Adam-Troy Castro

Writer of Science Fiction, Fantasy, Horror, and Stories About Yams.

 

On The Thirty Seconds You Just Spent Being An Asshole

Posted on May 30th, 2017 by Adam-Troy Castro

You’re an asshole.

Oh, yes, I know that you object to that label. But I have talked about this before, always beside the observation that we are all Venn Diagrams: that, however commendable you may be 95% of the time, you do have periods of thirty seconds or five minutes or two hours or even entire weeks at a time when whatever element of your personality most merits that label has pushed aside all other ameliorating forces and entered full ascendance.

There have been times when it was perfectly reasonable for anybody in range of your behavior to look at you and explode, “Jesus, what an asshole!”

Maybe even now, as you read this. (Depends what you write in the comments.)

The percentage of time you spend being an asshole is the true test of character. Maybe you’re only an asshole 1% of the time, in which case, honestly, you’re closer to being a saint. Maybe you’re an asshole 90% of the time, in which case Jesus, you’re an asshole. Or maybe it’s closer to 99% of the time, in which case, Jesus, you’re a fucking asshole.

Almost nobody achieves 0%, which is why you can’t get through a biography of Gandhi without wincing at least part of the time. Also, almost nobody achieves 100%, not even Hitler, who was nice to his secretary. I can happily name one thing done by that fervent asshole, movie actor Rob Schneider, that I considered an act of true class.

The key is that every taste you have of an unknown human being’s behavior might be representative and it might be unrepresentative, and so that first glimpse you get of him, for instance, screaming at the diner waitress might or might not be the best measuring stick of character; sure, that particular thing might be an asshole thing to do, but maybe some other asshole just did something assholish to him, and as we all know, among human beings, the urge to act like an asshole gets passed on down the line.

I’m an asshole. You’re an asshole. That guy over there is an asshole. These are all givens. Live with it.

Except note one thing.

These days, when you do act like an asshole….

…the followers of Donald Trump really should accuse you of cultural appropriation.

Tags: | Category Humor, Life Wisdom, Sneaky Metaphors

I Am Placed In the Position of Defending Donald Trump

Posted on May 22nd, 2017 by Adam-Troy Castro

(Sigh) I hate being obliged to defend Donald Trump, which is why it irritates me that the more enthusiastic anti-Trumpers among you sometimes put me in that position.

To wit: even though we are predisposed to think of the man as terrible in every way, because in many ways he is, and even though this narrative is rewarded by any evidence including much I believe that Melania is miserable in their marriage, it is goddamned silly to crow over footage from their Mideast trip that appears to show her slapping his hand away when he went to hold hers.

I have seen these few random seconds and their significance is nil. In the first place, she didn’t slap his hand away, she just brushed his hand away. In the second, and I cannot put this clearly enough, this is the kind of thing that happens in even the happiest of marriages, even when there is no current reason for anger. It is possible to be walking along with someone who loves you dearly, go for her hand, and have her hand evade yours, the message being no worse than a neutral, “No, I don’t feel like doing that right now.” Honestly. You will see that among the most nauseating, sweetsie-poo honeymooners, and it doesn’t mean anything, beyond what I summarize it as, “No, I don’t feel like doing that right now.”

A paranoid husband will wonder, “What did she mean by that?” A good husband will say, “Well, in the absence of further evidence she’s upset, I will assume that she doesn’t want to endure my sweaty palms right now.”

I understand that the preferred narrative is a tempting one, but the moment, just the moment, does not support it. It will not support the headlines even if it generates a number of clicks that head for seven digits.

This is nonsense on the level of the turds the right-wingers used to drop on the Obamas every day. Look! She’s giving him a sideways look! What’s going on in their marriage? My God! She must secretly hate him! I bet you he’s secretly gay and it’s a sham marriage! The kids were trafficked in from Kenya!

Melania brushed his hand away! SHE HATES HIM!

Same thing. No, don’t argue. It’s the same goddamned thing.

People will respond to this post by bringing up additional evidence that the Trump marriage is an unhappy one. I’m sure you have it. I happen to believe it, myself. Nothing we know about the man suggests that he’s a day in the park. But all that is irrelevant to the significance of this one captured moment. This one captured moment is total bullshit, and it is a distraction, and it is unworthy of us.

 

Tags: , , , | Category Life Wisdom, Politics, Uncategorized

Another Great Plot Outline I Will Never Ever Use

Posted on May 18th, 2017 by Adam-Troy Castro

Decades after their music defined a generation, the two surviving members of a legendary sixties quartet are contacted by a residents of a magical land that, once upon a time, they visited and rescued from evil with the joyous power of their music.

They have no memory of this, and really, neither one of them really stands for what they once stood for, in any event. One is a fully corporate rock star in his seventies, the other is an oldies performer. The two others are dead, one from illness, one from assassination. And the band had fallen apart in an orgy of recriminations, anyway.

But the monsters come after them anyway, and they find themselves in a strange vessel, traveling through increasingly surreal dimensions that echo the pivotal moments of their careers, until the two old men arrive in the magical kingdom they once saved — which they are stunned to realize DOES look familiar, after all, even if it is at threat from a grander invasion than the one they thwarted before.

And they are being asked to perform the same miracle as before, but have no clue where to begin…until a familiar man fifty years younger than themselves walks up and tells them it’s aboot bluidy time they got here. It’s the one who was assassinated…who since then has been living his afterlife in this place, making music and standing watch for the day the evil would return. (The one who died of illness is still lost, looking for his way back here…but will arrive, Han-Solo style, at a key moment.)

In the battle that follows, they not only resolve the conflicts that drove them apart…they not only make heroes of themselves again…but they refind their voices. And the biggest emotional moment of the story is when the analogues of Paul and Ringo must board the Yellow Submarine for the journey back to the real world, leaving their revived and rejuvenated friends behind. John’s last words to Paul as the submarine door closes will be, “Trust me, mate. I’ll keep the stage warm for you.”

Folks, I came up with this vague plot outline when George Harrison was still alive, and have had to revise it to reflect his death…and I have got to tell you, merely telling it to you makes me weep. I adore this story more than I can tell you. But it needs to be written by someone other than me — somebody who can write about making music with far more authority than this musically-deprived man can. I don’t want to write it. I just want to read it.

Tags: , | Category Fantasy, Writing

 
 
 

Copyright © 2011 Adam-Troy Castro Designed by Brandy Hauman