Tag Archives: Commentary

If I Were a Werewolf…


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My face, mid-transformation! Okay, you caught me…this is just an excuse to show off the beard…

If I woke up to discover I were a Teen Wolf werewolf, what would I do?  It’s easy to invade the hypothetical with ridiculous ideas, because, of course, the idea of being a werewolf is, itself, ridiculous.  I am wont to say I would transform and haunt the hillside; that I would use my wolfish form to terrorize my nemeses (that’s right, I gots more than one); that I would surprise my friends with my anamorphic secret; and that, generally, I would indulge in the hunt & the howl.  But, really, how would the world encounter a real werewolf?  The old trope of a government lab?  Public fear?  A witch-hunt on werewolves?  In the real world, how would you react to a man who turned into a wolf?  You can’t really say, right?  It’s like if a nefarious individual stepped at you in a dark alley.  Are you going to pop that fool with a right hook, or are you going to fetal-position the nearest corner or crevice?  You don’t know until it happens.  So, if some dude sprouts tufts of fur, *howl are you going to react?  You can’t be sure until it happens…

Taking that into consideration, my hypothetically being a werewolf takes on a new meaning.  See, I’m the type of person who, when littering, puts the to-be-littered item down on the ground, pretending I will pick it back up while pantomiming what I think it looks like to intend to pick it back up, all in service of the off-chance that someone is watching and actually gives a shit that I’m leaving my straw-sleeve on the pavement.  And, at the end of the day, I don’t even litter in the first place.  **Because I’m too scared.  Now apply that mindset to lycanthropy–hells-no am I haunting the hillside!  You never know, the hills might have eyes (#horrormovieallusion), and I might get caught, and people own guns (#thankyousecondamendment).  I’m not trying to die here, you know?  And with that preamble out of the way, welcome to my maybe recurring segment of If I were a Werewolf: How my Day would be Different if I were a Wolf-man

Dear Diary,

Today I almost felt insecure at Starbucks as patrons effortlessly remembered which sizes corresponded to small, medium, and large.  I don’t frequent this place.  I know enough to know that saying small, medium, or large in here is a faux pas (or faux paw, as my wolfy condition may warrant).  Which is to say, I know enough to be self-conscious about not knowing the names of things.  Damn you, Starbucks!  And so, almost feeling stupid, I ordered a Grande Vanilla Blonde Roast because I like vanilla, knew enough to know that Tall was the smallest (#thereisnologicinthisplace), and knew enough to know that  I didn’t want the smallest (#Iamnotachild).  I still don’t know what the other option is.  Did I get the largest?  Grande seems like it should be the largest.  But, then again, so does Tall.  Who knows?  Probably all of you.  You are all reading this, wanting to insult my ignorance.  And yet, I am a werewolf, lest you forget.  I could devour you.  So watch the judgment, fella.  Back to the story.  That smarmy cashier could sense my trepidation–my wolfish senses could sense him sensing it.  And I would have felt small…grrr…Tall, but I didn’t because I was a werewolf and a werewolf feels tall, not Tall.  That’s right, Starbucks, I re-appropriate your nomenclature to make jokes at your expense!  Anyway, so the cashier has no idea that I could have transformed and mauled him for taking the time to ask my name, yet not taking the time to consider that “Rice” is never someone’s name!  Who names their child Rice?  C’mon now.  My name is Reese.  Reese!  Like the candy.  Not Rice.  Like the Asian dish.  Just take the time to re-ask my name, because it is clearly not Rice…  But, because I was a werewolf, I forgave him.  He’ll never know I was a werewolf, or that I had brief plans to hound him like the sometimes-hound I am.  But I know that I am a werewolf.  And that gives me confidence.  And that’s enough.  It’s a good thing I am a werewolf, even if the world will never know.

Bestest,

Not Aware Wolf

*Not a typo.  I’m just being stupidly clever.

**And because I’m a good person.  Shit, I’ll citizen’s-arrest your ass if I see you littering.  This has been a public service announcement in the guise of a blog entry!

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Pop-Culture Hunger Games: Part IV


Note: If you missed Part I, Part II, or Part III click on the links!

The Contestants cont.

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Rank: 7

Draco Malfoy, Harry Potter:  Draco, the platinum-locked douchebag from Hogwarts, joins the game as another tribute-everyone-wants-to-see-die, though, unlike the clear frontrunner in that department–Joffrey Baratheon–Draco might actually stick around for a while.  See, Draco and Joffrey share some similarities, including, but not limited to:  affluence; awesome uncles in Sirius (yes, he was Draco’s distant uncle) and Jaime (yes, he is also Joffrey’s father); more than a suggestion of incest in both their family trees (per Draco’s pure-bloodedness and Joffrey’s, well, clearly incestuous family); a penchant for getting punched and, generally, beat the shit out of by females (Arya and Hermione come to mind); an affinity for being flanked by flunkies (Crabbe & Goyle and the Hound/King’s Guard); and, of course, (spoiler alert) the blood of fan-favorites Dumbledore and Eddard Stark on their hands.  However, in spite of all his similarities to Joffrey, Draco has one thing Joffrey does not: real power in the form of magic.  Sure, he may be a lackluster wizard by Hermione Granger standards, but, as long as he can pronounce Avada Kedavra, he should do okay in these games.

X-factor:  While Draco does have some witchery on his side, he also has an unfortunate resemblance to Buffy the Vampire Slayer’s Spike.  There are two possible outcomes of his doppelgänger status, and each one of them is unsavory.  First, if we snatched the season 1-4 variety of Buffy for these games, then the slayer will stake our snakey “Spike.”  Probably with his own wand, no less.  And she will do it without giving it a thought until, of course, he doesn’t poof into ash.  However, if we recruited a later-season, seasoned Buffy, then she will likely jump his bones.  This may seem like a happy accident at first, but as soon as Draco, in the throes of foreplay, whispers something stupid like, “you must speak parseltongue, because you’re talking to my snake,” gesturing, of course, to his wee sorcerer and its stones, Buffy will smite him immediately.  Really, it’s the only fitting ending to someone who names their yet-to-be-born son Scorpius…

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Rank: 9

Luna Lovegood, Harry Potter:  The games toyed with the idea of wresting the aforementioned Hermione Granger from the arms of Ron “Foolish-Faced” Weasley, but decided against it because, let’s be honest, she would run shit like Willow circa Season 6 of Buffy the Vampire Slayer.  Lo, we aspire to parity here at these games.  Luna Lovegood, whose last name pays homage to the broken English of foreigners attempting to say “has sex very well,” is another high-level threat in these games.  While she is quirky to the point of Zooey Deschanel, don’t let her eccentricities distract you from her power.  She is a bona fide witch.  Sure she’s weird and her dad is something of a traitor, but she outclasses Draco in nearly every category, making her, at least to date, the most accomplished magic-wielder in the games.  That’s nothing to scoff at.

X-factor:  Beyond her spells, Luna has the good fortune of being one of those characters you just don’t kill.  I mean, she is too spacey and unthreatening to die so brutally in gladiatorial combat.  It would take a special kind of monster to slay someone like Luna.  Felling her is like felling a unicorn–only assholes do it.  There are, however, a few assholes in these games (see: above), so nothing except one who looks directly at the basilisk is set in *stone.

Check back for Part V and more of the contenders…

*Okay, so they are technically petrified.  But the joke almost worked swimmingly!

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What if Michael Vick’s Dogs were Cats Instead?


If you haven’t read the ESPN article “What if Michael Vick were white?” you probably should, if only for the hilariously Photoshopped picture of white Vick.  It’s not just what if Michael Vick were white?, rather what if Michael Vick were albino-caliber white?  Also, why is his head so big?  Is this NFL Blitz big-head and bigot mode?  Anyway, if you read the article you will find some cutting-edge social commentary on whether or not the stigma surrounding Michael Vick is exacerbated by the color of his skin.  Okay, that is some divisive and difficult stuff to take in, but I’m not going to stick my nose in that business because it reeks of controversy my fledgling blog can’t handle.  Instead, fancy me this:  What if Michael Vick’s Dogs were Cats?

How would you feel if Michael Vick had financed a cat-fighting ring instead of a dog-fighting one.  I’ll hazard a guess:  Not as strongly.  In the same way that Michael Vick, after doing his time, is still fairly/unfairly (I’ll let your race decide the preferred adjective) lambasted for his connection to animal cruelty,  I think that the fact that it was cruelty to dogs has fairly/unfairly affected society’s perception of Vick.  I think Vick was doubly screwed not only by the color of his skin but by his animal of choice.  If it were snakes, who would care?  Creepy snake people.  If it were dolphins, would you care?  Hell yes you would.  Peeps love dolphins; dogs of the sea I call ’em.  But crocodiles?  Not so sure (tidbit:  this would be drastically different if the late, great Steve Irwin were still around).

So, people who will not forgive Michael Vick:  Is it because you hate that he tortured animals or because you hate that he tortured dogs?  Or is it because you hate black people? Both?  Thought so.

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