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Rudolph Showed You How to be an Individual

Updated: Feb 10, 2013 14:45
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“Rudolph the red nosed reindeer
Had a very shiny nose
And, if you ever saw him,
You would even say it glows”

Take a risk. Take a gamble.

Remove the safety net and uncover the true confidence you possess in your own might.  Walk across the tightropes of life, look down on conformity, and continue to move ahead with the freedom of a lone wolf—or, in this case, a red nosed reindeer.

It’s Christmas! Okay, so you’re either broke, working, or both. It sucks. I know, because I’ve been there. Scratch that. I’m still there. It’s almost 2013, and like a pigeon fleeing the scene after randomly defecating on a few residents of New York, another year has flown by. It’s the holiday season, the season of giving…answers, to all those questions your family is currently showering you with. By now, you know the drill. You can bob and weave through most of them, as you shrug ‘em off and counter with venomous indifference. Then, the big question hits: “What are you doing with your life?”


Personally, I hate this one. You have to hate it, because it’s the only legitimate question that looms over you. They know it and you know it. You devote precious moments in the shower, which would usually be occupied by your best rendition of the Bloodhound Gang’s “Bad Touch,” pondering your direction in life. You’re faced with the decision of giving in and becoming a drone, or choosing to be an individual that attempts to live by their own accord.

Rudolph snorted coke, got stuck with a red nose and said “fuck it.” Sure, the other reindeers made fun of Rudolph. And, his addiction to that raw and uncut North Pole snow didn’t help. But, he eventually learned that followers are simply frightened citizens, seeking out potential inhabitants, with the goal of suppressing eccentric characters and radical thinking.

Rudolph only had to deal with Dasher, Dancer, Prancer, Vixen, Comet, Cupid, Donner and Blitzen. We, on the other hand, don’t have that luxury.

People become so preoccupied by societal distractions, in which they tend to lose themselves in, instead of simply ignoring them. They eventually lose focus of their own lives. They become entrapped inside the precise planning of a few good tailored suits, who are looking to put the clamps on your wings and cage you, too. An altered reality can become transmitted inside their minds. Tragedies in new towns will become newsworthy for the moment. And jobs are approximately jaded occupations binding subjects to 40 hour work weeks.

You’ll waste 28 hours traveling between home and work, and if you’re lucky, you’ll spend another 56 hours sleeping to do it all over again. All in all, you’re left with 44 hours of free time each week, out of a potentially fruitful 168 hours, convincing yourself that this is the most life can offer.


That isn’t life. That’s an existence. An existence where peace, love and happiness are being sold through romanticized marketing schemes. This is a world where fear mongering dictates the decisions that molds the roadway’s design back to obscurity. This is a place where dogs are praised for their blind loyalty and cats are executed for their curiosity. This is a reality where I cannot be part of a team without sacrificing myself to the foul hordes of human interaction.

As George Carlin once said, “Somewhere along the way, someone is going to tell you, ‘There is no “I” in team.’ What you should tell them is, ‘Maybe not. But there is an “I” in independence, individuality and integrity.”

So, what are you doing with your life? You’re still finding yourself, and despite what anyone may tell you, that’s okay. Maybe, you have found yourself and you’re working on getting to the point where you can support yourself through your craft. You may not always be able to completely say “fuck the system,” but you can always maintain your individuality.

Hey, Rudolph took a risk, and look at him now. He has his own song. When’s the last time you heard anyone singing about Blitzen on Christmas? You haven’t. Fuck Blitzen. He sounds like a brand name for blister relief.

Find yourself. Be yourself. Enjoy life.

Merry Christmas!

Photo Credit: and

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Enrique Grijalva - Mr. Minimum Wage

Enrique Grijalva - Mr. Minimum Wage

My father came, my mother saw...and I conquered. I encourage children to do drugs, I buy alcohol for teenagers, and I drink beer with the homeless. In my spare time, I attend art galleries for the FREE booze while rubbing elbows with modish elephants. I also hammer six-inch nails into small penises. Stuart knighted me as Broke-Ass King of New York. You've been warned.

1 Comment

  1. December 26, 2012 at 7:37 pm

    “Eli, you can never make a living off of being an artist. You need to make a better living that will earn you money.”

    I was told that, but I said fuck it (Well, not at his face; didn’t want to be the rude type.). Of coarse people in the past had told me to give in to the system, but what they don’t understand is the fact that they never tried following their passions because all they were told to do was follow the crowd. But let me tell you, I didn’t. My passion as a cartoonist landed me a gig with a a Canadian filmaker on helping him with a prelude story with the web series Spellfury. My passion had led me far into getting a promotion deal with a guy working for a website called He said he’ll help bring publicity to my webcomic if I do artwork for him and the website.
    Yeah, I was told to follow the system, but I say fuck the system.