According to Mel Brooks in “HISTORY OF THE WORLD PART I,” cave painters became the very first artists. A young neanderthal looking person paints an elephant or mammoth on the side of the cave wall. While others are appreciating it, another Neanderthal comes over and urinates on the painting. He is announced as the very first critic. It has been expressed by many actors, musicians, artists, and authors that their are two types of people in the world: those that do and those who only complain about what others do. They are called critics.

Each and everyone of us are critics and artists. For example, I have a blog. I enjoy writing this blog. It is a way for me to express myself in way that I cannot always do at my current job. It is a way for me to exorcise the darkness from my life and reveal to others what it’s like to be myself. There are those that do not like this blog. Mostly colleagues of mine who claim better things to do with their time. (I guess cleaning out your Pinterest file and looking at Trump’s tweets while stinking up the faculty bathroom counts as better.) It is their prerogative. I don’t feel bad about it or shunned. It just reveals what vapid human beings they truly are! Kidding aside, I try not to take things to heart. I was in theater and people in the theater world are twice as cruel as those who only dream of being in the theater world.  Sometimes though, people really need to hold their commentary.

We had an administrator pass away last year. He fought the cancer in his body bravely but during Christmas break he passed away. That was a turning point for our campus as far as morale was concerned. It plummeted big time. Although our spirits were lifted by a wonderful fundraiser for his family prior to his passing, the revival stuttered and collapsed. I hated the way things were at the end. I loathed almost everyone and everything that drew a breath inside that building. It was a dark time.

I was talking to my girlfriend at the beginning of this year about how horrible a feeling it was to work in such a toxic environment. I wanted to do something to change it but felt helpless. She suggested doing something in his honor,  planting a tree, or something like that. I then remembered our going away party for the administrator to say our goodbyes. I told him how sad I was that I did not get the chance to work with him more closely, or get to know him more than passing hellos. I told him, “You are not leaving us. Your spirit will always be with us.” I knew he appreciated my words. It was from K’s suggestion that I got the idea to plant a tree in honor of Mr. H. That way, my words to him can be fulfilled and we can have some closure to the loss we were all still feeling.

The day of the tree planting ceremony was wonderful. Another teacher on campus got a tree from his back yard and we planted it as a community. It felt wonderful to do something for this campus and for the people that felt his loss greater than I. The next day, a certain person, and I will not name who, asked me about the tree.  “Who donated it,” they asked?  I told them that the tree came from another teacher.”Well, someone should have donated another tree. Those things are disgusting and die quickly. They call them Arizona Trash!  Someone really should have thought about that,” this person said. Then gave me this rye, phony smile that mocked everything I had just done. It took everything inside of me not to go Hiroshima on this…critic.

Normally, I would not let the shallow, insignificant, oxygen wasted, ramblings of someone who has nothing better to do then to defecate upon the charitable deeds of those who actually care about people. However, because this meant so much to me as a gift to my fellow my comrades in arms, I let it ruin my entire day.

We are all critics by nature. Each member of KISS had a solo album. One man’s Gene Simmons is another man’s Peter Criss! But why complain about the successful efforts one person does to spread a little love around?  People like that are a special kind of twisted. It is as if they are so upset by their pathetic excuse for a life that they lash out in envious misery at people who actually put forth an effort to show they give a @#$#%!. Because you are a cowardly, gutless, turd of a human being to even attempt to show any semblance of initiative, you rip on the efforts of those who do? Sadly on my campus, and in life, this seems to be par for the course.  From the person that chastises children who do not have the best of singing voices, to the late, great Roger Ebert, we are a society that gets its kicks from labeling people as failures those who wish simply to express themselves. What a waste of the short time we are living and breathing on this planet.

One of the funniest things I think I have ever seen was a very famous television critic complain about the vitriol people have expressed to him over the course of his career. He actually began to feel sorry for himself and expressed that his feelings were hurt. Now you know what it feels like to be you.

As always thank you for reading Tales From The Red Pen. I promise to try to get off my soap box next week and get back to funny stories. Until then, I bid you Adieu.