The term (and I'm assuming lifestyle) known as "hipster" has taken...well, probably not the world by storm, but I know I'm excited. I haven't been known to prescribe to any sort of style, but if I did, I would probably like to be a hipster. They seem pretty cool and off-beat-like. It may be artificial, but what isn't these days?
I have a certain respect, if not for the hipster lifestyle, for the ideology behind hipsterdom. It is a rather retro movement (although mixed with new-age technology... a hipster may be anachronistic, but dammit, they look fancy doing it), and I rather enjoy the old things in life. For instance, the passion for vinyl. Recently, my partner and I have become enamored of our record player and searching out classic rock records to play on the old gal. Whilst it is an outdated mode of music-listening, it is rather more enjoyable than downloading an Mp3 and listening to it on my computer. That just doesn’t have the same flavor.
I think mixing the modern with the not-so-modern is a wonderful thing. While technology has offered us so much, it has also taken something away. For me, it is the connection between our thoughts and what is created with those thoughts. Even as I type on the computer, I feel nostalgic for the days of the typewriter, where a few clicks created a concrete word on the page. My words may be easily typed, but also easily deleted. It gives a sort of unstableness to the entire affair.
The fact is vintage clothing and record stores hearken back to an era of endurance, an era before we became a disposable society. The United States has always been a bit of an improvisational gig, but never before has it been so very disposable as it is today. When they built Fords and Chevys, they did build them tough, because they were supposed to last longer than 5 years. Washers and dryers weren’t fried after a few years: sometimes, they lasted decades. Some people might say that it’s necessary for technology to be cheaply made: why make something quality that will just be replaced in 6 months with something better?
I suppose I don’t have an argument for that. However, I see the influence of our consumerism affecting our society in surprising ways. Relationships seem just as easily thrown away and devalued as technology becomes the primary form of communication. Why spend the time calling someone when you can just throw them a comment on Facebook or send them a quick text? Friendships are more disposable now than ever, it seems: if you lose a friend, you have 200 others online and a few websites for finding new ones. We all know the attitude toward marriage and divorce—easy come, easy go. It seems possible that the way things were, while comparatively primitive, may have been more conducive to enduring relationships.
I sometimes feel kindred toward the hipsters. It might be more than a fad—it might be a philosophy which holds onto the best of the past while looking forward to an uncertain future.
Tuesday, July 13, 2010
Monday, May 24, 2010
Welcome to Lazytown, Courtesy of The New Mayor
Mayor of Lazytown seems like quite an exaggeration (or presumptuous, depending on how you look at it), and it probably is, but after working almost nonstop for a month I feel like I just jumped off a large, boring cliff, or perhaps hit a hard, boring wall. Although almost every day that I’ve had off has ended with one thing or another accomplished, I still feel strange about not hating my life because I’m working all the time. Also, I feel guilty because it’s so awesome to not have to work. I’ve been so lazy, in fact, that this is the first blog I’ve written in months. Whether this is a good or bad thing remains to be seen (insert self-deprecation here).
My work history of the last 3 months is a virtual Frankenstein’s monster of occupations. I have worked four places, no less than two at once. Everything is part-time, temporary, or some other sort of mish-mashed “we’ll call you when we need you, but we don’t really want you that bad otherwise we’d give you more hours or pay you more or something” situation. I recently got accepted to train as a tutor, which will mark my FIFTH job in the past few months (and hopefully, my only one for the summer). I feel like this isn’t uncommon—recent graduates have been grappling for real jobs for almost a year now, and in the absence of a full-time adult job, a lot of small part-time practically adult jobs seem like good stand-ins.
It’s certainly heartening to see more and more of my friends and acquaintances transition from partial, multiple employment to one solid, career-track job. It feels like the economy is getting better, even if it isn’t. It does make me feel slightly stunted, though: while my friends will be toiling and excelling at the jobs that can (gasp) actually pay their bills, I will be starting my doctoral studies in the fall, effectively delaying my entry into the full-time working world for years to come. I know that this is a step forward, and I really can’t wait—looking at all of the courses, I want to take pretty much every single one. I’m a little afraid, but I’m mostly excited. I’ll take adult step after adult step, until suddenly, without realizing it, I’ll be in the thick of it. (This is how I imagine it happening. Reality to follow).
Until September 1st, however, I’m going to be doing basically whatever I can find to do: hours at my deli job until I stop working there, hours substitute teaching at various schools, and hours tutoring high school students on standardized testing. Sounds like a lot of hours, yet I imagine the paychecks will feel awfully small. My work life seems so arbitrary and jig-sawed together, as if I have no more direction than a plastic bag being tossed by the summer wind. I’m not one to merely mope at my simultaneous good fortune and plummeting income: I will make something of this summer, even if it kills me (it probably won’t kill me).
I want to work on my screenplay and send it out. I want to take a Kerouacian (oh yes, that’s a word now) trip to Boston and New York, if only to get a deep whiff of New England class, classy culture, and East Coast inhospitality. And of course, I will spend a whirlwind August travelling all over hell’s half-acre for various life-affirming events. I’m hoping I’ll do any of this.
The problem isn’t necessarily motivation or means, but merely that once I start reading fun books and going to the beach enough days in a row, underemployment might begin to feel quite comfortable. Soon enough, being lazy could become a lifestyle. I used to think about people that didn’t work and think, “How is it possible? Aren’t they bored?” No. No they’re not. Relaxation is hypnotizing. In a very short period of time, you start to wonder how you ever even had TIME to work. You think, “How did I ever cram 8 hours of work in between all of this lovely relaxation?”
So maybe that’s why I don’t like not working, or not knowing when my next day of work will definitely be. It’s not that I necessarily want to work. I’m just worried that that I’ll be so seduced by a new way of life that I will never want to work, or travel, or do anything remotely cerebral again, and I’ll toil my summer days away in a chaise longue with sunglasses on my face, spiked lemonade in my hand, and not a care in the world.
These are dangerous times.
My work history of the last 3 months is a virtual Frankenstein’s monster of occupations. I have worked four places, no less than two at once. Everything is part-time, temporary, or some other sort of mish-mashed “we’ll call you when we need you, but we don’t really want you that bad otherwise we’d give you more hours or pay you more or something” situation. I recently got accepted to train as a tutor, which will mark my FIFTH job in the past few months (and hopefully, my only one for the summer). I feel like this isn’t uncommon—recent graduates have been grappling for real jobs for almost a year now, and in the absence of a full-time adult job, a lot of small part-time practically adult jobs seem like good stand-ins.
It’s certainly heartening to see more and more of my friends and acquaintances transition from partial, multiple employment to one solid, career-track job. It feels like the economy is getting better, even if it isn’t. It does make me feel slightly stunted, though: while my friends will be toiling and excelling at the jobs that can (gasp) actually pay their bills, I will be starting my doctoral studies in the fall, effectively delaying my entry into the full-time working world for years to come. I know that this is a step forward, and I really can’t wait—looking at all of the courses, I want to take pretty much every single one. I’m a little afraid, but I’m mostly excited. I’ll take adult step after adult step, until suddenly, without realizing it, I’ll be in the thick of it. (This is how I imagine it happening. Reality to follow).
Until September 1st, however, I’m going to be doing basically whatever I can find to do: hours at my deli job until I stop working there, hours substitute teaching at various schools, and hours tutoring high school students on standardized testing. Sounds like a lot of hours, yet I imagine the paychecks will feel awfully small. My work life seems so arbitrary and jig-sawed together, as if I have no more direction than a plastic bag being tossed by the summer wind. I’m not one to merely mope at my simultaneous good fortune and plummeting income: I will make something of this summer, even if it kills me (it probably won’t kill me).
I want to work on my screenplay and send it out. I want to take a Kerouacian (oh yes, that’s a word now) trip to Boston and New York, if only to get a deep whiff of New England class, classy culture, and East Coast inhospitality. And of course, I will spend a whirlwind August travelling all over hell’s half-acre for various life-affirming events. I’m hoping I’ll do any of this.
The problem isn’t necessarily motivation or means, but merely that once I start reading fun books and going to the beach enough days in a row, underemployment might begin to feel quite comfortable. Soon enough, being lazy could become a lifestyle. I used to think about people that didn’t work and think, “How is it possible? Aren’t they bored?” No. No they’re not. Relaxation is hypnotizing. In a very short period of time, you start to wonder how you ever even had TIME to work. You think, “How did I ever cram 8 hours of work in between all of this lovely relaxation?”
So maybe that’s why I don’t like not working, or not knowing when my next day of work will definitely be. It’s not that I necessarily want to work. I’m just worried that that I’ll be so seduced by a new way of life that I will never want to work, or travel, or do anything remotely cerebral again, and I’ll toil my summer days away in a chaise longue with sunglasses on my face, spiked lemonade in my hand, and not a care in the world.
These are dangerous times.
Monday, March 22, 2010
Health Care Bonanza
The health care reform of the United States is on the tip of everyone's tongue today, so I figured I'd throw my two cents in to the cluster. Let me begin by saying I am an uninsured American who was kicked off my mother's health insurance because I am no longer a full-time student, so the ramifications of the health care reform may be slightly different than those who currently have health insurance.
As per usual, I have only done scattered research on the legislation working its way through the digestive system of our federal government. On the one hand, I am at a disadvantage because I haven't read the documents themselves, but on the other hand I don't have the advice of pundits floating above my shoulders and whispering their bipartisan comments in my ear as so many of my peers do. This creates for me an opinion which is as unbiased as possible, while also giving me only glimpses of how this new system will work for and against me.
The only thought on everyone's mind: taxes. Taxes and fees. Many employed, insured Americans are enraged that any of their precious, "hard-earned" money might go toward something besides the detailing of their car or to pay down their tens of thousands of dollars of credit card debt they accrued being stupid with their money. Was there enough venom in that last sentence?
Listen, we pay taxes all the time. A surprisingly large portion of my paycheck is taken out for taxes filing as a single dependent, and the Social Security taxes that are taken out probably won't even benefit me. But you know what's crazy and weird? Life isn't fair. I think many people moan and complain about things like taxes and Obama and how awful the government is because they haven't had enough unfairness in their lives. The government is going to make decisions that you don't personally like and that might not personally benefit you. The weird, crazy thing about the government is that it's supposed to serve the people of the country, not just those who are fortunate enough to have health insurance or those with money. Yes the system is flawed, yes people take advantage of government's money, and sometimes your elected officials will make decisions that you might not personally agree with. That's life, friends. Get over it.
Obama is not a God, and he's not a saint. He's a dude who got elected president, and who is making the best decisions he can. As far as I can see, he's not pandering to parties, or swaying because Republicans are pitching a bitch. He is making a decision that he thinks is right and advantageous for the people of his country. That's what I would call a good president.
Disclaimer: I voted for Obama, but mostly because I was afraid of Sarah Palin being anywhere at, near, or adjacent to the White House.
I think this legislation might do me some favors. In the past year, not only have I not held a job that offered me health care, I have not even had an interview for a position that offered health care. The ability for me to afford health care, or have it offered at an affordable rate through my work, may be years off. If I had an accident, or became ill, or any other unforseeable situation...well, I honestly don't even know what I would do. I try to avoid the thought, because it would be too overwhelming to try to figure out. So am I optimistic about this new bill? Kinda.
Yes, some of the burden of this bill will go on those who already have health care, and that totally blowz, man. But you never know when you might need a little help, and it would be nice to know there's something to back you up.
Now, the ultimate rant about materialism:
"The government takes all my money! That is MY hard-earned money! Harrumph!" Sound familiar? It's the voice of taxpayers in the U.S, sometimes even me. But here's the deal about money, people: it's an idea. It's not magical, it's not a fix-all, and it's not as valuable as people perceive. It can't save people from an untimely death, or old age, or heartbreak. It can buy you stuff, stuff that breaks down and decays and becomes obsolete in months until the next new cool thing comes out. Enough money to live is important. Enough money for something extra is wonderful. Enough money to feel comfortable is almost priceless, really. But beyond that, money is just stuff, stuff that gets you more stuff. The pursuit of more and more and more can make you crazy, and not enough can make you crazy too. I think that once people get out of the habit of thinking that money is God, they'll stop being scared of it and obsessed with it and will learn to live their lives without passing out any time their money might go toward something they don't like.
Long story short: people need to stop complaining, it's giving me a headache.
As per usual, I have only done scattered research on the legislation working its way through the digestive system of our federal government. On the one hand, I am at a disadvantage because I haven't read the documents themselves, but on the other hand I don't have the advice of pundits floating above my shoulders and whispering their bipartisan comments in my ear as so many of my peers do. This creates for me an opinion which is as unbiased as possible, while also giving me only glimpses of how this new system will work for and against me.
The only thought on everyone's mind: taxes. Taxes and fees. Many employed, insured Americans are enraged that any of their precious, "hard-earned" money might go toward something besides the detailing of their car or to pay down their tens of thousands of dollars of credit card debt they accrued being stupid with their money. Was there enough venom in that last sentence?
Listen, we pay taxes all the time. A surprisingly large portion of my paycheck is taken out for taxes filing as a single dependent, and the Social Security taxes that are taken out probably won't even benefit me. But you know what's crazy and weird? Life isn't fair. I think many people moan and complain about things like taxes and Obama and how awful the government is because they haven't had enough unfairness in their lives. The government is going to make decisions that you don't personally like and that might not personally benefit you. The weird, crazy thing about the government is that it's supposed to serve the people of the country, not just those who are fortunate enough to have health insurance or those with money. Yes the system is flawed, yes people take advantage of government's money, and sometimes your elected officials will make decisions that you might not personally agree with. That's life, friends. Get over it.
Obama is not a God, and he's not a saint. He's a dude who got elected president, and who is making the best decisions he can. As far as I can see, he's not pandering to parties, or swaying because Republicans are pitching a bitch. He is making a decision that he thinks is right and advantageous for the people of his country. That's what I would call a good president.
Disclaimer: I voted for Obama, but mostly because I was afraid of Sarah Palin being anywhere at, near, or adjacent to the White House.
I think this legislation might do me some favors. In the past year, not only have I not held a job that offered me health care, I have not even had an interview for a position that offered health care. The ability for me to afford health care, or have it offered at an affordable rate through my work, may be years off. If I had an accident, or became ill, or any other unforseeable situation...well, I honestly don't even know what I would do. I try to avoid the thought, because it would be too overwhelming to try to figure out. So am I optimistic about this new bill? Kinda.
Yes, some of the burden of this bill will go on those who already have health care, and that totally blowz, man. But you never know when you might need a little help, and it would be nice to know there's something to back you up.
Now, the ultimate rant about materialism:
"The government takes all my money! That is MY hard-earned money! Harrumph!" Sound familiar? It's the voice of taxpayers in the U.S, sometimes even me. But here's the deal about money, people: it's an idea. It's not magical, it's not a fix-all, and it's not as valuable as people perceive. It can't save people from an untimely death, or old age, or heartbreak. It can buy you stuff, stuff that breaks down and decays and becomes obsolete in months until the next new cool thing comes out. Enough money to live is important. Enough money for something extra is wonderful. Enough money to feel comfortable is almost priceless, really. But beyond that, money is just stuff, stuff that gets you more stuff. The pursuit of more and more and more can make you crazy, and not enough can make you crazy too. I think that once people get out of the habit of thinking that money is God, they'll stop being scared of it and obsessed with it and will learn to live their lives without passing out any time their money might go toward something they don't like.
Long story short: people need to stop complaining, it's giving me a headache.
Friday, March 12, 2010
A Happy State of Affairs
Jobs in Michigan are about as easy to find as a conservative Christian in San Francisco: while you might spy one in passing, it will disappear as soon as you pause for a closer look. As scary as it may seem, though, actually getting a job isn't as difficult as beginning one. While the job search is daunting, exasperating, exhilarating, depressing, and sometimes satisfying, all of those emotions dissolve into pants-pissing fear once a job is actually acquired. All of a sudden, the flashy degree and sparse experience in the field look too flimsy to get anyone through the first day, let alone the training period.
The closest thing I've had to a "real" job is the four-month internship at a European literary magazine, for which I got 4 English credits and a peek into the publishing world. Four months, however, is hardly enough time to acquire solid experience according to the harsh job market of a deflated economy. My first big break happened last month, and not even as an editor or writer, but as a personal assistant.
I have previously worked for my current employers as a receptionist. While a receptionist position does require some brain cells, so do most jobs, even in the food service industry. I spent most days staring into space, wondering how I landed at a salon instead of an editor's desk, but I didn't feel too badly because I was in college and felt like I was doing something with my life. I have returned to them as a personal assistant, a position which sounds like it's right out of a chick lit novel. The job title is pretty much self-explanatory, but proves to be less whimsical than most cutesy romantic comedies portray.
The first few weeks of a job drag the new employee through a range of emotions which are constantly oscillating through her psyche. I went into the job with a confidence which was quickly deflated in the first week by the realization that I didn't have as much experience as I thought. A triumph over a certain protocol is quickly dashed into despair as one small mistake becomes a virtual atom bomb of disgrace in the eyes of an employer. I have a difficult time holding onto my sanity when one moment I feel like the best personal assistant ever and the next I feel like a literal burden on my bosses. This ping-pong game becomes exhausting, and I sometimes look back longingly at the days where the most important things I needed to care about was a customer's meat slice thickness. At least those mistakes couldn't be blamed on a faulty thought process, but a mere carelessness about people's particular consistency preferences.
I won't be a personal assistant forever. One day I will be able to inform people, by my own experience, that I can do more with an English degree than teach at a high school or use it as a prop to find entry-level positions in random companies. It sometimes seems like a far-off thing, but there are glimpses now and then of the future that might be possible.
When I was young, I always imagined that having a job would be simultaneously a necessary burden and a constant presence. It was just another step of an adult life: graduate from high school, graduate from college, and get a job. The end. Happily ever after included. Now I realize it's not so simple and steady. Like most other things in life, finding a career is rocky, unpredictable, and never guaranteed. A job doesn't have the same structure as school: if you do A, B, and C, you will succeed. Now I realize that jobs don't just exist to fill up my day or some sort of obligation to society, but to pay my bills. I also realize that my job isn't necessarily supposed to be the most important thing in my life, and it has changed my whole perspective. If I find a job that happens to fulfill me intellectually, that would be wonderful. Until I find one of those, I'll be the one in the career wear, chasing after a slightly modified American dream.
The closest thing I've had to a "real" job is the four-month internship at a European literary magazine, for which I got 4 English credits and a peek into the publishing world. Four months, however, is hardly enough time to acquire solid experience according to the harsh job market of a deflated economy. My first big break happened last month, and not even as an editor or writer, but as a personal assistant.
I have previously worked for my current employers as a receptionist. While a receptionist position does require some brain cells, so do most jobs, even in the food service industry. I spent most days staring into space, wondering how I landed at a salon instead of an editor's desk, but I didn't feel too badly because I was in college and felt like I was doing something with my life. I have returned to them as a personal assistant, a position which sounds like it's right out of a chick lit novel. The job title is pretty much self-explanatory, but proves to be less whimsical than most cutesy romantic comedies portray.
The first few weeks of a job drag the new employee through a range of emotions which are constantly oscillating through her psyche. I went into the job with a confidence which was quickly deflated in the first week by the realization that I didn't have as much experience as I thought. A triumph over a certain protocol is quickly dashed into despair as one small mistake becomes a virtual atom bomb of disgrace in the eyes of an employer. I have a difficult time holding onto my sanity when one moment I feel like the best personal assistant ever and the next I feel like a literal burden on my bosses. This ping-pong game becomes exhausting, and I sometimes look back longingly at the days where the most important things I needed to care about was a customer's meat slice thickness. At least those mistakes couldn't be blamed on a faulty thought process, but a mere carelessness about people's particular consistency preferences.
I won't be a personal assistant forever. One day I will be able to inform people, by my own experience, that I can do more with an English degree than teach at a high school or use it as a prop to find entry-level positions in random companies. It sometimes seems like a far-off thing, but there are glimpses now and then of the future that might be possible.
When I was young, I always imagined that having a job would be simultaneously a necessary burden and a constant presence. It was just another step of an adult life: graduate from high school, graduate from college, and get a job. The end. Happily ever after included. Now I realize it's not so simple and steady. Like most other things in life, finding a career is rocky, unpredictable, and never guaranteed. A job doesn't have the same structure as school: if you do A, B, and C, you will succeed. Now I realize that jobs don't just exist to fill up my day or some sort of obligation to society, but to pay my bills. I also realize that my job isn't necessarily supposed to be the most important thing in my life, and it has changed my whole perspective. If I find a job that happens to fulfill me intellectually, that would be wonderful. Until I find one of those, I'll be the one in the career wear, chasing after a slightly modified American dream.
Friday, February 26, 2010
Evolution of Love
Valentine's Day is such a bloated and strange holiday. For years I have written blogs on that day, celebrating my singledom (or trying my darndest). This year I had a Valentine, a real Valentine, and my expectations...well, let's just say things didn't go as planned.
The Valentines I have had ranged from textbook romantic to....well, hardly romantic at all. The longest-running Valentine always felt the need to top himself and buy me jewelry and other expensive trinkets. I love jewelry, so I loved that about him. I have always imagined romance to be light, airy, and perfect. A cloud of pink and white, fluffy teddy bears and jewelry, flowers and candy. I blame the media.
This year, Valentine's Day coincided with our halfaversary (hey, the half-year mark seems legitimate. It's legitimate, right?) so we decided to combine them into a love extravaganza. However, my wonderful man decided to split them up anyway, which made me feel simultaneously bad for him but great for me, because I caught myself a good one! For our halfaversary, he got me a film I'd always mentioned I enjoyed and a stuffed animal. At the stuffed animal, I got a little taken aback.
Under the pink tissue, in the cute flower bag I'm sure he felt embarrassed purchasing, my boyfriend had gently laid a teddy bear face-down. I peered into the bag and saw pink material with red hearts. I cooed, pulled it out of the bag to face me...and gasped.
The stuffed animal had a skeleton on its face. A SKELETON. And not only on its face, I discovered. Its adorable body was overlaid with an eery skeleton over its legs. Taken aback, I laughed strangely and considered its face. I can't sleep with this thing, I decided. It's going to kill me in my sleep. I'm not going to be able to look at it, it's so creepy! My boyfriend was crestfallen. Here I am, his girlfriend of 6 months, afraid of his gift. I laughed it off, he offered to take it back, I jokingly yell at him for suggesting the thought, and I go home with the strangest thoughts in my head.
Who would think a skeleton stuffed animal is cute? I pulled it out of my bag on the way home and put it up on my dashboard, its frightening face in my direction. I named it Skullden, Skully for short, and call my boyfriend to thank him again for the wonderful gift.
On Valentine's Day, we spent a very low-key day together. We hung out in the morning watching TV on DVD. He made me breakfast and bought me flowers from CVS, which had red carnations and an already-wilting rose. I loved it.
Gift time. I had bought him little things, since we put a limit on our spending (Christmas got out of hand quickly). Most of the things I got had some sort of significance, which I thought was better than any expensive present. Then it was my turn.
Out of the bag comes a pink hoodie. I love pink, and I love sweatshirts, so I was automatically excited. I looked at the front, and there on the left side is TGS in red and orange bubbles, and the name Liz in script below. It was a hoodie from 30 Rock, my absolute favorite show of all time. Squealing with delight, I put it on and decided I would never take it off. I virtually didn't for weeks after that. I also got a flowering tea set, complete with a beautiful little glass teapot. He knew I wanted one, and it was thrilling.
I sleep with Skully next to me now. He has joined the other stuffed animals my boyfriend has gotten me...well, stuffed things. For Christmas, he got me stuffed animal sushi. They line up next to me and watch me sleep. I'm getting over the creepiness factor.
I was afraid to wash my TGS hoodie, afraid that the softness would fade, but finally gave in today. As soon as I opened my dryer, a sweet scent wafted toward me and I knew that I had washed my load of laundry with a cherry chapstick. Swearing loudly and repeatedly, I pulled everything out and threw them in the basket. Dark pink stains were splotched all over my precious hoodie. Still swearing and cursing my mother for not purchasing Spray 'n Wash, I ran upstairs and grabbed my toothbrush, ran downstairs and started going to work on my sweatshirt with detergent. The stains still haven't come out. I'll have to wash it again.
I know that after I wash it for the third time, the softness will virtually be gone. That's okay. I'm not sad about it anymore. Because this is the lesson I learned about love this Valentine's Day:
I love that he bought me a skeleton bear. I love that mistakes are made, things turn out disasterously wrong sometimes, and he is not a follower of traditions. He's better than that: he's himself. His mind works in mysterious ways, ways that I hardly have a grasp on but can't wait to discover. He doesn't do things because others have done it before, and he doesn't do things because he thinks I'll like them: he does them because he knows I will. He knows me, and he knows himself. And I love him for it.
The Valentines I have had ranged from textbook romantic to....well, hardly romantic at all. The longest-running Valentine always felt the need to top himself and buy me jewelry and other expensive trinkets. I love jewelry, so I loved that about him. I have always imagined romance to be light, airy, and perfect. A cloud of pink and white, fluffy teddy bears and jewelry, flowers and candy. I blame the media.
This year, Valentine's Day coincided with our halfaversary (hey, the half-year mark seems legitimate. It's legitimate, right?) so we decided to combine them into a love extravaganza. However, my wonderful man decided to split them up anyway, which made me feel simultaneously bad for him but great for me, because I caught myself a good one! For our halfaversary, he got me a film I'd always mentioned I enjoyed and a stuffed animal. At the stuffed animal, I got a little taken aback.
Under the pink tissue, in the cute flower bag I'm sure he felt embarrassed purchasing, my boyfriend had gently laid a teddy bear face-down. I peered into the bag and saw pink material with red hearts. I cooed, pulled it out of the bag to face me...and gasped.
The stuffed animal had a skeleton on its face. A SKELETON. And not only on its face, I discovered. Its adorable body was overlaid with an eery skeleton over its legs. Taken aback, I laughed strangely and considered its face. I can't sleep with this thing, I decided. It's going to kill me in my sleep. I'm not going to be able to look at it, it's so creepy! My boyfriend was crestfallen. Here I am, his girlfriend of 6 months, afraid of his gift. I laughed it off, he offered to take it back, I jokingly yell at him for suggesting the thought, and I go home with the strangest thoughts in my head.
Who would think a skeleton stuffed animal is cute? I pulled it out of my bag on the way home and put it up on my dashboard, its frightening face in my direction. I named it Skullden, Skully for short, and call my boyfriend to thank him again for the wonderful gift.
On Valentine's Day, we spent a very low-key day together. We hung out in the morning watching TV on DVD. He made me breakfast and bought me flowers from CVS, which had red carnations and an already-wilting rose. I loved it.
Gift time. I had bought him little things, since we put a limit on our spending (Christmas got out of hand quickly). Most of the things I got had some sort of significance, which I thought was better than any expensive present. Then it was my turn.
Out of the bag comes a pink hoodie. I love pink, and I love sweatshirts, so I was automatically excited. I looked at the front, and there on the left side is TGS in red and orange bubbles, and the name Liz in script below. It was a hoodie from 30 Rock, my absolute favorite show of all time. Squealing with delight, I put it on and decided I would never take it off. I virtually didn't for weeks after that. I also got a flowering tea set, complete with a beautiful little glass teapot. He knew I wanted one, and it was thrilling.
I sleep with Skully next to me now. He has joined the other stuffed animals my boyfriend has gotten me...well, stuffed things. For Christmas, he got me stuffed animal sushi. They line up next to me and watch me sleep. I'm getting over the creepiness factor.
I was afraid to wash my TGS hoodie, afraid that the softness would fade, but finally gave in today. As soon as I opened my dryer, a sweet scent wafted toward me and I knew that I had washed my load of laundry with a cherry chapstick. Swearing loudly and repeatedly, I pulled everything out and threw them in the basket. Dark pink stains were splotched all over my precious hoodie. Still swearing and cursing my mother for not purchasing Spray 'n Wash, I ran upstairs and grabbed my toothbrush, ran downstairs and started going to work on my sweatshirt with detergent. The stains still haven't come out. I'll have to wash it again.
I know that after I wash it for the third time, the softness will virtually be gone. That's okay. I'm not sad about it anymore. Because this is the lesson I learned about love this Valentine's Day:
I love that he bought me a skeleton bear. I love that mistakes are made, things turn out disasterously wrong sometimes, and he is not a follower of traditions. He's better than that: he's himself. His mind works in mysterious ways, ways that I hardly have a grasp on but can't wait to discover. He doesn't do things because others have done it before, and he doesn't do things because he thinks I'll like them: he does them because he knows I will. He knows me, and he knows himself. And I love him for it.
Monday, February 15, 2010
Children of Anarchy
I didn't read comic books as a kid, even though my uncle worked for Marvel Comics and wrote issues of Wolverine and Conan the Barbarian. I have always been a lover of words and not images--I think most of the thrill of reading lies in the not knowing. However, a trend in the movie industry has been to adapt comic books and graphic novels to the screen rather than create original pieces of cinematic art. One of my favorites is the film V for Vendetta, and I had always heard the graphic novel was better than the movie. The main differences make for intriguing thoughts.
Many of the issues in the graphic novel and film are similar, such as fascism, mind control, the targeting of the "other" such as homosexuals and minorities. The biggest difference between the two is the idea behind them, which is ironic considering the main character, V, is just that: an idea. In the film, V fights for freedom, an American ideal. In the graphic novel, V fights for anarchy.
Uh oh, that's scary. Anarchy. Lawlessness. While there is a tone of bad-assery which lends itself gracefully to the graphic novel genre, it also brings up an issue which people seem to be scared to face. Let's explore this by asking a question: why did the film turn V from an anarchical antihero into a democracy-lovin' fool? Ignore the fact that the film was set in Britain but was American-produced. V, a character who seems so inspirational and thrilling in the film alone, pales in comparison to the ruthless murderer and vigilante of the graphic novel. V loses his power in the translation.
I'm not saying that anarchy is the way to be. Democracy seems to work out decently enough. But here's the deal: in a world where everything is controlled, everything is watched, it would be nearly impossible for the transition from dictatorship to democracy to happen without chaos. Ideas and empires are not built automagically, they are the result of rebellion and unrest.
Think of the film now. While the end of the film is inspirational in its show of solidarity against "the man," it must also be observed that the people basically transition from following one person to another. V is an amazing and attractive character, but he also becomes a sort of second dictator. Sure, his ideas are inspiring and earnestly wish for freedom and equality for all men, but the crowd in the film is just as easily led to his ideas as they were to the Big Brother regime. There might have been stirrings of feeling, but not the passion it would take to overthrow a military dictatorship. In some ways, people need chaos and lawlessness to figure out a path for themselves, free of other peoples' perscription of right and wrong.
Anarchy seems like a scary, insurmountable thing. Our country is huge, and if lawlessness ruled the day we would have a very difficult time getting along, to be sure. However, it would offer something which hasn't been available to us since the American Revolution, and it is this: independent thought. Today, we are swayed so often by other peoples' opinions, the news, pundits, our government, and other people in "authority" that we don't know how to think for ourselves. It's so difficult to keep a rational mind when there is so much irrationality being spewed. Our government was built upon ideals of the Enlightenment, but that sensibility has disappeared to be replaced with arguments between people whose thoughts are rarely even their own. Anarchy offers a clean slate, a break from the safety of clear answers and the ability to hang out in the grey zone.
I'm not saying that we should be anarchists. I'm saying that democracy is only truly valid if the people participating in the system are really thinking about what "freedom" means. It shouldn't be something we listen to others about or accept as truth, but something we fight for and fight to understand every day. Only when we are actively participating in an insightful discussion which can lead to productive ends will our system of government work.
Many of the issues in the graphic novel and film are similar, such as fascism, mind control, the targeting of the "other" such as homosexuals and minorities. The biggest difference between the two is the idea behind them, which is ironic considering the main character, V, is just that: an idea. In the film, V fights for freedom, an American ideal. In the graphic novel, V fights for anarchy.
Uh oh, that's scary. Anarchy. Lawlessness. While there is a tone of bad-assery which lends itself gracefully to the graphic novel genre, it also brings up an issue which people seem to be scared to face. Let's explore this by asking a question: why did the film turn V from an anarchical antihero into a democracy-lovin' fool? Ignore the fact that the film was set in Britain but was American-produced. V, a character who seems so inspirational and thrilling in the film alone, pales in comparison to the ruthless murderer and vigilante of the graphic novel. V loses his power in the translation.
I'm not saying that anarchy is the way to be. Democracy seems to work out decently enough. But here's the deal: in a world where everything is controlled, everything is watched, it would be nearly impossible for the transition from dictatorship to democracy to happen without chaos. Ideas and empires are not built automagically, they are the result of rebellion and unrest.
Think of the film now. While the end of the film is inspirational in its show of solidarity against "the man," it must also be observed that the people basically transition from following one person to another. V is an amazing and attractive character, but he also becomes a sort of second dictator. Sure, his ideas are inspiring and earnestly wish for freedom and equality for all men, but the crowd in the film is just as easily led to his ideas as they were to the Big Brother regime. There might have been stirrings of feeling, but not the passion it would take to overthrow a military dictatorship. In some ways, people need chaos and lawlessness to figure out a path for themselves, free of other peoples' perscription of right and wrong.
Anarchy seems like a scary, insurmountable thing. Our country is huge, and if lawlessness ruled the day we would have a very difficult time getting along, to be sure. However, it would offer something which hasn't been available to us since the American Revolution, and it is this: independent thought. Today, we are swayed so often by other peoples' opinions, the news, pundits, our government, and other people in "authority" that we don't know how to think for ourselves. It's so difficult to keep a rational mind when there is so much irrationality being spewed. Our government was built upon ideals of the Enlightenment, but that sensibility has disappeared to be replaced with arguments between people whose thoughts are rarely even their own. Anarchy offers a clean slate, a break from the safety of clear answers and the ability to hang out in the grey zone.
I'm not saying that we should be anarchists. I'm saying that democracy is only truly valid if the people participating in the system are really thinking about what "freedom" means. It shouldn't be something we listen to others about or accept as truth, but something we fight for and fight to understand every day. Only when we are actively participating in an insightful discussion which can lead to productive ends will our system of government work.
Sunday, February 7, 2010
Make War, Not Love
I confess that I'm not intellectual enough to keep up with documentary films--most of them honestly seem really boring, and there are too many good movies out there to sit through a snoozefest. However, I recently Netflixed the documentary "This Film Is Not Yet Rated," which explains the motion picture rating system...or rather, explains that their ratings are almost completely arbitrary and therefore unexplainable. It's an interesting look into the MPAA, apparently one of the most secret organizations in the United States. But I digress.
The most intriguing topic which was breached by the documentary was the issue of sex versus violence in the media. For instance, many grisly movies packed with violence and gore are granted R ratings, while more sexually-driven movies (not pornography, merely sexual) are given NC-17 ratings. While every documentary must be viewed with a grain of salt, I'd say that overall, violence seems to be more acceptable to watch on the screen than sex. And that, well, that just really doesn't make sense.
The thing about sex that nobody really seems to think about is its basic human element. I'm going to tell you a dirty secret: penises, vaginas, and breasts occur naturally on the human body, and I'll venture to say that most of us have at least one. Oh no, did I just say penis? And vagina? I mean, these things aren't alien to the human condition! They're not swear words! Most likely, if you don't have one, you have the other. And a large, large portion of the population, once they reach sexual maturation, use them in sexual play. It's not wrong to have sex, is it? I mean, that's how we procreate, correct? People can argue that sex is only for procreation, while others believe that it should be strictly for recreation, but I'd venture a guess that lots of people believe something somewhere in the middle.
Violence (and I'm not talking about self-defense or hunting here, I'm talking shooting people in the face) isn't a necessary part of humanity. Aggression happens naturally, sure, but the violence portrayed in the media isn't what I would call "normal" violence. Liam Neeson's ass-kicking in "Taken," for example. Totally awesome? Maybe. Normal? Not at all. So why is it okay? Why is it okay to show someone maiming and/or killing people before it's okay to show a normal human function?
Not all sex is normal, of course. Bestiality, rape, child molestation: these topics are heavy, and as far as I'm concerned, belong in a different catagory. It isn't lovemaking between two consenting adults. It's the denial of admitting this aspect of human life that is really confusing.
Our culture is afraid of something, but I can't quite put my finger on it. Our own sexualities? Each other's sexualities? We are undersexed, we're oversexed, we talk about sex too much, we talk about it too little. I think the problem lies in the extreme overemphasis of sex as an issue. Sex as an issue is complex, it's intriguing, and I think the most important aspect of it right now is that its an untabooed taboo. All anyone can talk about is sex, but we're not really supposed to talk about it. And really, sex isn't that big of a deal.
Sure, it's pleasurable. It can result in children. It can result in the spread of disease. It can result in heartbreak. But come ON, it happens all the time! It's not some sort of momentous event that only happens to certain people of certain races and ages when the moon is full and the temperature's right! It happens pretty much everywhere, pretty much all the time. It's important to be informed about health concerns, but when isn't that important under any circumstance?
I would venture to say that most people are better acquainted with sex than violence, yet establishments such as the MPAA decree that violence is more acceptable than sex in a media outlet. And I have a theory:
For some of us, violence is a concrete idea, and that's a terrible thing. For people like me, though, violence is more abstract. I've never been shot, or stabbed, or hurt in really any way by someone wishing malicious harm. However, sex is closer to us. Many of us participate in it, to make babies or make love. Perhaps it's because sexuality is so real that seeing it affects us in a more profound way than violence. Who knows if that's a good or bad thing?
Not me.
The most intriguing topic which was breached by the documentary was the issue of sex versus violence in the media. For instance, many grisly movies packed with violence and gore are granted R ratings, while more sexually-driven movies (not pornography, merely sexual) are given NC-17 ratings. While every documentary must be viewed with a grain of salt, I'd say that overall, violence seems to be more acceptable to watch on the screen than sex. And that, well, that just really doesn't make sense.
The thing about sex that nobody really seems to think about is its basic human element. I'm going to tell you a dirty secret: penises, vaginas, and breasts occur naturally on the human body, and I'll venture to say that most of us have at least one. Oh no, did I just say penis? And vagina? I mean, these things aren't alien to the human condition! They're not swear words! Most likely, if you don't have one, you have the other. And a large, large portion of the population, once they reach sexual maturation, use them in sexual play. It's not wrong to have sex, is it? I mean, that's how we procreate, correct? People can argue that sex is only for procreation, while others believe that it should be strictly for recreation, but I'd venture a guess that lots of people believe something somewhere in the middle.
Violence (and I'm not talking about self-defense or hunting here, I'm talking shooting people in the face) isn't a necessary part of humanity. Aggression happens naturally, sure, but the violence portrayed in the media isn't what I would call "normal" violence. Liam Neeson's ass-kicking in "Taken," for example. Totally awesome? Maybe. Normal? Not at all. So why is it okay? Why is it okay to show someone maiming and/or killing people before it's okay to show a normal human function?
Not all sex is normal, of course. Bestiality, rape, child molestation: these topics are heavy, and as far as I'm concerned, belong in a different catagory. It isn't lovemaking between two consenting adults. It's the denial of admitting this aspect of human life that is really confusing.
Our culture is afraid of something, but I can't quite put my finger on it. Our own sexualities? Each other's sexualities? We are undersexed, we're oversexed, we talk about sex too much, we talk about it too little. I think the problem lies in the extreme overemphasis of sex as an issue. Sex as an issue is complex, it's intriguing, and I think the most important aspect of it right now is that its an untabooed taboo. All anyone can talk about is sex, but we're not really supposed to talk about it. And really, sex isn't that big of a deal.
Sure, it's pleasurable. It can result in children. It can result in the spread of disease. It can result in heartbreak. But come ON, it happens all the time! It's not some sort of momentous event that only happens to certain people of certain races and ages when the moon is full and the temperature's right! It happens pretty much everywhere, pretty much all the time. It's important to be informed about health concerns, but when isn't that important under any circumstance?
I would venture to say that most people are better acquainted with sex than violence, yet establishments such as the MPAA decree that violence is more acceptable than sex in a media outlet. And I have a theory:
For some of us, violence is a concrete idea, and that's a terrible thing. For people like me, though, violence is more abstract. I've never been shot, or stabbed, or hurt in really any way by someone wishing malicious harm. However, sex is closer to us. Many of us participate in it, to make babies or make love. Perhaps it's because sexuality is so real that seeing it affects us in a more profound way than violence. Who knows if that's a good or bad thing?
Not me.
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