The new season of South Park is profoundly spot on and timely. I don't want to go into an entire synopsis of the season, so I'll just tell you to go to Hulu, catch yourself up, and meet me back here. I'll wait.
Ok... see what I mean? I want to talk specifically about the "Member Berries" that are wreaking havoc in South Park's America. These little delicious berries whisper as they are eaten, reminding the consumer about days gone by, and how amazing things used to be. Now, I'm not direct quoting here, but it wouldn't be a stretch to say that they could say things like, "member swing sets?" or "member riding your bike until dusk... that was fun" or "member MTV when it played videos?" And these sweet little berries are ADDICTIVE because yes, we DO remember these things, and they were great. In these uncertain times (I'm talking to YOU, 2016), we are all searching for familiar, safe, warm places. Member berries are all that and more ("member when we said 'all that and a bag of chips?').
In the show, Member Berries are blamed for Donald Trump's successful bid at the nomination, convincing the people that things need to be made "great again". You know what? It makes sense.
Trey Parker and Matt Stone and whoever else thought of this... my hat is off to you. This is the most brilliant analogy I can remember (pun intended), and a glorious view into the human psyche.
For a few months now, I have been fascinated by the reasons why people collect antiques and vintage items. It started when I couldn't get my hands on enough macrame plant hangers, consciously realizing I was trying to find a connection with my mother, who passed on May 20th of this year. Little by little, my home has turned into a time capsule, full of 1970's furniture and decor (you should see my Merry Mushroom kitchen canisters. Member them?). Today, after scoring some vintage houseplant posters at an estate sale, I realized I'm totally recreating the apartment from the show "Three's Company".
I'm trying to make myself safe. My mom took her own life, right after a fight with me. That's probably one of the most unsafe things that can happen to a person. I want things to make sense again, so my Member Berries began telling me all about the 70's, when I was just a little girl, safely tucked into the warmth of being oblivious. The Member Berries reminded me how my mother and grandmothers houses were decorated, what music was playing (gimme some 70's lite rock and disco), even what food tasted like. I have been eating a LOT of Chef Boyardee homemade pizza... which, by the way, I have never in my adult life made until a few month ago. But my mom sure made them ALL THE TIME.
So what does it all mean? We are scared and feeling very, very unsafe. I've taken my love of thrifting and vintage "stuffs" and turned it into a business of sorts, selling some of my finds online. It turns out there are a LOT of people who want to 'member the good old days, to recreate their own safe place. We've progressed (?) as a civilization, our technology and means of communication are mind-blowingly different then they were even 30 years ago. Progress has historically come a lot slower, in regards to such advancements. We have been thrust into this new reality, and it doesn't seem to be slowing down any time soon. We now have 3D printers, virtual reality is becoming disturbingly realistic, it wouldn't be a fantasy to say that we could see AI companions in the next 30 years.
We are seem to be shouting "WAIT! SLOW DOWN! I'M NOT READY", but not out loud. In our heads, while we take a xanax and browse Etsy and eBay for relics of our childhoods. We want things to make sense again. I want things to make sense again.
Friday, October 28, 2016
Sunday, October 16, 2016
Classroom 2016
The year 2016 has been, well, a shit show for a great many people, including myself. There are memes portraying the vice grip 2016 has on our collective, figurative balls... and they are popular because they are so relatable. It's as if there is a cosmic force at work that decided that this year would be the one to REALLY test us, to throw a metaphorical flaming bag of poop at our front door... day after excruciating day. I'm not attempting to figure out what this force is (yet), I'm far too busy processing and alternatively distracting myself from processing. If my own personal drama were not compelling enough, we also have an orange lunatic running for president, clowns terrorizing schools, and that woman with ass implants being bound and gagged while the gang from Ocean's Eleven steals her jewels. Seriously, what the fuck?
However, this year of insanity, death and disbelief also has had moments of pure joy and life changing milestones for many. You see, it's not ALL bad. But it's become more and more difficult to allow our perception to focus on these "good" things while Hollywood's newest disaster movie plays out live before our eyes.
Maybe that's why, despite being given the opportunity to do nothing all day but write (my dream), this is the first bit of writing I've done since May. On the occasions that I am actually able to focus, I focus on the wrong things. I focus on what is wrong. I focus on what is lacking.
Before I truly "dive in", I am breaking the ice with this simple request. Let's all try to remember to focus on what is right and good and happy in our lives. Let's put away our phones, turn off the news, maybe go for a walk outside and enjoy the sweet, crisp autumn air. Do not let what is broken, insane and sensational dictate to you what you should FEEL. You are in charge. You HAVE power. Take it back... set your focus... smile at the flaming bag of poop at your door as you walk on by... just for a while.
Saturday, April 30, 2016
Poetry Transfer (Old Poems from FB Notes)
Poetry and somewhat coherent prose from 2009-2014 in descending order. Watch me revert emotionally and back again.
ramble ramble
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