Professional Critics. You can be judged too.

For some reason, there are people who have been able to make a living by telling us what they think of stage shows, movies, and music. Professional critics don't do anything themselves, but are able to see talented people and shows for free and judge them on what they do.
"Welcome! Tickets are forty five dollars."
"Oh, actually, I don't pay. I will write about your show. Good or bad. Good chance of bad, better chance of a 'meh'."
"... Oh. 'Meh' is alright. Have a good night!"
These people spend their entire careers not creating anything, but writing about things that others have created.

Critics also have no discernible talents. None! They give nothing to the world but their opinions on what other people give to the world. In sports, there are old players and coaches who commentate or give their opinions on games. That makes sense. You know, people who have actually participated in the event having an opinion on the sport they are discussing? Why is that not the same for movies, music, and stage shows? The only people who should be able to talk about these things are the people who have done them. If Steven Spielberg starts writing articles about movies, those opinions would carry weight.

"This movie is AWFUL. It's shot terribly and the writing is bad. Do these actors even want to be here?! What credits do I have? Maybe you remember a little franchise entitled Back to the Future, Jurassic Park or Indiana Jones? If you don't, you should see this movie. You have never seen anything good, so you will love it."

You know why that doesn't happen? It's because that people who create are busy actually CREATING things for the world to see! They are creating! They don't have the time to give their opinions on other movies.

"Hey, Denzel, what do you think about Sean Penn's performance in his latest movie?"

"What?...How the hell did you get on the set?! You just ruined this scene! Are you insane?! Fuck Sean Penn. I'm working!"

How can being a professional critic be a job? With social media the way that it is, how can you get paid for your opinion when you don't do anything? I could see the usefulness of this job if critics were the only ones who had the power of opinion. You know, if opinions were something only certain people were born with and not something that EVERYONE has?

"Hey, man. What did you think of that?"

"Ah, I can't put it into words. I wasn't born with the natural ability to have thoughts about things."

"Oh, I was. I thought it was mediocre."

"Whoa! How did you do that?! It would have taken me WEEKS to do that. I'd have to ask others, take polls, read up on it. But you? Wow. So quick. You should do this for a living."

I don't care what anyone says – these people, when bashing movies, music, actors or any people who actually do things that take talent, are professional bullies. They are making money by bashing others. Then, funnily enough, they have the audacity to come out and speak out against a bullying case that makes the news.

"We have to stop bullying. This is just ridiculous. Also, you should read my article about why everyone on the X Factor deserves to be broke and dead. Stop bullying, guys. It's just disgusting."

It's hard to tell kids to stop bullying when you can get paid for it.

"Kids. Don't bully people."

"But you bully people all the time. You say they're trash, what they are doing with their lives is terrible, and that they don't deserve any recognition at all. AND you get paid to do it! Why shouldn't I call Sarah a piece of garbage?"

"Well, because Sarah didn't make an album that was a cancer on this world, did she? No. If she does, though, THEN it's okay to say she is awful. Do you understand? People who are just living are not allowed to be made fun of. But if they try to do what they want to do with their lives, then you can say whatever you want about them and it's fine!"

"Oh, I get it! Well, Sarah sang the school's anthem at a basketball game the other day and I didn't think it was as good as Jessica. Can I make fun of her now?"

"Make fun of her? You're allowed to write things that will make her cry. Go ahead, kid. And if it's REALLY hilarious, I'll give you a hundred dollars."

This is why some critics become so vicious. The only professional critics who become well known are the ones who completely destroy the things that they critique.

"This is the worst thing I have ever seen! Everyone involved with this project should be boiled in acid, then thrown onto the L.A. freeway during rush hour."

My favorite thing about when that happens is that this person, who does nothing but critique things, walks into the spotlight as if they have done something! They'll hang out with the people who they destroyed in their articles.

"Hey, Madonna! Remember when I said you were an old whore? Well, that got me invited to stand beside you on a carpet! Just want to let you know, I'm a huge fan."

Professional critics are supposed to be taken seriously because what they have to say has been printed. Usually, though, they have cartoonish-ly ridiculous rating systems. Rarely is it simply, "This is good" or "Hey, I thought it wasn't put together well!" Most times it has to be some over-the-top chart, measuring stick, or a scale with one to ten of something that doesn't make any sense.

"I give this three CDs out of a possible box set."

"No way. It wasn't THAT good. I give it twenty-three fries out of a full bag."

"Only twenty-three fries out of a full bag? You're kidding me, right? Did you even watch it?"

"Did you? No way it's higher than fifty six yards out of a possible foot ball field."

"What? Are you crazy?! It's at least three salt shaker shakes out of a out of a possible 'guy-with-a-sodium-problem'."

"You've got to be kidding me! I'd give this movie two Beatle's legs out of a full insect."

"...Hmmm. Are we talking beetle?"

"Of course."

"Now THAT I can agree with."

These opinions are supposed to have any weight? We are supposed to take these seriously? No one else could do this.

"Hello. I'd like to take out a loan."

"Hmm, I'm sorry, sir. Your financial situation is three mozza sticks and a jalapeno popper out of a platter."

"...What does that mean?"

"It means on a scale of toast and butter to Denny's Grand Slam breakfast, your money is a half a bowl of soggy Shreddies."

"I don't understand."

"You don't have enough money, all right? It's an insult for you to come in here and ask for a loan. It's like a kid asking for a cell phone."

"Ohhh... why didn't you just say that?"

Why would anyone listen to these people? They are you! They are me! They ain't nobody! Why would anyone listen to his or her critiques of movies? Is it because they've watched a lot? Who hasn't!

"I've seen a TON of movies and that gives me the right to make money off of these statements. This movie sucks. Give me money!"

"I thought that movie sucked. Do I get money?"

"No! Because you didn't write a catty article about it, saying that the actors in this movie should quit and die, and have it posted in a magazine without my picture on it because I'm a big man. You didn't do that, did you? No. I get paid!"

You can only do this from behind closed doors. You could never just do it at the theatre.

"Hmmm, I left the theatre and didn't completely feel that I had a good time. I have to tell others in this theatre. 'Hey, I didn't like this movie!'

"You think I care, buddy? Shut the hell up."

"Whoa. That didn't work. I know, I'll go home, write about my feelings, and send it out faceless-ly across the net. THAT'S how you get people to pay attention to you."

The people who the professional critics critique are in the public eye. We know what they look like and we know things about their lives. Do we know a lot about critics? Are we privy to any aspects of their lives? Nope. None.

"Hello, here are things I think about other humans. You want to know about me? Nonsense. I am ambiguous. Why? It's because I do not want myself out there to be judged the way that I judge others. What am I, crazy?"

I think it would be great if there were critics who got paid to critique critics.

"Oh, yeah, nice review of Piranha: 3 Double D. Of course it wasn't as good as Amistad! It's not supposed to be! It's fun! Does EVERYTHING have to be an Oscar contender?"

I forgot. This does happen. The only difference is – it's all of us, and we do not get paid for it.

Twitter @nathanmacintosh

Halloween and horror movies.

When I was a kid, I hated Halloween. Didn't like any of it. I didn't like feeling pressure to have a good costume. Then, when you got one, having to wear a winter jacket over it so you wouldn't freeze to death walking from house to house asking for candy.

"Trick or treat!"

"Ooohhh. What are you supposed to be?"

"Freezing! Give me the candy so I can put my hands back in my pockets. Really? A handful of candy corn? You ever eat one of these? Thanks for nothing."

I also never really liked the Halloween parades. Remember the Halloween parades? When you had to bring your Halloween costume to school and walk around the gym in the circles while people look at you?

"Hey, kids, you know how being twelve sort of makes you feel that you don't want to be put on display? Well, tomorrow, you have to dress up in your Halloween costume and walk around in circles with your peers! And if you don't dress up, you can sit on the stage and be looked at by all of the people who DID dress up. See you tomorrow, young fragile egos!"

Also, since I brought it up – candy corn is awful. There is no way that should have been given to kids. It should be used to wake up people who have been knocked out.

"What are you doing out there, kid?! You're getting your head punched off!"

"Sorry, coach. I can't see anything."

"Damn it! You need your eyes, kid! Here, have one of these."

"...What the hell was that?!"

"Candy corn, kid. Candy corn! Get it in ya!"

"It's the worst thing I've ever tasted!"

"But how ALIVE do you feel! Take out that awful taste on that tomata across the ring, kid! RUN OVER HIM!"

It should be on the list of things to stay away from during Halloween.

"Parents, be warned to check apples for razor blades, unwrapped candies for poison, and candy corn. If you find an apple with a razor blade in it, take the razor blade out and enjoy the apple. If you are given candy corn, throw it away instantly, and alert the authorities to the whereabouts of the inhuman person handing that to your children."

"Arrested for what?! All I did was hand out delicious candy corn!"

"Admitting to the crime, huh? Oh, you're done, buddy. Handing it out to children. Kids! You disgust me."

Candy corn was not wrapped. No wrapping at all! People would just have it loose in bowls in their house. It was dropped into your bag uncovered, by a hand that was also uncovered.

"Here you go, kids. Here is some unpackaged candy from a stranger."

"Well, did you at least wash your hands? I know it's the 90s, but still."

"Wash my hands? You knock on my door for free candy and you have the audacity to ask me if my hands are washed?! Leave right now, before I take the eggs you were going to throw at my house when I close the door, and egg you in the middle of the street."

I didn't like Halloween either because I didn't like being scared. And I got really scared as a kid. When I was about five, I walked out of my room one night and snuck into the living room. My mom was watching 'Child's Play'. I watched some of it, the possessed doll Chucky murdering people, and was horrified. Not that this doll was killing people, just the disgusting, angry look he had on his face when he did it. Once I saw that movie, I was too scared to be in a room alone. I would follow my mom everywhere.

"Mom! Where are you going?"

"I'm going to the kitchen. It's right there. We live in an apartment. You can see me."

"Don't go! I'll be murdered if you go!"

"There is no way you'll be murdered without me knowing. Look, I'm six steps away! Chucky would have to be the greatest ninja who ever lived to murder you in front of me without my knowing."

"Agh! Chucky's a ninja? I'm dead!"

I had nightmares about that movie for years. In one of them, I'm in the passenger seat of a car with my mom. She goes into a store and leaves me there. I turn to look at the car beside me, and at that same time, Chucky is in the other car turning towards me. We look at each other, and both scream. Then I would wake up. That scared the hell out of me! I told someone that when I was in grade four, I think, and they didn't see the problem.

"Maybe you just saw your reflection. You know you do look like Chucky, right?"

"How do I look like a murderous doll!? I'm a human being!"

"A human being with red hair. Chucky has red hair. Do you see? Come to think about it, you're scaring me."

Now, though, I love Halloween. I've seen too many horror movies to count. Horror is one of the best genres that there is. Why? Because they either scare you which is fun, or they are so ridiculous that it's laughable, which is even more fun.

"Whoa! That demon just got an apartment to be closer to the person it wants to torture. Why in the hell would a superintendent rent to a demon? That is hilarious!"

There's no real genre that gives you two chances to be completely entertained. What other genre can offer you that? If a drama isn't engaging, it's never hilarious.

"Man, this movie about a woman's journey from being cheated on by her lawyer husband to leader of a corporate empire is really not told well. The scenes of her crying are pretty funny, though. Good thing there are a ton of those."

The acting in horror movies doesn't matter at all. If the actors are bad, whatever, the movie will just be funny. For some reason, it's just horror movies and porn that can be filmed with people who couldn't deliver a line on their best day.

"Okay, so in this next scene, you have sex with your entire temp agency."

"Gotcha. So my motivation is that I'm a hotshot business exec who has balls of steel. Is there an acting coach on the set? I want to be believable."

"Believable? Do you have a dick? That's all we need from you. We will have one shot of your face. Your line is, 'Hey, if we don't crack a window, I'll have to take my pants off.' Actually, we just had a re-write. You don't say anything. Not with words, anyway. Let your dick do the talking... You do have a dick, right? This will be in a COMPLETELY different section if you don't."

I have honestly never laughed harder than I have at horror movies. A lot of horror movies are funnier than comedies that come out.

"This summer, the funniest movie you've seen in years. 'Cheerleaders From Hell Murder Single Mothers With Their Own Children'! It's a laugh-a-minute riot!"

'Saw' was probably the funniest movie that came out in 2004. The overacting, the ridiculous camera angles. It was hilarious! What was funnier that year? Shrek 2? The Incredibles? No way.

"And the award for Best Comedy goes to... Saw?"

"Thank you, thank you. You know, when our lead actor delivered the line 'If I don't get to a hospital, I'm doing to bleed to death!' in the ridiculous over-the-top way that he did while holding his foot that had been "cut off" as you could CLEARLY see his foot under a cloth? I knew we had this award in the bag."

I went to see 'Saw' in a theatre and during the movie people started laughing. The entire theatre chuckling except for one guy, who literally yelled, "Hey! I'm into this!" I have NEVER heard a theatre laugh so much after him yelling that out. To this day, when I think of that man yelling, "I'm into this!", I laugh, because I would love to know the rest of that guy's night.

"Guys, you really have to see 'Saw'. It's so scary! The other three hundred idiots in the theatre didn't think so. They laughed through it! I must have been in the only theatre with a bunch of Jeffrey Dahmers. How could you laugh at that? A guy has to cut his foot off! Man, horrifying. Hey, don't change that commercial. I'm into it!"

Twitter @Nathanmacintosh

The Wedgie: An introspective

There comes a time when everyone has to reflect. Everyone has to take a look back on their life and think, "What are some things that have shaped me? What are some things that have made me… me?" Recently, while thinking back, I remembered an incident in my life that was an eye opener for me. Well, I shouldn't say I 'remembered'. It's not really something that can be forgotten. The incident made me understand that we are fragile creatures, susceptible to all kinds of nature's wraths. The day I am referring to is the day that I was given... a wedgie.

Yep. A wedgie. It happened. Full on happened, when I was in grade five. I should give some background on me at that time. When I was a kid, I was picked on a lot. I get why. I was really keen about school, my hair was always parted, my clothes were terrible, and I was really shy. I always had to be early for school. Always. I would get up early, get all of my stuff together, then just sit by the door and worry that I was going to be late. I would cry to my mom until she took me.

"Mom! I have to go to school! I'm gonna be late!"

"What? It's six thirty in the morning! School doesn't start until eight and I'm driving you there!"

"I need to be there! I'm gonna be late!"

"Jesus Christ. Fine. I'll take you now. The school is ten minutes away. You're gonna be an hour and a half early. That's what you want? You got it!"

Most time, I was at school before the teachers were. Teachers would show up and I would be standing outside.

"Nathan? What are you doing here? Is something wrong?"

"No. I just didn't want to be late."

"Late? You don't have to be here for an hour!"

"I thought I would be late. I'm an anxious kid!"

"...Wow. If I were your age, I wouldn't even be here. I don't want to be here now, but they pay me. Actually, I don't get paid to come in early. Yeah, what the hell am I doing here! Thanks for the talk, Nathan. I'm going home."

That part hasn't changed. To this day, I hate to be late. I really dislike it. Just know that if we are ever supposed to meet, and you say seven, I'm there at six thirty. That is a fact about me. I'll show up, look at where I'm supposed to meet you, and then walk around for a bit and still get there before you.

"Huh, they're not here, probably because they said they'd be here a half hour later than now. Guess I'll walk around and try to make it seem as if we showed up at the same time."

Not only were my clothes terrible, I was always really worried about not doing well in school, and I was horrified to be late, I used to cry all the time as well. Yeah. I wasn't really giving kids a reason not to pick on me. Cry about anything and everything.

"Nice hat!"

"Ahh, come on, man! Sniff Sniff. It's all that I have!"

I remember one time in grade two I cried because a guy made fun of me for not being able to open a Handi-Snack. I kept trying to open it and the wrapper kept falling down. A kid who was probably in grade five walked by and made fun of me.

"Oh, can't open it, huh? Ohhhhh!"

And he kept doing the action that I was doing – opening and re-opening the wrapper! I dropped the Handi-Snack and ran home. Ran home and cried! If I had this me as a kid, it would be hard to care after awhile.

"You're crying, again? About what? A Handi-Snack this time? Jesus. You want to get these culprits back? Tell them that hanging out with you is like always watching the saddest parts of Titanic on a loop. That'll make them cry."

So now you have a little back-story on how I was as a kid. Grade five. The day of the wedgie. On this faithful day, I was walking to school. There was a path behind my house that was called the 'power lines', basically because it had power lines on it. We were pretty clever.

"Hey, you guys want to go the store?"

"You mean the 'product-selling building'?

I was walking and I ran into five of the cool guys from school. You could always tell who the cool kids were in the 90s. The cool people all wore Starter jackets. Remember in the early 90s when Starter jackets were the greatest things on the planet? This was before hipster kids who weren't cool enough to wear them in the 90s started to wear them.

"I found it for forty dollars. Isn't it cool? No, the suspenders didn't come with it. I bought these separately."

In the 90s, if you had a Starter jacket, the world – at school – opened up to you. People opened doors, held your book bag, did your tests for you.

"No, thank you Mr. Starter jacket, man! Just to be close to you gives me the feeling that, one day, I too can be cool."

"Shut up, loser."

"You got it, Mr. Starter jac... Ow! Great jab."

So the cool Starter jacket kids saw me. They looked at their jackets, looked at mine, and saw that I was not wearing what it took to hang out with them.

"Hey, his jacket doesn't have an S with a star on it. Ours do!"

"Hey... you're right. That's a different jacket! Oh, man. I pray for these days!"

Once they figured this out, they started calling me names.

"Nathan... Nathan! Where are you going, Naaaaathan?!"

Okay, they weren't really 'names', but I was an anxious nervous kid! Also, you had to hear their tone. Their tone? Their tone implied that they wanted me to feel bad. You don't say someone's name with about eight extra a's if you want them to feel good about themselves. For some reason, that makes people feel dumb.

"Hey, Staaaaarbucks, guy. Can I have a tall mild?"

"What? What's wrong with what I'm wearing? I'm just working here to further my photography career! Why do you have to mock me? Why!"

One of the Starter jackets was an old friend of mine. We went to daycare together. Actually, one time, I went to his house when we were in grade four. He literally kicked his grandmother in the stomach and power-bombed her onto a bed when she asked him if he wanted butter on this toast.

"You want butter?"

"Butter? It's on!"

I thought that was a moment, but was he going to help me? Nope. He saw his opportunity to hang out with the cool people. He had already bought the jacket, so he couldn't stick up for someone like me.

"Guys, let's leave him alone. He saw me put wrestling moves on my grandmother."

"...What? Are you sticking up for a guy who doesn't have one of these balling-ass jackets? Wow. Tear the S off of that, man. You don't deserve it."

"But... guys... you know me. I listen to Tupac. I wear the jacket. I'm cool!"

"I said rip it off! Starter would be disgusted by you."

The Starter jacket guys started running after me. I didn't think they wanted to do anything good when they caught up to me, so I took off into the woods to hide from them. I ran for a bit and lost them! I was sitting there, thinking that they were stupid and couldn't find me, and then I remembered that I had to go to school. I was going to be late!

"No, I can't be late! I'll be a complete failure at life!"

So I left my hiding spot, and starting running to school, crying the whole way.

"I'm gonna be late! I'm gonna be late and as soon as I get to school these guys are going to beat me up! Why would anyone put a ten year old through this!?"

I got to school, and realized that I was there before the bell. Perfect, I was on time, and these guys are nowhere in sight! I did it. Just then, over the hill, there they came. Running and laughing because they knew what they were going to do.

"Told you'd he be at school! That's where nerds go. School! The place that we have to go but don't want to go!"

These Starter jackets guys came running down the hill toward me. I didn't know what they had in mind, but I knew it wasn't good. I knew it was not something I was going to like. I knew that it wasn't going to be playing pog.

"Why'd you run, man? We just wanted to see if you wanted to play for slammers. And to start you off, we were going to give you ten for free!"

I was prepared for something, but not what happened. They grabbed my underwear and lifted me over their heads. Over! I was in the air, yelling something that I don't remember, looking down at my old friend wearing his Starter jacket.

"But, why? I saw you jackknife your grandmother. I didn't tell your mom! I didn't try to stop you! We went to daycare together. Why?!?"

"You ever try on one of these jackets?"

"No, actually. Are they comfortable?"

"More comfortable than being lifted in the air by your Fruit of the Looms."

"Haha. Oh, you're right about that. Ah, man. Good one."

I was hoping that the underwear would break so that I would fall. Didn't even kind of happen. These must have been the strongest underwear in the world.

"Mom, thanks a lot. These underwear you bought me don't break."

"Oh, that's good to know. I'll get some more."

"It's not good to know when you're being held in the air by them! I need underwear that can break, dammit! I need underwear that tears apart like Hulk Hogan's shirts!"

"Nathan, you know I can't afford to buy you Hulk Hogan underwear. I'll keep getting the 'wouldn't-break-if-two-trucks-pulled-on-them' kind."

"That's it! I'm not wearing underwear anymore!"

Finally, they just put me down. I don't remember why. Probably because it stopped being fun once they realized that they weren't going to be able to rip me in half.

"Didn't you guys think this would split him in half like Baraka from Mortal Kombat?"

"Yeah, man! I've been playing a ton of that game. That's what I had in mind."

"This isn't a fatality at all. More like a bore-ality. This sucks."

The people around who were watching got bored and I was just put down. It took me a few minutes to straighten out my underwear, and that got the audience to watch again.

"Hey, look at this. The guy who was in the air by his underwear now has to straighten that underwear out. Oh, man. That's great... Well, I'm done. Anybody have any Gushers?"

Twitter @nathanmacintosh