All your heroes are dead

The other night, whilst sitting among friends in a crowded restaurant, I accidentally eavesdropped on my neighbors’ conversation. Ok…it wasn’t accidental. The lull in my friends’ talking gave me an easy window to listen in on the fascinating exchange between a guy and a girl. I couldn’t resist.

It started well enough.

When the pretty girl (30-something, short brown hair) sat down with the guy (early 40’s, funky comb-over,) everything seemed ok. He kissed her, told her how beautiful she was, and ordered her a drink right away. She told him all about her work problems, including how she’d lost a chance at a big promotion. He sympathized with her, reassured her, and seemed genuinely concerned about her travails. But…and there’s always a but…the conversation soon took a turn for the intriguing. After ignoring several rings of her cell phone, the girl starts getting nervous. She admits to the guy that her husband is looking for her, and that hubs suspects her of having an affair, which she clearly is.

Wait. It gets better.

Our cool, comb-over guy seemed unbothered by this news. He says something to the effect of, “It’s ok. I understand. I love you. I’ll wait for you for as long as it takes.” As far as adulterers go, he made a good show of it, appearing genuinely in love with the wandering wife. But…and there’s always a but…after a while of talking, touching, and kissing, the girl gets up and goes outside to text her hubby that she’s, “Still at work.” And that, “…boss has me working OT.” Classic stuff there. I have a feeling she didn’t fool anyone.

 And while the lovely lass is busy lying, Captain Comb-over gets to the good part.

No sooner does the girl go outside than this dude picks up his cell phone and dials. Obviously he was drunk, else it would’ve been pretty obvious that I was listening in. I mean…c’mon. I’ve got good peripherals and all, but I was practically leaning over his bourbon. So our hero dials, and it’s clear another woman picks up on the other end. He starts talking to her, all the while looking over his shoulder and chugging his drink. And then he says, “Don’t worry. She’s outside. She can’t even see me.” The woman on the phone says something I can’t hear, and then…after hitting up the bartender for another drink…our hero says, “She has no idea. I’ll see you tonight. I love you.”

And he’s right. Girl 1 had no idea.

At this point, you’re thinking I’m judging these two. No. I’m really not. Where other people sling their lies and plunge their loins isn’t my concern. But it was while eavesdropping I wandered into a dark place at the back of my mind. I touched upon a belief I’ve always possessed. I remembered that the world has almost no heroes, and that for every good thing we want to believe about someone else, skeletons in the closet remain.

Let’s talk this over. Because I know where you’re gonna hit back. You’re going to point out the good people in your life: the dads, moms, grandmas, soldiers, teachers, BFF’s. And you’re going to assert how these people, with their grace and humility, are the true heroes. The unsung. The real deal. I’m fine with that. I get what you’re saying. Small deeds and simple acts of kindness can be heroic. Everyday people doing everyday good things are awesome.

But remember:

One man’s treasure is another man’s trash.

A hero to one group of people can be a villain to another.

And for every one thing you know about your personal hero, there are ten things you don’t know.

Frodo

To start trimming the list of people we consider heroic, the easiest place to start is with celebrities and political figures. This year alone, the bones tumbled out of the proverbial closet at an astonishing rate. Consider Bill Cosby, among my generation’s most beloved men, now hot on the skillet for his roofie-administering ways. Consider Jared Fogle, long a television mainstay, busted for banging teenagers. Consider the Duggars, the Ashley Madison scandal, and the impossibly long list of NFL ‘badasses’ beating the crap out of their wives and girlfriends. Now I’m not suggesting any of these people should’ve ever been considered heroic, but nevertheless…celebrity-worship is a huge thing, especially in the US. And now we get to watch the previously-beloved fall, and fall, and fall. My guess is that at some point in the past, certain people viewed these famous folks as good, solid, and loveable. So now what? The onion is peeled back. Have they learned their lesson? Or will they simply find another celeb to hold up high?

Now let’s get dark.

Think about these questions:

Is every soldier a hero? Are most of them heroes? If so, are they heroic just because they fight on your side? What do you think the widows of their enemies would say?

Can someone who does great good in the world still be called heroic if, when no one’s looking, they lie, cheat, steal, or abuse?

Is doing hard work to support your family heroic? If so, doesn’t that make almost everyone who lived in pre-modern times a hero? (Back in the day most everyone had to bust their asses just to survive.)

If a firefighter regularly saves whole housefuls of kids and cute puppies, but is a shitty father and a negligent husband, is he a hero?

If a single mother works two jobs to support her kids, but smokes like a fiend (thereby shortening her life…which her kids need) is she heroic?

If someone gives millions to well-meaning charities, but pilfers a little for himself, is he…

…I think you get the point.

Potter

People do heroic things all the time. They save lives, teach wisdom, and sacrifice themselves for the greater good. People can be beacons of light in dark times, pull others together to make huge differences, and enact changes for the betterment of everyone. For brief, shining moments, people can do wonderful things.

But at some point, people go back to being people.

And no matter how high you hold them up, they will tumble. They will do things when they think no one’s looking. They’ll be human.

So be careful whom you look up to. 

And be careful why you look up to them.

* * *

Want more challenging questions about humanity and the crazy shit we do?

Look no further than here.

J Edward Neill

There’s no such thing as ‘indie’

The Accolade by Edmund Blair Leighton
Be like this guy…and afterward stand up and take the damn sword.
 The Accolade –
Neo-Gothic – Edmund Blair Leighton

 

Disclaimer: This article was written with artists, authors, and musicians in mind, but I think it applies to everyone

….

Humility – A modest or low view of one’s importance; diffidence

Confidence – The feeling or belief that one can rely on something; especially one’s self

….

There’s a famous saying. It goes something like: “Confidence without humility is better known as arrogance. Yet humility without confidence will ever be viewed as cowardice.”

Ok. That’s not a real famous saying. I just made it up.

But it feels true.

Anymore, seems there are two sorts of people trolling the earth. On one hand you’ve got your Narcissists. Yeah. You know ’em. I’m convinced these folks don’t even know about their self-centeredness. Maybe when they were three years old, mommy and daddy didn’t teach them how to think; they taught the poor kid what to think. And now they’ve got it all figured out. They talk in absolutes, oblivious to the idea that their point-of-view is but one of billions. Narcissists are everywhere. We’ve seen them, heard them, bumped into them, and probably at one point or several during our lives, we’ve been them. It’s ok. No big deal. Kinda the world we live in now.

On the other hand, you’ve got your Humblists (Yeah, made that up, too.) This is the group we should care about. These are well-meaning people. They don’t assume they know everything. In fact, they’re fine with not knowing everything. Odds are, if you’ve read this far, you’re probably a Humblist. You think stuff. You know stuff. You do stuff. And yet somehow you’re pretty positive the world doesn’t revolve around you.

But perhaps, Lord and Lady Humblist, it should.

…once in a while.

And so…

I give you:

The Little List of Artists’ ‘Humble‘ Habits I Want to Stop Seeing Forever:

All uses of the word aspiring. If you’ve written something, you’re not an aspiring writer; you’re a writer. If you’ve painted something, you’re not an aspiring artist; you’re an artist. To call yourself aspiring implies that even though you’ve started to do something, you’re somehow unworthy. That’s nonsense.

Procrastination due to self-doubt. If you’re going to not do something, find a better reason than self-doubt. It’s miniature suicide. Every time you convince yourself you can’t do something, you kill 367 of your own brain cells…and 30 of everyone else’s, too.

Tweeting or Facebooking motivational memes (aka: cat posters.) Let’s face it; no one who’s really gonna create kickass art, write novels, or make beautiful music needs that kind of motivation. Words compel nothing. Passionate, self-lit fires in people’s souls compel everything.

Undervaluing your artistic work. First, I understand if artists want to pitch a one-time sale or freebie offer. That’s part of the bizniz. And I also understand artists who want to do it all for the love and never make a dime. That’s cool, too. But I’m talking about you, starving artist. Yeah…you. If you’re going to sell your stuff, sell it. Charge more than $0.99 for your f’ing awesome fantasy novel. Earn more than $50 on that amazing painting that took you three weeks to finish. If you’re in it to win it, tell discounting to suck your ____.  Charge what it’s worth, and not a penny less.

Posting crap tons of other authors’ quotes. Make up your own quotes. They’ll mean more to you…I promise.

The phrase self-published. Lose it. If you’re published in any form, you’re legit. Whether you blurted out a tiny lil’ book of poems via Amazon or you’re J.K. Rowling blasting our faces with more Harry Potter-ness, you’re the real deal. The words self-published sag beneath the suggestion that if you did it yourself, you’re somehow not legitimate. BS.

And finally…any reference to the word indie. Indie authors, musicians, painters, f’ing flag-football players. You’re not indie. You’re the real deal. If you’ve done anything in life, anything at all, you didn’t do it indie. You didn’t indie mow your lawn, did you? You didn’t indie cook dinner. Your work is just as valid as those getting paid to do it professionally. It might lack the polish or talent of well-marketed artists, but then again, it might be way fucking better.

I don’t know what else to say. I guess I’m done.

* * *

Like treacherous, not-at-all-for-kids fantasy? Check this.

Like fun, quizzy, party books you can leave on your coffee table forever? Check this.

Love,

J Edward Neill

I know nothing…

The older I get, the more I realize that…much like Jon Snow…I know nothing.

Absolutely nothing.

Age, experience, intuition…all out the window.

Waiting for boom

See that tall building? I’m standing on it. I’m waiting for something useful to pop in my head before the meteor hits me in the face.

If that game from the 90’s, You Don’t Know Jack, applied to real-life, I’d lose. Badly.

Want a few good examples of my know-nothingness?

Glad you asked:

* * *

I don’t understand why anyone gets offended by anything. Ever.

I don’t know a damn thing about women. Or men, for that matter. Hell, I don’t even see eye-to-eye with my cat. Probably because she’s blind. Whatever.

I can’t grasp why pizza, cake, beer, ice cream, and butter-slathered steaks are bad for people. I mean…on a scientific level maybe. But with all this science, I don’t get why we haven’t invented perfectly healthy triple-chocolate ganache cake. What the hell, science?

I don’t understand superhero movies. At all. Especially the dudes (and girls) who wear capes and garish costumes. Wouldn’t a cape just trip you up when the worst shit was about to go down? Wouldn’t a bright red leotard just make you easier to hit? Hell if I know.

Skulhed Face

My superhero mask. Note the easy-to-hit face.

 I can’t wrap my head around procrastination. Isn’t doing something right fucking now a better idea than waiting?

I guess that means I don’t understand waiting.

 I really don’t get the whole introvert vs extrovert discussion. Does it matter? Help me understand please.

I can’t understand dogs. As in how they’ve managed to enslave so many people to their weird walking, pooping, and biting things rituals.

No one understands cats. I think you’re all with me on this one.

I don’t have a clue why some babies cry through the night. Isn’t that counter-intuitive to survival? Did ancient civilizations go all Sparta on the loud babies and hurl them over cliffs just to silence them? I dunno.

I don’t get cell phones. Specifically texting a lot. Nor do I get the iWatch. Or the Fitbit. Or why runners wear heart-monitors/biometric space-time distortion devices around their chests. Jesus dude, just fucking run.

 I definitely don’t get having political allegiances.

Or online dating.

Or dating at all. (Just have sex with your friends.)

I never understood classroom learning. Or professors lecturing. Or 30 kids squirming in their seats listening to teachers talk. Most people learn best by actually doing shit, right? I obviously have no idea what I’m talking about.

I don’t get runway modeling. No one wears that stuff. I mean…ok…the girls are gorgeous. Maybe it’s just about watching hot woman strut around nearly naked. I suppose I understand that. Maybe.

 Never grasped watching a ton of TV. It’s 97% commercials, isn’t it? But even commercial-free, that shit zombifies people.

Speaking of zombies, I don’t get the zombie craze. It looks cool, but I still don’t get it.

Someone explain cosplaying to me. Is it just the hoping-to-see-a-hot-girl thing again? No idea.

I don’t get bae.

Or selfie sticks.

Or duck face.

I definitely don’t know a damn thing about Bieber, Miley, Selena, Beyoncé, or Lil Wayne. In fact, I don’t get modern music at all. I’m not even really that old. Why is this stuff still popular? No clue.

I can’t understand how sex and nudity are both glorified and taboo.

I don’t comprehend super sensitive people. Or social anxiety. I kinda wish I did, but I don’t.

I fail to see why anyone who’s not becoming a doctor, lawyer, or scientist would want to go to college (in the US.) Soaking up tons of debt to begin your life doesn’t feel right. But what do I know? Nothing, obviously.

 I’ve never understood church.

Or the IRS.

Or lacrosse.

I don’t get speed traps.

Or racism.

Or child-abuse.

Narcissism has always eluded me. Along with Desperate Housewives, Antiques Roadshow, and the Miss America/World/Universe pageants.

Or any pageant for that matter.

I don’t understand why everyone who says they hate drama actually swims in it.

Or potential dates who scream about ‘hating games’ being the biggest game-players of all.

I don’t see why I can’t have a margarita at work.

I’ll never grasp why some people are humble and others arrogant. But then the next day it’s vice versa.

And I’m utterly clueless why some workers don’t take all their vacation. Screw that.

But most of all, more than any of this stuff, I really have no idea why I’m here.

Or maybe I do.

Maybe I actually understand most of this stuff.

Maybe I just don’t want to.

* * *

Want more existential, slap-you-in-the-faceness?

 Check this out.

J Edward Neill

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