being for things

After using marijuana for the past three years, I’m starting to warm up to the idea of medication for my incessant anxiety. I guess it is a gateway drug after all. It never occurred to me until marijuana was legalized that there are plenty of legal options for mood altering experiences. With a good enough excuse, you can get your hands on anything you want and the pharm companies would love it if you did.

So here’s to you, pharmaceuticals. Thank you for making recreational drugs for our newly minted, and oddly common, psychological disorders.

On pain and my finger

Woke up this morning around five. Something was wrong but I couldn’t figure what it was. Then I realized that the middle finger on my right hand was throbbing with pain. Recently I’ve started biting my nails, and for some reason—a chip, or a snag, or something—I had been favoring this finger over all my others. Over the last few days I’ve gnawed it down past the cuticles and last night I guess I fell asleep resting my head on it. Being in pain is like having a pretty functional Autism-spectrum friend. Pain is useful to have around. Sometimes pain is a lot of fun. Pain has a quirky, eye-opening take on just about everything, and sometimes I feel as if pain understands me better than any of my other friends do. Every now and then pain gets a little out of control. Usually when this happens I can hang on with pain, because, you know, pain is my friend. And that’s what friends do. The only thing that really bothers me, and I’m a little embarrassed to admit this, is that pain can be really, really annoying. Pain is always pointing out the obvious. A lot of the time I really value pain’s insights, but sometimes pain just gets hung up on some little tiny thing that really, really does not matter. “You bit too much of your nail off, now the dermis is exposed.” 

“Thanks for noticing, pain. I’ll keep an eye on it and make sure it doesn’t get infected.”

“You bit too much of your nail off, now the dermis is exposed.”

“Right, I know. You just said that.”

“You bit too much of your nail off, now the dermis is exposed.”

“Pain. I know. Let’s move on.”

“You bit too much of your nail off, now the dermis is exposed.”

“I KNOW, pain. Leave it.”

“You bit too much of your nail off, now the dermis is exposed.”

“Pain, dude, just forget about it, it’s gonna be fine.”

“You bit too much of your nail off, now the dermis is exposed.”

“Oh my god, pain.”

“You bit too much of your nail off, now the dermis is exposed.”

“Please shut up.”

“You bit too much of your nail off, now the dermis is exposed.”

Still, in the end, I’m glad I have a friend like pain. Besides, if you can scrounge up a couple shots or a joint, pain usually chills out pretty quick. 

Memetiquette

Memes are parties. Show up reasonably late when the party really starts going and get out before everyone leaves.

February 3rd.

She walked in briskly, hardly making any sound coming up the stairs. Without welcome, as if a place had already been saved for her, she crossed the room and sat in the cushioned chair across the table from me. I glanced at her for a moment, taking a bite from the egg bagel in my hand, the uncooked yolk drizzling from its broken pouch, and then gazing down again at my plate.

Although the morning sun obscured her view, she found her reflection in the window and began to furiously fix her hair and check her skin and teeth for specks of imperfection. Settling down she looked over at me smiling, waiting to catch my eye. I continued to glance at the crumb covered place mats on the table and out over the trees through the window. Her smile faded slightly as she looked around the room awkwardly, noticing the empty liquor bottles on top of the kitchen cabinets, the refrigerator magnets, the little Santa Clause ornament left out after the Christmas tree was disposed of, the cardboard wheel nailed to the wall delegating weekly chores, and the rest of the oddly placed objects of the current residents. I looked up at her again, watching her study the surroundings, averting my eyes when she noticed me looking.

She sighed, rolling her eyes a little, and paused as if to begin some sort of dialogue. Before she could get a word out I rose from my seat and walked around the island counter to the sink. I could feel her gaze as I turned the water on to begin cleaning the dishes.

“It’s nice to be here.”

I glanced over my shoulder and gave her a small smile and a nod.

Just 26 more days of this ugly bitch.

To the person or amalgamation of persons who posted about Beyoncé: could you give your best guess about what the mechanical hand means? I had very similar thoughts to you (or you all) about the last few seconds of the video, however, the hand is just so strange. How about giving it a shot. I had a few ideas: a thousand wedding rings melted into one, taking the “taken” symbolism of a wedding band and turning on its head, a symbol of the power that is afforded to the one who “moves on” and doesn’t wait around for someone to get their nerve up, etc. etc. you can tell they are fairly low grade ideas. help me out. throw me a bone. whatever.

I think you’re right. It is like a reforged wedding ring, making use of the materials of patriarchy to create a totem of female power. The woman-as-object joined with the symbolic object-mechanism of her objectification, thereby transmuting both into a hybrid subject. The ring is no longer a sign of being “spoken for.” It is now a tool, even a weapon, imbued with its own uncanny life—as signified by the weird, whizzing robot noise it makes at the end.

That noise, by the way, is the thing that, for me, most clearly reveals the artificiality of the final submissive giggle-smile. Since I’m assuming that that gauntlet is not, you know, a REAL robot, that sound must have been added in post-production. The sound, the moment at which Beyoncé is at her most otherworldy, her most powerful, unapproachable and FIERCE, was consciously added in so that it could be the set-up for the punch line of the smile: “Ha ha, that robot-noise was so ridiculous, right? Don’t worry guys, I’m not taking myself too seriously! Ha ha!” No, Beyoncé, that robot-noise was not ridiculous until you laughed at it. Nothing about that video was ridiculous. It was awesome. We all loved it. You inspired us. But you just retroactively made the whole thing ridiculous. Guess I’ll just go drop it in my Dereons some more. Thanks for nothing.

———————-

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UN0MpBQG3-E

Let's talk about Beyoncé

At the end of the video for “Single Ladies (Put A Ring On It),” the track cuts out and the camera zooms in on Beyoncé’s face. She stands for a beat or two, posing, breathing hard. Then she does a little flourish with her hand, relaxes her posture,  lowers her head, and smiles. This last gesture has always bothered me. Calculated to make Beyoncé seem more “real” and “approachable,” to me it comes off as the most artificial moment in the video. Why can’t she just let herself be a star? I think she’s scared of this “Sasha Fierce” persona that she’s created. I think this new discourse of “fierceness” that has emerged in the last few years is potentially very powerful. I think Beyoncé understands this, and I think she’s scared of what it implies. A fierce woman is a woman who takes herself seriously. That last sentence requires some re-definitions. “Fierceness” in this sense means brave, proud, and feral, but in a specifically performative way. Likewise “seriousness,” in this sense, is an earnest performance. The problem is that Beyoncé just wants people to like her. She needs to get over it. She has a responsibility now. She’s a hero to millions of fans. She has a duty to accept her fierceness, even if it means appearing, not only unapproachable, but unattractive. That smile makes me think that she’s not up to the task. Like she’s just playing tough because some man thinks its hot, but in the end, she will always demure, laugh it off. Post-feminism can be summed up in the last five seconds of this video.