A curiosity of the X-Men is that, in this era when identity politics are on an upswing, the X-Men are singularly unequipped to deal with it directly; they only seem able to approach it through the metaphor of mutant status. You can give your cast a wonderfully diverse range of back stories and beliefs, but in practice it all gets overshadowed by them being mutants – all the more so in the years since House of M, where the mutants have largely been holed up in big campuses trying to build their own separatist communities. This leaves depressingly little room for characters to actually express any individual back story they might have, or any other aspect of their identities – even though, for most of us, identity is surely something that stems from a combination of factors. For the most part, these characters have simply ceased to exist in, or at least interact with, anything approaching the real world.
June 1
I’m reading a book right now called Overwhelmed: Work, Love and Play When No One Has The Time, by Brigid Schulte; I picked it up as an impulse on Saturday, recovering from a Friday that entirely got away from me and left me feeling just like the title. The week had utterly gotten away from me, I’d been thinking that morning, throwing self-recriminations at myself; the month had completely gotten away from me. My concentration was feeling lost, and I was feeling overworked and exhausted. Something has to change was in my head, and so the discovery of this book seemed — if not a godsend, then at least a happy coincidence.
It’s a fascinating book, filled with pieces of information at once pertinent to my day-to-day existence and also horrifying (If you take a 30 second break from what you’re doing to answer an email, it takes five minutes to return to the state of concentration you were in before, for example — the number of times I do that each day explains why my concentration has been feeling so scattered lately) and something that makes me both concerned for the state of the world — everyone is overwhelmed! — and a little less like I’m fucking up personally, if that makes sense.
That said, I’m not at the point where the book suggests how to make things less stressful and manage my time better, merely the point where I keep being told how important leisure is (I knew that). I can’t wait to get further and learn what to do instead of my current predicament, but ironically, I don’t have enough time to do so just yet.
In a video on his Facebook page, Warner appears to hold up a printout of an Onion article headlined “FIFA Frantically Announces 2015 Summer World Cup In United States” and, in a rambling address to camera says: “Then I look to see that Fifa has frantically announced, 2015, this year […] the World Cup, beginning May 27. If Fifa is so bad, why is it that the USA wants to keep the Fifa World Cup?
I had death threats and stuff. It was just horrible. It was just crazy. It was getting out of control. We had Time magazine, all the American news channels saying they were going to come down. This incredible onslaught worldwide.
The public wants video content, and they don’t want to have to care about who is controlling distributors and streaming services. Judging by the rapid ascension of newer and better movie streaming sites the instant old ones get shut down, a significant portion of the population does not appear to be buying the film and TV industry’s assertion that watching a stream of a popular movie online is the moral equivalent of shoplifting.
The problem for women is that our role in popular music was codified long ago. And it was codified, in part, by the early music press. In the effort to prove the burgeoning rock scene of the sixties a worthy subject of critical inquiry, rock needed to be established as both serious and authentic. One result of these arguments—the Rolling Stones vs. Muddy Waters, Motown vs. Stax, Bob Dylan vs. the world—was that women came out on the losing side, as frivolous and phony. Whether a teen-age fan or a member of a girl group, women lacked genuine grit—even female critics thought so. “The Supremes epitomize the machine-like precision of the Motown sound,” wrote Lillian Roxon in her rock encyclopedia. “Everything is worked out for them and they don’t buck the system.” Judgments like that are still routinely applied to female artists today. In Hopper’s book, under the chapter heading “Real/Fake,” appears a 2012 essay on Lana Del Ray, an artist whose look harks back to those big-haired, mascaraed sixties singers, and whose career has unfolded beneath a cloud of suspicion as to her credentials, musical and otherwise. “As an audience, we make a big stink about wanting the truth, but we’re only really interested in the old myths,” Hopper writes. The myth of women’s deceitfulness is one of the oldest.
The web may have opened unbelievable frontiers of human thought and interaction, but it’s driven by the same business principles as all other enterprise. On the Internet, big not only is best — it increasingly looks even more dominant than it was in analog times. For all sorts of reasons, being No. 1 in a market is disproportionately rewarded.
Facebook is no longer a cool website started by a bunch of guys who want to chat each other and see chicks, and see who they are talking to. It’s changed – and it’s time for Facebook’s policies and original ideas to change, because users identities are as fluid as users themselves today.
I love language, I love literature, I love history, and I’m not even remotely interested in being gay. I find that one of those completely useless and confining categories. Those are definitions from our oppressors, if you will. I would use them warily. I would certainly not define myself — ever — in the terms of my oppressor. If you accept these terms, you’re now lumped in a group. Now, you may need to be lumped in a group politically in order to fight that oppression; I understand that, but I don’t accept it.