Formulaic Hipster Misogyny

Thursday 18 August 2011

LISTEN

Take 4 minutes out of your day and listen to this guy spit.

Monday 18 July 2011

Heroine

Casey Anthony is the closest approximation of a hero the 21st century will ever have.

Saturday 18 June 2011

Monday 13 June 2011

So clearly, talking about Lost is a dated way to pass the time. The show ended a few years ago and, honestly, stopped being relevant long before that save for the devoted following and the curious bystanders that wanted to know how it ended. I have a habit of watching shows like that on DVD so I was late to the party and devoted a lot of energy to never finding out how the show ended.

Last year a novel called a visit from the goon squad by Jennifer Egan won the Pulitzer and, frankly, it seemed an odd choice. I read the first few chapters several times before actually getting into it and even now that I can admire the brilliance of the novel I am surprised that it won. Not because it isn't good enough but because the the tenor feels wrong. Almost as though the committee wants to change it's image and decided that awarding this novel was the best way to do it.

goon squad and the end of Lost deal with losing things we love. Oddly enough they stray from the party line of realism and tell us that what we love can never be lost. As Lost comes to a close, we see all the main characters have died or will die and, in death, have come together. Bix, a character in goon squad, tells his friends that in the future (I suspect he is referring to facebook as the scene takes place in the early 90's) we will lose nothing but, rather, turn to spirits and reconnect with everything that we love.

Are these explanations easy outs? Mystical attempts to give people hope about a topic that is inherently hopeless? Cunning ways for writers to infuse their media with both loss and connection, love and abandonment, while ensuring that the consumer has their happy ending? The last is most likely I suspect. But as I look at my life I can see that what frightens me most is everything that I have lost and everything that I will lose. I can feel innocence and freedom and selflessness and the knowledge that anything is possible escaping me. This is an important part of growing up, I suspect. In the novel Dance Dance Dance the main character staggers though an indefinite existence, plagued by apathy as he is unwilling to devote himself to anything for fear of loss. As the novel concludes, he accepts this. He cries for all that he has lost and all that he will lose but wraps his lover tightly in his arms and prepares himself because he sees that it is worth it. This is growth and maturity and it eludes me. I do not have the strength for such acceptance. What appeals to me more is Bix and Lost. Explanations that free me from loss, infusing me with the knowledge that I stand to lose nothing. No matter how much it feels like childhood has passed, I can cling to the knowledge that it will find me once again. It seems illusory but I have to belief this. I have to belief that what has been lost can always be found again and that the future is always infinite and that possibilities are never limited. For time immemorial I can go back and try again and be young and be an astronaut or a fireman or a lawyer or a doctor or a janitor and have a parents that actually love me and not want to kill myself. I can go back and regain everything. I have to believe this but I fear I can't because it probably isn't true. We lose so much.

Absurdity

Take a look at the picture below and think about what these people might be in line for:

Consider their shining faces and hopeful smiles; fists and hands thrown up in excitement and expectation; the captured frame exuding togetherness as these people, previously strangers, come together to experience something fulfilling and inspiring. Right? It's a line-up for a new summer blockbuster or some massive concert. Surely, just beyond the back of the frame, is a Katy Perry or Brad Paisley cut-out or some poster advertising the most recent Marvel character defecting from still life to animatronic motion. What do these people wait for? They wait for this:

And this:

They wait for a mother convicted of murdering her daughter. Their raised fists and exalted expressions await the trial of a woman that murdered her child. I have little more to say on this. It is appalling. It is heart-breaking. It is utterly absurd.

Tuesday 31 May 2011

I hate my fucking life

Like most people of my generation, I'm pretty fucking miserable. A large part of this misery, ironically, probably stems from how much time I spend thinking about why I'm miserable. These long years of introspection, however, have granted me some insight into why I hate my life so much. Now I'll preface this by saying that I know it has been said before. The idea of there being another mid-twenties douchebag bitching about how awful his life is (considering how fucking much I have) is, in itself, depressing, which is only making my situation worse. Its one thing to hate a life that is good, its another thing entirely to hate yourself for hating the life because it is such a cliche. I watch people acting out cliches (white girls being prostitutes, teenagers drinking, etc.) and I hate them, criticize their inability to be anything but what they are supposed to be. Like most things, its projection. In any case, I hate my life because it has failed me. The problem, of course, is that life is not a thing that can fail so there is an inconsistency in my depression. To that I'll respond by saying that depression, self-loathing and suicide are inherently irrational. Let's be honest, most of the people who hate themselves and their lives shouldn't and those that should don't. Otherwise, the ones that should would have killed themselves and we wouldn't even know that such people exist.

From birth our meritocratic society instills in its fodder the knowledge that working hard will bring great things. Work hard and you'll get whatever you desire but this goes beyond materialism. There is, we are told, an inherent benefit in the simple act of working hard. Doing something to the best of your abilities is supposed to be satisfying and meaningful in and of itself. As an interesting aside, there is a syndrome that used to exist amongst African-Americans called John Henryism. Essentially, there was an overwhelming prevalence of hypertension in American blacks and researchers found that this was true in those who held the belief that hard work would allow them to escape their desolate socio-economic position. These people were working hard believing that it would elevate them and, when they remained poor and marginalized, blamed themselves thereby precipitating massive levels of stress causing the hypertension.

But I digress. Considering the watered-down nature of a current university degree, I assume I'm not the only person that was told education was important. You work hard in school, suffer through it and come out the other side with a valuable degree and a greater sense of self-worth. I have three university degrees (mathematics, economics and psychology), graduating near the top of my class in all three. In fact, I haven't gotten less than an A+ in a class in almost 3 years. Yet somehow I still hate my fucking life, thoroughly convinced that I have accomplished nothing of consequence. I assume that I'm not alone in this. Our parents ascribed meaning and purpose to education for two reasons: 1) they didn't have the same opportunity and, 2) they were told to. The system has failed them as significantly as it has failed us except they get it once removed and see us as the failure. In Jonathan Franzen's Freedom (Note: if you don't like it you're a fucking moron and don't even think of telling me the characters are unlikeable) the characters suffer from one flaw above all others: they over-commit to being different from their parents. If a woman felt neglected by her parents, she smothered her children thereby causing her children to neglect their children for fear of smothering them. I risk doing the same thing if I ever have children. I'm probably going to be so lax about education because I had such an unfulfilling experience that my kids are going to be fucking homeless. They'll over-emphasize with their kids and so on and so forth.

Education is a singular example but our lives are strewn with similar ideals. The point, I guess, is simple. I did everything I was supposed to do. I went to school, worked hard, got good grades and thought about my future. I've worked summers since I was 13 instead of being a fucking teenager, thereby saving inordinate amounts of money (unfortunately, my dad still thinks I'm lazy and hates me (god damn cliches)). I didn't wrong people growing up, did right when I could, smiled at and complimented people, help open doors and tried to be a good person. I met a beautiful woman that loves me unequivocally and am prepared to start a life together. I did everything I was supposed to do and they (society, my parents, etc.) told me that this was the way to happiness and contentment. Fulfill your end of the bargain, work hard and you'll be good. Well I'm not. I'm fucking sad and depressed and broken. I cry and scream and break things and feel hopeless and get consumed by my self-hatred and eventually it will destroy me. And I'm pissed off. I'm angry and frustrated that I worked so hard and sacrificed so much and got nothing in return, received nothing I was promised. And I can't be alone in this. Odds are, if you're still reading this it makes sense to you, on some level. We've all been promised something in return for our compliance. I'm tired of working, where the fuck is my paycheck?

Best Hip-hop Albums by Year

Saw a dude on last.fm do this and thought it was ace. Figured I'd give it a go. Comments and dissenting opinions are welcome.

1988 - Long Live the Kane by Big Daddy Kane