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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I think it was the repetitive nature of this fail that made it so epic, and so perfect. I am sure Sophia loves that bear, and I'm sure you laugh almost as much at the joy she takes from her bear as the memory you have from creating it. It does created an odd, somewhat alarming image to think that this bear was once a malformed zombie, but is now being held by this little beauty. I think there is a metaphor in there, somewhere.
ReplyDeleteSince it is your memory, I'll allow you to unpack the implications on your own terms while I thank you for the laugh.
Yes, nothing shows devotion like "stick-to-it"-ness. My mother asked me for years to make an afghan for her bed, because I had taught myself how to knit. After I found a pattern that would show off my newly found talent, I proceeded to create a beautiful afghan with ribbing and cables, and little knitted balls. With pride I sent it to my mother who lives in Ohio. She loved it and displayed with as a cover for her bed. At this time, she was helping a neighbor by taking care of her 7 yr old daughter when she got off the bus after school until the evening hours when the girl's mother got off work. My mother tried as hard as she could to entertain her, but one day the little girl was tired and my mother had her lie down in her bed. When my mother checked on her, she was horrified to find out that the little girl found a sewing kit and took the scissors to the fine, knitted balls. She called me that night hoping that I would have a quick solution to repairing the holes. She packed it in a box the next day and sent it to me. When I saw it, I could have cried, it was in shambles. I still have that afghan, tucked away in a box, waiting to be fixed.
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