“They’re fucking gross, man. Look, I love beautiful girls too. I think everyone should be free to have their knee socks and their sweaty shorts, but I’m over it. I’m over this weird, exhausted girl. I’m over the girl that’s tired and freezing and hungry. I like bossy girls, I always have. I like people filled with life. I’m over this weird media thing with all this, like, hollow-eyed, empty, party crap.”—Amy Poehler on American Apparel (via mollylambert)
Not only does this speech have to be good enough to be chosen over four other highly qualified people,
it has to actually be genuinely good because If I make it through this will be the last thing I ever say to the school as a whole.
Unless somebody steps up and says “Danny, I’ll review movies.”
Which I’m not happy about, because Amy saw a fan trailer for the third Batman movie and though it was real (before they had even started production), which is perfectly acceptable for a standard viewer, unfamiliar with the territory of moviemaking but not someone who needs to think critically about movies and the culture surrounding them.
Don’t bring Jesus into this, it’s not his fault.
Admit it. You kicked him out because he's black, didn't you?
1) I didn’t kick him out, he left without talking to me, and
2) I wish, then there would be a clear bad guy.
I’m willing to discuss this with anyone, but keep in mind I’m the only one that’s had to live with John for six months, since Ben’s never around. When you put up with the shitty domestic habits, the smell that results, the abuse lobbied at your friend until she cries all because she sat in his chair, the wanton violence that put a hole in the wall of Eros, tore the stall barrier off a wall in McCain and never copped to it, punched you in the chest at a party, pretended to pass out repeatedly and then winked and smiled at you saying “I just did it so somebody would carry me back to my room,” convinced your already rippinlgy drunk girlfriend-at-the-time to a boatrace because he can’t have fun unless everyone is as fucked up as him, causing her to pass out and make horrifying noises somewhere between crying and vomiting all night, making me think she had alcohol poisoning, finding out that he repeatedly slapped a girl in jest but she wasn’t laughing, hearing about all his regretful escapades and watching him repeat them and complain about them ad nauseam, the air of self-hatred projected at you whenever you challenge his exceptionally distorted worldview, the insane arrogance of bitching about which law school to choose when I know people at this school working two jobs so that they can go into a career for a reason other than their own profit, or simply the lack of viable escape from a negatively influential situation (I would have been financially penalized for moving out, and simply didn’t have the means), then we’ll talk from a place of shared experience.
People think I’m overreacting when I talk about Sarge. They don’t realize that this is under-reacting. I’m a stupidly tolerant person, and anyone who knew me before this year would tell you that. Imagine what it takes to really get under my skin to the point where I’d do just as well to never see you again for the rest of my life. I don’t even think of Michelle Wooten that way.
No. Just inexorably flawed like me or you. And young, depending on which one you’re asking about, which isn’t a crime but it can be aggravating sometimes. I remember feeling that I was capable of profundity on daily basis when I was younger, so that helps keep things in perspective. It sounds pretentious, but believe it or not most people actually know more when they leave college than they did coming in. I know for a fact that 90% of seniors had a better handle on their shit than I did as a freshman, they just weren’t up in your face about it until you did something REALLY stupid.
I get the distinct feeling you could ask her yourself if you wanted ;)
I led an incoming freshman tour this last Saturday and I realized something.
In the past, when I’ve said “kids” in relation to my contemporaries, it was a little play on age and its relative and often misjudged relevance in personal interactions. It was a self-aware joke of my own youthful ignorance and lack of worldly sophistication.
Now, on the other side of a BA (not the paper, the actual experience behind it) and having a clearer understanding of my world and myself than I ever have, reaching the perceptual “point of no return”, whereafter all of my life becomes a simple deepening of those fundamental understandings, an enrichment for the filigree of my judgements, where writing garden path sentences feels like second nature,
I look at the current Freshmen and without any trace of irony or pretension or even condescension, with nothing but understanding of what it’s like on both sides of this idyllic little indulgence we call “college” I say with genuine emphasis on these bold words
“Silly kids, have fun in your ignorance, because you’ll never get it back.”
I’ll have fun with you guys, because your exploits are entertaining and you remind me that potential is part of inherent value; there’s a reason my smile is a little cracked. I’ve seen past the curtain, and you will too soon.
What exactly makes you ?
What do you have in common with other ?
Do you feel you have enough in common with other  to call yourself ?
Is being  a good thing?
Why would you identify as a  if it was a bad thing?
Why would you accept the term , and all of its negative connotations if you were going to defy them? Couldn’t you defy them without even going to the trouble of calling yourself ?
Why even say that you fit the category of  when you’re whole shtick is to break it?
Do you have a choice in being ?
If you have a choice in being  or not, why would you choose to let yourself be defined primarily by other people?
Are you not comfortable with merely being you, ascribed only labels without necessary connotations? Your given name for instance.
If you don’t have a choice in being , why don’t you have a choice? Who limited you? Why did they limit you? Are all of the limits you perceive actually from the person who made you , or are they constructions of other people? If they are constructions of other people, could you decide not to heed them if you don’t like them?
What exactly makes you [Black, White, Asian, American, a Woman, a Man, an Asshole, a Hipster, a Faggot, a Dyke, a Brat, a Redneck, a Conservative, a Liberal, a Stoner, a Failure, a Waste, a Genius, an Artist, an Idiot, a Writer, a Christian, an Atheist, a Socialist, a Soldier, a…a…a…a…a…a…a…a…a…a…a…a…a…a…a…a…a…a…a…a…a…a…a…a…a…a…a…a…a…a…a…a…]?
It loses its center at the end a little, but its exactly what men need to be aware of. Privilege extends to everything about the straight white male experience. There isn’t biologically a “norm” or “baseline” for humans, so why is there socially?
are kind of a shitty thing. They make us focus all of our good will and specific desires into these little pockets of excitement when we should really be pursuing all the values they represent in relative moderation 365 days of the year.
That said, Happy St. Patrick’s day, please be safe and take a little time to think about how much the Irish have contributed to our national character.
What’s with the anonymity?
Superman is my favorite, for a lot of reasons. He is a character capable of both incredible majesty and poignant humanity. He is challenging to write which makes it all the more triumphant when a writer uses him well. There’s a very strong catharsis in watching Superman love Lois Lane while knowing he can never ever be with her. It resonates with me that he feels like a failure because he hasn’t (in most stories) solved problems like war, or AIDS or other things. Sometimes it’s because you can only do so much with brawn and he knows this. Other times it’s because he has such a strong ethical code. If you’ve read Red Son you know that Superman could take over the world and “fix” everything if he wanted to, but he doesn’t. Every day he makes the monkish decision to be in the world but not of it (there’s your christian imagery, though I tend to think Jesus is pretty lame by comparison) and he has to watch the consequences of that. People suffering, killing, hurting themselves, being humans. If he started fixing things the “easy” way, it would be a slippery slope leading him too close to adopting the role of Übermensch. His life in stories (good ones anyway) is a morality tale about the proper application of all power, even absolute. In this way he also resonates powerfully with the philosophy I follow that among its many tenets says “There is no ‘right’ answer.” His life is harder, existentially, than virtually every other hero because of his “untouchability”. He’s an orphan in the highest sense. He has a human soul. All of these are interesting character traits.
I tend to automatically think a little bit less of anyone who doesn’t like Superman, but I have to hold back because I know they haven’t read as much of him or read as deeply into him as I have. Many people these days say they’re into comics when they’ve barely read one in their lives. It’s hip, and I’m okay with that because it means the preservation of characters I love. Besides, it’s kind of a special thing to understand Superman well enough to be one of the few who actually like him, and not say something insipid like “he’s too powerful” or the shuddertastic “he’s too perfect”. That second one usually reads in my head as “I have no imagination and no sense for nuance and in at least one way am a poser.” You know, the type of person who likes Aquaman. I have a feeling Zack Snyder’s movie in 2012 will probably sway a lot of people (possibly for reasons other than I’d prefer) into the Supes camp. Watch (or read if you have time) All-Star Superman. It’s one of the best and most essential comics stories of the past decade, and I think it really conveys what I’m talking about when I say “Superman has the most potential of any comic book character.”
Anyone who says I take Superman too seriously can go fuck a bible. At least I don’t pray to the guy to come alive and save me from my own human nature. I’ll be a happy man if my kids think Superman is real and Christian Jesus isn’t.
People who tell me I'm looking too closely at a situation to judge it correctly...
then use their close experience with it as justification for their points.
Brainwashing happens every day. If you don’t think this world is super fucked up and essentially beyond permanent repair, you’re either blind or an idiot.
I’m clinically depressed and not taking the pills for it. Yet.
My stomach is still attacking me with ambiguous pain. I have to go back to the doctor until they figure it out, and until then do all of this shit I don’t want to do to “manage my condition” that doesn’t work. My quickly dwindling percocet stash barely holds me together. The devil’s grass ain’t doing me much better.
Some of the women I’ve loved think I’m a tool. The good ones don’t, and I don’t care if they’re wrong.
I’m behind in my homework. My fault.
I hate my roommate sometimes. Which is sad for many reasons, mainly that he doesn’t hate me. There is just something fundamental about him that doesn’t jive with me, and never will. I could complain but there’s really no use (there really never is for complaints), it’s only eight weeks and then we’ll probably never see each other again. In my dreams I blame him for my insanity. When I wake up I call myself a liar.
Writer’s block, at the worst possible times.
My dad, who normally doesn’t worry about this shit asked me if I was sending out job apps yet. I was gonna wait two weeks, but if he’s already thinking of it I guess I must be behind the curve.
I have to get a job in Boise, to get a place in Boise, to maintain an internship I’m not even sure I have yet, because
My lead teacher doesn’t know if she wants me in her classroom next year.
And at the bottom, I’m damn close to broke and will be pretty much until I start working decent hours somewhere.
The people around me, and not around me, care though. I’m just shitty at letting them in the right way. But I’m that old christian kind of grateful they’re here for me.
A really nice, fucked-up-in-exactly-the-right-way sort of thing happened to me this weekend, and I’m not ashamed to say that I hope it happens again sometime.
All in all. Life’s still pretty been pretty fucking great for 22 years.
It just hurts a lot sometimes. Then again, I suppose it always will.