Big Greasy Breakfast

50 Shades of HEY!
50 Shades of HEY!

Interesting social media encounter the other day.  Somebody posted or shared a post talking about how excited they were about 50 Shades of Grey hitting theaters so that millions of teens could learn horrible inaccuracies about the BDSM community.  They did that thing where you share something you have nothing to add to so you just post “THIS” in the status area or whatever.  Now, I know sarcasm so I was pretty sure this lady was NOT excited about the 50 Shades movie coming out and was actually trying to communicate disdain for a work of fiction not getting their quiet(gagged?) community’s rules and regs right.  Hmmm…

Now, me being the gifted wordsmith that I am, I had to chime in with “Well, that’s what happens when Hollyweird gets theirs hands on a book that was originally found in the non-fiction section.”  This prompted a reply from a friend of said friend and sparked a debate where basically I was saying that the book(and movie) are fiction and didn’t NEED to be grounded in reality at all.  It was up to the audience to understand that it was all a work of someone’s imagination.  Their counterpoint was that it was childish crap and it just makes her so mad that drivel like that makes millions whereas good literature falls by the wayside.  This brought up two main points for me.  One: she seemed to get angry because people didn’t like the things that she liked and, to me, that just sounds exhausting. Two: she had decided that her definition of good and bad needed to be the standard for all art in the world today.  When I brought my interpretation of the comment to light in the conversation, she insisted that she had written a giant argument, but decided not to post it because she was DONE and she didn’t understand how our mutual friend “put up” with me.

Of course she wasn’t done.  She was just done talking to me and in another status update had decided that some people just wanted to watch the world burn and deserved a punch in the throat.  So apparently, because I decided that people should be able to choose their own definition of art AND that fiction should not have to be grounded in reality,  I was a terrorist who deserved violent recourse.  You know who else had penchant for disposing of art and literature he didn’t like?  Hitler.  Though I think his reality was grounded in fiction instead of vice versa so at least that’s where the commonalities end.  Still one too many if you ask me but nobody ever does.

BTW, the mutual friend whose shared post started this whole back and forth.  Her favorite book series is Harry Potter.  A set of fiction novels rich in accurate portrayals of people in England who are practitioners of magic.  See?  I can do sarcasm too…

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