"What else is there but Narcissism, I often ask myself"

I think Heather Havrilesky, of Salon.com, is a genius. She writes about TV, mostly. She is an enemy of narcissism and avarice, which to me means that she is a champion of empathy. About our celebrity culture, this year, this 2007, she writes: "This is an important part of the logic of the Year of the Lunatic: If the rich and famous are happy and carefree, then you, by dint of your relaitve insignificance and poverty, have every right to make them as unhappy as humanly possible." Oh, TMZ, Perez Hilton, how the game flips you--in an effort to undermind the publicity machine of Hollywood, you became little monsters. I mean, honestly, there is a celebration of sociopathy and damage all over the place, and the answer appears to be to go to the mountain, where you will be isolated and esoteric and a bit of a sociopath as well, like the Into the Wild dude.

I wonder about cultural criticism at all--really, barring some serious geniuses who are also totally insane, 99.999999% of humans are too in it to see it, and therefore just layering icing on the big cake of Blah Blah. It's a puzzle for future generations to work out and flatten: what were they thinking with their weird intersection of celebrity obsession, fat hatred, creepy richness while refusing to talk about money and feeling ripped off all the time? In the end, I just want to make it to the end of This American Life as a good American, only partially covered in the thick tar of what is worst about my culture. All cultures? Who the hell knows.

This is what I'm thinking about as the year ends: narcissism and damage. 2007 was bent like a sickle, 2008 is curvy like a hug. To borrow from Sir Lupe Fiasco, 2008 "got a bottle-shaped body like Mrs. Butterworth." Cover this globe with the sweet sticky syrup of love!

The memos are steady flying around my workplace these days. I got one, it got revoked, I wrote a rebuttal, it stone silenced those who will have me believe that I'm letting this place "defeat" me. What? Do you believe we work for American Gladiator and not, say, a social welfare organization? And do you really think I'm defeated? I'm eating your delusions, metabolizing them bitches, and getting sleek and fast like an otter. A Righteous Otter of Goodness.

It was glittery like a migraine when I realized that this casual conference call was a discipinary meeting, and it was revelation, pure and true--1)finally, I'm caught hating my job, and 2) finally, the true machinations of this place are revealed. Regardless, I will not let dispersions be cast upon my character, and I drafted a memo to make bureuacrats weep with the lyrical structure, pure ethic, and subtle contrarian zest.

Important lessons

1) I may have been wrong about how I thought power and control were working in the tiny creepy lady world of my department, and that was a surprise. I think I am so damn smart.

2)Truly, trust no one, and certainly don't trust people who are untrustworthy. Duh, and duh again, for I will keep doing it.

3)There is an empty space in my head were respect for authority should be; it is just not there, I'm looking for it, I was saying something in this meeting that was so cold and true that my superego was looking for anything to shut me up, a psychic tube sock to shove in my mouth. The absense of respect for authority is also the absence of concern for my respect for authority, so....feel the breeze move through where my administrative career isn't.

What am I going to do, I wonder? Whatever it is, I hope I can wear dresses.

This is my gift to you, internet. In the actual world, I am so domestic right now, Martha Stewart is calling me for advice. Yesterday alone I made two (2) vegan pies and one (1) apron and one half (1/2) of a scarf. Today I am going to make some other stuff!

I just made this pick up line, for some yet-unknown lucky bastard.

"If you body were a sweatshop I would organize it."

That wacky Carl Jung!

As a follow up to the last post, since I started talking (and talking) about this drinking thing, I've been hearing a lot about peoples' relationships to drinking. I love when that happens. In fact, even without prompting, the subject keeps coming up. Meaningless coincidence? No, my friends, there are no such things. As proof: I went out with some friends, and one reveals that he hasn't had anything to drink in two weeks because it is blocking his progress in what he wants to change in his life; I'm taking in the pure connection of that within my own life when he says "What do you think about Jung, and the collective unconscious?" I'm like: whoa. What's that experience, with the mirror reflected in the mirror, reflected in the mirror, ad infinitum? Anyway, it was like that, but with thoughts, and friends. Awesome. Other people tell me about their blackouts and wine romances and other friends seem seriously disturbed by my behavioral changes, which are not all that elaborate: basically, take some breathes, super compulsive Saint, and don't binge drink. For my drive to Rockford, I spontaneously grab some Freakwater records I haven't listened to in years; these, my friends, are some of the starkest, fullest, bestest songs about drinking's magic and regret ever written. Interesting. It is all interesting.