They got little hands
Little eyes
They walk around
Tellin’ great big lies
They got little noses
And tiny little teeth
They wear platform shoes
On their nasty little feet
Short People got no reason
Short People got no reason
Short People got no reason
To live
–from Randy Newman’s “Short People”

If you’ve spent any time at all reading Ocular Fusion, you’re no doubt aware of my enduring love for basketball. If you were to go further and scan the pages of my elementary school scrapbook, you would find that I listed basketball as my “favorite activity” from second grade through seventh (there was that little “tag” business in first grade, but that hardly counts). I lived for ACC basketball and the Boston Celtics, and whenever I played in a schoolyard pickup game, I took on the persona, if not the skill, of my favorite player, John “Hondo” Havlicek.

However, there was one problem. I was short. In today’s politically correct climate, I would be more thoughtfully and humanely labeled “vertically challenged.” Even though I found myself on the losing end of a game of genetic roulette, I compensated to a large degree by developing a reliable outside jump shot. Still, I knew that Laurie Partridge was probably never going to give me the time of day and that I would rarely have the opportunity to venture into the paint where the big boys, who could pack one of my layups as easily as they could pick their own teeth, loomed like vultures scanning the menu for the roadkill du jour.

By September 1974, I had heard just about every “shorty” joke in the book and was well-versed in how to run the typical elementary school insult gauntlet—cover your head and run as fast as your stubby legs will carry you. However, as is evident in the following passage from my long-lost but recently rediscovered 7th grade journal, I appear to have had some “unresolved issues:” [...]

If my last post wasn’t fully convincing, let me offer up another good reason why publishing the Great American Novel might not be all it’s cracked up to be.

Kaavya Viswanathan.

Kaavya is a 19-year-old sophomore at Harvard and author of the latest entry into the skyrocketing literary genre know as “chic-lit.” Her book, entitled “How Opal Mehta Got Kissed, Got Wild and Got a Life,” focuses on a high school senior named Opal Mehta and her frantic attempts to get accepted into the school of her dreams and destiny–Harvard, naturally. It was properly feted in the New York Times when it debuted earlier this month, and all seemed well for the Harvard coed who was celebrating a six figure, two book deal and a DreamWorks movie contract. [...]

Continuing my theme of the potential pitfalls of blogging, I wanted to point out this interesting article by Sarah Hepola which recently appeared in Slate. Like many, she envisioned blogging as a means of ramping up to “The Great American Novel,” an avenue down which she could stroll as book and movie agents stopped and turned their heads, marveling at the passing of her literary glory. In her reverie, she would soon be besieged with admirers, most of them toting contracts for six figure, two book deals, and of course, the inevitable DreamWorks movie.

To hear Ms. Hepola tell it (in fact, you can hear her here. Notice the alluring alliteration, all you lurking literary lions?), blogging actually got in the way of her novelistic aspirations. Yeah, I’ll admit the thought has crossed my mind too. Sometimes the “which is better one or two” line and all the blepharitis gets old and I catch myself dreaming of book deals, signing parties at Barnes and Noble, movie premieres and a house in the Bahamas. But in all likelihood, I’ll simply continue to churn out (ahem) my mundane musings to the delight, horror and apathy of those who stroll the blogosphere and trip over Ocular Fusion on their way to more worthwhile information and entertainment.

But that’s cool. The Great American Novel is probably overrated anyway. Give me Mom, baseball, hot dogs, apple pie and my Great American Blog and I’m a happy man…at least for now.

Before the Matrix, there were the Borg. The Borg were those half-humaniod, half-machine cyborgs on Star Trek: The Next Generation who went marauding around the universe “assimilating” everything and everyone in their path. Dare to buck a Borg, and you would end up “enhanced” with cybernetic implants and connected together with other Borg drones to function as part of a collective mind controlled by the Borg Queen and a central hub, Unimatrix One. But really, it’s ok because it was all in the name of “improving the quality of life for all species.”

Keep this charming little scenario in mind as you watch this (a hat tip to blogger extraordinaire Bill Gnade over at Contratimes for bringing this to light). I agree with Bill’s suggestion to wear headphones while viewing, and I would add that you might want to turn down the room lights as well for the full effect. Bottom line, this short film suggests that with each blog entry we write and every Google search that we perform, we come one step closer to full “assimilation.”

Overwrought Orwellian fear mongering or a much-needed warning shot across our bow? Whatever you decide, it should at least give you pause and food for thought as you prepare to regale the blogosphere with your next political rant, religious epiphany or much-too-descriptive account of that nagging case of gout in your big toe.

I don’t know, maybe we’ve already reached the point where “resistance is futile.” If so, I hope I get a headset that’s at least half as cool as the one old Locutus is wearing.

Let it fly in the breeze
And get caught in the trees
Give a home to the fleas in my hair
A home for fleas
A hive for bees
A nest for birds
There ain’t no words
For the beauty,the splendor, the wonder of my…
Hair, HAIR, hair, HAIR, hair, HAIR, hair
Flow it, show it
Long as God can grow it
My hair.
–from the song “Hair”

Category:Blogging, Humor, Nostalgia, The Wonder Years | Comments (14) | Autor: Mike the Eyeguy