Is your finger really that much more special than mine?

Dear people of America (and probably the world):

I have a general complaint I would like to voice in hopes that some people share my thoughts and others change their ways...
I was leaving my friend's building the other day and I had to use the elevator to go down to my car. So I pressed the down button, the elevator doors opened and I stepped inside. I then pressed the garage button in the elevator with my pointer finger and the garage button lit up with excitement. I then leaned against the back wall and fished around my purse for my car keys. As the doors were closing a woman ran and forced her way into the elevator with me. She looks at the buttons, noting the already glowing and prepared G1 button, and proceeds to press it.

Why?!
The floor was obviously already chosen. The down arrow at the top of the elevator was already glowing as well, ready to go, and the only floor below us was the garage floor. It was as if she felt that the elevator would be confused thinking that there were two passengers and only one destintation. Thank you for clearing that up and letting it know that two people want to go down, maybe now it will hurry. Did she really not trust that I knew how to properly push a button?

This happens all too often. I was biking to the store just two days ago and had to stop at a crosswalk. I hopped off my bike and approached the crosswalk button. As I did, I noticed a man was also headed toward the crosswalk button. I pressed the button firmly, making sure the yellow sphere went all the way into it's box and popped all the way out and then I stepped away to await the light. Then the man, who stood next to me as I pressed the button, approached the very same crosswalk button and pressed it not once but twice after I had already pressed it.
Why?!
It was as if he said, 'I see your bet and I raise you.' Was it really neccessary? When the crosswalk signal did come on he proudly walked across the street as if he had accomplished something.
I just don't understand this at all. I have a possible theory though. In America it seems every medium of communication informs us of how stupid we are as a people. There are hundreds of shows, websites, videos and magazines dedicated to proving and spreading the word about how stupid people can be. It's pretty much shoved down our throats. Many Americans are just plain idiots. So we probably don't expect the average stranger to be any different. But not trusting that most American's comprehend how to push a button correctly? Do we really expect so little of each other?

I bet everyone's come across this at sometime in their life. You've been waiting outside a locked door for a bit waiting for someone with a key to come by and open it, and several people are there with you, each of which have had their shot at opening the door, when down the hall comes a man with a mission, to get inside that room. He zeros in on the door and glares at the people blocking his way. He is met with several:

"Don't bother, it's locked", "Someone is getting a key now", "We all already tried it," "It's locked but will be open in five minutes" or various other ways of saying the same thing.

And what does that guy do? He might respond with an "oh" or "really?" but there is no stopping him. He will walk to the door and try to open it. He will fail. And then he will either say, "you're right" which everyone already knew damn well they were right, or just silently turn and join the waiting group. I don't think I've ever seen a case where person #5 to turn the handle of a locked door will actually open what all the others couldn't. But they always try.

I know this is a fairly random post, but it really bugs me. 
Is your finger really that much more special than mine? Do you really have a 'magic' touch?
Maybe I can understand the need for control and self assurance. Or in the case of the door situation, the "maybe I can do it" mentality. But it just bugs me.

What bothers me even more is when I observe people standing at the crosswalk of a busy street rapidly pressing the crosswalk button nonstop.
Arrgh! You people! Why?!
Do you not understand that the first time you pressed it is the only time that matters to the machine and that the rest is wasted energy? The crosswalk is not going to say to the streetlight:

"Hey buddy, I know you just started letting them go but would you mind stopping the cars now? It seems this person really wants to cross right now." Observing this is about as painful to me as if I was the button being prodded over and over again.

So all in all, please learn to trust that we aren't ALL stupid and think about this next time you are in an elevator and catch yourself reaching to press an already lit button. That's all I ask for you to make me happy.

Sincerely,
Lissa

Intruder?

It was just the two of us. I knew no one would come if I screamed for no one was home, just me and him, alone in my bedroom. He stood in the doorway, blocking my exit, trapping me inside. My choices were either try to jump out the window or be strong and face him.I feared he had a posse waiting by the window so I didn't move. And there we stood. Both staring at each other, both wondering who would make the first move. My eyes scanned the room for a weapon, something to bash him over the head with, something to use to try to protect myself. As I looked, he moved a little closer, as if taunting me. I couldn't stand for this any longer, he would be the one leaving my house, I don't care if it be dead or alive.

"Alright Cockroach, I have things to do, we can't be having this mexican standoff all day!"

It was as if the cockroach understood english because at that moment he sprinted towards me, his little feet carrying him in a drunk bee line faster than I ever thought possible. I had no idea where his angle of attack would be. I immediately screamed in fear and jumped on my bed. He crawled under my bed and I was able to make an escape out of my room. But what kind of victory is that? Knowing that when I go back there to sleep he will be silently waiting for me, breathing underneath my bed, just waiting for his perfect moment to fulfill his plot to kill me, climb in my mouth while I'm asleep and thereby suffocate me. I had to face him for real.

I acquired some standard military weaponry, a broom, a flashlight, and a large soled shoe, and stepped foot back on the battlegrounds hoping my enemy was still in his dark trench. I cautiously lowered myself to the floor but stayed several feet away from the edge of the bed out of fear of a calculated "charge!". I shined my flashlight under the bed.

"Where are you, you little bugger!?"

He had vanished. Or so I thought. I ended up prodding the broom under the bed to see if I could sense movement and I discovered this roach was more prepared than me. He was already in camouflage and blended in perfectly with my bedpost. So I began to strategize. How do I get him out to kill him without risking him touching me? It was time for more advanced weaponry. Gas. I ran to the bathroom and grabbed my bottle of hairspray. I then laid on top of my bed, lowered my hand with the hairspray down and fired.

A glossy and sticky cockroach scrambled out from under the bed and I pounced like a mad woman, screaming and slamming my shoe on the ground in rapid succession.

"THIS. IS. RESEDAAAAAA!!!"

It took seven swings but I got him. His body crumbled under the pressure and I was pronounced victor!
His lifeless body was care flighted to a nearby bathroom facility where he was properly disposed of. 

Yes I, a vegetarian, had taken a life, and was damn proud of it. I returned to the scene of the murder and cleaned up the murder weapon and any remains. My murder was untraceable.

Unfortunately I think that cockroach was well respected and belonged to a gang of avengeful repulsvive pests and insects that have decided to repeatedly show their face on my turf.

It's gonna be all out war. 1 vs. 300.
But i'm prepared. I have come across a powerful method of fighting.
Chemical war fare.

Bring it on bitches!

"I love it but it's horrible" ?

Two days ago I went to a finale party for True Blood. Having never ever seen more than a minute of the show, the finale left me utterly confused. Maybe because I was confused I was able to ridicule and pick it apart more than deserved, maybe it just is really cheesy, I don't know. I was in a room full of devoted fans, sitting on the edge of their seats, dropping their jaws at every plot twist, and there I sat, trying extremely hard to not break the silence with my laughter. When the Queen, after making her sacrifice, headed into the woods and walked towards her lord and I saw a bull lit romantically in the moonlight I could barely contain myself. I watched the Queen and the bull walk closer and closer to each other. My mind immediately pictured them on the beach running towards each other, and in the meadow skipping and smiling, the cow mooing.

"I'm drinking a diet coke with LIME!" - I let out a giggle.

"Hold me for fourty?" - I let out another.

To sum up, I thought the show was pretty awful, acting, writing, effects and all. But this isn't my point at all.

I was talking with a fan who has seen every episode of True Blood and he told me he thought the show was awful. He finds the show horribly cheesy as well yet he continues to watch it, eagerly anticipating the next episode. Why is this? He finds as much fault in the show as I do, yet religiously continues to watch.

Several years ago I stayed home sick and ended up watching a soap opera, one of the worst of it's kind, called Passions. This show was absolute garbage. Horrid horrid acting, completely implausible stroylines, and tension so dragged out you would have to watch all week to hear one sentence. I watched this show for four years. Whenever I was home sick I would watch it and when I couldn't because I had school, I would read up on what I missed. There was an addicting quality to it. I was stuck with a sick curiosity to see what the hell the writers were going to come up with next. Passions had witches, the Vatican, tsunamis, stolen babies, orangutan caretakers, mermaids, and a web of characters so oddly intertwined it would take almost 10 minutes to explain. The show was finally canceled last year after already being taken off regular cable television and switching to being shown only on direct TV. The show no doubt entertained me and kept me interested but in the same breath I thought it was absolutely horrible. So this leads me to the question I've been rambling on and on trying to get to.

Despite how horrible a show may be, If it is entertaining and addicting, is it a success?

As a writer I'm constantly fighting myself for more original ideas and revising and revising toward perfection. But what if writing doesn't necessarily have to be really good but rather just addicting, whatever that means? If my goal is to get people to watch my show then should I spend less time worrying about if there are plot holes and instead spend my time working on hooks?  I'm taking a TV Drama writing class and I want my drama to be good but i'm not sure if I can be catchy. Is good writing inherently catchy though? If a show is well written and enjoyed is it going to have the same amount of people tuning in once again to watch it as would a horrible show with curiosity grabbing cliffhangers? If I wrote an amazing show that somehow got no fan base it would be cancelled. This has happened to several well written shows. Yet, I wouldn't want to write something like Passions either.

How much does good writing actually matter when deciding if a show is good? What are the best qualities of your favorite show? Really entertaining? Well written? Makes you think? Shocks you? Looks amazing? Great effects? Piques curiousity? What is the most important thing?
It's probably just different for everybody but I wish there was a formula for writing good television.



*UPDATE*

I just found this article on line that is very fitting.
http://www.tv.com/story/18455.html?tag=hotspot;gumball;1
It is fun to hate sometimes.

Who picked the weapons for the Ninja Turtles?

There are four turtles right. There is the blue one Leonardo, who is the leader, the rebel red one, Rafael, the goofy orange one, Michalangelo, and the smart purple one, Donatello. Now the leader has a sword, the rebel has daggers, and the goof has nunchucks, but Donatello, the supposedly smart one, carries a stick. A stick? It's not even metal. It's a piece of wood that can easily break in half. I mean splinters do hurt like a bitch but can't really kill you. He'd have better luck just throwing furniture in the room at someone.If he is truly the smart one he would have a machine gun. Shredder wouldn't stand a chance then, but I guess that wouldn't be ninja like. Or he could always just beat people with the gun, you know a little pistol whipping. And why do they all have to have different weapons? What's up with that? I know this is kinda very Jerry Seinfeld-esq but it's just something to think about...

Why the Chicken Crossed the Road

Since the dawn of time people have been contemplating the reasoning behind one chicken's action.

Why did the chicken cross the road?

-Plato: for the greater good. 

-Captain Kirk: to boldly go where no chicken has gone before

-To get to the other side.

-To prove he wasn't chicken. 

-I don't know, ask the chicken.

Why this question is so interesting to people I don't quite know, and why after so many years of questioning there is not one true answer is even harder for me to understand. What I do know is the answer. I have seen a chicken cross the road and I have figured out it's motive for doing it. So here it is ladies and gentlemen, the reason the chicken crossed the road: The Mailman.

It seems in many made up answers the chicken was fleeing from something but in actuality the chicken was fleeing TO SOMEONE.

When I was in seventh grade I would walk home from school on a street that on one side was completely residential and the other a farm. One particular day, I believe it was a Thursday, epiphanies most often hit me on Thursdays, there was a chicken walking down the farmside of the street next to me. As I walked trying to figure out how he escaped the farm I got distracted by the humming and grumbling engine of a US Postal Service Truck. The truck screeched around the corner and pulled up to the first house on the residential side behind me. Then The Mailman, about 5'11, 185lbs, and dark farmertanned skin with a Tom Selleck moustache, popped out of the truck. The Mailman approached the first mailbox on the street and started to feed in some letters. It was at this moment that the chicken on the other side of the street noticed The Mailman. The chicken stopped dead in his tracks. He stared openly at The Mailman. The chicken's eyes seemed to pop out of his head. He cocked his head to the side for a second as if confused only for it to perk back up with excitement. And it was at this moment that it actually happened.

The chicken crossed the road.

And not just cross it, he sprinted across. The chicken ran so fast across the road his wings were flailing behind him and he almost tripped over his own feet several times. He ran all the way across the road and stopped at the mailbox next to The Mailman. You may say, well maybe the chicken crossed the road to check his mail. But no. What I saw next, as I kept walking with my neck straining to see what was happening behind me, was The Mailman bending down and saying, "Hey little guy, haven't seen you for a while," and the chicken jumping up and down joyously.

So why did the chicken cross the road?
To visit his old friend The Mailman.

I don't know what happened next because I had to continue on with my life and stop intruding on this chicken and his deep emotional relationship with The Mailman. So question it if you will or use this blog as your primary source for the question. I don't care. Just maybe now that the Chicken's motives have been solved people in America can start questioning other things. Things of more importance. Like how can we end world hunger? Is world peace possible? And what is up with the Ninja Turtles?