part-time girlfriend

“Your wife is a total cockblock”
That’s what I should have said to you
Standing in the hallway
At that stupid OWL party
I should have taken you in the bathroom
Gotten at least a little something for my trouble
Instead of driving your drunk asses home
You know what I’m saying?

vaccine

confused. annoyed. totally bummed. is this meant to inoculate me? to be a vaccine? is this some super secret strategic maneuver?
how do i work this? how do i make sure i get the things that i want but still avoid drama? i think the answer is to figure out how to not want things. really. but it's the wanting that feels good sometimes. it's a pisser.

the first rule of fight club

You look like a beautiful cliff from which to jump.
You could be a beautiful drain around which to circle.
You look like a great storm in which to completely lose my shit.
How does one remain Switzerland? That's what I want to know.
How does one see all the bright, shiny, sparkly, pretty things and not touch them. Just to touch? How do you not get involved? How do you not want?
I wanna be Switzerland. I wanna be fucking Mother Theresa.
What do you choose? All or nothing? Are you in?
The thing is, control, letting go. Well, it works both ways. Pushing everything away, things that come to you, refusing opportunities- that’s just as much a method of maintaining control. Just as much as trying too hard to hold on to everything. Completely letting go means you are bound to run into something eventually. Do you let it hit you? Or do you swerve?

big love

Crap. This is hard. Suddenly adjusting to being a middle child. Modesty. Swallowing pride. Not being the bright, shiny, new thing anymore. Dealing with being average. It’s been kind of a demoralizing week.
And I keep wondering, what is the thing that I’m going to be best at? If not this, then what? So far, all I can think is that I’m really good at being a dufus. I’m willing to go to lengths that others aren’t. I’ve gotta figure out how to work that into an income generating operation.
So my thing. I think for a lot of people it’s their job. And for even more people, it’s their partner. If nothing else, they can be really good at loving this person, being with this person. Supporting this person. Like John Cusack had it right all along in Say Anything. What if that’s not it for me, either? What if I’m just average all the way around?
The thing I seem to be best at right now is making a fool of myself to make other people feel better. I want to be a clown/revolutionary. How do I make that happen?
And I know that this year for me is supposed to be about letting go. Letting go of expectations. Letting go of want. Starting over. But it’s hard not to get drawn in. To not want the bright, shiny, pretty. It’s hard not to be swayed. Seduced.

the commodification of education (or my metaphysical crisis part two-thousand and eight)

I have been meeting a lot of very smart, motivated people lately. People with advanced degrees. People who say they know what they are doing.
There was a time when I was thinking about going back to grad school. I was thinking either of getting a second masters in a humanities field to be an academic librarian, or getting a PhD to be a professor. In the end I decided that it wasn’t worth it financially, but all this talk lately has gotten me thinking and defending my decision.
For one, I can’t imagine settling on a subject specialty to study for the rest of my life. That would be excruciating. I would always be thinking that I picked the wrong thing. I am interested in so many things, so many places, and my interests grow and change so much. I love being a generalist. Hell, my B.A. is in General Studies for crying out loud. And you can’t really be a professor of generalities. Nor do you get to move around a lot.
The other thing is a concern of mine that has grown over the last two years, increasingly so since I started working in the Office of Admissions. Every day I see a hundred different files. Files full of resumes, college entrance essays, scholarship essays, recommendation letters, personal statements. Pages and pages of embossed card stock with watermarks and full color photos.
This whole system disgusts me. The fact that we encourage and expect seventeen year olds to know what they want to do for the rest of their lives! And to proclaim it to us in competition for money and access to education. They are so eager to please us, to be validated. And we take complete advantage of them. It’s horrible. It’s entirely the wrong way to raise and inspire generations. This whole culture of competition means that learning isn’t the goal. Winning becomes the goal. Being the best, the smartest. Not the most well-rounded. And all the essays are the same. I am so great, this is why. All the recommendation letters are the same. So and so is a wonderful student, here is why.
Even public institutions of higher education are highly funded by corporate interests. This is a system which works to commodify education. And shouldn’t everyone have a right to an education? Does learning have to be this formal process where knowledge is traded for money??? What about people teaching people and learning from each other? Why are we herding every kid onto the college track? Does everyone need, or will use, a college education? Will everyone be able to afford to pay for that college education based on the job they do get once they finish?
I just can’t work in support of this system. A system which works to make teenagers fear being left behind. Which encourages competition and anxiety. Where winning is the only goal. Go to college, spend all this money, take out huge loans. Then what? Get a moderately crappy job where you invariably do busy office work and your brain proceeds to atrophy. They don’t tell you that in the view books. They don’t mention all the kids who go back to waiting tables and living with relatives because they can’t afford to live on their own. The kids who go to grad school to avoid paying student loans, only to be stuck with even bigger debts later.
And don’t get me started on graduates of masters and doctoral programs. I have heard so many horror stories in higher education publications from out of work professors, professors working part-time as adjuncts at multiple community colleges just to get by. No representation, no benefits, no job security. But what were they told when they entered their graduate program? “Oh, look at how the profession is graying! There will be so many jobs opening in the next few years! We need so many new graduate students!” What you don’t realize until after you’re already inside the Venus flytrap is that these proclamations are made by the schools themselves to “sell” their programs. They make money by putting butts in the seats.
The truth is, a lot of professions are graying but no one can afford to retire. If they do retire, their job will inevitably be de-professionalized, split up into several part-time positions with no benefits, or eliminated altogether.
When you look around you and everyone is saying “Do this! Do this!” You have to stop and ask why? What’s in it for them? What happens if I make my own path? That’s what I’m interested in, this “other.” The “what happens if I don’t?” And I know this is why I’m behind others my age in certain respects. No nice house, no long term partner, no babies, no 401K. I always get distracted. Bored. I always want to go somewhere else, learn something else. Experience something new and completely foreign. So far I think it’s worth it.

thanksgiving freebies

miss l and i started our holiday journey by plundering dumpsters. oh, holy bounty! i had so many perishables that i had people over for a brunch the other day.
t-day i went to green county where i said "boner" twice and "goddammit" once in front of old religious relatives. these are people who say grace before eating and swear up and down that tattoos are evil. they mean well, but i really am their little token black sheep. they humor me but don't want their kids to take me seriously. because having babies at 17 and out of wedlock is soo much better. my mom was proud of my bounty until she looked around and realized that she was supposed to be embarrassed by me. i was talking to my favorite aunt in the kitchen and i think my thoughts on government and politics offended her. i didn't realize she was such a corporatist. that kind of made me sad because i wanted her to think that i'm awesome and back me up. i was telling her about my busking/roller clown idea and she was trying to dissuade me. meanwhile i was trying to get her to realize that she was a bought woman and to see my pov on anarchism. now i just kind of feel sorry for her.
then i went to tijuanna's where there was even more food and six kinds of pie! hustler got to play with lots of dogs and i got to detox from rural indiana.
i also skated and drank and had horrible sinus headaches. and sang karaoke to Loretta Lynn, "don't come home a drinkin'." it was less of singing and more of howling, but i'm giving myself credit for it anyways.
but get this- sunday i went for dinner at my momma's and she gave my these pants she got at the dump! gloria vanderbilt high-wasted, skinny jeans, in a fruit stripe pattern. i. am. going. to. wear. these. all. week. long. i want to see how long it will take people to say something to me about them. fantastic! i'll be like the german exchange student in 11th grade econ., only without the moose knuckles.

Introducing Buster Keister

I’ve been thinking a lot about what I am going to do long term. How I am going to manage avoiding office work. And I was researching circus schools and clown colleges the other day. There really aren’t very many, and it’s too bad that vaudeville is a thing of the past. So then I was looking into busking, and thinking that I could be a one-woman show. If I went to a big city, like Chicago, I could do it on the streets for money. And maybe if I got some other people interested I could modify it into a burlesque show. I could join/create a burlesque troupe, or just hook up with one for shows.
The thing is, I really like goofing off and acting ridiculous on skates. I’d like to make people laugh and be an entertainer. So what I am thinking is making up a little act which would entail me dressing as a roller girl/clown and trying to do ballet on skates. I would fall down a lot and look funny and there would be physical humor. But if I can learn to do the can-can on skates that would be aweeeesome, and actually really impressive. I think I’m gonna start practicing toe stop work in my kitchen. So the busking act would be “the little clown girl who wanted to be a ballerina,” but then for burlesque it could be more saucy and less cutesy. Maybe a little strippy. Ohh, and I should practice hula hooping. That’s a definite skill.
I’m looking up online and it doesn’t seem like anyone else is really doing this. I found one video that was such a simple simple act, but nothing else. I think I could maybe really do this. Fans! Feathers! Sequins!
Oh, and I also have this vision of choreographed, synchronized roller dancing girls (a la Ziegfeld follies) as a roller derby half-time show. That could be sooo fun. The problem is that most of the girls who would be interested and physically able to do it are probably already in derby. So there is a logistical problem for you. Even if I did it by myself, or did a matador routine with a partner in tennis shoes, it would be tough if I was actually skating in that bout. Maybe between a double-header?
I was thinking that my busking name could be Buster Keister, after the silent-era comedy star Buster Keaton. What do you think? This all sounds feasible, right? I mean, I have to dream about something…

the kitchen

The community kitchen is some powerful shit. I am convinced the community kitchen could have kept Lex Luthor from turning evil. The community kitchen could have kept Darth Vader from the dark side. And I don’t mean because they would have had full bellies, I mean because they would have had full hearts. Wow. That’s soo corny. But I feel like the “other” that I get at the kitchen is just as big and just as powerful as any nourishment. What is this “other” I mean?
First off, people don’t just go to the kitchen because they want to. They go because they need to. Because it is imperative. Because there is no other way to make ends meet. You are sitting in the gutter and someone gives you food. Good food. And it’s not the food so much that matters, but just the fact that someone looked at you. Someone acknowledged you. Someone says, “yes, you exist.” And not just that, but “you matter.” The Fact That You Exist, Matters. It’s a community saying, “no, we’re not going to let you go.”
I can see now how Edward Norton gets addicted to the support meetings in Fight Club. And that feeling of letting go, of falling, and then bouncing. Of being saved. That’s amazing. It’s like being reborn. It’s like going to confession. Being baptized.
That is some powerful medicine. For me, going to the kitchen means hitting bottom and being reminded that you still matter, that it will be ok in the end. That someone will reach a hand out and help you. And that’s enough to warm a cold, cold heart.
It gives me hope. And not just hope that I’ll turn out ok, but hope for the future of our community. As long as we have people who care about others, who care enough to give this kind of support to perfect strangers, for no reason at all, for no personal gain, then I think maybe as a society we’ll be ok. Maybe we can all save ourselves.
And this makes me think maybe I should be working in a non-profit. What I loved about being a public librarian was this idea of helping the common man, teaching people to teach themselves. Inspiring people to want to learn, and then watching them light up when they realized all that was out there for them. Maybe I should be in the social services…I have to start my revolution somewhere.

"We were in the business of mutual amusement, and we were reasonably prosperous."

*yup. i'm totally reposting this from my book blog: you're so meta. a book that made me think about my life enough to write fifteen million paragraphs deserves two postings! yee haw! suck on that!

This was my first John Green novel and I enjoyed it very much. Let’s first start with the praise: Green is very creative in terms of language; there were a great many awesome one-liners which I have yet to co-opt and use on my friends. It kept me interested and made me laugh. And toward the end, it made me think. Like, deep thoughts and stuff. Now for the complaints: it is a little disjointed. It almost reads like three different stories. I wish that he had either made the whole novel more cohesive, or separated them completely into three distinct parts as a way to give the reader a warning.
Overall I liked it a lot. It is for sure a classic example of coming of age YA. I think this novel will do a good job of tricking teen readers into thinking about their lives in ways they hadn’t yet intended. It reminds me of Catcher in the Rye, and Someday This Pain will be Useful to You. But it also reminds me a little of Cory Doctorow’s, Little Brother with its use of technology and the thriller/adventure aspect to part of the story.
But what I really wanted to write about was how Green made me think. I identified with the main female character in that we share an anarchist philosophy and we both seem to be afflicted with a never ending wanderlust. I understand her boredom with modern society and her idea of “Paper Towns.” It really made me think about leaving. Why I always feel the need to.
I recently left a good job in the Miami area and moved back to little old Bloomington, IN. My idea was this: I hate Miami, therefore I must hate big cities. I should go back home, to a small town, where there is room to subvert the system and live beneath the currents. Back to where people are real, where there is a history to things. What I didn’t anticipate was getting bored. Specifically, getting bored after four months. Bored with my meaningless job. There never seems to be enough trouble to get into. Or people who are interested in getting into trouble.
And I realize that I Will Never be one of those people who define their lives by their job, career, kids, partner. The nice house they own, their multiple cars, soccer camp, the PTA. Now, a lot of this I have known, but I did really fall into the idea that coming back home was safe. And that I would get a decent job, eventually work toward buying a little old house, more dogs, meet a nice lady, etc. and now I feel like I’ve done all this work to set a future up for myself and the entire idea bores the shit out of me. I figured out Miami in three months, how can I possibly think of staying in this little town of 80,000 people for the rest of my life? Hence: anxiety. And somehow the anxiety exacerbates the boredom. And the boredom, the anxiety.
This is my pattern: fantasize about a place, research and make a plan to move to said place, move, have a great three months exploring and having exciting new experiences, get bored with new place, realize place is not as magical as I thought in my mind, have real people problems with money and jobs and bills, research and make a new plan to go to a new place, in the meantime wait out the rest of my lease and grumble about how bored I am and how I can’t wait to move to X city.
So this is what I have learned about my needs/wants from the most recent move. Never sign a year lease. Always sublet an apartment or get roommates from Craigslist. Furniture is not important and will just present more problems when I decide to move again. Sell furniture and bulky unnecessary possessions. Never think of another move as “the answer,” the end of the road. Don’t let myself get sucked into thinking that I will/want to “settle down.” I will only be disappointed with myself when I don’t feel/perform like I think I’m supposed to. Stop thinking in terms of “supposed to,” “normal,” “expected.”
I used to have these insecure feelings that the reason I wanted to move was because I was afraid of failure in my current place/situation. I now know for sure that this is not the case. I can do anything. I have moved across the country four times! I have lived in my car for two weeks! I have perfected the art of car-camping. I got the big-girl job I wanted, turned it down, and then turned down another. I could stay here and wait this out as long as I want; I could do the little Bloomington lesbian storybook ending. And that is awesome for some, but really and truly, that bores the shit out of me.
As I watch myself and my friends get older, get coupled up into more permanent couples, get houses together, pets together, start dressing the same, nesting, going home at midnight, playing video games, staying in and watching movies, not doing anything, not existing, as an individual, I am more and more bored. Love is a drug, it’s a sedative.
It’s not that I don’t want (romantic) love, I do. But I am strong without it. I don’t NEED it. I’ve fell into that sedative trap before and it’s not something I ever want to do again. And I feel like I know myself well enough by now to know that a house and spouse isn’t what I’m looking for.
I am ALWAYS looking around the corner, what’s over there, what’s else is happening. Planning trips, excursions, adventures. Fantasizing about city X. Bucking against the reins. It’s like everyone is sitting down to a buffet, and I look around at everyone’s plates and they are all eating heaping piles of macaroni and cheese. And I’m like, hey what about these brussel sprouts, here’s some shrimp, roast beef, ribs! Crab Rangoon! I know it’s a silly example, but it is the way I visualize the differences between me and a lot of other people.
That’s just me. I’m always going to question. I’m always going to ask why? What if? What about? What else? Digging up the holes, peeking in the cracks. Exploring. It’s just my nature. I can’t not. I’m always going to crave experience. I am always going to want more.
I’m hoping that realizing all of this and changing my attitude will help me to better appreciate my surroundings after the honeymoon period wears off. That I will be a little better equipped to deal with Bloomington. That I’ll finally stop comparing myself and my views/tastes/opinions with those of other people. Because, really, none of that is applicable.
So what’s next? Well, every time I make a plan I find it really hard not to move forward with it, so I’m trying to keep this one a little fuzzy. I’m set to stay here in town for another year at least. I might make it two or three. We’ll see how it goes. After that I’m thinking Chicago. There are a lot of things I love about Chicago, plus I would be able to live without a car and I could come home all the time to visit. I’m thinking if I want to stay in one place for a little while without becoming bored and get to do lots of crazy things and meet lots of crazy people, maybe I should try a bigger city. If that doesn’t work there’s always NYC. Or Madison. Or Burlington. Or Olympia...

I’m kind of having a metaphysical crisis

Ok, so I got this thing. This shape-shifting thing. This thing that I do. I am so concerned with security, with having a future, a plan. Yet, to make a plan really work, you have to be static enough to work it. And I change so much. My future is constantly changing. It changes faster than it is possible for me to plan.
I am somewhat of an anxious person naturally, and this aspect makes me increasingly so. I'm constantly chasing shifting rainbows.
So here I am, back in Bloomington and trying to figure out what I'm going to do with myself. How am I going to live. How am I going to construct my life.
I keep trying things on, and nothing seems to fit right. Or it only fits for a year or two, then I grow out of it. I know a lot of things which I don't want to do. A lot of people who I don't want to be. And I have this idea of the people I am drawn to, fascinated by. I'd like to be like them. To realize that. But in real life there are details, logistics. I'm trying to work out the details. Refining. Distilling life into the most important and worthwhile pursuits.
And sometimes I think about going back to Portland because I would be surrounded by these people who fascinate me. But this problem I have, this money problem would only get worse. And I am really trying to eliminate/minimize the effect money has on my life and well-being. Simplify, simplify, simplify.
So I look back on the things that I have done, the places I have lived, the people I have been, and I wonder- was it all a series of phases? Of fads? Am I just a series of temporary persona's? Because if that is the case, then how can I trust myself to do/be anything in the future? How can I trust that the things of which I am currently invested will always be? Am I just bullshitting myself like I have been bullshitting everyone else all along?

why won't someone pay me to be a hoodlum?

ennui. the ennui has set in. all snuggled up next to you like a dirty hooker, her stink wearing on you three days later. bronzer, sweat, makeup, the chemical smell never quite coming off. that's what ennui is to the basement workplace. once setting in, once sinking it's dirty little hooker teeth in you, it never lets go. always reminding you of who you are, what you've settled for. your bargain basement price.


if you know of a local employment opportunity which is fun and casual, while paying a seemingly decent wage, please, oh please dear god- let me know. free meals are a bonus.

buy my shit pile, no really

this is awesome. can the government buy my bad investments too? my bad investments, being of course, student loan debt (i.e. the government, itself)!
my current debt = student loans 63K, plus credit debt (due to moving mutliple times for jobs resulting from said college) 13K. for a total of 76K, all higher education-related.
wooowie!
i mean, come on! as a smart, impressionable 17 year old, when everyone is saying, "hey, you're smart. you're a good kid. go to college and get a good job!" who are you to argue? apparently, not smart enough to see through the cracks until it was too late. i am currently working in a temporary job for 11 bucks an hour. among my monthly bills, i have a $242 a month student loan payment (for the next 29 years- so yes, i will be nearing 60 when that finally gets paid off) and a $325 a month credit card payment. these two bills alone make up almost half of my monthly take home pay. pretty soon i'm going to be forced to stop paying my credit card bill. i just can't do it. i refuse to starve so i can pay 13% interest. i am going to be applying for income contingent student loan payments, but this requires a months worth of pay stubs. i've still got another week before even that happens.
so...awesome! can you blame me for being a little bitter? for thinking that the system let me down? for not believing in the system?
i guess this blog more than anything is about hitting bottom. that's usually around where my philosophical rantings fester. and even the fictionalized memoir stuff i'm working on, it's all very baptismal. continually hitting bottom, and bouncing. things totally falling to pieces, and still breathing afterwards, getting up. putting things back together. knowing that nothing really matters. that everything is going to be ok in the end.
for me that is the whole point. to stay near the bottom, to keep thinking clearly. to not get too full of myself. to take nothing for granted. doing embarrassing things all the time keeps me fearless of others judgement. staying far enough from the carrott means that i never get sucked into doing things for the wrong reasons. for an ego trip, for validation, for money. it keeps me free. it keeps me clear. strong. knowing that i'm never going to win, succeed, be famous, means that i'm free to fail. continuously. that's the bounce.

things i need to sell this week: my tv, a set of knee, elbow pads, and wrist guards, a pair of ogi japanese eyeglass frames. any takers?

there is no spoon

so i was emailing with an old friend last week and he was asking me about my feelings on anarchy. i figured it might fit in with this here blog, so this is what i responded with.

have you seen this?
take the test and see where you are. i am apparently more extreme than gandhi. it's not a left vs. right thing, it's not a straight line. my
results are attached.
i would love to see real socialism/communism but i realize people have a problem with this because it can seem to leech out the creativity from a
people. i get that. and i do love the diy. seeing that capitalism isn't going to fall any time soon, i am all for taking advantage of the system and evening the score as much as possible.
when i say i am an anarchist, i mean that i am against aligning myself with any sort of system. i refuse to buy in, or to be sold, to a belief system. i am ultimately aiming for freedom from want. i refuse to be herded into a job i don't want, just for the money, so i can buy shit i don't need. none of that is important, it's just there to keep the system going. to perpetuate capitalism, the creation of money.
i am not working for anyone's validation. i don't need society to approve of me. i work outside of, below the system. i work for the uni, i pay my bills, but my mind is free. i am not a bought woman. in this way, i am completely free to think, do, feel, as comes naturally. i am uncorrupted. pure. money, status, looks- none of that shit matters. all that matters is your experience of the world. are you pushing yourself to be more than you are? how open are you to experience? and how satisfied are you that you are taking advantage of your life?
rules, laws are created by men, for the governing and control of man. they are supposed to represent us all, but they will never represent me- my needs, my ideas, my outlook. therefore, they do not apply to me. i have no reason to fear them, to abide by them. the law is just another man, one whom you let be in control of you. no one controls me. i make my own decisions. i am fearless. do you get it?
i think if all the banks fell and we had a new depression. it would be awesome. it would be the beginning of a new day. everyone back at zero, everyone as equal. we could start something new, something beautiful. we could use all that we have learned, we could be so much better than this. because we really are equal. who says one person is better, bigger, more important than someone else? money. power. greed. status. celebrity. all of that is meaningless bullshit. don't let it control you. don't let it own you. if you do, you are giving up your life. letting society at large take the wheel from you. it's your life, fucking live it!

On being “Fingerbang,” or not working for validation

I recently joined a recreational group here in town. A group which requires a snarky moniker. Now, I had been a member of a similar group in Florida, and as coming up with a good moniker is extremely anxiety-inducing for me, I decided to keep my former name. All is good, yes?
Well, it seems there may be a problem. My name may or may not be rated-PG 13. My former group did not have a problem with this, but it seems the group here does. There is talk of censoring my name, at least for certain purposes/places/times. I do get their reasoning, although I think it’s blown a little out of proportion, especially considering the nature of the group and the point of having a funny alter-ego with multiple meanings. And yes, we are supposedly in the Bible belt, but Bloomington is an oasis of awesomeness. (Miss Gay IU? The Kinsey Institute?)
The problem seems to be with the crown jewel of my name, “Fingerbang.” I could probably change it to Anita Nailer, or Anita Boner, and it would retain some of the same meanings, but in the most important sense- in terms of the exact reason that I picked said name, it would become meaningless. It is that which makes it subversive that I love.
And it seems to me that the whole point of said group is to be subversive. To empower women. To show women that we can do anything, to break boundaries, to break taboos. i.e. the creation of alter-egos! It seems to me that censoring a name is antithetical to the mission of the group. And as long as a member can give a rational explanation with some measure of passion that goes beyond simply being explicit for shock value, the name should stand as is.
Who knows how this will all turn out. It looks like this issue will be voted on, or at least debated, at an upcoming meeting. As my role in the group is of a certain kind, I am not even sure if I will be allotted a vote. I am not even sure if I’m supposed to know that it’s a controversy at this point. It’s all very hush-hush.
It’s all this talk of censoring my name that’s making me feel creepy. Like I should be ashamed. Like I should second-guess myself. If they are thinking of censoring my name, the implication is that they are embarrassed by my name. And that implies that they are embarrassed by me. And that’s definitely not empowering or good for group morale. And all of that is what I am completely against. So to fight this feeling, I am recording my thoughts here on why I picked the name and what it means to me.
Yes, it does have a sexual reference, and that makes it kind of funny, but that is not the primary reason for the pick, nor what I plan to emphasize.
Who says the word, fingerbang? Primarily juvenile boys aged 12 to 14. And 30 year-old men with the sense of humor of boys aged 12 to 14. (Obviously, I am secretly a 12 year-old boy because I include myself in this group.)
It’s not a lesbian thing at all. Lesbians as a general rule do not say fingerbang! Adults do not say fingerbang. Seventh-grade boys do. And no one says it with a straight face. It is funny precisely because of its juvenile quality. It’s inherently innocuous! It’s inherently cheeky!
But at the same time, it’s taboo. Which is why it’s funny when people do say it. They can feel like they’re being crazy and breaking a rule.
The point is to force myself to be ridiculous. When I introduce myself to someone as “Anita Fingerbang,” I can’t help but laugh, and that makes the other person laugh. Me being ridiculous means that the other person is free to be ridiculous without any judgment. Without any taboo. I have already broken the boundary.
The point is not to highlight sexuality, but to subvert the system. To help people open their eyes to their preconceived notions about propriety. Why we stop ourselves from doing or saying perfectly ok things because of fear. Fear of being judged, embarrassed, laughed at. Well, here’s the kicker kiddos- you are only judged if you accept their sentence, embarrassed if you let them embarrass you, and laughed at only if you aren’t laughing at yourself as well.
My goal is to remove all fear. Go ahead and act a fool, be a complete dork. You know what’s going to happen? Nothing. You show people that it’s ok to laugh with you and they will. You put people at ease, you make friends, and you become free. When you let yourself completely fall, you bounce. And it’s the bouncing that’s fun. The knowing that you are going to be saved.

Or maybe I’m just an effing philosophical anarchist with a heart. And I get that I will always be way left of center, and that there will always be people with whom I fundamentally don’t agree. People who will always think I am out of line. That comes with the territory, with being me. With continually pushing the boundaries. The key is to learn all this, to know it, and to do it anyway.

the big fat whale

ok, so I have been working at the Uni for a few weeks now and have started to get into a rhythym. the first day of classes was yesterday and a friend who works in the building and I walked downtown for lunch.
oooooh, Bloomington.
i love it, i really really love it. but here's the thing-
everyday i see the applications of prospective students who desperately want the chance to mortgage their entire futures to come to IU. they are arguing for the chance to spend 80 to 120 grand over four years to come to a college. why? because we as a society have convinced them that they have to have a college degree to survive in the world. to get a job. to be anything. to be worthwhile.
we are selling validation.
and that's kind of fucked up, no?
who convinced a seventeen year old that he needed a resume? a four page resume at that? declarations and passionate essays about career hopes and planned majors from juniors in high school! who created this system?
and how can we slow it down?
i hate that it's like this. i want to pull them all aside and tell them not to sweat all this.
we went down to the cool hipster burrito place for lunch and there was a cute girl behind the counter. typewriter tattoo on her chest. i think she gets it. i think most of them do. the kids at the hipster coffee place, the anarchist bookstore.
we all live off the byproducts of this economy. the townies, the hipsters, the drop-outs. we're all barnacles. living in a college town means we gets lots of freebies. cheap eateries, lots of art and music, entertainment, cool bookstores, thrift stores, lots of social groups to join.
and those freebies, those byproducts are what make Bloomington so cool. they are what make it different. special. it is the mix of leftovers which creates this creatively charged atmosphere.
so without the Uni, we don't get Bloomington as we know it. we'd all be living in Bedford. and it would only be a few of us, cause a lot of us ended up here because of the Uni in the first place.
a catch 22, huh?
i am choosing to hope that most of the kids here are beind paid for by the salaries of their big-corporate working parents. the fact that i know this is not the case for many students is what kills me. kids who don't qualify for financial aid, but also don't have enough parental income to pay for school. kids who take on enormous student loans at seventeen in order to get an ever devaluing B.A. kids who don't know enough about this decision they are making. who feel pressured into going to college. who are betting on getting a decent job after graduation in order to pay for these loans. (and pay for thirty years in some cases.) tuition goes up, salaries go down, loans get extended.
i have to accept that this is the system. that this is the way things work. and that if the whale leaves or weren't here, i wouldn't get to eat the tidbits on the surface. really not that different from learning to live with capitalism.
learn to live with it and do as much as i can beneath the surface. out of view. take advantage of what is here. that is my mission.

to live and die in YA

I’ve been trying to decode all this YA I’ve been reading lately, and here’s what I’m thinking. It’s about fighting to stay a kiddo. Peter Pan. Captain Hook. Figuring out a way to grow up and find your place in society, but remain childlike in ways important to you. These YA books are populated with characters who are questioning society and authority. Learning to make their own decisions. Questioning the law, questioning the rules, the status quo. Being an outsider, not quite fitting in. And realizing they don’t want to compromise. YA books are full of characters who are just waking up. And that’s what I love. They are so full of hope. Anything can happen. If we could all maintain this mindset just imagine how much we could progress.
As a (still, barely) twenty-something, this is something I still struggle with. Living in Florida, having this professional job, wearing the big girl work clothes. It all eclipses that childlike sense of whimsy I was so close to in Indiana. Feeling like I am supposed to be acting like a grown-up makes me second guess myself. It’s like I’m in the closet about being a belligerent hipster. And that’s just too hard, you know? Being a hoodlum is too important, as ridiculous as that sounds.
I’ve realized something these last two years. My eyes have been opened. I bought into the system. I was (the public service equivalent of) middle management. I moved to a completely foreign place for a job. I worked for a large organization with a tightly controlled flow of information. My innovation was squashed. I was bored. I wore khakis. I was always anxious. I didn’t have time or energy to be me anymore. I was a bought woman. I didn't do the job because I wanted to, because it made happy. I did it because I could. I did it for validation. I was a puppy, begging to be petted. To belong. To be important. To matter.
And now- I have been fundamentally changed. I have swung farther toward my center in these last few weeks, having decided and planned my return to Neverland. And I would rather be a proletariat for life than a middle manager, at any price.
In Scott Westerfeld’s Uglies series, when Tally Youngblood gets made into a Special- she hasn’t won the fight. Going up the chain of command doesn’t mean you’ve won anything. You’re still selling yourself for a price. You’re still a bought woman. You just got a better rate. And they have to pay you more, to give you the illusion of more freedom. Because they’re getting a bigger piece of you. Because that’s the price for your silence, your cooperation. Your alliance. And that makes it even worse, because you think you’re free. You think you’ve won.
We each have a choice to make between two paths. Work for the man. Buy into the man. Care about the man. Make money and buy a bunch of shit. Or go your own way: be an indie. Let the chips fall where they may. Live by the seat of your pants.
It’s all about sticks and carrots. Every society has them. Whether it’s money, power, validation, fear, duty, fame, or celebrity. There must be a way for society to ensure its continued existence. What’s your incentive? Are you going to let someone else create your carrot? Or do you trust yourself to create your own?
People have been trying for centuries to create new ideal societies, new systems of government. And they always will. It will always be advantageous for people to come together to live and work in societies. And there will always be governments, city councils, chore duties, work. The fact the most people play along and buy into the system means that there is a bigger crowd for the crims to hide behind. And there will always be crims too. You will never get 100% buy-in, no matter what you’re selling. There will always be abstainers. And if capitalism fell tomorrow, another system would follow. And it would take us decades to decode the system, to figure out how to take advantage. To hijack the infrastructure. So, um, I guess thanks, capitalism?
The bottom line is this: I want to be a crim. I want to pull ugly tricks, fly under the radar, and stay a kiddo. As long as I can.
I’ve always been a socialist, a prole, but I think I’m coming out as an anarchist. And it feels like freedom.

on going underground

People keep asking me “what are you going to do?” They say it real slow with their faces all twisted up. Holding their breath. Like I am about to pull a Thelma and Louise and jump off a cliff. My answer to their question is more like a paragraph. But that’s not what they’re asking.
What they really mean is What Are You Going To Do For A Job? I just don’t think it’s that big of a deal. Yeah, I’ll get a job, but it’s just going to be one little piece of that which is What I Am Going To Do. The last time I answered with “live,” which I think is the most accurate and precise answer, but the co-worker in question was so puzzled that I inevitably went into the paragraph. I think a better question is who am I going to be?
I’ll tell you what I’m going to do. I’m going to go to brunches and potlucks with friends. Go to local rock shows, art shows, take hustler for walks in the cemetery, lay on the grass and watch the sunset. Ride bikes around town. Go hiking in the forest, sneak into the quarries, salvage for junk at the salvo and cast offs at the recycling center. Hang out at the library and Soma, go on nighttime photo hunts, join my friends’ book club, volunteer…all the things I haven’t been doing since I’ve been in Florida. I’m going to get back to being all the versions of myself which I’ve subjugated for this job and this place. Other people have lives, and I want one too.
I feel like I’m coming full circle and making the choice I wanted to make when I was eighteen. I wanted to put off college, get a simple job, and take lots of road trips. My gut instinct was that I didn’t know what I wanted to do for life, but that I knew lots of little things I wanted to do. Going to college felt like such a huge thing. An expensive commitment. No way to turn back and undo it.
And I did love college. It certainly did its job, which is to ripen one as an individual. But it was also at great cost. Being indoctrinated into “the system,” being trained to enter “the big machine.” It’s a slow wake up out of that long sleep. Realizing how things work.
We’re all running for these carrots stuck in our faces without thinking about who put them there. Realizing that the carrot is there is the first step. Once you see it can you choose to ignore it. Ignore it enough and it goes away. Then you can make your own carrots. Make a million in all different directions. Do whatever. Say to hell with the system.
Growing up in Bloomington, it’s easy to think that everything is lovely. That lots of towns are like Bloomington. That every place is a community. That people work together. You just don’t realize how special it is. What an island it is. How rare.
I feel like I can truly say my eyes are open. I am going to dedicate myself to the small. If nothing we do matters, then all that matters is what we do, right?
Right now I am happy to just swim beneath the currents.

taking out the garbage

The thing they never tell you about Miami- Carl Hiaasen, Dexter, CSI- is it’s all true. It’s all. Fucking. True.
They don’t like to advertise it on the travel sites. Welcome to sunny Miami! You’re about to get fucked by a major metro area.
They don’t tell you on Miamiandbeaches.com about how two years ago there was a string of killings in the summer heat. Three people were attacked by alligators in their apartment complexes. Home sweet home. Women jogging around the man-made lakes with their center-placed fountains. And a former resident of the Everglades wants to play nature. He’s just hungry. He’s just doing what he’s supposed to. You did drain his home after all, pave over it with these gawdawful strip-malls.
One of the victims was a man jogging with his dog. The dog attacked the gator and his owner got away. The dog didn’t. Man’s best friend.
But the thing about Florida, the entire bottom half of the state is only a couple feet above sea level. In order to build roads they have to take ground from somewhere else. Even the earth gets displaced. Try driving along the highways, any major road, and you’re going to see never ending drainage ditches following along side. People like to call these drainage ditches, they call them “canals.” I suppose living next to a “canal” makes people feel better. Better than “open-faced sewer.” With alligators. So maybe the next time you’re on 595 and you’re car breaks down, maybe next time you don’t get out of the car. Maybe you just sit tight.

the beginning

I’ve always been good at melding. At shape shifting. At becoming the shape that fits the hole that I see. Not necessarily the hole that is, but the hole that I see.
I oscillate. I’m constantly becoming different versions of myself. Being reincarnated.
I am always sure that this new version is what I want. I want so much to be petted. To please you. To make you proud. Eventually-
Just as I get really good at being someone I start to shift. I start. I think, “Maybe I’ve been all wrong this whole time.” I think, “What the hell have I been doing?” I think, “God, I’m so stupid.”
Everything I build, I tear it all down. Start over. “A clean slate,” I say, “That’s what I really need.”
I look for new possibilities. I search my inventory. I set a goal and I become someone new.
It helps if you accompany this plan with a really dramatic action, like loading up all your earthly possessions into a Volkswagen and moving across the country. It helps if you don’t know anyone in this new place. Anonymity means you can be anyone. Being a nobody is freedom. No expectations means you are free to be a failure.
But moving is hard. Learning a new culture. Where’s the best pizza place? How do I get a driver’s license? Why isn’t anyone using a turn signal? It’s all bound to wear on a person. To whittle away the extras.
The surly starts as a little pang at first, slowly gathering speed. Rolling down the hill like a Katamari. Headed for destruction. When you start to find yourself scowling at little kids coming out of story time, you know the train has hit the station. It’s time to go.
All this shape shifting gets a person thinking. “Who am I when I’m not being someone else?,” you say. “Where is my default? Who is that person?”
Maybe a somebody needs to stay in one place long enough to find that out.

no telling

i dreamt about a boy last night. this is pretty weird for me, being that i rarely think about boys. the last time i had a dream about a boy, i was the boy-person. so last night.
i had just moved into a new town and rented a room in a house. a little two room house built all shed-style onto another, real house. after a while someone moves into the other room. it's this boy. he's all like oliver twist and sitting on the bed. he looks at me and it's like we're the same person. i know him from somewhere. from my real past. he is so. fragile. it's disarming.
let's just say at the end of the dream he had turned into a sexually confused girl, whining away on the bed next to me. but when i woke up, i was the one who was confused. a dream about a boy? was i the boy? am i the boy? am i more boy than i think? is this what i'm afraid of?
no telling.
or maybe it's because of all the YA fiction i'm reading lately.