An unfortunate but hilarious fact of trying anything is that failure will inevitably follow – at least sometimes. This is not to be lamented but celebrated.
Failure, on its own, is decidedly unfunny. But the ‘epic fail’ on the other hand, this is humor on a pedestal, absurdity made perfect. And on what better day of the week could one choose to worship at the Altar of Oops but Friday – the Holy Day of Pay and Play? Henceforth, each Friday post will highlight an episode of personal and professional malfunction, embarrassment or other disaster related to the wonderful world of the creative endeavor. And, of course, no homage to the epic fail would be complete sans your personal stories of woe and dismay, so please share.
To break it down, what constitutes an ‘epic fail’? According to the Oxford Dictionary, ‘epic’ can be defined as “heroic or grand in scale or character.” While the word ‘fail’…isn’t ‘fail’ just self-explanatory? Perhaps an example would serve best here?
When my brother’s first daughter turned one, a brilliant idea came to me out of nowhere. I could make Sophia a teddy bear. It would be just like going to one of those stores in the suburban malls where people pay upwards of $100 for a custom-made bear, except that it would cost me about $25 dollars, contain no toxic products, and create a warm and loving memory for my niece that would last her a lifetime.
Only one obstacle stood between me and the dream I dared to dream; I did not know how to sew.
“No problem,” I thought, “They make Simplicity patterns, right?” Right, a Simplicity pattern did exist. Alas, it was not quite simple enough to avert disaster.
Imagine (if you will) a novice, sewing for the first time, using extremely furry material. After sewing the legs on backwards – not once but twice, I managed to remove the stitches without damaging the cloth and got the legs pinned in place and sewn on correctly. This was progress. When I sewed the body together, however, I realized too late that I had unwittingly closed off the stuffing opening without having actually stuffed the legs. And, oh yes, I had sewn them inside of the bear’s stomach.
The result was a mutant, headless, zombie teddy bear that had ingested his own poorly constructed legs.
Nevertheless, in the end, all turned out quite well. The teddy bear was adorable, and Sophia really did love him – after I removed his head, gave it another quarter turn so that he no longer looked like a paranoid freak always looking over his shoulder, and sewed his head back on facing forward.
And that is an ‘epic fail’.
Failure, on its own, is decidedly unfunny. But the ‘epic fail’ on the other hand, this is humor on a pedestal, absurdity made perfect. And on what better day of the week could one choose to worship at the Altar of Oops but Friday – the Holy Day of Pay and Play? Henceforth, each Friday post will highlight an episode of personal and professional malfunction, embarrassment or other disaster related to the wonderful world of the creative endeavor. And, of course, no homage to the epic fail would be complete sans your personal stories of woe and dismay, so please share.
To break it down, what constitutes an ‘epic fail’? According to the Oxford Dictionary, ‘epic’ can be defined as “heroic or grand in scale or character.” While the word ‘fail’…isn’t ‘fail’ just self-explanatory? Perhaps an example would serve best here?
When my brother’s first daughter turned one, a brilliant idea came to me out of nowhere. I could make Sophia a teddy bear. It would be just like going to one of those stores in the suburban malls where people pay upwards of $100 for a custom-made bear, except that it would cost me about $25 dollars, contain no toxic products, and create a warm and loving memory for my niece that would last her a lifetime.
Only one obstacle stood between me and the dream I dared to dream; I did not know how to sew.
“No problem,” I thought, “They make Simplicity patterns, right?” Right, a Simplicity pattern did exist. Alas, it was not quite simple enough to avert disaster.
Imagine (if you will) a novice, sewing for the first time, using extremely furry material. After sewing the legs on backwards – not once but twice, I managed to remove the stitches without damaging the cloth and got the legs pinned in place and sewn on correctly. This was progress. When I sewed the body together, however, I realized too late that I had unwittingly closed off the stuffing opening without having actually stuffed the legs. And, oh yes, I had sewn them inside of the bear’s stomach.
The result was a mutant, headless, zombie teddy bear that had ingested his own poorly constructed legs.
Nevertheless, in the end, all turned out quite well. The teddy bear was adorable, and Sophia really did love him – after I removed his head, gave it another quarter turn so that he no longer looked like a paranoid freak always looking over his shoulder, and sewed his head back on facing forward.
And that is an ‘epic fail’.
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