Tuesday, August 31, 2010
Sunday, August 29, 2010
Sunday, August 22, 2010
Last night I went to a party. The party had mostly graduate art students attending CU. Most of these people were really great; funny, smart, creative etc. but what I couldn’t help but notice was this consistent guilt. What I would refer to as white shame. I heard countless people complain about how 'white' Boulder is, which would be fine and dandy except the people doing the complaining are all white. It seems to me that many educated white people have a guilty conscious about their privilege and try to make up for it by not accepting the whiteness of the town they live in. Boulder is 92% white according to the U.S. Census.
In a book called Learning to be White: Money, Race and God in America author Thandeka discusses this concept of how white parents, consciously or subconsciously make their white children pick between a love for them or being an outcast for associating with “the other” and of course, not wanting to lose their parent's love white children start rejecting, learning how to judge, and stay away from “people who are different” or people their parents do not find acceptable i.e. black people or Mexican or whomever is around that doesn’t fit the white privileged mold.
But I think it needs to be taken a bit further, because after being forced to choose then these white kids go to school and are told not to be racists. Then an underlying consciousness divide begins to happen where people start not really knowing what to do or think. Which is why I feel so many white people in Boulder don’t like the white people in Boulder.
They don’t like themselves because they know the oppressions their race has caused and they feel helpless and insecure in that fact. Yet, also safe in this type of environment that really hasn't allowed for a diversity of cultural/ethnic groups to intermingle (which sometimes can make for negative reactions). And then guilty because they feel safe.
If you’re an artist and you live in Boulder you should feel ecstatic. Yes. It’s white. Yes. It’s townies are middle/upper class. But seriously. You’re an artist and you’re trying to make a living. You’re not going to get very many people in the ghetto to support your work, buy your work or give a fuck about your art. They have more serious shit to deal with, like, I don’t know, feeding and sheltering themselves.
In the end, I find and believe that we all work as the oppressed and the oppressor at different times in our lives (and perhaps both at once in some situations).
It doesn’t matter the location it matters what one does with where one is.
No matter what race, class, sex, if one is able to work through the guilt and actually work on owning privilege while changing the oppressions that get us all down we will all be in a better place to reach our individual true potential.
And I believe that is what it all comes down—access to true and pure potential.
BTW this is a funny site if you haven't heard of it:
(This all is leading me to another theory about why Boulder people are so eco-conscious, white privilege and it’s necessity to be “above” and more “informed” than any one else; the be-better-than theory…I’ll get to this idea at another time.)
Thursday, August 19, 2010
I was walking back from the bank and two Big & Tall men were walking toward me. I am almost passed them when one of the Men’s Warehouse guys says, rather loudly, “SMILE! You’re Beautiful!” and since I was the only one around I assumed they were referring to me. And here is my response.
1) Thank you for the compliment.
2) Beauty isn’t everything.
3) The next person to tell me to smile when I am perfectly comfortable keeping no expression on my face WILL be punched in the forehead…or the nose… or the balls.
Is it so impossible for a “beautiful” woman to not conform to the wishes of every man that walks down the sidewalk? Why is it that attractive people are supposed to be happy all the time? Am I not supposed to be as displeased at this oppressive crap-tastic society because I some how fit into it’s beauty ideal? Are ugly people the only people allowed to be angry? To have a scowl on their face? Pardon me for not making your day more pleasant; I was unaware that was my role in society, but, now that you, Big & Tall man, have told me to I will just skip and hop along in my delusional world of rainbows and butterflies.
Maybe if I didn’t have to maneuver around fat asses, retards and crazies every day I would be a bit more happy. Maybe if people got off my back about what facial expressions I need to make I would perhaps smile voluntarily. But for now, all you assholes who tell other people what to do with their faces can go fuck yourself. If I’m so beautiful shouldn’t you be honored to look at me no matter what look I’m giving you?
Wednesday, August 18, 2010
So I just read that a man fell 120 feet while rock climbing. He fell in the middle of the highway. He was not wearing a helmet. He didn’t die, but he’s in the hospital and will probably be permanently fucked up in the brain the rest of his life. I understand the want to overcome Mother Nature’s challenges, but I have personal problems not tripping over a loose pebble when I walk on a flat trail. I wonder what gives people the complete confidence to tackle a massive rock with minimal safety precautions. Are they just risk-takers? Are they already half-retarded? Or do they think they’re immortal and nothing would ever happen to them? I guess I’m slightly more frightened of death than I want to believe. It took me several weeks to get back on a bicycle after twelve years. I didn’t want to ride next to cars. I’ve already been hit by a car just walking, and neither me or the car was going that fast and it still fucking hurt. I guess I am paranoid that I’ll be going too fast down one of these hills and a car will sideswipe me and that will be the end of who I am as a person now….I will either die or more unfortunate, end up permanently fucked up in the brain the rest of my life. And that’s not the kind of headline I want to make in the news.
Tuesday, August 17, 2010
It used to be referred to as anyone who had a one-night stand and walked home the next morning wearing the same clothes as the night before, uncombed hair, and very very bad breath. But now I've experienced a different type of walk of shame; that is the walk of someone with two Master's coming home from an interview in the service industry. The shame of not feeling like I even nailed a interview for a temporary job, the shame of basically almost begging to be a part of capitalism, full well knowing all of the evils but also being forced into that type of work because it's one of the only ways I can keep feeding and sheltering myself.
Monday, August 16, 2010
Ryan and I do this thing, like, if I have five chips and he has five chips and then he eats another chip, well, then I eat another chip. I like to call this game: competitive sharing. Where we are so insistent on equality that we must compete to make sure neither one of us gets any more than the other. I don’t know if he knows he’s in on this game, but he’s a major player. For example. If he goes for a bike ride and while on his bike ride I stay home and drink a beer, when he gets back we have to get more beer and he has to drink quicker so as to catch up with the one beer I had before him. Or. If we have left-overs, LEFT OVERS, and I start eating mine before his gets done in the microwave, well, once his IS done he eats faster than usual (which is really fucking scarfaliciously fast) and tries to get done before me so he can do the dishes so he can use it later to say that he did the dishes when I want him to, I don’t know, clean the toilet or whatever. Because we wouldn’t be sharing the household chores if he did the dishes AND cleaned the toilet.
I don’t really know the point of my discussing this except that I wonder if any other couple behaves this neurotically. I mean, I highly doubt that when one partner puts her book on the table that the other partner MOVES it to the other end of the table, or perhaps, hides it so the first partner can’t find it unless she asks. I mean, surely, no one else has to deal with that shit? He claims to be slightly OCD. I don’t know, how about taking a slight of a pill for that? Because I want my book to be where I put it, when I put it, where I want to put it.
I’m just saying he is much better at competitive sharing than I am. As in, he actually is okay with sharing, and as a narcissistic egotistical maniac, I want it all! Okay. I don’t want ALL of it. I want all the fun stuff, so, like I could drink all the beer while I watch Ryan do the dishes and clean the toilet. Is that so much to ask. . .?
Tuesday, August 10, 2010
Words/phrases I want to use more often.
Ex. If you don’t know how to walk properly on the sidewalk you are a nimrod.
(or) Quit being such a f-ing nimrod. (this is how I prefer to use it)
2) Dough Butt
Oh. Well. I’m in the middle of writing a song (don’t even think about theifing it, I got a copyright what what) it goes:
Oh she got a dough butt
Makes me want to knead it
Oh that dough butt
I just want to bite it
Make it mine…. Yum.
3) Old glute stretch
Ex. Wow, that hike we took was an old glute stretch.
(Or) Oh my goddess quit acting like an old glute stretch.
Ex. We ate beans therefore we got gas.
(or) I only have two television stations therefore I enjoy watching all ION and channel 4 shows!
5) Poop sweat
Ex. Wow, it smells like poop sweat in here.
(Or) I’m sorry sir but it seems as if you have an issue with poop sweat and you’ll need medical treatment to cure that.
(or) OMG who's ass is leaking poop sweat? It’s worse than a scared skunk in here.
Monday, August 9, 2010
Movie goers should start a revolt. No more blood until we see some cum. Okay. Maybe we shouldn’t go to that extreme but isn’t it messed up that we are constantly being bombarded with people blowing up, getting shot, getting mutilated in one way or another but we still can’t see a hard dick? Why are hard dicks only allowed in pornos? What makes them so freaking special that they need to stay covered up all the time? Many of us probably think they look funny because we don’t see them on a regular basis. When we were teenage girls it would have been helpful to know what we were potentially going to get involved with.
Yet, I’m surprised more men don’t have complexes. Every time a man gets a hard on in the movies it’s for comedic effect. He’s in public, next to the girl he likes and he doesn’t want her or anyone to point it out, ba ha ha. It’s his little (or big) secret. Shouldn’t men get embarrassed when they get hard? Everyone I’ve ever met never has, so what’s the deal. Is it because it’s never seen it becomes some holier-than-thou, sitting on a pedestal organ? Men seem to really prize their cocks yet men in Hollywood want to keep them all a secret for bedtime fantasies.
And wouldn’t we all have different movie star crushes if we could know… or wouldn’t there be different movie stars because of it. And if not different movie stars at least a few well-endowed stand-ins could get a paycheck.
All I know is that I’m really tired of this puritanical aesthetic. We can show murder after murder, war after war, but when it comes to pleasure, watch out world, what an offense. Would it really be so wrong to show a woman having multiple orgasms or a man ripe and ready for a sensual evening? I guess if the media showed people having more pleasure they wouldn’t be able to rip people off with their fear mongering as often, and we all know what a killing they make scaring people into buying shit. Scaring people into conforming consumer machines. Scaring people into being scared of a natural human occurrence, a natural hard dick.
Friday, August 6, 2010
Wednesday, August 4, 2010
So, we’ve been in Boulder for a few days now, though it doesn’t feel that way because of course, I’ve been sick the whole time. Every time I travel I get sick. My mom is seriously getting a complex; she thinks I’m allergic to her. Ryan says it can no longer be a coincidence but it really, it just has to do with me get overworked and anxious about getting to the place that I am supposed to be in. I can’t handle the transition. I need to be there with no wait. I could have also been releasing all the Chicago toxins I ingested while there; there was a lot of negativity to release from my system.
But, I’m finally getting better. Adjusting to the elevation, the change in time, the sun and sky being an arms length away. Ryan and I went for a hike today. Granted I almost died every twenty feet, but we eventually made it to the end of the trail. And what a view. Can’t complain about that in the slightest. And the silence. It almost freaks me out sometimes. Especially when we’re sleeping and the traffic stops. It’s been a very long time since I had a quiet nights sleep. I almost don’t know how to handle it.
It’s going to take me a long time to adjust to this new place, but I am happy we moved here. I think it was the right decision, though how does one ever really know? You can only pick one path to go.