Your satire is flat

From Wikipedia: 

Satire is a genre of literature, and sometimes graphic and performing arts, in which vices, follies, abuses, and shortcomings are held up to ridicule, ideally with the intent of shaming individuals, and society itself, into improvement. Although satire is usually meant to be funny, its greater purpose is often constructive social criticism, using wit as a weapon and as a tool to draw attention to both particular and wider issues in society.

I share this today because people are increasingly using the words "satire" and "humor" interchangeably. But they're two different things.

A rodeo clown wearing an Obama mask is not an example of satire. It might pass as a joke if your sense of humor sucks, but it isn't satire. Satire skewers. A rodeo clown wearing a George W. Bush mask might be satire, because Bush had a reputation as a cowboy (and as a clown). But any supposed satirical subtext of Obama as a rodeo clown is like making fun of Ben Affleck for the holes in his hands. 

(Wait. Scratch that. I can think of one way Obama as a rodeo clown is satirical. Rodeo clowns distract rowdy bulls. That's kind of what Obama's doing, isn't it? Brilliant! The clown is actually an Obama supporter! Who knew?)

To use another example, if someone satirized Sarah Palin for being overly pretentious, that would also be a fail. Not that I see anyone doing that.

Satire is best described as thinking person's comedy. So if you find yourself trying to hide behind the term, that's what you need to do before you speak. Think.

Dear teenagers,

This kills me to write. 

At 33, I'm at an age where people vary widely in how they behave. Some enthusiastically embrace adulthood (by which I mean they become boring and start complaining about old-people stuff) and others do their best to stay youthful (by which I mean they act as if they're still young, but still deal with old-people stuff). I like to think I'm in the latter category (hell, I'm rarely mistaken for older than 25).

However.

Yesterday, after a week of waiting, I finally moved into my new apartment. I decided to grab lunch at a nearby franchise. What I didn't know was that 1) yesterday was the first day of school in Reno and 2) a million teenagers live in my neighborhood. Those bads were mine.

When I walked in, four teenage girls and their guy friend stood in front of me. No problem. The problem began when what must have been 49 other teens marched in all at the same time. Whenever that happens (and let's lump in any big group in this), there's going to be lots of happy energy. I get that. I bask in it. I encourage it.

However. 

You still have to stand in line. It's cool if you see a friend in front of me and hug and catch up, but it's not a license to cut. It's also — if I can emphasize this — NOT A LICENSE TO NEARLY KNOCK ME (or anyone) OVER.

Granted, I've tried to be conscious of my surroundings wherever I go. I say try, because sometimes it takes effort. Much of that teen energy never left me. And I'm awkward to boot. But whenever I'm a situation that brings to mind human dominoes, I usually manage to channel it.

Teenagers, you're all right. I like you. While I believe you are being utterly screwed by No Child Left Behind, I otherwise think you're OK. I roll my eyes at people who say you're the worst generation ever (every older generation says that, by the way, and not all of them are that great). The generation gap is always a case of people misremembering the past. In that regard, you're good and I can't wait for you to take the reins. It's your life; never let anyone tell you not to color outside the lines. 

But when there is a line, don't make a flash mob of it.

Sincerely,

Grandpa

Cc: My bad back

About as dum as it gets

This is a real graphic currently making the rounds on Twitter. I wanted to title this entry, "What is Prince, chopped liver?" But it seemed wrong to dispel a graphic before you've had a chance to even see it. I wanted to have some fun with it first. And I will, even though my work here is done on account of the fact that PRINCE TOTALLY HAS HIS OWN SYMBOL. Take that, Hitler/Obama!

And ... er ...

I'm sure there are others too. Like the one my best friend in high school always drew with his signature, and the one I had when I was 11. Et cetera. Et cetera.

Has my point been pointed enough? Good. I'm going to the beach.

Shocking football news of the day

Wes Welker says Bill Belichick "kind of hard" to work with recently

Filtering everything out of this involving the usual trappings of pro football, media sensationalism and the complete lack of surprise here, I still have something to say about this.

I've reiterated more times than I can count that Bill Belichick is the Dick Cheney of the NFL — terse, secretive, standoffish and with just enough success to justify both traits in many people's minds. Unlike with Cheney, though, even Belichick's biggest haters generally agree on his success as a coach (which, even accounting for Spygate, is extensive). He's not my favorite personality type or coaching type, but he is who he is and it works for him.

It's not particularly newsworthy that a former player said his relationship with Belichick grew rocky over time. Again, that's football and that's Belichick. It's interesting to hear Welker's take on it, but it's hardly headline material.

But it does bother me to read some of the reaction to it. Every comment thread I've read had at least one comment that said something like (I'm paraphrasing), "If Welker would buck up and grow a pair, maybe he wouldn't get his widdle feelings hurt." Others called Wes a pussy and other epithets that are epithets if you're sexist.

That is inexcusable. 

As I said, I'm no fan of the overly macho, stoic, growly attitude that defines Belichick; I go out of my way to avoid people with those personality traits whenever I can. But I doubt even he would condone such bully bluster from people. Part of it is the anonymity of the Internet, but I've also encountered plenty of people who are outwardly that way. I guess it's their attempt to emulate the Belichick attitude, and it's a pathetic attempt. They should know the coach would probably not be proud.

If his interest waned on one of the best receivers in the game, what could he possibly think of those armchair quarterbacks?

Knowing him, it's probably not much. I don't either.

Would you try it?

I had a dream last night that I visited my childhood supermarket for the first time in years. The deli was now selling McGibboney Turkey — shaved slices of spicy turkey crusted with peppermint. Apparently I had always asked for that when I shopped there in the past. I told the girl, "Of COURSE I would like something like that." I kind of want to try that now. But not really.

Also in the dream, I had to drive my sister to Washington, D.C. from Lafayette and get back to Reno in time to go to work at 2 p.m. Despite a valiant effort, I find myself back in Reno at 1:30 — not enough time to get ready for work. Mission aborted.

My dreams would make terrible action movies.

No single path in life

Occasionally, I run into someone who says that people without children are missing out on life. It happened to me again recently, just as Time magazine released a cover story on "The Childfree Life" (the latest entry in its ongoing series on weird people such as singles, the childless and everyone born after 1980).

As I get older and remain childless, I'm hearing an increasing chorus by well-intentioned people (all of whom are parents) that I should get on that. 

I respect parents, because it's true that they have the most demanding job in the world. I've spent lots of time caring for children and it doesn't take long for the duty to whip my butt. I understand the intense, never-ending responsibility that is parenting — and it's precisely why I have never sired offspring. The bond between child and parent may be something only a parent can understand, but anyone can realize the gravity of the responsibility. Conversely, all parents know what it's like to not be one, and most at least occasionally pine for those days.

Life is not necessarily easier, harder or more- or less-fulfilling along some static guideline; not all single/childless people are miserable and not all parents are benevolent and ecstatic. So let's all agree that everyone is unique, and address their wants and needs from there. 

It takes a village.

My tribute to Greg Peters