Author: Matthew Groff

  • It’s the Media’s Fault: The New Godwin’s Law?

    There is a Kids in the Hall sketch where an employee is reprimanded for using the word “ascertain” too often. You can see for yourself. I started thinking about this sketch again when I see some political post from friends, and even non-political posts.

    Such as, no matter what the topic is, at some point someone will chime in that the “problem” of the topic is being caused by the media. That the root cause is the media, or it is being made worse by the media.

    Example: Supply chain issues? Being blow out of proportion by the media. Covid infection rates among children? Media is making it sound worse. Debt ceiling debate? Media.

    I think you get it.

    But now, the more I hear someone say it’s “the media’s fault” the more I begin to think that the person saying it is just lazy. I think it’s a new form of Godwin’s Law, which states that the longer an online discussion goes, the likelihood of a Nazi comparison increases.

    Personally, I think it’s a thought-terminating cliché, meaning a person thinks they are saying something insightful and profound to bring a discussion to their desired end, but in reality, I think they gave up on trying to think through the problem and defaulted to the cliché.

    Seriously, everything can’t be the fault of one industry. Somethings, sure, but not everything.

  • Memories of Apple Picking

    When the wife and I were dating, we never went apple picking. Around here, it’s an easy “Cute Date” you can have. You know, rent a car, go upstate, dress in flannel and sweaters, take lots of pictures that involve hugging while holding apples. We used to make fun of people who did it.

    Then time passed, we had a kid, and my parents came to visit one year in the Autumn, and as we were trying to think of things to do with them, we went apple picking. And it was fun. Holding a plastic bag, pulling apples off a tree, walking around eating them, and talking. Talking with my Mom while she held her granddaughters’ hand.

    When my parents came to visit, none of us had any idea that we had limited time left. I mean, you never really know that. You never know that, that goodbye, might just be the last goodbye. My Mom wanted to come back in the Autumn again, to apple pick, to look at the foliage. It just didn’t work out that way.

    And so, when Fall rolled around, we headed out to the farm, to pick the apples, like all the other people from the City. This year, we brought the dog, which was a nice change up. We got out the plastic bags, I put on my flannel, and the wife wore a sweater. We picked apples, and tasted them, and talked. And I took pictures, so, you know, we can keep the memories alive.

  • ODDS and ENDS: Facebooks is Alcohol, Bad Art Friend, and Gravy Recipe

    “Odds and Ends” is my continuing series of random thoughts and follow ups…

    I am clearly going to say I told you so, even though we all agreed beforehand, and I really wasn’t the first person to say this either… Everything is Facebooks fault. Every evil in the last twenty years, the root of it all goes back to them. Is that true? Not really, and I don’t believe it. But I believe the better way to think of Facebook is like alcohol. See, alcohol doesn’t make someone an asshole, but that person might have had a little bit of asshole in them that they could control before they started drinking. The alcohol just heightens their assholiness. And also, like alcohol, the more an asshole drinks, the more of an asshole they become, and sadly then they can’t stop drinking nor remember what life was like being a non-asshole. That was a long way to go to basically say alcohol companies need alcoholics to stay profitable. Check out the story from The Guardian, if you don’t believe me.

    Just read the story. There are so many takeaways from this piece, it’s hard to put it in one post. It’s about a writing group, but really, I see it as a story about how awful and needy people can be, especially creative people.

    And I have a gravy recipe that I am very proud of.

    Ingredients:

    1. 1/4 cup butter
    2. 1/4 cup All-purpose flour
    3. 1 cup chicken stock
    4. 1/4 cup cream
    5. ½ a teaspoon dried thyme
    6. Salt and Pepper to taste.

    Instructions:

    • On low heat, melt 1/4 cup of butter in a sauce pan.
    • Sprinkle 1/4 cup of all-purpose flour into the melted butter and stir this roux continuously for about 5 minutes.
    • Take 1 cup of chicken stock, and whisk into the roux, a little at a time, until well blended.
    • Whisk in 1/4 cup of cream, until well blended.
    • Add ½ a teaspoon of dried thyme, as well as salt and pepper to taste. Again, whisk it all together.
    • Simmer gravy until desired consistency.

  • A Bad Rehearsal

    Yesterday, I finished a second draft of a story. I had been working on it since September, when the kid went back to school and I got some more free time during the week. I had been sticking to my paradigm of writing, which is to outline the story, and then, you know, do it – write the thing. There’s nothing special there, I have been following this pattern since the summer, and it’s been a help. I have been getting ideas and drafts down on paper. Whether they are good or not is a completely different discussion.

    Anyway, so when I complete a draft, normally, there is a feeling of accomplishment. You know, I got something done. Not like a huge feeling, like I won the big game. More like, I was able to put the Kallax shelf together by myself; that type of accomplishment feeling.

    So, yesterday, when I finished the second draft… I didn’t have that feeling. That feeling of accomplishment didn’t come over me. What I felt was like taking the garbage out. Something happened, but nothing I am proud of.

    I don’t think it’s the story’s fault. At this moment, I like the idea, but that doesn’t mean it will see the light of day.  I could read the thing again, and hate it. Or, I could see it needs another draft.

    As I thought about it, I guess what this most closely feels like is a bad rehearsal for a show. And I love rehearsing. I think I like rehearsing more than I like performing. I like trying out ideas, and seeing what the other performs do, or how they react. I like when someone changes things slightly, and that causes me to trying something new in return. That type of working makes me feel like I am being creative, and makes the rehearsal feel fulfilling.

    Maybe that’s it. It was a bad rehearsal draft. I might need to listen to my gut. It might be a bad draft.

  • Short Story Review: “Red Pyramid” by Vladimir Sorokin

    (The short story “Red Pyramid” by Vladimir Sorkin, was featured in the October 4th, 2021 issue of The New Yorker.)

    I don’t read work by Russian writes much anymore. I over did it in college as a theatre major. I read a ton of Chekhov, and studied Stanislavski’s writing, and just to be safe I read some Dostoevsky as well. And after I graduated, I never went back to it. I just stopped reading Russian writers. Nothing personal.

    And I know nothing about Vladimir Sorkin, other than he is Russian and he is a writer. Up until five minutes ago, I couldn’t tell you if he was still alive or not. (Thanks Wikipedia.) So, I knew nothing about what to expect from his story “Red Pyramid” which was in the October 4th issue of The New Yorker.

    I shall try to summarize this story: in 1960’s Soviet Union, guy gets on the wrong train while trying to get to a party, and has to get off that train and take another train. While waiting at a station in the middle of nowhere, with no one around, an old man appears. The guy and the old man talk. The old man is strange, and mentions a red pyramid in Red Square, but the guy knows there is no pyramid in Red Square. Train arrives, guy gets on, never sees the old man again, nor makes it to the party. Then the story shifts to the life the guy leads after that experience, and I’m not going to give it away.

    I’m leaving out a couple of bits, because when I got to the ending: My Goodness! I didn’t see it coming, but it wasn’t shocking either. It totally fit, and I cannot explain to you how it fits with the story… it just does. I have been thinking about this story for two days now. I don’t know what the red pyramid is, I know what literally is happen at the end of the story, but I don’t know how they fit together – They just do.

    It’s that big paragraph at the end. It’s a feat of wordsmithing, and its translated! This type of writing I am very envious of, to craft words that almost seem nonsensical, but are capturing a moment or feeling correctly to the authenticity of the story. Sorkin was making me say words that at first, I didn’t understand their relevance, but I knew I was being guided to a satisfying conclusion.

    Well done, sir, though I still don’t get what it means. And that’s the fun.