goddamn day. I am terribly out of practice.

So what have we learned?
* Don't start writing without a predetermined blog topic.
* Writer's block and procrastination are entirely different beasts.
* There should be more careers available involving the consumption of Belgian Waffles.
* I will always capitalize Belgian Waffles, for obvious reasons.
* Rapture Waffles (PATENT PENDING) will sweep the nation, coming December 21st, 2012.
* Everything is better with frosting. EVERYTHING.
* Black Books is an underrated and wonderful show.
* Dylan Moran should set up a wine and waffle delivery service.

I Am Excused From Growing Up

Guys, the worst thing ever has happened. I got jury duty. I don't understand how this has come to pass, but it has, and now my world is in shambles.

I don't have a problem with jury duty. I think it's an important service, and part of being an American, and all that good jazz. I debated being a lawyer (I even took the LSATS) and find law fascinating. I have no problem with the concept of sitting in on a case. I am a big fan of doing my civic duty. Plus there's always the chance that it will be a really cool case, involving ninjas or spies or NINJA SPIES and international intrigue. It's a slim chance, but it exists.

No, the problem I have with all this is that jury duty is SOMETHING THAT HAPPENS TO ADULTS. I am definitely not an adult. The idea of being considered an adult is terrifying to me. Clearly the system is flawed if I am expected to act like an adult.

It's like when my friends from middle school and high school get married, or have babies, or get important jobs. I want to shake them and go, "You used to consider Blink-182 the greatest band ever! YOU LIKED CARSON DALY. YOU ARE NOT A GROWN-UP." But I don't, because I love my friends, and I know they are only faking being adults. Even I can fake being an adult, when the situation calls for it.

I find the idea that I could be held responsible for a court decision to be simply terrifying. I am not qualified for these sorts of situations. I mean, as I type this, I am sitting here watching Spongebob and drinking a Slushie. I am by no means a bastion of mature, rational decisions. I was up until 3 AM because a television show upset me, and I couldn't fall asleep. Do YOU want me on a jury?

And what if I say something really stupid? What if this is like the time I interviewed at a Major Corporation, and thought security was going to escort me out because I made a joke? (I'd love to tell you the name of the corporation, because it makes the story far more amusing, but I am pretty sure this particular company's leader has magical powers and would destroy me if I was caught insulting her. So trust me, it's a large company, and the boss is a major celebrity. And she didn't interview me. Which is a pity, because that would make this story AMAZING.)

I was at a job interview at this Posh Company That Is Named After A Famous Person Who Has A TV Show. My friend had wrangled me the interview, so I had extra motivation to be charming and lovely. But it was hideously early in the morning, I had gotten lost on my way to the interview, and to be totally honest I was not interested in the job. Still, the interview with the obscenely perky HR lady was going along nicely, until...

HR Girl: Now, if you could have dinner with any person, living or dead, who would it be?

Me: Uh, Hunter S. Thompson.

HR Girl: Interesting! Why?

Me: Because he'd bring good drugs.

HR Girl: *Deafening, ominous silence*

I'd like to point out that I was kidding. That this was a joke, brought on by a lack of sleep and my charming habit of not always listening when I talk. I WAS KIDDING.

And to be fair, the HR Girl could have handled it better. She stared at me with open-mouthed horror, as if she fully expected me to start doing lines on her pristine desk. Which I didn't. I don't DO drugs. And that's not the reason I love Hunter S. Thompson and would adore having dinner with him. DRUGS ARE BAD, KIDS. I DO NOT ENDORSE THEM.

This post seems to have gotten away from me. I simply wanted to explain that the idea of me being treated like a Mature, Responsible Adult is absolutely ridiculous, but then I drank some of my slushie and started discussing Spongebob and drugs and my eternal crush on Hunter S. Thompson. Which is why I shouldn't ever get jury duty.

I think I just proved my point.

I'm Not Terribly Concerned About The Apocalypse

So I've been trying to write this blog post for days. I've been agonizing over it, obsessing over it on Twitter, writing and rewriting it endlessly. I've been acting like people will READ this entry, and not just my friends who tolerate my rambling with a good deal more patience than I deserve.

After all, this is not the first blog I've had. I wrote, for a few years, a blog called Fear & Loathing. Actually, I just checked, and I posted nearly EVERY DAY for ALMOST THREE YEARS. And I wasn't getting paid. I was just writing about the pop culture events of the world because I felt like it, which I'm pretty sure is why

A) it eventually nearly killed me (a story I will tell at some point), and

B) I had to take a break for a little over a year before I could even consider blogging again without bursting into tears or showing signs of PTSD.

This blog is going to be different. Call it funny observational humor, and a recording of my attempts to get my manuscript published. Oh, I'm sure I'll shout about movies and comics and pop culture in general, because that's generally how I deal with the world. These things matter to me. But I won't spend hours every day trying to find funny/insane things for the internet, because other sites do it much better than I ever did.

Fuck. I originally planned to write my first entry about how I'm not worried about the three or four impending apocalypse (apocalypsi? Wiktionary says it's apocalypses, and SpellCheck backs it up, but it just sounds like lazy grammar to me).

I was going to explain that it's a bit bizarre that I, who panics over things that nobody else even thinks about (what if ants get in your ear, but they are flesh-eating ants, and they EAT YOU FROM THE INSIDE OUT? Also? Mimes.) am not worried at all about the possible End Of Times. The answer is, simply, that I can't do anything about it either way. It's not like my anxiety over flying in planes, wherein I could just NOT GET ON THE PLANE. I'm stuck on the planet, and I don't think I'd do well in space even if that was an option, so why worry? Either it will happen or it won't. (And no, I am not much fun on airplanes.)

I was in Times' Square last weekend, and I noticed a few people walking around with signs and shirts proclaiming May 21st as the End of Days. And all I could really think was, 'What do you hope to accomplish? If you really and truly believe that it is GO TIME for the planet, would you really want to spend your last few days in Times' Square shouting at people?' Maybe. I don't know. I just really hate Times' Square.

Then again, perhaps I'm just jaded. Between Buffy The Vampire Slayer, Angel, Doctor Who, and Supernatural, I've seen my fair share of apocalypses. Yes, those are TV, but TV teaches us important things. For example, if this apocalypse has to do with demons, aliens, or zombies, I AM TOTALLY PREPARED. I have got that shit COVERED. Otherwise, not so much.

Well, I'd be lying if I said I knew how to end this entry. I have a whole list of topics to write about, such My Epic Hatred Of Cell Phones, a review of the movie Thor, stories about my (hopefully) meteoric rise through the publishing industry, and That Time I Went Scuba Diving & Everyone Nearly Died. Basically, it's my blog. I do what I want. And, as you may have guessed from the title, I abuse capslocks. Prolifically. In fact, one of my friends gave me a shirt about my love of SHOUTING VIA THE INTERNET, and that's where the name of this blog comes from. In case you were wondering.

And this, ladies and gentlemen of the Internet, is why I need an editor.

EDIT: It was just pointed out to me that for someone who claims not to be worried about the apocalypse, I've thought about it a great deal. Shut up. I think about pirates too, and they don't frighten me AT ALL.

EDIT 2: No, I don't THINK the apocalypse is going to happen this weekend, or in October, or next December. But it doesn't matter what I think. It's going to happen or it's not. I can't control it. My believing in it or not believing in it won't alter the future. It would be cool if it did, although I'm not sure I should have that sort of power.

It's like people who don't believe in evolution. That's fine, it doesn't negate evolution. Evolution doesn't CEASE TO EXIST just because the notion upsets you. It's still true. Or if I believed that the ghost of H.P. Lovecraft followed me around and hid my socks. That's fine too. It doesn't make it true. Besides, I would hope that the ghost of H.P. Lovecraft would have way better things to do than hide my socks.

EDIT 3: Yes, I just discussed the ghost of a celebrated author hiding my socks for fun in the afterlife. This is pretty much going to be par for the course on this blog. I APOLOGIZE FOR NOTHING.