creative insecurity

slaughterhouse90210:

“We crave permission openly to become our secret selves.”  ― Salman Rushdie, The Moor’s Last Sigh

claire pissed me off sometimes but this scene was perfect

slaughterhouse90210:

“We crave permission openly to become our secret selves.”
― Salman Rushdie, The Moor’s Last Sigh

claire pissed me off sometimes but this scene was perfect

It is a curious thing that amongst the crowd of self-consciously writerly and well-read Art Friends there exists a person, a Longtime Fixture Friend, who possesses absolutely no knowledge about how to tell an interesting tale. He apparently cannot gauge audience engagement, and the simple kindergarten lesson of shutting the fuck up and letting someone else speak never took root (probably drowned in the voluminous outpouring of stories about him and his day). His steady stream of dull anecdotes tumble unstoppable from his mouth each time we see him. He narrates his life as a series of boring ass journal entries filled with tedious details while we munch our salads, nodding mutely, pasted on smiles drooping a bit at the corners. “We drove for 18 hours straight and then we got there and slept for 2. But it was all worth it cause we met one of The Decembrists and he was wearing, as you might imagine, a seafoam sport jacket with elbow patches and salmon khakis! Ha!” Before someone can even respond, he’s off and running about the ingredients of the tacos he ate and how his ex girlfriend ended up on Vogue’s twitter and the almost-famous rapper who hitched a ride with him.

He positions himself as a with-it cool guy, a Good Dude who’s not afraid to make fun of himself— I mean his band played “South-by”, but he knows that REALLY it’s just a new vector of commodification for corporate brands that need a hip posture and the sell-outs who are willing to shill if it gets them a contract.

Probably he is a good dude but he’s an absolute shit show in conversations. I am not the least bit interested in interacting with someone who treats group settings as a live-action Facebook with a prisoner audience forced to listen to you scroll through your interminable updates.

But what really chapped my ass was when he described the new fashionz of the youth as seen at the music and tech gathering, lamenting about the high waisted jeans and wondering why people won’t wear clothes “that make them look good.” In that moment, I cursed my inner Stealth Feminist and stupid shyness and worries about offending someone who clearly needs his ass handed to him every now and again.

Later that night, I had a fantasy vision of myself, my words cutting through his stomach like a raptor claw, “Oh no, what horrors! Geez, you didn’t get to see any cute young butts at South-by?? What a goddamn tragedy!” And the more and more I turn the scene over in my head, the more quickly I can access that aspirational alter ego, the super bitch I channeled to write Rengin’s OK Cupid profile, and I imagine myself saying with a nonchalant look, “Actually I’m 100% pro any fashion that is aggressively antagonistic towards what men want. Disappoint men! Make them weep at the sight of a 18 year old hottie in gross mom jeans! Save their tears as a powerful anti aging treatment and stay young and beautiful but wearing hideous castoffs forever! FOREVER!”

I suppose the one plus of hanging out with people who get under your skin is that I’ve started to craft my own vision of a super hero, and it is a feminist witch who can make men shut up and make everyone believe in science and vaccinate. Most exciting of all, this superhero is in my own image and every now and then, I can feel her coming to life from inside me, ready to fight.
meredithhaggerty:

Okay, honestly, this is bullshit.

fuck you martha get your snack game ON POINT

meredithhaggerty:

Okay, honestly, this is bullshit.

fuck you martha get your snack game ON POINT

slaughterhouse90210:

“Hear this or not, as you will. Learn it now, or later — the world has time. Routine, repetition, tedium, monotony, ephemeracy, inconsequence, abstraction, disorder, boredom, angst, ennui — these are the true hero’s enemies, and make no mistake, they are fearsome indeed. For they are real.”  ― David Foster Wallace, The Pale King

TRUTH

slaughterhouse90210:

“Hear this or not, as you will. Learn it now, or later — the world has time. Routine, repetition, tedium, monotony, ephemeracy, inconsequence, abstraction, disorder, boredom, angst, ennui — these are the true hero’s enemies, and make no mistake, they are fearsome indeed. For they are real.”
― David Foster Wallace, The Pale King

TRUTH

uggghhhh the coen brothers have the most perfect insider/outsider perspective on the upper midwest and this clip is like an arrow hitting a bullseye that is also the final puzzle piece dropping into place which unlocks the most delicious treasure box ever. FLAWLESS PERFECTION

tomoatmeal:

I know the carwash scares the dog, but tough shit. It scares me, too.  
The mechanism drags our vehicle in and I scream, “We’re going to die!”
The dog whimpers and barks.
"I’ve changed my mind!" I yell.  "Oh god, let me out!"  I use my fingers to pry at the closed windows, but it’s no use. We’re trapped in a tornado of escalating panic. My loss of control makes it worse for the dog and vice versa.
I know that in this space, the relationship between the dog and I is toxic, but he’s my friend and we’re supposed to see a movie later.
I vomit and beg the dog to kill me. I even take his little paws and manually place them on my throat, but either he’s not smart enough to understand strangulation or he fears that my death will force him to surrender a lifestyle he’s grown accustomed to.
At long last, daylight. The nightmare is over. The dog and I bolt out of the car and race over to a patch of grass next to the vending machines.
We embrace.  There are some things we need to work on, but not today.

this made me cry laughing

<3333 tom oatmeal. buy his book!!

tomoatmeal:

I know the carwash scares the dog, but tough shit. It scares me, too. 

The mechanism drags our vehicle in and I scream, “We’re going to die!”

The dog whimpers and barks.

"I’ve changed my mind!" I yell.  "Oh god, let me out!"  I use my fingers to pry at the closed windows, but it’s no use. We’re trapped in a tornado of escalating panic. My loss of control makes it worse for the dog and vice versa.

I know that in this space, the relationship between the dog and I is toxic, but he’s my friend and we’re supposed to see a movie later.

I vomit and beg the dog to kill me. I even take his little paws and manually place them on my throat, but either he’s not smart enough to understand strangulation or he fears that my death will force him to surrender a lifestyle he’s grown accustomed to.

At long last, daylight. The nightmare is over. The dog and I bolt out of the car and race over to a patch of grass next to the vending machines.

We embrace.  There are some things we need to work on, but not today.

this made me cry laughing

<3333 tom oatmeal. buy his book!!