Monthly Archives: November 2009

The First Time I Sold Myself (aka Handbook for the Sellout)

Somewhere betwixt the early 20th century and the late 20th century, it became very vogue for “discerning artistic consumers” (read: pretentious A-holes) to ridicule successful artists for “selling out”.  The idea being that any artist able to turn a profit in their medium (music, acting, writing, painting, etc.), had clearly abandoned their ideals and convictions in order to do so.  After they sold out, they became puppets of The Man, and as such, were incapable of producing anything genuine and spectacular anymore, which made them less cool in the eyes of the “in the know” consumers — and by association served as a way for these same D-bags to judge the people who still supported said artist.  These hip, trendy consumers have clearly never had to pay rent before — because how else could they possibly justify hating on people who have spent years struggling to eke out a living in the arts unless they’d never had any bills or financial responsibilities of their own; and as a result, were totally oblivious to the fact that artists have to support themselves and their families on something other than dreams and smiles.

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The Theory of Thirteen

I have a scientific theory.  It’s scientific in the sense that I once took a science class, and it’s a theory in the sense that it’s not based on any sort of fact or experience.  Kind of like Scientology.

The theory is that everyone in life has thirteen people that they could potentially fall in love with (this theory is exclusive to romantic love, we’re not talking about the love that mothers have for their children or the unrequited love I have for the Cincinnati Begnals).  This might sound contradictory coming from someone who’s a self-proclaimed “hopeless romantic”, so let me break it down for you:

Out of the (roughly) six billion people in the world, let’s say about half of them are male, half of them are female, and two of them are Jamie Lee Curtis and Lady Gaga (it’s a hermaphrodite joke. If you don’t know that word, please don’t google it).  So depending on your preference, you have either three billion women or three billion men to choose from.

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