#wfm

One last Merry Christmas to all, especially to all of the white folks debating the legitimacy of the black lives matter movement on Facebook and believing in every completely made up story about little kids trying to fly home to their families or someone trying to get home to see their dying relative.

You need the most love of all.

Maybe in 2016 “those” people will finally just be grateful we allow them to be here at all, amiright?
I mean, blocking the freeway so we can’t get to the jobs we constantly complain about? Disrupting the airport so we’re delayed a few hours in getting home to our families that we can’t wait to get away from again? And for what? Because A COUPLE of people got abused or murdered by people that are supposed to be the good guys? Uh, yeah, and? If you’re going to make a “freedom” omelette, you’re gonna hafta break a few “nobody’s really free” eggs. It’s called life, idiots. 

So go easy, white people. If we try
really hard-if we scratch and claw- if we give our blood, sweat, and tears then maybe, just MAYBE we’ll be able to break through that glass ceiling and finally get some power in this world. I know it sounds crazy to think of now, but someday we may even have a WHITE president.

I don’t know

I’m a dreamer

#whiteflightsmatter

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November 11, 2014

IMG_0649.PNG Because every occasion has a ‘slutty’ costume

People probably think I’m too sour to care about Veteran’s Day, but I’m actually a huge supporter of all of our white troops.

Okay, I have absolutely no plan for what this post is gonna turn into, if anything. I’m doing this solely so that I could make that joke, which I basically stole because I know I’ve heard it before. David Cross, I think. It’s one of those things that’s funny to me because, well, because it’s a joke. Cross wasn’t being racist when he said it and neither am I. It’s a joke about racism. Because anything can, and usually should be joked about. Which brings me to my point that I just decided is:

Nothing is sacred.

There are, of course, plenty of people who disagree. These people are what we call “assholes”. I had a personal experience with one of those people just a week ago today. Would you like to hear about it?

No? Really? ‘Cause I was doing this whole thing where I was gonna…

Okay. Okay. I respect your wishes.

Well that’s kinda all I have so…thanks anyway…I guess?
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This has been Novem–okay I’m sorry but I just have to say you were kind of a prick about this whole thing. I mean if you aren’t interested in the story that’s fine, I get it. You probably could’ve just humored me. Let me tell the story and just not read it. Whatever. Who cares? We’re all gonna die anyway.
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This has been November 11, 2014.
This concludes our broadcast day. *click*

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September 15, 2014

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To those of you justifying Adrian Peterson’s treatment of his 4-year-old son with the now-familiar “That’s not abuse, that’s how we do it where I come from,” I just want to say I’m sorry.

I’m sorry you were abused when you were too little to help yourself. I’m sorry there was no one able to or willing to help you get out of that. In a world where we’re all a little fucked because of whatever has happened to us, I’m very grateful that I never had to overcome what you have to overcome. It’s the definition of unfair.

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But it’s not your fault. At all. Not even a chance. There’s nothing you could’ve done to warrant being taken advantage of like that. I know you’re conditioned to think it’s always you’re fault and my ignorant ass telling you it’s not won’t hit home but it still has to be said. It has to be tried. It’s not your fault. You didn’t deserve that. Nobody deserves that.

You can change things, though. It’s your responsibility to change things. That responsibility was forced onto you-again, unfair-but it’s your responsibility just the same. You have to break the cycle. Not because it’s the right thing to do or even because what happened to you was so wrong, but simply because you can. You can raise a child to be a decent person without beating the shit out of them. It’s happening every second all over the world right now.

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Your friends, your cousins, the kids in your neighborhood: right now they’re existing in a world where adults that they’re supposed to be able to trust are not beating the shit out of them. It’s a proven fact that a perfectly fine human being can come from a non-violent environment. There are hundreds of thousands of examples.

I’m asking you to set your own standard. Please, don’t even have kids. If we’re gonna break it down, let’s break it down. You’re the product of abuse and continuing that cycle may just be hardwired into you. So please, we don’t need more people. Don’t have kids.

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But I know you’re gonna have kids because everybody has to have 17 kids and god forbid we figure out who we’re supposed to be and what we’re doing here before we squeeze more people onto this planet. So go ahead and have kids. And try not beating the shit out of them. Just because it’s a thing that’s possible. If things aren’t working out and your kids are out of control without the threat of having the shit beat out of them, it seems possible that you’re not much of a parent.

But I understand. It’s okay. Your parents weren’t either. That’s the cycle. Someday your children will be spewing rhetoric about “that’s how I was raised” in the face of defenseless children being abused, as opposed to standing up for them.

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In spite of my mourning the person you could’ve been had you not been abused, though, there’s something that confuses me and I wonder if you could shed some light on it for me. Whenever someone cries abuse your response always seems to be, “Hey, that’s how I was raised and look at the man I’ve become.” What I don’t understand is that regardless of your job or whether or not you’re famous or rich or what kind if house you live in, the kind of man you’ve become is the kind that beats up little kids. That’s the man you’ve become.

What gets lost in the constant chaos of online discussion of these topics is personal beliefs and personal choice. Everybody’s so busy screaming at everybody else about what they “know”. About what’s “right”, whatever the fuck that means. Opinions are like brains: everybody has one but generally has no idea how to use it.

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Here’s what I think, backed by the total understanding that nobody gives a shit: I don’t care if Adrian Peterson suffers legal penalty for whipping his 4-year-old son upwards of 40 times, because he won’t. Nothing significant, anyway.

I don’t care about morals or whether he should be allowed to play or not because that’s all just talk and there is no answer so it means nothing.

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All I know is that when Sunday rolls around, I can’t see myself watching and rooting for a guy who, legality and morality aside, whipped the shit out of his 4-year-old son and acted stunned when it was called into question. Although my belief is that the shit storm surrounding this will only intensify and the league will acquiesce and suspend him. Again, I don’t care if they do or not. Rich and famous privilege is a massive cog in society’s machine. I just know I won’t be watching. Not to prove a point but because I’m just grossed out by the entire thing now and the one power I have is to not participate. It won’t affect the popularity of the game at all. In fact, it won’t change anything of importance but it’ll make me feel better.

Think about being in that room. Whether it was 10-15 times, as Peterson claims, or more, can you imagine witnessing that? 10 times minimum? A 4-year-old? Enough to produce those cuts and sores. Wow. I’m sorry, Adrian and the rest of you who were “just raised that way”. You were mistreated and misused. You were failed. I hope your children can be the ones to break the cycle.

You gotta break the cycle.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~This has been September 15, 2014.
This concludes our broadcast day. *click*
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September 10, 2014

IMG_0396.PNGCredit to my gal thejoj’s Instagram for this pic

If you live in Minnesota, do you feel it? Winter’s in the air tonight. Soon it’ll be Christmas time and I can’t fa-reaking wait! Now I have a machine gun. Ho-Ho-Ho.

IMG_0398.JPGHans Gruber

So it’s been a cruel, cruel summer and before I got caught up in all my own bullshit I received a message that I’d like to share with you in a segment that, if you can fucking believe it, I still like to call…

💻 Let’s Get Interactive💻
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From the dusty old Backtothegarden00 mailbag, which incidentally is giving off an oderiferous emanation that I can’t place, Captain Window Lick writes:

A few topics I would like to see you delve into include:

tattoos (do you have any? would you ever get tattooed? how disgusted are you by them? please please hate them), online dating (women who date online piss me off to no end and I have renounced the internet because of them ((except for backtothegarden00’s blog and brazzer’s)), a target customer whom you enjoyed interacting with, your eventual plans for Moss’s means of funeration (I’m sorry if this one hurts, but like you said, cat’s don’t live forever and we need to accept and prepare for the inevitable), elevators vs. stairs, shoes (preferred style((s))?), sex in the butt, butt in the sex, sensory deprivation tanks, babies, asians,

thanks,
cwl

Wow! A real mixed bag here, Captain. We’ve got a lot to cover so let’s dive right in.

-Tattoos-
I do not have any nor do I have a ton of interest in ever getting one. Not because I’m “disgusted” by them, exactly, but because…well…I’m disgusted by me. I’m violently pasty-white with freckles. Not exactly the ideal canvas.

Honestly, I could see immortalizing an especially favorite movie (probably The Last House on the Left or The Devil’s Rejects) or TV show (maybe Trailer Park Boys or Beverly Hills 90210) by having ink driven into my skin, but I just don’t have the complexion for it. So maybe, but the older I get, probably not.

I wouldn’t say I hate them. My girlfriend actually has several (no offense taken) and in the interest of fairness it all kind of got away from her. Meaning over the years she’s gotten several that she basically wants to get rid of because she wasn’t super particular about the talent of the artist and some of them just aren’t that great. But within the last 5(ish) years she got a beautiful chest piece that I genuinely love because it’s beautiful. So here that is.

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I can tell you that I do find it comical to see all the moms these days with their ONE tattoo of the clichéd dolphin or flower or, god forbid, some lame-ass words in Japanese script. It’s just SO “I’m in college and finding myself and beautiful and blooming just like a flower!” I get it, we were all incredibly into ourselves and our “journey” when we were coming of age. I, for one, just never saw the need to turn that into a picture on my body for the rest of my life.

-Online Dating-
Well unbeknownst to you you’re hitting really close to home on these topics so far.

Now, I assume you’re talking specifically about online dating sights, which I’ve never done. I don’t think. I’ve done a lot of stuff. But for all intents and purposes I’ve only had relationships that began online.

I’ve never been much of a lady’s man and being a big, fat, bespectacled (before it was “hip” to wear glasses) ginger all my life certainly hadn’t helped in that capacity. So when a friend introduced me to the wonderful world of chat rooms during my first year of college (1997) it almost immediately became an outlet for my female frustrations.

That started a string of many “relationships” with girls from all over the country, none of which I ever met in person. There was one very attractive one that wanted to bring a friend with to come and visit me one weekend but I put the kibosh on it before it happened because I had no idea what I was doing and I didn’t know how to explain it to my friends, from whom I’d been hiding my little online life. It was really sort of a double life I was leading. Anyway, 16 years later I still keep in occasional touch with that one and she has since informed me that her AND HER FRIEND intended to aggressively strip me of my virginity had I let them visit. So…fuck.

And in case anyone got hung up on that detail, yeah I was still a virgin in college. Like, completely. Like, I hadn’t even come close! I believe I covered the “big fat ginger with glasses” situation earlier. It was rough.

ANYWAY a couple years and several more online relationships (chat rooms and emails and sometimes phone calls) later, I moved to Texas to be with one of them. That was a tumbling tumbling failure and when I moved back to Minnesota, undeterred by a string of failures (see: desperately lonely and willing to keep trying anything), I met my current girlfriend of 9 years via one of those phone dating lines. You know, the FREAK with the tattoos!!!

I kid. I love that tattoos and online dating were your first 2 topics. Seriously, what’re the odds of that?

I appreciate the “Target customer I’ve had a positive experience with” question because in spite of my numerous hate-filled diatribes, there has definitely been some good.

The first example that comes to mind is the woman who, on multiple occasions, has gone through the checkout lane and paid for a pastry from Target’s bakery without actually buying one and then telling my supervisor that it’s for me to go get on my next break. This wasn’t a person I remembered even having a conversation with before she did that. She just…did that. Crazy.

There are a number of other examples I could come up with. I find people to be so clueless and unaware of their surroundings that when somebody’s just blatantly in my way but they suddenly realize it and apologize, that makes me happy and even if I was getting frustrated with them (I was) I always let it go as soon as they acknowledge it. I appreciate that. I’ve also had people just randomly thank me for doing the job I do, often on a boiling summer afternoon or a blistering winter morning. Just completely unsolicited. That makes my day. Well, it makes my next 10 seconds until some asshole does one of a countless number of asshole things. I mean, I’m still me.

What will happen to the feline shell that holds Moss’s beautiful beautiful soul after he leaves me? I don’t believe that’s been discussed. Technically he’s my gal’s cat but he and I have had this “thing” for so long now that I’ll probably have some say in this.

I’m confident I can’t do the stuffed thing. Having his body on the mantle just doesn’t feel like what I want. No offense to anybody who’s done it but that shit seems hella creepy and I DO NOT use the word “hella” so you can see how creepy that is to me.

I think my vote would be for cremation. I’d be happy to keep his remains around as a reminder of our love, preferably in the most modestly priced receptacle available. Just because I’ll be bereaved doesn’t make me a SAP!!!

Okay rapid fire ’cause it’s late and I gotta wrap this shit up:

I do enjoy a good elevator but I’m certainly not afraid of stairs.

I don’t dig sandals but I like a good comfy slip-on. Nobody needs to see toes constantly. I like a good sturdy work boot for winter and one cannot underestimate the importance of a quality, comfortable running shoe. I enjoy dress shoes like I enjoy dressing up: a lot but only for a few hours. My favorite all time shoe is the 1993 Air Jordan Strap-In black. I JUST saw them in this picture for the first time since I had them when I was 14. They got soaked with dirty water at the Brooten, MN golf course and my mom made me throw them out because they stink-stank-stunk. Honest-to-god my pulse sped up when I saw this. I gotta find a pair ASAP. Loved those shoes, and I don’t “love” shoes.

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Sex in the butt? Of course! Can’t get pregnant in the butt. I have yet to take it that way, however.

Butt in the sex? Hey, I thought we were trying to have a mature discussion here…

But yes.

Butt yes?

Sensory deprivation tanks? For torture or relaxation? Doesn’t matter. YES!

Babies? Um, none for me, dear. But other peoples’ are awesome for a few minutes at a time.

Asians? I’m on board. 2 of my friends married Asian-American women and a third is in a long-term with one and I’ve found them all to be fantastic representatives of their people. I don’t specifically have a “thing” for Asian broads like some do, but I’m pro Asian.

WHEW! Okay! I hope your satisfied with all my answers, Captain. Again, fun questions and thanks for writing. Your complimentary Backtothegarden00™-brand kitty urn should be finding it’s way to you right…about…NOW!

Final note: it’s 1:15 a.m. as I finish this so I’ll be forgoing any in-depth editing before posting this. Sorry if there’s stupid mistakes or typos but really, fuck off if it’s such a big deal.
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This has been September 10, 2014.
This concludes our broadcast day. *click*

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September 9, 2014

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FUN WITH CROSSWORDS

3 entries. 2 belong to my mouth-breather coworkers, 1 is embarrassingly mine because I’m willing to throw myself under the bus for YOUR entertainment! You vicious beasts.

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8 Down: Fettuccine or ziti, e.g.
Well, doesn’t get much easier than that in the crossword pantheon.

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Bingo! Pas…wait. Salad? Okay, I checked and technically there are such things as fettuccine and ziti salads but that’s not saying much. I could take a dump in a box and mark it Shit Salad, I’ve got spare time. But how do you think salad before pasta here? Okay, the clue is Lord of the Flies and To Kill a Mockingbird, e.g. 5 letters…WORDS! Those are all words!!! Shit, crosswords are so easy!

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4 Down: Protection
Okay, that could be a lot of things. Sometimes crosswords are kinda vague and you gotta solve other words to fill in some of the WAIT! GOT IT!

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I don’t, um….
There’s not even any….
Do you mean, like, my….
Or am I supposed to smoke….

Protection

Crack

D’ok

Well, I saved my own stupidity for last because I know how badly you want to take me down a peg. Everyone’s gumming for you when you’re on top.

*Side Note*
I inadvertently typed gumming there and was halfway through fixing it when I decided I’d rather be gummed than gunned for so…

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38 Down: George Clooney movie
Oof! That dude’s made a pantload of movies. Can we narrow it down a little?

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You know, sometimes when your working on a crossword puzzle you just don’t look at it like it’s meant to be seen. Now, if you looked at that and tried to solve it before reading ahead, maybe you were able to figure out that it’s The Perfect Storm.

Okay, now let me show you an excerpt from the post I wrote just last night:

But there was a perfect storm of events that converged to ensure that I would revisit my hard drinking and smoking days of yesteryear. Again, literally last year I did this all the time.

Okay, so I happened to have just used the phrase. So what? That doesn’t mean I’m necessarily going to connect the dots and know that’s the answer. Except for the fact that when I wrote that I tried desperately to figure out how to work a The Perfect Storm reference in there to the point where I looked up the film on IMDb in search of a way to work it in. If I didn’t know that Clooney was in it before I certainly did less than 12 hours before seeing this crossword clue.

The cherry on top is that I got so frustrated that I couldn’t place the title that I got on my phone and scrolled through Clooney’s credits ON IMDb!!! I contemplated suicide when I realized my gaffe. For better or worse I was too much of a coward to do it.
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This has been September 9, 2014.
This concludes our broadcast day. *click*

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September 8, 2014

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I woke up this fine Monday morning feeling…off. My head was cloudy. I wasn’t exactly chomping at the bit to roll out of bed to start my day, which is odd for me because I’m usually chomping at the bit. I’m a bit chomper.

I attributed my non-chomping-at-the-bititude to too much drinkin’ and druggin’ over the weekend. I make it no secret that I enjoy a belt and a puff as I celebrate my 3-day-weekends but I’ve managed to significantly scale back on my intake from my younger years. Like, last year.

But there was a perfect storm of events that converged to ensure that I would revisit my hard drinking and smoking days of yesteryear. Again, literally last year I did this all the time.

1. Thursday occurred. Just so there’s no confusion, that’s one of the events that drove me to intoxication.

You: “But Ganyo, Thursdays occur…almost every week.”

Ya damn right they do. And every time they do it marks the end of my 4 day work week and the onset of my 3 day weekend. 51 weeks out of the year I celebrate that event with a drink or 6 (I know that’s lame but it’s the best description) and some sweet sweet marihuana, which I normally spell with the soft ‘j’ but autocorrect wanted the h and I propose nothing in the sight of autocorrect.

The one week of the year this ritual of mine doesn’t take place is, of course, when there’s a leap weak and, thus, no Thursday. But I’m not telling you anything you don’t already know.

2. The new season of Trailer Park Boys plopped onto Netflix on Friday. Which meant it would be available at 12:01 a.m. Friday morning. My usual Thursday night activities were a natural build up to this event as almost every character in the show is drunk, on drugs, or both.

Unfortunately the new season didn’t show up at 12:01 a.m.

Nor at 1 a.m.

2? Nope, not 2 either.

Why this is I remain uninformed but after throwing in my vodka-soaked towel at 2 a.m. I saw people on-line the next day saying it didn’t appear until 3:01 a.m. I’m not ashamed to admit that I apparently do not understand time zones. But no worries…I sensed worry on your end…there was still the entire rest if the weekend to watch the shit out if it.

3. My lovely common-law wife (I think, by this point) made the decision that was years in the making to go against the cliché and literally quit her day job and fully pursue her writing career. She’d been working in the in-home care business (office jobs-not in the field) for around 10 years and hated hated hated about every aspect of it for 9 years and 11 months or so. Obviously, ending that unhealthy pattern was cause for celebration, and celebrate we did.

All of these things coming together led me to this hazy, unhappy Monday morning. It’s not that I’m completely unwilling to just give in and call in sick to my stupid little job-I’ve done it before. But this wasn’t super severe. I just couldn’t get my head together. So I got up, shit-showered-shaved, the whole shot, and got my ass to work.

I was sleepwalking through my morning when I ran into one of the few coworkers I actually enjoy talking to. Maybe the only one I’m comfortable being remotely myself with, and for good reason. We share a certain sense of humor. This is a person who, while watching the Newtown, CT children’s choir perform at the Super Bowl after that tragic school shooting, said, “Didn’t there used to be more of them?”

I know, it’s terrible and in bad taste and blah blah blah. It was a joke. Nobody thinks shooting kids is funny…
There actually is probably some people that think shooting kids is funny but I don’t. I just appreciate comedic timing and sharp wit.

As I approached him in my disinterested-in-everything fog I heard him say something. “What’s that,” I responded having not understood.
“Oh, just hey, how’s it going,” he repeated himself, likely regretting saying anything at all. I mumbled some sort of response, barely paying attention.

Then he said, “Hey, have you heard that joke that you’re not supposed to tell retards?” It was like a lighthouse beam cutting through the fog. It instantly woke me up and made me feel a little better.

I just realized that that’s the end of my story, and a more anticlimactic finish there maybe has never been. That was a long way to go just for that joke, as they say. But I realized 2 things as I was getting there that hadn’t occurred to me before:

First, I’m Facebook friends with that guy. I post the link to this on Facebook. Although I appreciate our commonalities and brief, idiotic conversations we’ve had, I don’t know him super well. We’ve never hung out. I did loan him a DVD once, I guess that takes our relationship up a notch. But I suddenly become very self-conscious at the idea of him deciding to click the link to this and find a long, probably boring story that revolves around him. So I just wanna say, in the event that’s happened, I really just felt like writing something today and that was an entertaining jumping off point. It’s not weird. I just…I think about you sometimes…

And second, I realized that my friends who know me and will read this will know that I’m not a heartless monster who delights in the mass murder of children or ridiculing the handicapped.

There are, however, a handful of strangers who have inexplicably chosen to subscribe to this blog and may read this. To you I’d just like to sincerely say (for real): I don’t enjoy other people’s tragedy, I just disagree with the reactionary, over-the-top kvetching that people engage in every time something negative happens. That’s why I joke. Because of course those things are sad and terrible. Why should that even be part of the conversation? We’ve somehow managed to evolve to conscious thinking. Let’s not waste it on “Ohmygosh that’s so sad!!!” We can do better.

And if that major rationalization on my part doesn’t convince you that I’m not a weasely little prick I recommend you take a look at the world around you and shut the fuck up.

Goodnight, then.
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This has been September 8, 2014.
This concludes our broadcast day. *click*

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July 6, 2014

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So I was listening to a podcast, as I often do, when I heard something that piqued my interest. Someone was talking about a segment on a recent episode of This American Life (a radio show/podcast that I once half-ass gave a try and was slightly bored by) in which Molly Ringwald watched The Breakfast Club with her 10-year-old daughter and then recorded the conversation they had afterward about what the girl thought of the movie.

As someone who grew up watching the edited-for-TV version of the film that was on WGN seemingly every Saturday afternoon, I found that fascinating and immediately found the episode and listened to it. I was not disappointed.
You can check it out here. Scroll to the bottom to hear just the Ringwald segment. There’s a brief, unrelated anecdote at the beginning but it’s only like 2 minutes long.

For me, there’s nothing more interesting than human behavior and interaction. There are so many variables that affect what you’re trying to communicate to someone and the way that person takes in what you’re saying. Your tone, your history with them, gestures and facial expressions, the issue your discussing itself. It’s such a crap shoot that I’m kind of amazed we’re able to continue as a society, though some would say we’re not doing so hot at that.

I would. I’d say that. I’m saying that. We’re not doing so hot at this whole society thing. But I digest…

So if you’re too busy with your own meaningless comings and goings to listen to 20 minutes of fascinating audio, I’ll step up and tell you about it. ‘Cause I can be your hero baby. I can kiss away the pain.

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The segment consists mainly of an interview with Ringwald discussing the experience she had watching the film with her daughter with a few audio snippets of the conversation they had after.

Most of the obvious aspects of watching a coming-of-age story with your pre-teen daughter are touched on. The fact that the girl, Matilda, wanted to watch it because all her friends had seen it (probably unedited via online streaming as opposed to my experience). How Ringwald would handle her daughter watching her smoke pot on-screen. Hoping that all of the teen angst toward the character’s parents would make her own child think that her parents aren’t so bad. Diciest of all, what about that “have you or haven’t you/answer the question, Claire” sex talk scene?

Getting to experience something like that as an actor or actress, to share what you did with your children must be amazing. I don’t intend to have children but the idea of having a son and getting to sit him down and watch The Breakfast Club with him for his first time gets me as close as I’m gonna get to wanting to spread my defective seed. I’m rarely, almost never ever ever jealous of my friends who have kids but this idea? I’m a little jealous.

And what a fantastic learning tool for a parent to have! To be able to say, “Here’s a collection of typically insecure kids in this movie. Do you feel like you understand what any of them are going through?” I’m certainly no kid expert but I know that getting one of them to talk openly and honestly about their feelings is nearly impossible, especially if you’re the parent.

What interested me the most, and ultimately led me to wanting to write about this, was the way Molly the mom reacted to Matilda the daughter’s answer, and in turn how Matilda the daughter was affected by Molly the mom’s response.

You can hear the tone in Molly’s voice as soon as Matilda answers, rather tentatively, that she related most to Brian, Anthony Michael Hall’s studious character who was privately crumbling under the academic pressure his parents put on him.

“You kinda feel like Brian,” she asks, her voice raising to a slightly higher register when she says the name.

It’s relatively subtle but I’m kind of obsessed with dissecting how people communicate so I noticed it immediately.

A few weeks ago I was at work and found myself in the unenviable position of having to deal with another human being. Shit luck, that. A female customer, pleasant enough in appearance and demeanor, caught me in the grocery section and asked if I knew where the vinegar would be. As you know I participate in my job as little as possible so I in fact do not know where the vinegar would be.

But as I instinctively reached for my radio to ask this question of my coworkers who would know, I stopped and thought, “You know, we have a ‘baking aisle’ which contains the flour and sugar and things of that nature. Maybe there’s a good chance vinegar would be there.”

As we entered the baking aisle I saw that there were some clear jugs of some sort of liquid about halfway down the aisle and I hope-guessed that “maybe the vinegar is around there?” Keep in mind I didn’t say that and immediately take off as if that was the extent of the service I was going to provide. I continued walking with her toward that area and as we approached those bottles of what turned out to be cooking oil she said, “By the oils?

Her voice went up on oils just like Ringwald’s voice went up on “You kinda feel like…Brian? The thing about kids is that as stupid and awful as they are, they’re super-sensitive to that kind of thing. Especially from adults.

*Side note*
As I was writing this I actually thought, “Should I look up how Matilda is spelled?” I like accuracy and you never know with names, especially with these Hollywood types. I decided the effort wasn’t worth it. I mean, how many different ways are there to spell Matilda? Well I found the transcript of the segment and OF COURSE it’s Mathilda! Gotta have that ‘h’ in there! Gotta be unique. Who knows, maybe it’s a family name.

“It’s a fat girl’s name.”

Nobody asked you, Bender!

So I’m not gonna go back and change all of the Matilda’s to Mathilda’s but I guess I can spell it correctly from here. I guess.

Anyway, so she says “You kinda feel like Brian,” and you can immediately feel the kid start to pull back.

“I do…kind of,” she says, trailing off to the point where I wouldn’t have even known she said “kind of” had I not found the transcript. It doesn’t help that the mom doesn’t even let her finish the sentence before asking a completely inane question.

“He’s really sweet, isn’t he,” she talks over her daughter.

He’s really sweet, isn’t he? To reiterate, I’m not doing this to bash Molly Ringwald. It’s just SUCH a classic parental mindset. You so think/hope that your kid’s life is perfect and happy in every way and when confronted with the idea that inevitably it’s not, you automatically get defensive. You take it personally. And you should take it personally because it’s probably your fault. But that’s the thing: it’s your fault because there’s no such thing as the perfect parent. You’re bound to screw up your kid in some way.

Have you ever met a perfect human being? Of course not. That doesn’t exist because everybody’s got some issues and everybody’s got some issues because everybody that came before them had some issues. There’s never been a perfect parent and yet you’re all still egotistical enough to think maybe you’ll be the first. You idiot. The best you can hope for is to not screw your kid up too much. Again, understand that’s not a slam. It’s just reality.

“He’s really sweet isn’t he?” Yeah, your daughter identifies with Brian because he’s really sweet. She was watching this film and the whole time she was thinking, ” Wow, that guy is really sweet, just like me. I really identify with him because we’re both so sweet!” Very likely.

In response, daughter says, “I know, but you kind of, like, sometimes pressure me in school.”

It’s almost painful how unsure she is but that seems to be how most kids are. At that age you’re probably close to developing some independence but when you’re 10 your parents are still everything right? You’re entire world. How could you ever question them or believe you have a right to your own ideas? Ironically you think they’re perfect just like they convince themselves you are. The difference being you’re 10 and have no way to know better.

You kind of, like, sometimes pressure me in school.

And now we pretty much come off the rails here. Now, the transcript says, “Wait, you think I pressure you,” but the reality is it’s more like, “Wait…you think I…I pressure you?”

Here’s what I hear:
Whoa whoa WHOA!
ME?! I pressure you?!?!?! You think I do that? I do that?! What?!

I know I keep repeating myself but I feel like because I’m usually coming from a place of intense intense white hot hatred for people that you’re going to think I’m saying this person is a terrible mother and I could do such a better job parenting. Not my point at all. She’s not a terrible mom. She’s just a mom and sometimes moms are gonna be terrible. I don’t know that I could do better myself. Patience is not my strong suit. Really, patience isn’t even a suit I have in my closet. One of the reasons I choose to not have kids.

So at this point even a 10-year-old can see that her statement is basically being challenged. We’ve gone from a more subtle change in tone to blatant calling into question. An ideal response in that situation would seem to be a gentle, “Okay, talk about that,” and even then a 10-year-old might put up walls. It’s a crap shoot. That’s why it’s so interesting.

Naturally the kid goes into damage control mode immediately.

“No, but barely. Like–”

And finally, just straight up parental denial sets in.

“Wow! Really?” She actually says, interrupting again. Then she laughed in a way that to me sounded like an adult realizing she’s taking offense at something a child is saying and realizing how silly and childish that is. From here it just turns into a mess so I’ll just spell it all out.

Mathilda
No! Not any more! No! I take that back.

Molly Ringwald
Wait, wait, wait. Wait, no, no, no, no. No, tell me. Tell me. Oh, hey!

Mathilda
[SOBBING].

Yep, mom handled the situation so deftly that she made her daughter cry. Holy cannoli.

Molly Ringwald
Hey! No, it’s OK.

Mathilda
No, it isn’t!

Molly Ringwald
No, no, no. Sweetie– it’s OK!

Mathilda
OK.

Molly Ringwald
It’s OK.

Mathilda
OK.

Molly Ringwald
I’m just– I’m just surprised.

Mathilda
But I told you barely!

Molly Ringwald
Just barely, like a little bit?

Mathilda
Yeah.

Molly Ringwald
OK. Well, you know what? That’s really good for me to know. I had no idea. Like, when did I make you feel like that?

Mathilda
Well, you kept on saying, like, I wish I did better in school.

Molly Ringwald
Oh, because I said that I wish I did better in school?

Mathilda
Yeah, and like you wanted me to do good.

Molly Ringwald
Oh. I’m sorry I made you feel that way.

Mathilda
But you don’t anymore.

And that was the end of the audio. You know, by the time the kid is crying there’s not really anything you can do and all of the “No it’s ok, tell me’s” are just too little too late. “It’s ok, tell me” is where you start.

Back in the interview, Ringwald says she was so surprised and not expecting that response at all. She then proceeds to describe what she calls the “homework battle” that used to go on when she tried to get her kid to do her work and because of that she doesn’t help with homework anymore. So almost in the same breath she says she was so surprised that her daughter felt any academic pressure and then talks about the knockdown drag outs they’ve had over homework. You know the longer this goes on the more I kinda do start blaming her. She really doesn’t come off great here.

She also goes on to tell a story about her own mother which maybe sheds some light on why she handled this situation the way she did, but the part where she made her kid cry is the most compelling to me so if you wanna hear that story just go listen to the fucking thing. God!
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
This has been July 6, 2014.
This concludes our broadcast day. *click*

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