20-Something Profile: Michael

My very own 20-Something Profile! Check it out!

My Plight With Demons (And Not the Metaphorical Ones)

That time of year is coming again, so bring on the creepiness! First topic: Demonic Possession.

Whoa there, this is not going to be a Satanic post. I’m not going to talk about sacrificing goats or promising your first-born child or selling your soul for whichever power would make your life easier. What I will talk about though is how they scare the crap out of me.

Trust me, they're not always this cute.

Trust me, they’re not always this cute.

So here we go. Gahh, even writing this post gives me the creeps. First of all, I love horror movies. Honestly, I would much rather watch a good horror flick than anything else, and the longer the impact, the better. But demon movies? I’ll watch simply because I can’t resist, but they occupy a special category in my psyche called things-that-make-me-shit-my-pants.

And the ironic part? I’m an atheist, so the fact that they scare me so much seems ridiculous, right? But for me, that just puts the paranormal in a peculiar place in my life. I may not have a religion, but that doesn’t have any baring on ghosts and boogeymen and *gasp* demons.

So after years of being scared of these movies, I wanted to find out why these things scare me so much. Aside from the obvious visual effects, why is it that a demon movie keeps me awake at night? What is it about them that has me terrified to fetch soup from my cold cellar and to sleep in my house alone?

Control. I think it’s all about control.

Let me explain:

For your basic ghost story, the solutions seem simple enough. If I found my house haunted by a vengeful spirit who was treated terribly in life, I would move. If I stumbled upon a cursed doll or video tape or mirror, I would be giving that thing away (for Christmas, if necessary. No take-back-sies). But if I found my body occupied by some supernatural being that caused me to speak in tongues, levitate, and thrash around? Well, I don’t know what I’d do.

But that got me thinking. In the modern day, a person is in a constant struggle to maintain control their life. We find ourselves losing control of what we buy and how we buy it. We find ourselves losing control of what our governments say and do. We find ourselves losing control of our own livelihoods and career aspirations, especially in an economy as rough as this one. In fact, there are times when I’ve found myself feeling like I have little control over my day-to-day life.

And this relates to demonic possession? Well, assuming it could happen (and I don’t really think it could, but let’s pretend), I would have no control of my words, my actions or even my thoughts. I would quite literally be out of control. No one could stop me, except potentially a priest, and even then, I’ve watched enough movies to know that doesn’t always work.

I think demons scare me so much because they would strip away my self-determination — they would take over my body and do what they want with it. And I think this resonates through historic depictions too. In ancient times, demons would possess people and make them do terrible things, or so accounts say.

To me, demons symbolize the ultimate loss of control and that’s terrifying.

14 Millennial Struggles That Would End If I Was Harry Potter

NOTE: This doesn’t have to be limited to being Harry Potter. It could be any character from JK Rowling’s series. Besides, Harry got a little whiny around the fifth book anyway.

1. PROBLEM: Where’s my wine?

SOLUTION: Accio, wine!

2. PROBLEM: My email is down and I have important business to attend to.

SOLUTION: Hedwig, let them know I’m down for drinks tonight!

3. PROBLEM: My Facebook wall is flooded with marriages and babies and passive-aggressive statuses.

SOLUTION: Maybe I’ll send an anonymous Howler or two.

4. PROBLEM: This person is annoying.

SOLUTION: “Hey, would you fancy a stroll in the Forbidden Forest?”

5. PROBLEM: College debt.

SOLUTION: I don’t remember any Hogwarts student paying for tuition. Ever.

6. PROBLEM: My job is boring.

SOLUTION: Maybe I’ll make a career change to an Auror or a Dragon Trainer or something.

7. PROBLEM: I’m too lazy busy to exercise.

SOLUTION: I could make time for some Quidditch.

I'll even take the toilet route if it means I don't have to sit in this...

I’ll even take the toilet route if it means I don’t have to sit in this…

8. PROBLEM: I’ve been stuck in traffic for an hour.

SOLUTION: Numbis 2000! Apparition! Oh, the possibilities!

9. PROBLEM: I’ve misplaced my keys. Again.

SOLUTION: Who needs keys when you got Alohomora! Now to find that wand…

10. PROBLEM: I’d like to avoid Timmie Talks-Too-Much and Suzie Sassy-Pants.

SOLUTION: I shall evade them all with my Marauder’s Map.

11. PROBLEM: I have three days’ worth of work and only 6 hours to do it.

SOLUTION: Hermione, bring me the Time-Turner!

12. PROBLEM: I don’t want to be at work today.

SOLUTION: Basilisk snake, anyone?

13. PROBLEM: It’s dangerous to walk around my neighborhood at night.

SOLUTION: Not when I got a dragon!

14. PROBLEM: I just wanna be a crazy awesome wizard.

SOLUTION: Become a wizard.

…So, where’s my Hogwarts letter?

Gun Range Defends A 9-Year Old Who Shot Instructor to Death: I Don’t Understand.

We’ve all heard the news and it almost seems pointless to recap, but here’s the run down:

In Las Vegas, a 9-year-old girl (unidentified) was attending something along the lines of gun lessons. While being instructed on how to use a Uzi (which I had to Google an image of in order to understand… #Canadianproblems), the gun got out of control in the recoil and she accidently shot the instructor in the head. The full story with video can be read here. I recommend not watching the video…

Tragic, right? Freak accident, right? I feel bad for the instructor. I feel bad for the instructor’s family. I even feel bad for that little girl. Can you imagine what that must feel like knowing you’ve shot and killed someone in a freak accident? She’ll have to live with that for the rest of her life.

But I must admit, my sentiments echo those of most critics:

WHAT THE HELL WAS A NINE YEAR OLD DOING AT GUN LESSONS?

Screw ballet or swimming lessons, let's teach our daughter how to use an Uzi!

Screw ballet or swimming lessons, let’s teach our daughter how to use an Uzi!

Now, I wasn’t going to write about this. The whole gun vs. no gun thing is an interesting topic, but definitely not something I comment on outside of discussions with friends. And hell, I live in Canada. We’re relatively gun-free in terms of legality, and I like it that way.

But then I read another article. This one includes comments from Bullets and Burgers, the establishment where the incident happened. Surprise, surprise: they evaded responsibility and pulled the “sorry, not sorry” card. How sensitive.

My issue isn’t with the fact that it’s a shooting range and they won’t take liability and yadda yadda yadda. My issue is with the comments they made about the young people (aka CHILDREN) who handle the guns. Here’s an excerpt from the article from the CBC:

“Sam Scarmardo, who operates the Bullets and Burgers shooting range, where the incident happened, defends the practice of allowing children to fire machine guns on his range.

“There’s people younger than 9-year-olds handling AK-47s in the Middle East right now,” he tells As it Happens guest host Peter Armstrong.”

Let’s take a moment and think about this logically. 9 year olds using AK-47s in the Middle East face *perhaps* a different living situation than 9 year olds in Las Vegas. I don’t think it’s unfair for me to say that. 9 year olds with AK-47s in the Middle East probably have other things they’d like to be doing. 9 year olds in the Middle East probably don’t want to be fighting wars where they have to use weapons and they are probably compelled to use them for a variety of reasons which may include, but are not limited to: coercion, a need to protect themselves and others, forced enlistment into a terrorist cell.

I bet a 9 year old from the Middle East would admire a nice, relatively stress-free day enjoying warm weather at Bullets and Burgers. 9 year olds from the Middle East are not afforded the luxury of shooting ranges. THEY LIVE IN A SHOOTING RANGE! And then to defend shooting ranges using 9-year-old CHILD SOLDIERS in the Middle East as a crutch? Disgusting.

A 9 year old should not have a gun. A 9 year old should not be allowed to use a gun in a shooting range, and if we’re going to let her, maybe we should consider letting her drive and gamble and buy alcohol too. Also, I find it ironic that a 9 year old in the US can practice her Uzi shooting skills, yet God forbid she want to enjoy the milk chocolate-y goodness of a Kinder Surprise. Cuz, you know, THAT’S dangerous.

Watch out for the toy in the kinder surprise... It's more dangerous than a gun, you know?

Since when did yummy become illegal..?

I can’t even.

/end rant.

Shaman: Too Long, Didn’t Read

Kill it! Kill it with fire!

Kill it! Kill it with fire!

I always finish a book. Always. I’m the kind of person who can’t just leave one on my bookshelf without having read it — all of it. I do it because I’m a believer in books. Besides, what if the best part is at the end? What if something awesome is just around the corner.

But I failed. I couldn’t do it. Shaman by Kim Stanley Robinson is my kryptonite.

You can check out my full review here, but in a nutshell, I just couldn’t bring myself to finish the book. This is my first read from this author and I had high hopes. I’d heard about other books he’d written and I was really excited. His Mars Trilogy has been met with acclaim and I’d been eyeing 2312 for a while. When I saw Shaman, I thought I’d give it a try.

I should have known when I couldn’t find a plot description on the cover and when I found even less of one on the internet. THE INTERNET! The all-knowing, all-consuming, information hub of the world had nothing to say about this book besides everyone claiming it was the best (Marina Abramovic, you tricked me!) And you know why I couldn’t find a plot description?

Because there was no plot. Spoiler alert.

Okay, maybe there was. In the book’s defense, I only made it to page 250. But in MY defense, I made it to page 250! I was so bored I thought I should swallow it for some entertainment. The characters were boring and the prose was dry and the concept had promise but it ultimately felt like a BBC documentary about the Ice Age… And I like BBC documentaries.

Maybe I just don’t get it. I have read books with little to no plot before, and I can honestly say I don’t mind them. Heck, a few of the best written books out there are nearly plotless. But at least those books had other elements that made them worthwhile: exhilarating prose, great characters, interesting ideas.

This just wasn’t one of them. In the words of my mother, life is too short to read a book you don’t like. If I died tomorrow, I don’t want my last literary memories to be of me struggling to pay attention, all while contemplating throwing the book out of my window on the highway so I wouldn’t feel guilty about keeping a book half-read on my bookshelf.

Maybe next time, Kim Stanley Robinson.

What makes you stop reading a book?

Confessions of a 20-Something Millennial

Real talks, everyone. For real.

1. Sometimes, I’ll go for a walk just so I can stop crop-dusting the same unlucky people.

Onto new victims.

On to new victims.

2. “I’ll see what I can do” is my way of saying I don’t want to do what you want me to do.

3. I haven’t bought new razorblades for quite some time. It’s not cuz I’m poor. I’m just lazy.

4. I don’t care if I’m too old for Disney Channel. I just wanna watch That’s So Raven.

5. Sometimes, I just don’t feel like working out. For 8 months at a time.

6. I’ve never seen Pulp Fiction. Or Fight Club. And I’m not sure I want to.

7. Your baby photos on Facebook? A few are nice. Even twenty is fine. A photo every damn day? I get it.

So, maybe your baby is cute and I mean, it did come from your body and all. But seriously, stop.

So, maybe your baby is cute and I mean, it did come from your body and all. But seriously, stop.

8. I don’t want to work a 9-to-5 my whole life. Some call this entitlement. I call it just knowing what I want.

9. My ten minute bathroom break? Yeah, I was playing Candy Crush in the stall.

10. If it weren’t for my Facebook News Feed, I would not be half as caught up on current happenings as I am.

11. I watched Games of Thrones and didn’t like it. The books are better.

12. Money isn’t everything. Seriously, I’ll be happy with just enough to get by. But the lottery? Yeah, okay. I’ll play.

13. Sometimes, I eat fast food more than once a day. And I don’t even feel bad about it.

14. I’ll buy two bottles of wine if they’re on sale. It’s a recession.

15. Sometimes, I pretend to be busy when in reality, I just want to go to bed at 10 o’clock.

Bedtime at 9:30? Count me in!

Bedtime at 9:30? Count me in!

My Biggest Issues with Mainstream Fiction

For me, there are two types of books. I will admit, I enjoy the first the most: a good plot, well-thought out characters, interesting themes, and ultimately, a book with something to say. This is the haute couture of books, the Ferraris, if you will. And then there’s the other stuff. Maybe I’m just getting older. Maybe I’m just getting more and more acquainted with what’s good and what’s not so good. Either way, I find myself reading something, and I can’t help but wonder: “how did this get published?”

Well, I believe I’ve found out, and to be truthful, the answers are part of the problem.

Vampires and Zombies and Dystopias, Oh My!

Trends. Trends will be the death of the publishing industry (or the saving grace, depending on how you look at it). Do you know how many times I’ve read or *thought about* reading a book, only to discover it’s following the current fad? It makes me sad. I understand how the world works. I understand that books, like any other industry, go through certain successes, and then tries to get the most out of said success by replicating it again and again and again.

But seriously. How many books were turned down by big publishing houses because the current trend was focused on some frivolous fad like uni-cycling unicorns? Worse: how many badly written books were published anyway just because uni-cycling unicorns became the thing to do?

I vant to suck all the originality out of the books you read.

I vant to suck all the originality out of the books you read.

Emphasis on the XXX

Sex sells. We all know it. Tackled the right way, it can be effective — poetic even. But a book that devotes itself entirely to it without any mind to develop characters or have a good plot or follow some basic guidelines for good storytelling? Again, sadness ensues. What happened to sex being something that enhanced a story, not its reason for existence?

How about Fifty Shades of My Fist?

How about Fifty Shades of My Fist?

Pop Fiction

Over the years, I’ve discovered something that has become more and more apparent in the publishing industry. I call it Pop Fiction. Think pop music but without the excessive music videos and lip syncing. But then again, this is much the same. It’s like an author writes an okay book, gets the backing of a big publishing house, and BANG! bestseller. And fine, maybe some of these books aren’t so bad, but the quality has tanked. String together a few sentences, throw some sex in there, get some pre-teens on your side, and call it a day.

It’s like no one even tries any more. Can you imagine what people will think 100 years from now when the books released today are considered classics?

I shudder.

How I Stopped Caring and I’m Better Off

So, here’s the deal. I graduated university in April. I left on a plane ten days after my last exam and travelled to South Africa and Europe for forty days. While I was abroad, I managed to secure a publishing contract after YEARS (legit, like 7 years) and then get a contract for a day job to carry me until I can *hopefully* be able to make my writing my work.

My secret? I stopped caring.

Old Life Philosophy: Micro-manage the crap out of everything and then beat yourself up when things don't go EXACTLY as planned.

Old Life Philosophy: Micro-manage the crap out of everything and then beat yourself up when things don’t go EXACTLY as planned.

Okay, backtrack. I don’t want anyone to get the wrong idea. I do care. I cared very much about getting my post-secondary degree. I cared very much about being able to uproot my life for a while and live out of a backpack. I cared and continue to care very much about my writing because ultimately, writing is my art and my child and without it, I’d be completely lost.

What I stopped caring about was all the pressure that I was putting on myself.

Before I completed my university degree, I was in a different place. I had three manuscripts that seemingly no one gave a rat’s ass about. I had the daunting task of trying to find a job in this rough and often hopeless-seeming economy. Worst of all, I had this fear welled so deep inside me that I would never get to live my dream of being a writer. I worried that I would lay on my deathbed decades from now and realize that not only had I not achieved my dream, but I had wasted my whole life with nothing to show for it. I felt hopeless.

And then I boarded a plane and everything changed, almost as soon as I landed in Paris from my first overnight flight. It wasn’t that nothing really mattered anymore because a lot of things did, it was just that I seemed to have developed a distance from everything in my life. Sure, the physical distance was there, but there was also a mental one — an emotional one.

I learned to live in the now. I stopped worrying so much about what I was going to do once I graduated, what would happen when I returned home, and how I would feel if I failed the one thing I so desperately wanted to do. I also realized the immense pressure I had been putting on myself. It was the pressure to succeed for myself and a fear that I would fail and have to live the life that society envisioned for me. I became okay with not having a clear-cut direction for a little while and best of all, I stopped caring.

Drinking in Durban in the daytime? I just don't care!

Drinking in Durban in the daytime? I just don’t care!

I didn’t care that I had no job. I didn’t care that society was trying to convince me that my dream was unable to be achieved. I didn’t care that I had very little money and that I would return home to face an abyss with little more than a grand to my name. I just knew that I loved something so much that I trusted I would find a way to make it work.

And the moment I stopped caring and stressing, things fell into place. I was twenty-five days into my backpacking trip, checking into a hostel in Heidelberg, Germany when I got the email I would be a published author.

So, stop caring.

6 Stages of the 20-Something Job Search

If you’re like me, you’re facing unemployment. You’ve just finished high school or your fancy-dancy, hideously expensive post-secondary education, and you’re ready to face the real world. Or you’re one of the lucky ones who snagged a summer internship or contract position and your end date is looming. But it won’t be so bad, right? The real world isn’t that scary. I mean, everyone around you is doing it and they’re fine.

I’m terrified.

Stage One: The Pre-Search Feel-Goodies

Your resume is sparkling and you’ve honed your cover letter writing skills. You attended a few workshops and you can wow any employer with your apt responses and buzzwords. Your mom has looked over your application material and she said that she would hire you.

You feel good. Enjoy it. I wish I could tell you this would last longer.

Stage Two: The Application Process Jitters

You’ve started your search. You’re picking and choosing a select few jobs here and there that interest you and that are relevant to your experience and your goals.

Wow! Look at how many there are in this list. Recession? You don’t even remember what that means. You’ll apply to this one and that one and look, there’s another over here. Oh, wait. That one wants 5 years experience. And this one? Who the heck has training in bathing chimps?

Maybe you should take a bit more time perfecting that cover letter for the one job you actually qualify for. It may just be your lifeline.

I guess that doesn't look too hard.

I guess that doesn’t look too hard.

Stage Three: Taking Over the World

It’s been about two weeks. No one has contacted you for a job or an interview or even to tell you that your application was garbage. Out of the 10 jobs you *thought* would be awesome for you, you’ve managed to get none of them.

Time to expand the job search. Weird hours? Okay, fine. Dog walker? At least you don’t need experience. 10-day contract with the option to extend? Well, okay.

Just apply to everything under the sun. When all these people see your fantastic resume, you’ll be prying them off of you with shovels. Then you can pick and choose. Good plan.

Stage Four: The Low

It’s been almost two months since your job search began. You’ve applied to every job that you’ve found, tried that whole networking thing that everyone seems to rave about, but still you’ve yet to secure a job. You may have had a few interviews, but they went terribly and you’re convinced the hiring manager got you confused with someone else (wait, experience bathing chimps? I don’t remember putting that in my resume…)

Ultimately, you’re still unemployed. You’re broke. You’re depressed. Your dad is offering to get you in somewhere because he knows a guy who knows a guy. If you live on your own, this is normally where you move back in with your parents. But free meals, right?

Don’t cry.

tumblr_inline_mkipwqW63L1qz4rgp-1

Stage Five: The Perfect Job

By now, you’ve settled into a cycle: wake up, browse for jobs, eat lunch, browse for jobs, have dinner, wallow in self-pity or invite others to join in on your misery train. In fact, you’ve become so good at this, it ought to be a full-time job.

But then there it is. You’ve just made your morning coffee and a new job has been posted. It’s the most perfect thing since all of life began. It’s interesting, there’s good hours, it’s close to home. Best of all, you qualify!

You start hyperventilating. You’ve been waiting for this moment, but what if you’re not ready? What if your resume really is terrible? You call Mom for support. “Just do it,” she says. “The only sure way to fail is to not try… and you’ve been pretty much failing already.”

One final read-through of the application. Click submit.

Stage Six: The Moment of Clarity

On an unassuming Tuesday afternoon, you’ve almost completely forgotten about that perfect job you applied for last week. In fact, it’s pretty much been absorbed by the other positions you applied for, since technically you’re still applying to anything that has the word “job” in the description. But then the phone rings. It snaps you out of your mindless twitter feed scrolling. An unknown number? Who could it be? It better not be a telemarketer. You already told them you don’t need the ducts cleaned.

But it’s them. You’ve gotten an interview. Two days later, you go to it, so nervous and excited that you’re terrified you might pee yourself if they speak to you. By the following week, you get another call. Same number.

Welcome, job. We’ve been expecting you.

sabrina-salem-cat-chair-turn-1

That’s the ideal, right? I’m just not quite there yet :p

I Once Thought I was Pregnant

Most children are gullible. I, on the other hand, was a completely different breed of gullible. I would do anything if you could convince me it was the right thing to do. And trust me, that was not hard. I once ate tin foil because my cousin convinced me that my parents weren’t going to feed me anymore. But that was a meek experience in comparison to some of the other things I believed, so I’ve decided to list a few of them. Embarassing? Yes. Hilarious? Most definitely yes.

Enjoy at my expense.

Pull My Finger

So my father did this thing, as I’m sure most dads do, where he would say “pull my finger”. I would pull, he would fart, we would laugh, bonding moment ensues. But it didn’t just stop there. For the first 6 or 7 years of my existence, I honestly believed that my dad couldn’t pass wind unless I or someone else pulled his finger. Poor guy.

And believe you me, when I found out I could fart without someone pulling my finger, I thought I was the raddest kid around.

I can fart all on my own. Get at me.

I can fart all on my own. Get at me.

You Live Here?

Move aside teachers, I know you don’t live at school. I had a teacher who lived on my street and my mom was best friends with another, so I learned pretty quickly that they didn’t sleep on the desks of our classroom.

But my swimming instructor? He definitely lived in the recreation center. It all started when I asked my level 3 instructor where he lived, and he looked at me right in the eyes and pointed to the supply closet. And as a 5 year old, I believed him. Boy was I surprised when I went to work at that same recreation center ten years later.

Santa Doesn’t Exist… And Neither do Reindeer.

I believed in Santa Claus. I’m not ashamed to admit that. So did you, don’t lie. It was a thing. All the cool kids were doing it. It was the most magical experience of my life.

And then around the double-digits, my parents decided to stop tricking me and helped me avoid the social suicide of being an 11 year old who still believed and militantly fought the opposition (you’re referring to me? No, I didn’t do that).

In any case, such a stunt confused me. Once I sorted out that Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny and the Tooth Fairy didn’t exist, I accidentally grouped another childhood fairy tale creature into that pile.

Reindeer. I believed reindeer didn’t exist. I’ll never forget the day someone mentioned them and I turned around like the smarty-pants I was and exclaimed “Reindeer? Are you stupid? Reindeer don’t exist!”

But they do. For the record, they really do.

I was almost seventeen years old.

You don't exist. Sorry, bro.

You don’t exist. Sorry, bro.

The Birds and the Bees

This is perhaps the most embarrassing. I know the reindeer one is ridiculous, but this tops that.

As children, we’re keen to wonder. What is that over there? How does that work? How are babies born? Well, that last one I figured out all on my own. Mom and Dad got into a room, got naked, and just looked at each other. Perhaps they sat in chairs and just stared, I don’t know. Either way, BANG! children. Simple as that.

And then one day, I saw a gentleman naked in a change room at the pool where I took lessons. Let me tell you, it was the most traumatic experience of my young life. Not only had I seen perhaps the most scarring image a 7 year old could see, but now I was pregnant!

What was my mom going to think?

giphy

Luckily I never told anyone about this last one, but I guess I’m telling all you now.

Got any ridiculous things you once believed?