I fully realize that this is an odd thing to feel strongly about, particularly with all that is going on in the polis right now, but I really hate the latest viral meme that is making the rounds on Facebook (and perhaps elsewhere) in seemingly tireless iterations. You’ve seen the one I’m talking about: four or six hastily-selected pics gleaned from an image search arranged on a black background with a profession or interest group for a title and a pro forma series of captions progressing from “What ___ thinks I/we do” to the concluding “What I/we really do.” Some do a better job than others of covering the most well-worn stereotypes of the given group, but none, for me, have done anything terribly well.
I don’t want to fault anyone for getting their yuks where they can find them: laughter is a healthy and indispensable part of a balanced life, and anyone who knows me knows I crack up at (almost literally) the drop of a hat. But, boy, I just find the thing anything but funny. I can tell it is supposed to be funny; the intent at humor is unmistakable. But in version after version that pops up in my news feed I cannot see past the thrown together nature of these paste-ups, the evident haste with which the captions were composed, and the leaden plonk of the punch line, if it can even be called that. And the over-the-moon enthusiasm that people seem to respond to these with only adds a further layer of bafflement and irascibility to my own reaction.
Ultimately, I suspect, the ire that this meme’s explosion has aroused in me is projection on my part: I’m making this cycle of triteness the whipping boy for a very real rage that has almost nothing to do with it. What am I really angry about? My failure to make things. So while yes, I sincerely think most of these things are crap, and unfunny, uncreative crap at that, I am painfully aware of how I am spending my own precious time — looking at these things and getting pissy about them. And deep down in my murky depths I am already seething because day after day, month after month, nearing year after year, I am not making anything of my own, crappy or otherwise. I have become sunk deep in a rut of consuming for far too long, and my diet (to belabor the metaphor) has been far from healthy to boot. I have been unable to push myself to find the motivation to climb off my backside and get scribbling. I guess there is only one way to fix that:
I need to climb off my backside and get scribbling.
Yes! Yes! Yes! I had the consumption without creation problem for a long time and couldn’t get past it until very recently.… (but I know you write for school and also must engage in some sort of discourse so it may not all be as bad as you think it is)… all in good time.