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#we had to earn our fucking masculinity and live in a world where people still want to deny it to us
syekick-powers · 3 years
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im sleep deprived as hell right now but it isn’t painful yet i’m mostly just fuzzyheaded and kinda delirious but
like
i saw a hot trans man on my twitter timeline and god im just overcome by how fucking hot n sexy my fellow transmascs are. like god. we really out here saving masculinity and looking absolutely bangin hot while doing it. i love us. the amount of critically sexy trans men/transmasc people i have seen makes me so fucking happy. goddamn we are just the hottest motherfuckers on the planet.
#sye's babbles#at this point i basically consider myself fully t4t mlm#im a nonbinary trans man who wants to find and date other trans men/transmasc people#i have no time or space for cis nonsense but i want the hot sexy trans men in my life#i want to find joy in sharing my masculinity and experiences with someone who truly understands#fucking cis men grow up having their masculinity handed to them on a silver fucking platter#but us? we had to fucking work for it. we had to fucking sweat and labor for it.#we had to earn our fucking masculinity and live in a world where people still want to deny it to us#and im sick of this constant demonization of men in queer spaces as an nb trans guy#it only serves to alienate me from women even more when radfems spread their rhetoric about men being inherently evil#and that trans men are gender traitors or whatever#im a dude!! im a guy!! if you identify as a lesbian im not fucking dating you because im not a fucking woman!!!#'female-exclusive bisexual' chaser? you're a fucking chaser who cant reconcile your feelings for men with your bullshit rhetoric????#I JUST WANT MORE HOT TRANS MEN IN MY LIFE SO WE CAN BE GAY AND TRANS TOGETHER#id say 'trans ppl really need their own dating site' but then i realize that something like that would probably be overrun with chasers#and i just want to fucking wring someone's neck#im not your fucking uwu soft boy bottom that you can fetishize#and im not your fucking butch lesbian gf either#im a nb dude who likes dudes. and thats the facts.#and i just want to start a forest enclave with a bunch of other trans men in the rocky mountains and fuckin hunt deer and fish and shit#build log cabins and get fucking ripped and kiss each others muscles#hgggh you'll have to forgive me i got literally no sleep last night and the sleep deprivation is making me a little bit kooky
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uelden · 3 years
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Vanity Fair interview translated
Just a side note before the actual translation; I don't know why, but instead of reporting the full questions and answers in full as she should, the journalist decided to report only summarized fragments of what Måneskin said and patch these fragments up into messy clusters. She also worded a couple phrases in a very confusing way (and yes, she's fully Italian). In short, she did quite a poor job, so the final shape of the interview is not that good. I didn't expect top-tier journalism from Vanity Fair but ffs. You'll see what I mean.
I translated it as it is, adding just a couple footnotes to give you insight on Italian pop culture references.
Translation under the cut
Måneskin: "Different from whom?"
by Lavinia Farnese, 09 June 2021
"True justice is being judged for what you do and not for what you are." The ones who are convinced of this are Damiano, Victoria, Ethan and Thomas who, by being the emblem of a generation that is finally free, refuse labels and conformism. In life, in love and on the stage. Where, maybe precisely because of this, they're winning everything
With the still unexpected (first place at Sanremo Festival) and the incredible (triumph at Eurovision) in their eyes, Måneskin are on the sofa of the house-studio they rented - to resume writing songs and rehearsing them - like you are after a won battle: lying in a calm and unreal silence, alert and a bit irreverent, happy.
In the garden there's the tennis table and the pool, the light of summer when it's starting and calming the country all around, and it filters inside from the large windows, and it goes onto the shining black of Ethan's hair, which blends with Thomas' eye shadow and the butterfly he has tattooed oh his naked forearm, which completes the picture of Victoria's golden crucifix hanging between neck and tank top and ends on the black nail polish of Damiano's stretched hands.
It's a human fresco, a Theatre of wrath [translator's note: "Teatro d'ira"] - to call it with the title of their latest album, a platinum record already - where their flaunted 20 years of age, their irregular femininity and virility are grown into proud and challenging custom, a pop glam rock generational manifesto of hard-earned liberties in a finally-unconditional expression of the self.
To watch them from any angle and from another age is to think that a great love will be born in those who'll understand: this new way of being in the world, the true and sovereign realm they hold where "diversity=exceptionality", the power of the artistic and cultural revolution of which they are healthy carriers in establishing in all lyrics and gestures the right to live according to one's own nature past the "people (who) talk, the people (who) unfortunately talk, and don't know what the fuck they're talking about." [tn: "Zitti e buoni" lyrics]
We go where we're afloat, where the air isn't gone. [tn: journalist's own variation on "Zitti e buoni" lyrics]
Miley Cyrus says hi – The numbers of a phenomenon
"The streams of Zitti e buoni are growing by the second, and they bring us above Muse, at the top of English charts, twelfth in the Spotify Global Chart. Followers almost tripled, in the post-Rotterdam period (from 1,4 to 3,3 millions, ed.) Contagious and universal folly: t-shirts and merchandising sold out in 10 minutes. Like the records, the tickets for a tour that keeps adding dates and expanding over geographic maps. They're contacting us even from some festivals were The Rolling Stones went." Thomas
"After the pretextual controversy over cocaine that France built against us, later disproven by my drug test, some graffiti popped up in Spain depicting me as a “No drugs” poster guy. Some tweets made us laugh: "Congratulations, Italy! I've never been more certain that four people have had sex with each other." Miley Cyrus started following us -You're great. -You guys are greater." Damiano
From the garage to the stars – Story of a flight
"It was only 2016, and we played in restaurants, in the streets, in via del Corso. Damiano without even a microphone, Thomas' guitar with wonky strings, Ethan was drumming on a cajón. During Rome highschools' sit-ins (Kennedy, Virgilio, Mamiani) we had our first confirmations and half-hours of celebrity, playing among those who criticized us and those who went "wow they're really cool." One of the rare times when they would have paid us – 50 euros each – we gave the money to the next band in the lineup so that they would make us play in their spot, later in the day, when there would have been more people. We had already realized how things worked. Visibility mattered more than money. And we still think that." Victoria
The intimacy of rock – Choice of a genre
"Music allows us the miracle of extending to others some very personal and private topics, sometimes even difficult and thorny ones. They are and they remain deeply your own, but at the same time they become a confession that reaches a wider audience, and in this passage that is alike a delivery, they find a place in you as well, a processing of them. You overcome them, you accept them. One second it's something aggressive, the next it's a ballad. Cathartic». Damiano
Against panic – The stage as therapy
"I've suffered a lot from anxiety and panic attacks, it's an issue I've worked on thanks to a psychotherapy course, my friends and my family. Playing helped me in not letting myself be paralyzed by my fears, not making myself limited in my private and professional life. I've learned to accept, to live with this side of myself. I don't hide it. I don't feel ashamed of it." Victoria
Analysis as necessity – Relying on someone saves you
"This belief that only madmen go to the psychologist is a widespread ignorance. No-one's born learned. [tn: common Italian saying] And it's often hard to understand the very reason why we're here, let alone the origin and direction of our desires. It's a long and legitimate journey towards lucidity, a kind of backing to become transparent." Damiano
Being out of our minds – But different from them [tn: "Zitti e buoni" lyrics]
"When you feel a strong passion towards something that is not a canonical job but an artistic language, that already puts you on a level of anomaly, which is not superior or inferior to other people, but it puts you in the position of the one who breaks the mold and also works at a loss, the one who sustains great risks while trying to do something that who knows if it will take you anywhere. "Why do it if it doesn't pay?". You want to give this dream of yours an aesthetic, but it becomes "You're dressing so weird! You must be gay!" - now that I'm 22 I laugh about it, but when I was 17 it had an effect on me, too." Damiano
The beauty of uniqueness – Of believing in it and defending it
"And I mean, at the end of the day if we're all different it's not because we want be alternative but because, really, no-one is the same. Justice is being judged on what you do and not what you are. Justice is equality, respect, beauty." Ethan
Fluid sexuality – Pride is freedom
"Heels for men that like themselves in them, kisses among ourselves, we have an open, extended mind, and we're proud of it. The horizons become vast, past the oppression of conservative families. With the information on the web knowledge becomes greater and with it the possibility that minorities will be less and less minorities, because the majority will be less of a majority. This way we'll make insults and bullying grow quieter. If social media get to a village of 50 souls and reveal to a girl who's afraid of the dark that someone has felt her same fear, then there's no reason to give a name to that fear, to mark it with labels which also limit and restrict. Definitions always had this effect on me. You shouldn't even consider the gender when judging someone, let alone their orientation." Victoria
Sexism – A culture to be dismantled
"Emma [tn: Emma Marrone, Italian singer] drops the bomb: “At Eurovision when I was there they massacred me for a pair of shorts, while they said nothing to Damiano – bare-chested and in heels.” The easy judgment against women is more fierce, constant, debasing (if I have a lot of sex I'm cool while Vic is a whore, where I show myself strong I'm a leader while Vic is despotic and a pain in the ass who reached success because she's hot.) As a male I'm privileged, the abuse I get is not comparable to those a woman has to live through, the comments over my aesthetic are centered only on my aesthetic and don't insinuate anything about my professionalism and my competence, while women are victims of this kind of thought in a systematic way. It happened though to find myself standing with a woman who while pulling me to herself to take a selfie, started licking my face out of the blue... I mean, what the hell do you want? Who asked you? Consent exists, and it's due." Damiano
Grow yourself – The only commandment
"To me conformism is the opposite of education [tn: could also mean "politeness"] and is the asphyxia of expression. I fortunately never endured heavy bullying, heavy enough for the the judgement of others to change me. But the mold of the small crumbs of bullying I got and of the kind of aggression that scars is the same. If I'm a kid who dances and likes dolls you have to let me do what I like. I was a kid who wanted to keep his hair long and played with Barbie. As a teen, my friends looked at my hair: " You have to find a girl with short hair to be at your side." My grandparents took away my dolls: "Stop it, they're not for you." Ethan
"When I was six I was already sick of them, the distinctions between masculine and feminine. I've always had strong ideas about how I wanted to be. I refused things that were typically defined as girly, and all around me they mocked me because I went skateboarding, I played soccer, I didn't wear skirts, I was giving myself the chance to be as I wished. I endured it a little, I suffered a little, but I had courage, and now thanks to that courage I know that I could have gotten even much more hurt, otherwise I would have left to others the most important choice: the one about myself." Victoria
Love in progress – Music, girlfriends
"I've been married to music for the last 20 years. I can't wait to celebrate our golden wedding anniversary." Ethan
"Everyone makes their own experiences, sometimes it goes well, sometimes it goes wrong, but it's always not anybody's business." Thomas
"When I first felt feelings and attraction towards a girl it was a bit disorienting because I had never had the courage of going beyond the limitations I had put for myself. For society being heterosexual is the norm and so you often define yourself in that way automatically, depriving yourself of the freedom to live many shades and faces of love. Once I overcame the initial insecurity of having to call into question my certainties I've lived my sexuality in a very natural and free way, as it should be for everyone." Victoria
"I had paparazzi at my door every day and night. So, after four years of relationship, I revealed her name. I still have paparazzi at my door every day and nigh, but at least I don't have to hide anything anymore." Damiano
The worth of the group – Phenomenology of protection
"The true engagement though, the true family is among ourselves, our band. We've believed in it since day zero, even before we called ourselves Måneskin (Moonlight in Danish), even before Ethan drew a giant moon on the flier for the first concert we ever did. We share everything, even the pain for the tragedy of Seid Visin, who committed suicide at 20 because of racism. [tn: I think the journalist asked them their opinion about Seid Visin's death, which was a current events topic in Italy, and then pasted it syntaxically in the middle of Thomas' answer, which was not a great move] A group is what we all should be: stay united and not back down an inch in the face of oppression that is generated by a distorted view of diversity." Thomas
I'm not of the right age – Like Gigliola [tn: Gigliola Cinquetti won Eurovision with her song "Non ho l'età", which means "I'm not of the right age"]
"Before you the only one who won both Sanremo and Eurovision on the same year was Cinquetti (1964). If there's anything I feel I'm not of the right age for? No, honestly no. Maybe having children. Regarding children I'll be honest: I'm not of the right age." Damiano
Having touched the sky – The fears that remain
"We're more than inside the dream, we're in the conquered dream. When you fly high there's the risk of plummeting and hurting yourself, but we'll work hard not to end up like Icarus, who burns his wings with the sun. Everything is in our hands. And this - a bit pretentiously - reassures us rather than scaring us." Damiano
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Emily in Paris or why I stopped caring for the main character and started rooting for the French. Episode 2.
I must confess one thing. I have a sort of admiration for people who have the habit and the will of go running before work, because I don’t do these things, and people who can do it while wearing what seems like a lace top (?) maybe more adequate for other things, but who am I to judge if Emily looks perfectly fine when running while I look like a bag with sport wear. So congratulations Miss Cooper you are doing well in this aspect. Also shows that Emily is adapting her schedules and her habits to her new life. Example: she’s not going to arrive early to work this time. Lesson learnt, so good for her!
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Unfortunately there are still things she must get right. Example given, knowing exactly where her apartment is. She again tries to invade her cute neighbour’s home, which causes him to ask if she wants to live in his apartment. At this stage, there are reasons to suspect indeed. But there’s no time enough for our two character to devour each other with their eyes, so, after a last invitation to bang anytime from our delicious neighbour Emily goes back home to get a shower and dress for work.
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Her white boots, however, have an unfortunate encounter with a material of animal origin. She’s naturally disgusted and deals with it making another Instagram post. Discovering, by the way, that she’s gaining more and more followers for ther photos of fictional! Paris.
Sidenote: this scene can mean two things from yours truly’s point of view. Either Emily’s next days are going to be shitty or she’s going to be ultimately lucky. In France or Spain is very common to wish good luck with the word merde (or well, mierda in Spanish). In both cases it comes from the times people went to theatre or opera house in carriages drawn with horses. So a load of shit meant: you are in the greatest show in town. But probably is not that deep.
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At Savoir, la Plouc is decaying as Emily’s sobriquet, and only Julien greets her with it. Besides, Emily has learn to strike back. Or rather is her smartphone the one she uses to retort Va te faire foutre! Which mean Fuck you but it’s not that imaginative. Why not mange tes morts, or some decent French swearing. Anyway well done, Emily, because this makes her earn Julien’s respect.
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... But evidently not Sylvie’s. She is clearly contemplating the void and wondering if some kind of karmic justice has sent her this girl that can’t figure out why is la plouc instead of le plouc or won’t pronounce the name of the fragance De L’Heure from Lavaux. Sylvie doesn’t want to listen her ideas for promoting Lavaux’s last product. A little discussion insues between the two ladies. Must luxury remain an enclosed world? Should it be democratized in some way? Of course Emily thinks the point of view of an outsider could help, but, could you point at the outsider in this scene? Of course Emily is not French and still dealing with the continuous cultural clash. But she doesn’t seem an outsider by any means. And, ah. There’s a launch party for De L’Heure so she better hurry up and put some thing that doesn’t resemble whatever she’s wearing.
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Was that fashion advice from Sylvie? Who knows. In any case, Emily looks quite pretty with her black dress. The handbag is funny but highly debatable. And she’s overjoyed and bubbly as she pursues trays full of delicious food. Which is a faux pas, from Sylvie’s point of view.
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Enter Antoine Lambert from Maison Lavaux a.k.a. another Frenchman who is going to be attracted towards Emily’s many charms. Because that’s what Frenchmen do in this series. She fails to understand what a nose means in the world of fragances - it’s not that harsh to figure out, sometimes I wonder why they have written her like that; she’s suffering a severe case of cultural clash, but it doesn’t mean she’s stupid, argh -. Antoine is creeptractive. Especially in the next scene.
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Which takes place in this terrace with the gorgeous view of a glittering Eiffel Tower. This makes Emily smile and would do everyone else who had the opportunity to assist. This makes up for Sylvie saying that she’s talking too much about bussiness during the party, which is something she should not do.
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Monsieur le Creeptractive follows her and tests the fragance on her skin. A really weird dialogue about how she should have a French boyfriend because you learn French in bed... Yeah, sure.  Emily profess her fidelity to her engaged to be engaged Doug back in Chicago. Something that he doesn’t deserve but more on that immediately after. He smells her in a way that would make many women shudder and run away and compliments (?) her on smelling like expensive sex. Yikes yikes yikes.
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All in all, is a successful night for Emily, but as she discovers the next day, she’s supposed to work not in the promotion of De l’Heure, but in some product  called Vaga-Jeune to help woment to combat vaginal dryness. Is that a mean move by Sylvie, or it’s only a logical thing for Emily to start there, given she has experience in pharmaceuticals? Discuss. She also tells our heroine not to be too flirty with Antoine, who is married to one of her very good friends. But immediately after Julien drops the bomb: Sylvie is actually Antoine’s mistress. Oops.
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In order to deal with the amount of unwanted information, Emily texts to Mindy and they go for a dinner. Mindy gives her a few tips to survive in the complicate environment of a city where everyone is having affairs with everyone. As if in Paris - like everywhere else - didn’t exist people who doesn’t care about sex. In this universe, Emily still can’t wrap her head around the endemic lack of conyugal fidelity in this series.
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We learn more about Mindy, who maybe would deserve more than being only Asian token character which is supportive of the main one just because. Indeed Mindy is for now my favourite character here, along with Sylvie. Mindy turns out to be in Paris because her millionaire zipper king father wanted her in the bussiness school, but, since living in Paris was one of her dreams, Mindy dropped it and became a nanny instead. Now she’s been cut off by dad, but she’s free and, besides, she finds funny to have grown up surrounded by nannies and now being one of them.
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The temptation of MIndy taking over Emily in this series is too big when just in the next scene she thinks she can “educate the chef a little bit about customer service” without even tasting her steak, which she wants done more. Customer are not always right; some of them behave like annoying assholes. She swallows her words as Gabriel from downstairs emerges from the kitchen because of course he’s the chef. Somewhat that convinces her she should taste the steak before giving her opinion. It turns out the steak is wonderful, it was wonderful the whole time. Emily please. Try to behave.
(also Mindy wouldn’t mind to taste the chef instead of the steak, which is understandable)
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Next day Emily is happily roaming around the market with a little hat perched on her head and the mind full of Chicago Boyfriend Doug. The little hat is so stupid that it’s almost charming, like someone more fit for a musical than for real people walking on real streets. She seems to have befriended the woman from the boulangerie, too! However, the happiness is to be shortlived...
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... Because Doug, as his first scene already indicated, is someone who can’t bother to take his ass into a plane and fly to Paris where there is nothing to do while expecting for his girlfriend to come back from job. This guy must have one, but he’s so lazy that one wonders if he inherited it. Notice that, unlike in Paris, there are cars in Chicago. Doug proceeds then to inelegantly dump his girlfriend by phone.
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Very fitting to have Emily standing just next to the Panthéon when the call is over and their relationship as dead as the people inside.
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Emily is logically sad after this and the weather seems to agree with her mood, probably she cried to her sleep, or at least she shed some tears. He doesn’t deserve it, honey.
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Her mood doesn’t improve when, at the office, she discovers a new thing. Yes, you have grammatical gender in French, as well as in other European languages. She is puzzled because, starting her campaign for Vaga-Jeune, she discovers vagine is a masculine word in French. She doesn’t understand it, and, in typical Emily fashion, she decides the problem is with this language she knows virtually nothing about.
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She also learns a very important word for her future life in Paris: grève, which means strike. And it’s not going only a vagina strike. But who knows, she lives in a parallel universe so maybe there are no strikes there (since there is no public transport and/or services on sight even if we know it exist somewhere). And of course, post something on her Instagram account about how vaginas are not masculine.
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During her (daily, one guess) conversation with Mindy during the lunch break, Emily loses at last this overoptimistic side of her that makes the character annoying and vents a little about her general exasperation. She thinks she’ll never learn the language (but girl, you barely tried, don’t be so harsh with yourself), or be simply tolerated by her workmates, or even understand how the city was built. She’ll be all right, Mindy insists, not very impressed at her friend’s disperation.
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Which follows is one of the most cringeworthy deus-ex-machina I have seen, and adequately being a deus-ex-machina it comes from l’Élysée. Wink wink, mythology aficionados.
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By the way, it’s that the façade which gives to the main courtyard of the French presidential palace? Yes it is. Here I am wondering where this footage came from and when it was filmed because I am that way. Seems the flag is at half mast from that point of view so... this could help to know in which moment was filmed... But screw that, you aren’t here for my personal obsessions, so lets go right to the point.
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Somewhat Carla Bruni finds Emily’s post about vaginas utterly fascinating, to the extent that she has to share it with Brigitte Macron. And of course the current French First Lady (even if officially there is not such title in France) agrees and posts it in her Twitter account. We only see Fictional!Brigitte from her back. Real Brigitte doesn’t have accounts on social networks, by the way, which is understandable since after a while one gets tired of playing the game of guessing if the one who made the mysoginist and idiotic post is from the extreme right or the extreme left (it’s a difficult thing to tell apart, I assure you). Of course Emily’s post gets viral.
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Brigitte Macron just retweeted you, bitch! is not bad as unexpected sentence on a screenplay in 2020, congratulations. Her partners at Savoir are overjoyed and suddenly Emily can share a table with them, yay! Though evolving from la plouc to our Vaga-Jeune is not really improving that much I guess? So that’s the end of the episode and Emily’s life seems not-so-that-depressing all of a sudden. So thank you Brigitte.
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And that was Episode 2 of Emily in Paris. Our heroine was slightly less annoying than on first one, probably because the reality of being in a totally different country is starting to hit her and she’s had a few humblings by this moment. For the next one, we’ll know more about Monsieur le Creeptractive & the nonsense of fragance advertisements.
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arcticdementor · 3 years
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“Hey bro! Check out this Nike ad!” This was my entry point into a new world.
Since Carlos had lived mostly outside the United States, he was able to follow soccer on a level I’d never encountered in my hometown. Back then, before social media and the advent of scarf-wearing Northwestern fútbol hipsters, big-time European soccer was like the metric system: Known to almost all but ourselves. But Carlos knew, and immediately used LimeWire to curate me a massive archive of 1990s through early 2000s soccer highlights. What was I doing in the world without them?
Oddly enough, in trying to inculcate me in soccer fandom, he started not with game highlights, but with the advertisements. Yes, Carlos was an educator and a voluntary footsoldier for Big Apparel. Going in, I had no clue about high-quality, internationally popular Nike soccer ads. The ads, written by the legendary Wieden+Kennedy firm, were miniature movies, films that were often creatively daring but also quite funny. The most popular of these ads might be “Good vs. Evil,” from 1996, where Nike’s best soccer players team up to play Satan’s literal army. The blending of sacrilege, theology and comedy just worked, like a more ambitious version of Space Jam that somehow took itself less seriously than Space Jam.
Yes, I know ads aren’t supposed to be high art. I understand that they are the purest distillation of manipulative greed. And yet, they sometimes are culturally relevant generational touchstones. While Nike was weaving soccer into enduring pop culture abroad, it was having a similar kind of success with basketball and baseball stateside. These ads weren’t just pure ephemera. Michael Jordan’s commercials were so good that, as he nears age 60, his sneaker still outsells any modern athlete’s. “Chicks dig the long ball” is a phrase (a) that can get you sent to the modern HR department and b) whose origins are fondly remembered by most American men over the age of 35.
Modern Nike ads will never be so remembered. It’s not because we’re so inundated with information these days, though we are. And it’s not because today’s overexposed athletes lack the mystique of the 1990s superstars, though they do. It’s because the modern Nike ads are beyond fucking terrible.
They’re bad for many causes, but one in particular is an incongruity at the company’s heart. Nike, like so many major institutions, is suffering from what I’ll call Existence Dissonance. It’s happening in a particular way, for a particular reason and the result is that what Nike is happens to be at cross-purposes from what Nike aspires to be.
For all the talk of a racial reckoning within major industries, Nike’s main problem is this: It’s a company built on masculinity, most specifically Michael Jordan’s alpha dog brand of it. Now, due to its own ambitions, scandals, and intellectual trends, Nike finds masculinity problematic enough to loudly reject.
This rejection is part of the broader culture war, but it’s accelerating due to an arcane quirk in the apparel giant’s strange restructuring plan, announced in June. Under the leadership of new CEO John Donahoe, Nike is moving away from its classic discrete sports categories (Nike Basketball, Nike Soccer, etc.) in favor of a system where all products are shoveled into one of three divisions: men’s, women’s and kids’. Obviously Nike made clothing tailored to the specificities of all these groups before, but now, Nike is emphasizing gender over sport. Gone is the model of the product appealing to basketball fans because they are basketball fans. It’s now replaced by a model of, say, the product appealing to women because they are women.
And hey, women buy sneakers too. Actually, women buy the lion’s share of clothing in the United States. While women shoppers are market dominant in nearly every aspect of American apparel, the clothing multinational named after a Greek goddess happens to be a major exception. At Nike, according to its own records, men account for roughly twice as much revenue as women do.
You might see that stat and think, “Well, this means that Nike will prioritize men over women in its new, odd, gendered segmentation of the company.” That’s not necessarily how this all works, thanks to a phenomenon I’ll call Undecided Whale. The idea is that a company, as its aims grow more expansive, starts catering less to the locked-in core customer and more to a potential whale which demonstrates some interest. Sure, you can just keep doing what’s made you rich, but how can you even focus on your primary business with that whale out there, swimming so tantalizingly close? The whale, should you bring it in, has the potential to enrich you far more than your core customers ever did. And yeah yeah yeah, a bird in the hand is worth two in the bush, but those were birds. This is a damned whale! And so you start forgetting about your base.
You can see this dynamic in other places. For the NBA, China is its Undecided Whale. It could be argued that the NBA fixates more on China than on America, even if the vast majority of TV money comes from U.S. viewership. The league figures it has more or less hit its ceiling in its home country, so China becomes an obsession as this massive, theoretical growth engine.
Here’s the main issue for Nike in this endeavor: The company, as a raison d’être, promotes athletic excellence. While women are among Nike’s major sports stars, the core of high-level performance, in the overwhelming majority of sports, is male. Every sane person knows that, though nobody in professional class life seems rude enough to say so. Obviously, there’s the observable reality of who tends to set records and there’s also the pervasive understanding that testosterone, the main male sex hormone, happens to give unfair advantages to the athletes who inject it.
Speaking of which, there’s a famous This American Life episode from 2002 where the public radio journos actually test their own testosterone levels. The big joke of the episode is just how comically low their T levels are. Sure, you would stereotype bookish public radio men in this way, and yet the results are on the nose enough to shock.
As a nerdy media-weakling type, I can relate to the stunning realization that you’ve been largely living apart from T. Before working in the NBA setting, I was an intern in the cubicles of Salon.com’s San Francisco office, around the time it was shifting from respectable online magazine into inane outrage content mill. Going from that setting to the NBA locker room was some jarring whiplash, like leaving the faculty lounge for a pirate ship. To quote Charles Barkley on the latter culture, “The locker room is sexist, racist, and homophobic … and it’s fun and I miss it.”
The “Good vs. Evil” ad boasts a “Like” to “Dislike” ratio of 20-to-1 on YouTube. On June 17th of 2021, Nike put out an ad ahead of the Euro Cup that referenced “Good vs. Evil” as briefly as it could. In this case, a little child popped his collar and used Cantona’s catchphrase. As of this writing, the new ad has earned a thousand more punches of the Dislike than of the Like button.
When you see it, it’s no surprise that the latest Euro Cup ad is disliked. I mean, you have to look at this shit. I know we’re so numb to the ever-escalating emanations of radical chic from our largest corporations, but sometimes it’s worth pausing just to take stock and gawk.
But today we are in the land of new football, where we take dictatorial direction from less-than-athletic minors. After her announcement, we are treated to a montage of different people who offer tolerance bromides.
“There are no borders here!”
“Here, you can be whoever you want. Be with whoever you want.”
(Two men kiss following that line, because subtlety isn’t part of this new world order.)
Then, a woman who appears to be breastfeeding under a soccer shirt, threatens, in French, “And if you disagree …”
And this is when the little boy gives us Cantona’s “au revoir” line before kicking a ball out of a soccer stadium, presumably because that’s what happens to the ignorant soccer hooligan. He gets kicked out for raging against gay men kissing or French ladies breastfeeding or somesuch. Later, a referee wearing a hijab instructs us, “Leave the hate,” before narrator girl explains, “You might as well join us because no one can stop us.”
Is that last line supposed to be … inspiring? That’s what a movie villain says, like if Bane took the form of Stan Marsh’s sister. Speaking of which, was this ad actually written by the creators of South Park as an elaborate prank? It’s certainly more convincing as an aggressive parody of liberals than as a sales pitch. Why, in anything other than a comedic setup, is a woman breastfeeding in a big-budget Euro Cup ad?
It’s tempting to fall into the pro-vanguardism template the boomers have handed down to us and sheepishly say, “I must be getting old, because this seems weird to me,” but let’s get real. You dislike this ad because it sucks. You are having a natural, human response to shitty art. This a hollow sermon from a priest whose sins were in the papers. Nobody is impressed by what Nike’s doing here. Nobody thinks Nike, a multinational famous for its sweatshops, is ushering us into an enlightened utopia. Sure, most media types are afraid to criticize the ad publicly. You might inspire suspicion that what you’re secretly against is men kissing and women breastfeeding, but nobody actually likes the stupid ad. No college kid would show it to a new friend he’s trying to impress, and it’s hard to envision a massive cohort of Gen Z women giving a shit about this ad either.
Now juxtapose that ad not just against the classics of the 1990s but also the 2000s products that preceded the Great Awokening. Compare it to another Nike Euro Cup advertisement, Guy Ritchie’s “Take It to the Next Level.”
Here’s the problem, insofar as problems are pretended into existence by our media class: The ad is very, very male. Really, what we are watching here is a boyhood fantasy. Our protagonist gets called up to the big show, and next thing you know he’s cavorting with multiple ladies, and autographing titties to the chagrin of his date. He can be seen buying a luxury sports car and arriving at his childhood home in it as his father beams with pride. Training sessions show him either puking from exhaustion or playing grab-ass with his fellow soccer bros. This is jock life, distilled. Art works when it’s true and it’s true that this is a vivid depiction of a common fantasy realized.
Nike’s highly successful “Write the Future” ad (16,000 Likes, 257 Dislikes) works along similar themes.
The recent Olympic ads were especially heavy on cringe radical chic, and might have stood out less in this respect if the athletes themselves mirrored that tone on the big stage. Not so much in these Olympics. It seems as though Nike made the commercials in preparation for an explosion of telegenic activism, only to see American athletes mostly, quietly accept their medals, chomp down on the gold, and praise God or country. Perhaps you could consider Simone Biles bowing out of events due to mental health as a form of activism, but overall, the athletes basically behaved in the manner they would have back in 1996.
But Nike forged onwards anyway. This ad in celebration of the U.S. women’s basketball team made some waves, getting ripped in conservative media as the latest offense by woke capital.
“Today I have a presentation on dynasties,” a pink-haired teenage girl tells us. “But I refuse to talk about the ancient history and drama. That’s just the patriarchy. Instead, I’m going to talk about a dynasty that I actually look up to. An all-women dynasty. Women of color. Gay women. Women who fight for social justice. Women with a jump shot. A dynasty that makes your favorite men’s basketball, football, and baseball teams look like amateurs.”
When she says, “That’s just the patriarchy,” the camera pans to a bust of (I think) Julius Caesar. At another point, the girl says, “A dynasty that makes Alexander the Great look like Alexander the Okay.” Fuck you, Classical Antiquity. Fuck you, fans of teams. You’re all just the patriarchy. Or something.
Nike could easily sell the successful American women’s basketball team without denigrating other teams, genders and ancient Mediterranean empires that have nothing to do with this. Could but won’t. The company now conveys an almost visceral need for women to triumph over men because … well, nobody really explains why, even if it has something to do with Undecided Whaling. In Nike’s tentpole Olympics ad titled “Best Day Ever,” the narrator fantasizes about the future, declaring, “The WNBA will surpass the NBA in popularity!” ​
There are theories on the emergence of woke capital, with many having observed that, following Occupy Wall Street, media institutions ramped up on census category grievance. The thinking goes that, in response to the threat of a real economic revolution, the power players in our society pushed identity politics to undermine group solidarity. Well, that was a fiendishly brilliant plan, if anyone actually hatched it.
I’m not so convinced, though, as I’m more inclined to believe that a lot of history happens by happenstance. If we’re to specifically analyze the Nike Awokening, there is a recent top-down element of a mandate for Undecided Whaling, but that mandate was preceded by a socially conscious middle class campaign within the company.
This isn’t unique to Nike, either. Given my past life covering the team that tech moguls root for, I’ve run into such people. They aren’t, by and large, ideological. Very few are messianically devoted to seeing the world through the intersectionality lens. They are, however, terrified of their employees who feel this way. The mid-tier labor force, this cohort who actually internalized their university teachings, are full of fervor and willing to risk burned bridges in favor of causes they deem righteous. The big bosses just don’t want a headline-making walkout on their hands, so they placate and mollify, eventually bending the company’s voice into language of righteousness.
All the guilt and atonement transference make for bad art. And so the ads suck. There’s no Machiavellian conspiracy behind the production. It’s just a combination of desperately wanting female market share and desperately wanting to move on from the publicized sins of a masculine past. So, to message its ambitions, the exhausted corporation leans on the employees with the loudest answers.
There’s a lot of interplay between Nike and Wieden+Kennedy when the former asks the latter for a type of ad, but the through line from both sides is a lot of cooks in the kitchen. Based on conversations with people who’ve worked in both environments, there’s a dearth of personnel who are deeply connected to sports. In place of a grounding in a subculture, you’re getting ideas from folks who went to nice colleges and trendy ad schools, the type of people who throw words like “patriarchy” at the screen to celebrate a gold medal victory. The older leaders, uneasy in their station and thus obsessed with looking cutting edge, lean on the younger types because the youth are confident. Unfortunately, that confidence is rooted in an ability to regurgitate liturgy, rather than generative genius. They’ve a mandate to replace a marred past, which they leap at, but they’re incapable of inventing a better future.
Ironically, Nike mattered a lot more in the days when its position was less dominant. Back when it had to really fight for market share, it made bold, genre-altering art. The ads were synonymous with masculine victory, plus they were cheekily irreverent. And so the dudes loved them. Today, Nike is something else. It LARPs as a grandiose feminist nonprofit as it floats aimlessly on the vessel Michael Jordan built long ago. Like Jordan himself, Nike is rich forever off what it can replicate never. Unlike Jordan, it now wishes to be known for anything but its triumphs. Nike once told a story and that story resonated with its audience. Now it’s decided that its audience is the problem. It wouldn’t shock you to learn that Carlos hated the new Nike ads I texted to him. His exact words were, “I don’t want fucking activism from a sweatshop monopoly.” He’ll still buy the gear, though, just not the narrative. Nike remains, but the story about itself has run out. Au revoir. 
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troughtonmedia · 5 years
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Corporatist Nationalism
Throughout time, mankind has tried to reign-in its harnesses and control the masses.  This must’ve started hundreds-of-thousands of years ago; if not even earlier.  Now our history can be a bit-of-a blur but this is the way I comprehend it:  We the people started out as hunters and gatherers.  Let’s briefly explore this phenomena:  Young, strong, and capable males would use tools and weapons to catch and capture animal life for harvest to ingest for nutrition.  Quick side note:  What’s amazing about nature is even animal life has hierarchies!  Lion prides, flocks of ducks, and of course; schools of fish!  Science might even tell you that 99% of our DNA is shared with monkeys.  50% with dogs.  What sticks out to me however is the yin and the yang.  The masculine and the feminine.  Women most likely did not do much hunting.  I mean nowadays things have changed.  Anyone with a shotgun can go out and kill something but way-back-when I imagine it took some major skills to take down a wholly mammoth!  It must’ve been extremely dangerous and probably a little exhilarating.  Have you ever been trophy hunting?  Women, it seems, took on a different role.  They took the hides and made clothing for warmth.  They took clay and ash, to make pottery and dishes.  They breastfed the young and probably taught them very important lessons.  I mean, who actually knows; there has never been a good caveman movie!  
So you’re probably asking yourself, what the hell does this have to do with Corporatist Nationalism?  Let me proceed.  Now clearly mankind must’ve gotten a little tired of the bloodshed so he taught himself agriculture.  Take the seed, put it in the ground, and watch it grow!  Clearly hunting wild animals for a living got tiresome so check it out; we the people domesticated them.  Now there were herders tending to livestock that depended on them.  Cattle, sheep, goats, etcetera.  This is still thousands of years ago and it has been said that with this leisurely time mankind granted himself, he began to think about the big questions.  Who are we?  Where do we come from?  Why are we here?  I don’t believe there were Democracies or Republics in ancient Egypt but mankind was getting closer.  I believe it’s called Feudalism.  People would live on land granted to them by ruling elite.  Serfs would tend crops and in return receive protection from their lords.  
Nowadays it seems that Wall Street kingpins have become our lords.  If you’ve got a good enough paying job, you can purchase a home most commonly in the form a 30 year mortgage.  I’m not calling the United States of America a feudal system but i am saying there are similarities.  Our political system is more or less modeled off of ancient Greece and we have George Washington to thank for that.  The man could’ve been a King but fuck that shit; the colonists had just annexed themselves from British rule.  Awe, the founding of a county!  It helped nudge France in the right direction as well; although there was much bloodshed between the Proletariat and Bourgeoisie.  Imagine lots of guillotines. Even the British Empire changed its ways in the next few hundred years with a Parliament although there is still a Queen mostly for tourism purposes.  
World Wars I & II were all about political systems and beliefs and now this is where Corporatist Nationalism comes in.  It is not Communism or the belief where everybody gets paid the same.  It is not Fascism, where a strict military force is ruled by a psychopath!  Corporatist Nationalism is having pride in the country your from and working for a company you believe in!  It is earning a wage to pay for the things you enjoy doing.  It is paying your taxes to a nation that uses the money reasonably and responsibly.  Corporatist Nationalism takes the good parts out of military structure and uses them for non-lethal means.  It trains both men and women to do their duties to the best of their abilities.  I believe Corporatist Nationalism can help nudge mankind into the next phase of its existence.  From the age of the Pisces to the age of Aquarius;  business can replace war.  That is Corporatist Nationalism.  A form of government that tries to eliminate violence and promote courtesy.  
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whoaimhellatrash · 5 years
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I don't really know where to put this except here but I need to get everything out. I'm putting it under a cut, no one needs to read it, but I just need to yell into the void for a while and on the off chance someone else is in this deserted Denny's parking lot at 4 am then cool beans you do you.
I have spent the last 4-5 years of my life doing nothing but self exploration. Honestly I’m sure a lot of people can relate, mid-late middle school to late high school is when people actually stop for a minute and think “who am i?” 
So many of these thoughts are influenced by the world around you, which in our society is so goddamn dangerous honestly. With so many influences like toxic masculinity, the disrespect of women, the racism the phobia the models and photoshop, it’s all so toxic for people just trying to discover who we really are. I think my identity was so fucking out of left field and so new and so wrong for others that it put me so harshly through the wringer that I earned self awareness. Through the immense pain and pressure, I was forced to stop and think, to consider, how much of this is me and how much of this is my parents, my society, how much of myself has been put here by others instead of molded by myself. Like a piece of coal turning to a diamond by sheer pressure, my perspective of myself and the world drastically changed.
It’s honestly still changing, and i doubt it’ll stop, I don’t want it to stop. I want to keep changing my views with the times, I want to keep discovering new things about myself and others, but this desire came with a price, as did my self awareness.
Back in mid to late middle school, my memory is muddled I wont lie, I had discovered sexuality and the fluidity of it, or at least a small piece of it. It was so mind boggling to me that at 7 in the morning, on the bus ride to school, I told a senior from my neighborhood about it with just this sparkling delight of curiosity and excitement in my eyes. I remember reading, on that dark, quiet bus, the definitions of bisexual, homosexual, demi, and pan which i ended up identifying with the latter for a long time. 
This moment, these precious few moments on a bus, was the first push of a snowball down a long hill of self discovery. I remember coming out as pan in my school and watching, one by one, several more of my friends come out as Bi and gay. It was something i reveled in, knowing that I helped that cascade. I was lucky, not being faced with bullying for my sexuality in particular, but I hadn’t come out to anyone truly important and I wouldn’t for a while.
When I met my best friend (going on 6-7 years now) they introduced me to the idea of trans. I had never put thought into it before but I decided that maybe I wanted to try it out. Deep down in the pit of my gut, i knew i hated who i was. I wasn’t comfortable, i wasn’t..right. I always pulled my hair up in a pony tail, i couldn’t stand it being down, i never wore dresses or skirts unless i was forced to do so for a dance, i just couldnt stand the femininity of it. I liked the power and confidence of looking good but it just..wasnt the right kind. It never felt like it was right. I constantly wore baggy hoodies to hide my body. I thought maybe it was my weight, I starved myself, as in only eating a few cheerios and an apple maybe for an entire 30 hours. I fainted in class from low glucose levels. Nothing I tried helped and in fact made everything so much worse. 
I was finally ready to try something else. I was genderfluid at first, i tried they/them and i found I liked it, but when i tried he/him I thrived on it. It felt comfortable and right and I never wanted to give it up. I never came out to my middle school friends. 
My freshman year of high school I had decided that I was going to live out all four years as Dave. As myself, as someone who i was comfortable with, then once those four years were up, I would go back into the closet and live my life as the perfect little girl, the sweet, precious golden child like I had been forced to be for all of my life. It was at this time that my depression was at it’s worst point. 
8-9 grade became a dead blur. It was around this time that my sister was diagnosed with depression. My mom knew nothing, she genuinely believed some fast food would make my sister not sad anymore. My sister began going to therapy. After a long battle with myself and my deeply ingrained desire to be the perfect kid who never is a bother or a pest, I asked my mom for therapy too. My therapist was not good for me, i didn’t realize what my problems actually were, she was treating surface issues, not the source. I realize that now and I’ve expressed this fact to my current therapist, but at the time I wasn’t aware and I had no way to ask for a different therapist because apparently it was “So hard finding a therapist to treat me oh and so much harder to find a psychiatrist.” I understand that my mom doesn’t want to feel as though she’s failed, that her child is suffering, though I don’t believe she understood or understands that although I’m suffering, the best remedy is to let me have help. But, on the other hand, being so put down, so ostracized, so passive aggressively hated for wanting help stood to do nothing but encourage me to isolate myself and develop destructively dependent relationships on my friends.
I got medication at some point, according to others it turned me into a flat zombie, I remember nothing around this time. It stabilized my mood but it stabilized it at the lowest possible point. It was somewhere in this time that I attempted suicide, I self harmed, I was destructive and even more so than I had been in middle school with my starving. I fought day in and day out about my gender. I fought with teachers who used it against me, students who didn’t believe me, and for a long time I was all alone except for the few friends I had who were all over the country. 
I felt like I was living a double life, i still feel like it. I’m Dave with everyone else, and a perfect daughter to my family. In sophomore and junior year I picked myself up. I found more friends, more of them began to question their gender identity too. Whether I started this self discovery early or if I was the one that sparked theirs, the world was gaining color and clarity. Part of it may be caused by the fact that I had quit my meds cold turkey (in hindsight not a good idea, dont ever do that kids, it’s dangerous), I came out to my mom then my dad as Pan (didn’t go over well but I was out) and I had begun to surround myself with people I really enjoyed and who were a much more positive influence on me.
I have so many positive memories of my friends, going to concerts, being idiots and smoking weed, hanging out every morning and just talking. As hard as everything was, I can say that I had times where I was genuinely happy. But every day, every single day, I had internal battles going on. Fighting tooth and nail not to relapse and start self harming or starving myself, fighting to get out of bed in the morning and go through my routine. Every morning I sat on the edge of my bed and stared at my binder, the thing that was helping me survive yet destroying me too. I sat and stared and wondered “how long am I going to have to put this on? Will I ever be comfortable enough to stop?”
A lot of things changed. My mood increased bit by bit, I found my own coping mechanisms, I learned how to be marginally healthier, my grades picked up, I became an unstoppable force, fueled by determination and pride and spite, I was going to succeed because I wanted to. Because I wanted to speak my mind, to not be a doormat, I wanted to be strong and powerful and to have a grip on my own life. 
Yet, even with my newfound confidence, I was still struggling so deeply. Mid sophomore year my sister started to transition. It hurt. It hurt so deeply and profoundly. This woman, who had been nothing less than a destructive hurricane in my life, who had done nothing but destroy because that’s the only side of me she ever showed, was somehow being given the gift of transitioning. 
I had fought with myself, tried to convince myself that if my sister was being given support, i would too. Besides, my mom had already found out because I was being called Dave by all my teachers and friends.
I didn’t get the reception I was hoping for.
“You know if you pick this lifestyle your entire life is going to be harder. Everything is going to be worse, you’re going to have to struggle so much more through life. You might never reach the success that you want to reach.” I was devastated. I basically crawled back into the closet, my gender coming up sparingly. 
Everything leading up to this time in my life, everything i’ve shared, everything I haven’t, all of it has led up to this and now I’m at a crossroads. It’s the later end of my senior year. College is right around the corner, so are jobs and careers and life, and now I have a choice. Maybe I don’t. 
When I started high school, when I decided I would come out to my teachers and my friends, when I decided to live this life, I also decided I would box myself up by the end of it all, to move forwards in life as a good little girl after this, to get it all out of my system now. Now I see, now I’ve decided that that’s not an option, it never was an option.  I’ve been growing so much, and I don’t intend to stop, I’ve learned ways to help myself, how not to be so self destructive, how to be kinder and gentler to myself and others. I want to be someone who is compassionate and caring but still strong and not a pushover. I think i’ve begun to achieve that, I still have lots more to do and a long way to go but I’m getting myself help, I’m actively trying in therapy, I’m being more self aware in my relationships, I’m building bonds and trust between the people I care about and I’m trying to make my life better, but I can’t go through building this new life while denying myself such a massive aspect of who I am? 
Who am I going to be?
How long can I live this lie of who I am on one hand while trying to define myself on the other?
The world says I have time but my heart says it’s ticking away.
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velvyy · 5 years
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Thoughts on that Gillette Ad
I didn't disagree with the message of the ad, but I did have issues with how the issue and message was addressed and delivered. It could've been delivered better and it should've addressed the power structures being perpetuated by the way our society functions on the basis of social hierarchy and environmental influences. Should men hold themselves accountable? Sure. How? Gillette would probably just rub their heads and say "Um.. just don't do the bad thing.. y'know?" Obviously men should want to be better, but if they aren't aware of how our society is built and engineered to consistently establish a power structure that will inevitably bring up these same issues in a new form, then what's the point? 
Initially I wasn't very critical of the ad (Albeit, I did point out that it was just part of a marketing strategy and the creators of the ad didn't give a flippity floppity fuck about issues revolving toxic masculinity) but I had to think critically and acknowledge that... Because it is a company delivering this message, they probably will never address how men are conditioned to behave in a certain way due to the way our society is built around social hierarchies that perpetuate power struggle. They can't because then they'd be forced to address other forms of hierarchy that also proves to perpetuate power struggles, and Gillette as a company is a prime result of hierarchy that fails to justify itself. It's why you'll never hear woke ads address anything involving social hierarchies, and when they do, it's often a very watered down message added with feel good quotes and motivational words that's just a cover up for any real substance that would be spoken about otherwise. Ever notice how whenever ads feature MLK it's always revolving around his "I have a dream!" quote and literally nothing else? Nothing regarding his beliefs of capitalism and how he didn't particularly care for it, and nothing about him addressing his own distaste for 'The White Moderate."
 Companies appropriating progressive language, and then watering it down to the typical basic "liberal understanding" is harmful because then you begin to give companies the benefit of the doubt. You start to view them as a living entity, and not simply an "it". Start looking at companies as things with beliefs, and truly wanting to best for people, when the reality is that they simply appropriate progressive language just to earn more profit and appeal to liberal consumers. It's companies' way of attempting to legitimize themselves, and them trying to distract everyone from actual criticism of the mere existence of large companies. Commodification of liberation movements may seem like they're spreading good values, but they're doing it to benefit themselves. They see a movement that's picking up steam, they'll go in, water down the message, and then use their watered down message to sell products, and to benefit themselves. And when companies talk about donating to a good cause, they only donate maybe a very, very, very small percentage of their profits. Think about companies and how they saw pride parades as a way to advertise themselves and act like they genuinely cared about gay rights.
 "Oh. but it still spreads a good message and spreads progressive ideas!"
 Except when consumers see liberation activists pushing for more progressive ideals, and then people learning the watered-down ideals become angry with the activists for "asking for too much" or "you already got what you wanted, just shut up already! 
"Gays have equal rights now! They have no reason to complain!" 
 Watering down the messages and issues being addressed hurts the movement itself due to how it's in a way, a deradicalization of ideology. So when you have liberation movements demanding what they were initially asking for in the first place, they're now considered extreme. Can't challenge the status quo too much, now. Anyone can preach equal rights without acknowledging ALL the things that restrict said liberty and equality. How many companies have addressed legal LGBT workplace discrimination, or housing discrimination? How many have addressed the overbearing representation of violent crimes committed against trans-women of color? How many have addressed how class struggle further perpetuates systemic oppression towards literally anyone who's considered part of a marginalized group? It's one of the bigger issues I have. The reliance of companies delivering progressive messages is very ineffective, and actually stagnates progress. Our reliance on faceless companies and big figurehead celebrities, delivering any sort of truly progressive message doesn't make sense because their place on the societal hierarchy is one that also perpetuates power struggle, particularly class struggle, but I digress.
 Only way to really enable progressive messages to be spread is to let actual activists have the stage, and allow them to speak the message they deserve to deliver. That message shouldn't be shifted to faceless corporations and rich individuals. (Ask yourself how these wealthy individuals are negatively affected by our society's power imbalances, and chances are you'll realize that they're doing pretty damn well for themselves.) 
 The ad targets individual men, without realizing that many men that exist are simply a result of social conditioning built upon the basis of a harmful status quo. You can ask individual men to change, but unless you acknowledge the way our society enables the harmful ideals that men end up falling victim to, the same issues remain existent. They just change, evolve, or become hidden. If more people acknowledged where our societal issues derived from, maybe we could actually make some quick progress. But no, instead many are infatuated with advertisements and the messages they deliver, rather than acknowledging that our societal issues run very deep, and maintain prevalence because we fail to address those in particular, and we fail to criticize companies for delivering messages that were never theirs to ever deliver in the first place. If men want to be the best they can be, they should not only acknowledge that their behavior perpetuated by social hierarchies is harmful, but they should also ask where these toxic ideals derive from, why they’re still prevalent, and discuss ways to dismantle these hierarchies.They ought to question the foundation our society is built upon, and work to change those or simply get rid of them. They should question the way men are conditioned, and they should be addressing these issues themselves, and not relying on corporations to speak for them. Although, I will say that witnessing men, anti-sjws, incels, and manbabies having an aneurysm over the ad and stating “MASCULINITY ISN’T TOXIC” was pretty fun. Hard to criticize others for being overly offended when they lose their shit over a dumb ad lol. However, I will say I am a bit annoyed with the lack of critique from the opposition. I say that because this ad certainly is not perfect, and people acting as if the ad was perfect and delivered what it needed to should honestly analyze it further and realize how disconnected it is from the real issue that plagues societies across the world. It’s easy to say how toxic masculinity is bad. How you provide context and address the origins of these awful behaviors that benefits literally no one (except the ruling class) is another thing entirely. The ad dilutes the actual message that needed to be expressed, and it shows when the ad shapes individual men as the ones entirely responsible for all the wrongdoings of other men, and failing to acknowledge how men are conditioned to even be that way. Yes, men can be better. Yes, men should strive to be the best they can be. The issue comes down to how society dictates what “best” is and whether or not the hierarchies that perpetuate the flaws being addressed, should be dismantled, and how that message, is also being addressed... Or rather, the lack there of.
I don’t stan Gillette. They’re a company with their only goal being earning profits. Nobody should be worshiping and characterizing a company as something with “ideals and beliefs.”
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elizas-writing · 6 years
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How I Would Fix The Last Jedi
So it’s been a while since The Last Jedi premiered and with the initial hype and anger settling down, more people are looking at it through a proper critical lens. The more posts I see critiquing The Last Jedi, the more I’m starting to realize it’s got a lot more problems than I thought. Don’t get me wrong, I still like it and found certain elements the best of the franchise, but perhaps I focused a little too much on being positive just to drown out all the anger (which to be fair, most of it was unwarranted to begin with). And thankfully now that most of the more pissy fanboys quieted down, I can post this in peace.
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This film’s biggest problem was the lack of a good editor to keep the pacing consistent and allot the right amount of character development for everyone. So I’ll be addressing some of the major concerns with The Last Jedi and analyzing where and how problems could be fixed.
1. Leia’s Fate
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Given Carrie Fisher’s death, some fans were anticipating Leia would possibly be killed off during The Last Jedi. But since she’s still alive at the very end, now they’re going to have to find a way to do that off screen unless they have enough spare footage from The Force Awakens and The Last Jedi to fill the gaps. To be totally fair with how much they filmed with Carrie, this was probably the best they could do without reshooting most of the film and pushing back the release date. Plus, this is the last time we’ll get to see her--- let me have Super Leia in Space. I think the only way they could work around this would be to record lines mentioning her depleting health given how long she was in space, even with using the Force to save herself. It’d at least give some foreshadowing that maybe she won’t make it to see the Rebellion win and drive our main heroes to follow in her footsteps.
2. No Memorial for Han Solo?
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Yes, more than two years passed and the shock of Han Solo’s death faded for the fans, but for the characters, only mere hours passed. Leia lost her husband, Chewie lost a best friend, Rey lost a father figure, and Luke lost a brother-in-law. They should still be torn up about this, especially Luke given all his guilt on failing his nephew. It’s really hard to believe that there wasn’t even so much as a memorial for one of the greatest heroes of the Rebellion. Imagine how much more gut-wrenching the opening would be if they were caught off guard while mourning Han.
 I want more of Rey depressed and angry that the one father figure she’s known was offed by his own son without mercy. I want more of Luke’s guilt eating him which increases his reluctance towards training cause he doesn’t know if this will happen again and who else he’ll lose. Han’s death should still have a massive impact on the story and where the Resistance will go without a legendary fighter with such a special spark you won’t find anywhere else in the galaxy.
3. Admiral Holdo’s Reckless Shit
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It’s really hard to gauge if I actually like Admiral Holdo because the film is back-and-forth between pulling the rug from under us with the character drama and forgetting the high stakes of their present situations. I get that Poe is hot-headed and needs to learn patience, but c’mon, you’re losing precious ships and lives the longer you stall and don’t just tell this trigger-happy nut what’s going on. She has no reason to be so secretive, and it’s just plain irresponsible given the small size of the Resistance. There’s no effort on her end as a leader to work together with some people, and unfairly talks down to them like children. And I know Leia does this too with Poe when she demoted him, but they have a quasi-mother/son dynamic where it works because they were working together longer than Poe has with Holdo. They might as well be strangers for almost two hours.
I definitely don’t hate Holdo as much as the rest of the fandom does, but we need more of her side with nuance on the divide and finding balance between fighting and self-preservation, especially as she leads in place of Leia and the two were close friends for decades. But you don’t get that connection and how much the Resistance means to her mere minutes before she dies. She comes off way too heartless than necessary for this side-plot. And it sucks because it’s a fascinating struggle between action and self-preservation in regards to rebellion and knowing when to do what to make actual progress, but it’s buried too deep in the subtext underneath the needless bickering between Holdo and Poe. Just show what she’s up to from the get-go, validate her reasoning, and allow her to be a likable character so her major sacrifice actually feels earned and not a last minute sympathy grab for Poe to learn a lesson.
4. What was Benicio del Toro’s Character Again?
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Oh yeah, DJ.... I legit had to Google to remember the character’s two-letter name. And if that’s not enough to say he has no purpose in this movie, I don’t know what is. I get that he’s supposed to parallel Lando Calrissian when he tricks Han Solo back in Empire Strikes Back. But while Lando still had screentime afterwards to double-cross the Empire and join the Rebellion anyway, DJ just freaking disappears, and it’s never addressed what happens to him after turning in Finn and Rose. Honestly, if you wrote him out of the movie, it wouldn’t make much of a difference. And it sucks, because this side plot had great themes going on with war profiteering and the apathy towards both the Resistance and the First Order so long as one has something to gain from their deals.
If you’re going to parallel Lando’s arc from Empire, don’t cut it short when it’s getting good and have DJ consider the consequences of his actions, regardless if he joins the Resistance or not. Set up some foreshadowing for the next movie where DJ is completely working for the First Order or the Resistance and realizes how much picking a side does matter with rising authoritarianism. It has great potential for whether or not he’s redeemed with how long his apathy will take hold so long as he makes a quick buck.
Or better yet, just entirely replace DJ with an older Lando who lost his sense of hope with the rise of the First Order and hides away on Canto Bight waiting for age to catch up to him, living in blissful ignorance while the rest of the galaxy crumbles. He’s the decoder Finn and Rose were looking for all along and this was Maz’s way to coerce Lando back into the Rebellion. Much like Luke, Lando is reluctant to fight and see any hope, but upon hearing of Han’s death and Leia’s condition, regret eats him for all the years he spent away from his closest friends and just wasting his life on gambling and drinking. He finally agrees to help Finn and Rose, but they only get so far before getting caught by the First Order, just barely escaping with their lives and reuniting with the rest of the Resistance for the film’s climax.
5. Finn Overcoming Stormtrooper Past
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I think this deleted scene speaks for itself on all the missed opportunity in developing Finn. That’s not to say he’s totally devoid of screentime as it’s still fun to see him with Rose exploring Canto Bight and getting caught up in their own misadventures. But many were hoping this would be the perfect time to explore his traumatic past and how Stormtroopers work in this world. Maybe he’d try to go back, save them from the brainwashing and help them realize they’re just senselessly murdering innocent people for nothing.
Holdo even has a line where she refers to Finn as a Stormtrooper almost in disgust, so you’d think there would be more time to show his change over to the Resistance and proving himself not just as a powerful ally, but someone who is more than their past. Someone who can finally break the cycle of children being taken away from their families to become disposable soldiers. But his battle with Phasma comes and goes so quickly and doesn’t leave as big of an impact as it should, and much like Force Awakens it feels like they’re playing great cards far too early. This deleted scene works so much better when you see the gears turning in the Stormtroopers when they realize their leader is just a massive coward, and it ends perfectly with Finn proudly calling himself “rebel scum.” It’s still beyond me why this scene was scrapped. They either needed to keep this  in or have Phasma survive and make a grand final battle for Episode IX.
I want that spark of rebellion to ignite in the Stormtroopers where they realize “wait, what the hell are we even fighting for?” and dismantle the First Order from the inside out by Episode IX. It’d make a great parallel to the prequels and Order 66 but completely recontextualized in a story of rebellion and redemption. Throw in some of the Resistance saving children from growing up into soldiers, tragically epic scenes of sacrifice, and boom, there’s a climax of Episode IX practically writing itself.
6. Shut up Ben Solo-Organa
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Now, I like Kylo Ren as a villain-- he’s similar to Anakin Skywalker’s whininess in the prequels except made legitimately terrifying with the fragile toxic masculinity of wanting to be stronger and powerful by any means necessary. However, I can’t do the woobifying, both from large sects of the fandom and Rian Johnson. I would be a lot more forgiving of his character development in The Last Jedi if Johnson made Kylo Ren’s intents more clear without implying any romance between him and Rey-- fucking really (and sorry, not sorry, the only thing I ship Kylo with is a swift kick in the ass).
I get that we need temptations of the dark side as part of the classic Star Wars story, and I love the twist on it where Kylo turning to the dark side was ultimately his choice and not because Luke failed him-- especially as killing Snoke didn’t flip him back to the light like when Vader killed the Emperor. But the heart of that particular recontextualization should be on the student-teacher relationship between Rey and Luke and not Kylo Ren sniveling like an infant. It walks a thin line of making Kylo Ren almost too sympathetic and forgetting how he ended up with the First Order to begin with. I don’t care how many puppy dog faces he makes; as shown by the end of the film, he’s not ready for redemption, if it will ever be in his grasp. His excess screentime of what we already know undermines Rey and Luke’s relationship which should be the focus of the former’s arc in The Last Jedi. But unfortunately, it isn’t as strong as it was with Luke and Yoda or Obi-wan and Anakin because the film has to juggle with a dozen other plotlines and characters.
Hopefully with J.J Abrams back in the directing chair, maybe he can steer the focus back on the films and what the fans really want. Granted, I don’t think The Last Jedi deserved nearly the level of vitriol it got within the last year, but even I couldn’t ignore some of the major problems and missed opportunities to get its themes across.
If you enjoyed this fix-it and what I do here, consider buying me a ko-fi to show your support!
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storytaeme · 6 years
Text
celebration – vmin
Doctors had always been his enemy, however, for the sake of the Christmas champagne, he would get his teeth fixed up by the cutest dentist. 
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vmin week 2017 – taehyung x jimin
❧ Elements: Fluff  |  Dentist AU, Christmas Party AU
❧ Word Count: 5,353 words
❧ A/N: Merry Christmas, you guys!! I procrastinated again and hence this was finished off again in a little over 2 hours. It was fun to write so I hope you can enjoy it :^D (forgive typos my eyes r blurry rn)
Taehyung didn’t like doctors very much. As a kid, he had shied away from anyone who even resembled the authoritative figure. It wasn’t as if he had some traumatizing experience getting stabbed with a needle in the wrong part of his body—no. Doctors were generally just intimidating with their lab coats and strong frowns. They tried to play nice when he was younger, smiled and offered him a lollipop. But as he grew older, the fear towards them only amplified. They were less nice too—he never got candy anymore.
Whenever he could, he would just get his own medicine and treat his own wounds and sicknesses, avoiding the doctor as much as he could. However, there came a time in every adult’s life when they must face their fear for the good of their lives and the world itself.
The time for Taehyung was upon him.
It happened sometime close to Christmas. It was the first week of December and someone from the office, Seokjin, had brought homemade fruitcake for everyone in the building to nibble on. Seokjin was commonly known as the chef of the crew. He was an expert in all sorts of goodies and treats, which made everyone wonder why he went corporate instead of opening his own bakeshop. So fruitcakes were never a huge Thing with anyone, but the man had his way of making it so that everyone could enjoy it. It was delicious and Taehyung looked forward to it every year.
Unfortunately for him that year, things took a turn for the worse. It was in the first bite that Taehyung found himself in pure agony. He had released a yelp which caught the attention of the baker himself who hurried over in worry. “Oh my God, are you okay? Did you bite something hard?”
Taehyung winced and swallowed the treat. It went down smoothly so surely there was nothing in the cake that was the problem. However, his cheek was throbbing painfully and he could feel it swelling grossly. “Ugh,” he groaned, “this hurts, what the fuck?”
“Ha,” Jeongguk, an intern who had the guts of a senior member, snorted, “you must have a hole in your tooth or something. That’s what you get for not flossing.” This was probably his karma for making fun of Jeongguk for flossing after every meal. It wasn’t his fault—flossing was just such a tedious task, he didn’t know why anyone did it after every meal.
“Fuck off, Jeon,” he snapped, the pain biting at his cheek once again. This was such a bitch to deal with, especially during Christmas when everyone was in the gift-giving mood which meant that there was always something good to eat in the office—free of charge. He loved Christmas and all of its capitalism glory.  
Seokjin’s brows furrowed in concern. “He might be right, Taehyung-ah, when was the last time you went to the dentist?”
Answer: ninth grade when he needed to take his braces off.
Like he said, doctors scared him, but dentists were the worst. How anyone could just dig into someone’s mouth like that, drill holes into their teeth, and stick on pieces of metal that would magically right the structuring of his teeth was beyond him. If Taehyung limited his visits to his general practitioner, he downright avoided his dentist religiously. The guy was hell to deal with, was merciless when it came to numbing to pain (read: he never fucking numbed Taehyung to the pain). He needed to find a new one but had managed long enough to avoid the task for a double win situation in which he could eschew yet another doctor, as well as the actual dentist hunting job.
“Dunno, been a while,” he lied through his teeth which was still stinging.
“You should go, definitely go before Namjoon’s party.”
Namjoon was another of their coworker but was a close friend in their tight knit group. He held his annual Christmas party at his huge penthouse that his parents had gotten for him after graduation and always celebrated with a ton of booze and great snacks. It was a dream come true for an office worker like Taehyung who worked a low position that paid bordering on minimum wage. Plus, the guy always had the best champagne in the house that left Taehyung buzzing and giggly for the night.
“I hate my dentist, hyung,” Taehyung whined.
“Kim Taehyung,” Seokjin scolded as Jeongguk snickered, “you are a grown man, you are 27—”
“Excuse you, I am 28.”
“Even worse!” he huffed, throwing his hands in the air, “you should definitely get that checked up. I know a good friend of mine who just picked up a job nearby. He’s pretty reliable and was top of his class so he can take good care of you.”
Taehyung was about to spit out another whine about the evil of dentists but Seokjin only shoved a namecard in his direction. He took it gratefully and stared at it, hoping that his glare would burn holes right through it so he would avoid going to it. Alas, fate was not with him, and he didn’t have laser beams for eyes. In addition to that, he really, really wanted to enjoy that good ass champagne in Namjoon’s house.
Thus, some sacrifices must be made. Taehyung made his way to the dentist right after work.
“Did you go, Kim Taehyung?” Seokjin pressed, slamming his hand on his desk. It was break time and Seokjin had stalked his way over to his desk to interrogate him.
“Yeah, I’m a-okay, hyung,” he grinned.
Seokjin narrowed his eyes suspiciously before pulling out a cold bottle of water. The sight of it had his stomach sinking. “Drink this.”
“Hyung—”
“Do it.”
Fuck, he was fucked. He brought the mouth of the bottle to his lips and thought, hey, maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. Taehyung has learned that he was wrong about a lot of things in life—this was only another to add onto his list.
The pain was excruciating, traveling all the way from the ache in his teeth to a muddy fizzling in his brain. He let out a yelp as he banged his head against his desk to alleviate some of the pain with another. “Fucking shit, motherfucking holy shit,” Taehyung let out expletive after expletive as he continued to ram his forehead into his table.
“Serves you right,” Seokjin laughed, “I told you to go. Why didn’t you?”
“It’s scary, hyung,” Taehyung pouted, hoping that his cutesy act would work.
But his friend always had a better act, so it wasn’t surprising that it didn’t work on him. “Nice try, buddy. I’m calling my friend right now to book you and appointment and, if you don’t go, I will know and you will suffer my wrath. Understood?” Taehyung stuck out his bottom lip further. “I said, understood?”
“Yes, hyung,” he said, defeated.
That was how he ended up standing in front of the dentist office. That tooth sign above the building with the smiley face on it was taunting him, mocking him for being too chicken shit to even go into the place. He sucked up a huge breath before walking inside. There were so many people. It was terrifying.
Taehyung was about to walk outside when the nurse stopped him. “Kim Taehyung?”
Holy shit, how did they know his name? They were part of the mafia, weren’t they? He fucking knew there was something off about doctors. They all probably conspired for world domination. “Um, yes,” he squeaked.
“Welcome!” she grinned, “I’ve been instructed by one of our doctors to intercept you should you attempt to leave.”
What the fuck? “Who’s the doctor?”
“Dr. Park, he said that his friend called in to make sure you arrived. Since you’re already here, why don’t you take a seat? He’s finishing up with a patient and should be with you momentarily.”
Taehyung had his hands tied. It wasn’t as if he could run when the nurse kept a hawk’s eye on him, smiling at him every once in a while almost threateningly. It was as if she was warning him that she had a close watch on him. His knee kept bouncing the entire time. The clock was ticking aloud on the wall, reminding him of the passing seconds that came closer to his death. When his name was finally called, Taehyung let out a yelp and jumped to his teeth. That earned him a few chuckles from the other patients. Har de har, good to know his pain was bringing them some form of amusement.
“Follow me, Mr. Kim,” the nurse smiled sweetly and led him down another hallway towards one of the rooms.
Dr. Park Jimin
Holy shit. He was going to die. The nurse announced his arrival and he heard a deeper, more masculine voice respond from the other side. When he finally stepped in, really, the last thing he was expecting was a cherubic looking man who had a crinkly-eyed smile greeting him. He looked almost like an angel. To say he was beautiful would be an understatement. “Um, hi,” Taehyung cleared his throat awkwardly, fidgeting with his fingers.
“Taehyung right? Seokjin-hyung called earlier,” Jimin nodded. Taehyung wondered if Seokjin had exposed his fear of doctors despite being in his late twenties. “I heard you had a difficult time coming here so I appreciate you making the effort.” Yep, he definitely told him.
“Yeah, it’s a bit of a situation,” he chuckled nervously.
“Don’t be so scared,” Jimin smiled politely and gestured to the seat, “please. Get yourself comfortable and I’ll be with you in a second. I’ll just do a quick checkup to see the problem and we can fill in the holes should you need. Does that sound good?”
Taehyung could only manage a nod before robotically making his way over to the seat. He settled back and shifted around to get his shoulders to stop tensing up. But every time Jimin made some noise behind him where he couldn’t see, all he could picture was all the ways he could escape the room.
When Jimin finally appeared before him, snapping his gloves into place (Taehyung gulped at that), Taehyung was practically shuddering in fear. It didn’t go by unnoticed by the man, of course. “Are you okay, Taehyung-ssi?”
“F-fine, just a little nervous.”
Jimin’s lips quirked up on the corners. “Don’t worry, you’re in good hands. I’ll make sure it doesn’t hurt one bit. If you experience pain at any point, please let me know. Some things may sting a little but it shouldn’t be intolerable.”
Taehyung agreed obediently and opened his mouth when Jimin gestured him to do so. As Jimin said, he explained the procedure very carefully and slowly to ensure Taehyung that he knew exactly what he was doing. Taehyung would be so embarrassed with how calmly the dentist was speaking to him as if he were coaxing a child to relax if he weren’t so terrified. However, as promised, Jimin did everything quick and painlessly. Sure, there was a bit of a zing here and there, but it was nothing he could not handle.
The nurses left soon after as Jimin finished up with one last check up. “Looks perfect,” he grinned, eyes disappearing again. The entire time Jimin was chipping away at his teeth, which is so unsexy by the way, Taehyung’s gaze focused solely on the man’s face. Up close, he was even more breathtaking. His blonde hair falling upon his eyes and his gaze zoned in on Taehyung so intensely that he felt his breath hiccup in his throat. His cheeks were soft and rosy, round enough like a dumpling that Taehyung wanted to bite him.
It was a peculiar and novel reaction to a doctor. Taehyung had never experienced it before.  
“You’re all set,” Jimin beamed, patting his shoulder thoughtfully once he’s removed his gloves. “Please rinse your mouth there and I’ll give you a flyer of tips on how to care for your teeth.”
Taehyung did as he was instructed but his eyes still followed Jimin around the room as he fiddled around with folders and tools. The doctor seemed aware of his attention and turned around, quirking an eyebrow. “Is there something on my face?”
“N-no, no,” he coughed, eyes widening, “sorry. You just look very young, nothing like what I expected.”
Jimin laughed, taking no offense in his words. “Why thank you. I am quite young for a practicing dentist. I graduated early from university and jumped on training after training to get to where I am faster. A bit of an overachiever as you can see.”
“Yeah, that’s cool. Ambition is great,” Taehyung praised honestly because he really was impressed by his dedication.
“How about you?” he tilted his head, “Seokjin-hyung said you worked with him at the office.”
“Yeah, HR. Pretty cool when you’re not dealing with assholes in the department,” Taehyung shrugged. His job was pretty boring, especially when all he could do was sit in a cubicle waiting for tasks to be handed over to him. Seokjin was the head so he worked under him and he was a fantastic supervisor, but Taehyung couldn’t help but want something more for himself.
The dentist smiled understandingly. “I get you. It’s always kind of scary when you settle, but also when you have shitty coworkers. The nurses here are wonderful but, don’t tell anyone, the head nurse scares the living shit out of me.”
Taehyung laughed genuinely at that, heart easing of his worries. “It’s always the heads, huh?”
“Though, I do love head,” Jimin said nonchalantly as he tucked documents under his arm.
He said it so casually that Taehyung almost missed it, but he gasped, lips parting in surprise. “Did you just drop a dirty line?”
Jimin smirked, “Did I?”
“You really are a pretty weird doctor,” Taehyung muttered under his breath.
“I’ll take that as a compliment,” he giggled and the sound had birds singing outside. He might even pass as a Disney princess if the company ever took ethereal human beings to represent royalty. “Anyway, here are some brochures for you to read up on. Make sure to keep your gums and teeth healthy, Taehyung-ssi, if you want to avoid another trip to the doctor.” Taehyung flushed at that, but knew Jimin only meant well. “Also,” he lifted up a small box, “complimentary floss from me so you can keep your teeth clean.”
Flossing, ugh. He nodded, accepting it gratefully. “Thanks, Dr. Park.”
“Please, we’re the same age, call me Jimin.
Taehyung blanched, “You’re the same age as me?”
“Hyung didn’t tell you?” Jimin looked amused then, “how odd. But yeah, we’re both born in ’95.”
Holy shit. Taehyung felt so in over his head. “Wow, what are the odds?”
“Pretty big actually,” Jimin grinned, “so yep, that’s all from me. Any other questions?”
Are you single? Can I have your number? Do you like dogs? Can I marry you? How are you not as scary as every other doctor I’ve had as a kid?
“Nope,” he answered simply, “thanks, Jimin. It’s been nice meeting you.”
“You too, Taehyung, I’ll see you around.”
Taehyung thought that it was kind of cute that he was already dropping honorifics, but chose not to peep a word about it. With one last bow, he made his way over to the door.
However, before he could make it very far, Jimin intercepted him to hand him a lollipop. “For your gallant efforts,” he grinned, no malice or mocking whatsoever in his voice.
Taehyung might just be in love.
Namjoon’s penthouse was perhaps the most luxurious place Taehyung had ever set foot upon. While his apartment was a little on the smaller side, Namjoon had a generous amount of space to host his guests. The guy wasn’t a snob at all either, always so kind with his wealth and so philanthropic. Husband material, some might say.
When he arrived, dressed in a crisp salmon shirt, top button popped open, and his favorite jeans that made his ass looked fucking fantastic, Namjoon was the one to greet him. “Taehyung! You made it! How’s your teeth?”
Namjoon also was dating Seokjin so that meant that he was privy to every single bit of information that Seokjin knew—including the suffering of his colleagues and employees. “Perfect,” he grinned for added measure, flashing his perfect set of teeth.
“Great, ‘cause I’ve got that champagne you like.”
Taehyung breathed in, cupping the man’s face. “I think I love you.”
Namjoon only laughed and ushered him in, “You have to compete with Seokjin then for my affections. Food is out on the table, you know where everything is, don’t break anything, have fun.” With those last tidbits of advice, the elder was whisked away to tend to his other guests, namely Hoseok who was on the verge of toppling over Namjoon’s bookcase.
Taehyung mingled with a few coworkers he recognized. They ran in similar social circles so their friends overlapped, allowing the younger to interact with a lot of the people there. He was a bit of a social butterfly, if he had to admit. He didn’t really have a hard time communicating with others and initiating talks that could have them droning on and on for hours—he wasn’t sure whether it was a gift or a curse.
He stuffed his face stupid with food and too many flutes of that delicious champagne. His eyes scanned the crowd, most of the faces identified as familiar in his brain directory. However, only one individual stood out amongst the rest and he was standing in a far corner, quietly nursing his drink.
“Hey, Jimin right?” Taehyung grinned.
“Yeah, oh, Taehyung!” he snapped his fingers, seeming accomplished that he could recall his former patient’s name. “How are you doing? How’s your teeth?”
That’s the second time he’s been asked tonight, third if you included Jeongguk making fun of him for being scared of the dentist. He had gotten an ass whooping for that alone. “Teeth is great, pearly white and clean,” he widened his smile to show to his doctor that he had indeed taken his advice. Except for the flossing, he was going to make a ban on that.
“That’s great to hear,” Jimin looked relieved, “I hope there was no more pain afterwards.”
“I’ve been gorging down cake like there’s no tomorrow and a shit ton of this,” he lifted up his glass, “it’s great. I love having nice teeth again so I can stuff my face stupid. Have you eaten yet?”
Jimin brightened at that, nodding enthusiastically. “Yeah, hyung is a great cook, I still can’t believe he prepared everything for tonight. If I could husband that man, I would.”
“You take him, I’ll take Namjoon-hyung. It’ll be the perfect cockblocking plan.”
The other boy tinkled with laughter adorably, the sound ringing sweetly in his ears. Taehyung found himself seeking for jokes and material in his mind to elicit the same sounds from him. They ended up chatting amicably, picking up more champagne and snacks to fill their bellies. Somewhere halfway through the night, the two settled down on the couch. Taehyung leaning close to tell his stories, albeit a little drunkenly. Jimin leaning even closer to listen in and share his adorable reactions. They bumped foreheads every once in a while when they got too close, then proceeded to laugh at how ridiculous that was.
“You guys look comfy,” Seokjin showed up sometime afterwards, grinning from ear to ear. “Who knew that Taehyung would get over his fear of doctors by attempting to hook up with one?”
Jimin flushed prettily at that, his cheeks reddening to tomatoes and his ears heating up a fiery pink. Taehyung only scoffed, “Way to ruin my chances, hyung. I could’ve had a win-win there—get rid of my stupid phobia and nail a cute man. You’ve foiled it all.”
“My apologies,” Seokjin hummed, “but not really. You guys are grossly cute. I think I saw Jeongguk pop a boner just by watching the two of you.”
Taehyung rolled his eyes, “Jeongguk is an infant who gets his dick hard from seeing a good pastry. Don’t even deny it, I’ve seen it happen when you brought your homemade hazelnut croissants to work.” Then he directed his attention to Jimin, “Jeongguk is this brat in our division. Big muscles, scary eyebrows, but he is a baby. Our baby.”
Jimin chuckled again at that, patting Taehyung’s thigh comfortingly. “I think I’ve seen him around. Though, what’s cuter is probably your fear of doctors. I had no idea you had that.”
Seokjin snorted, shaking his head. “You should’ve seen him, he tried to lie about going to the dentist that I had to call you up,” he sighed, offering Taehyung his own condolences.
Heaven help him. Taehyung was about to offer his own condolences to his chances with Park Jimin. The man, he learned, was brilliant and beautiful at the same time. Also he had the brawns what with his toned body and gym addiction. He was the ultimate triple threat, the ultimate boyfriend material.
“Why are you still here?” Taehyung jutted out his bottom lip.
“Okay, okay, I know when I’m not wanted, you ass,” Seokjin hissed, getting to his feet. “Have fun, kids, don’t forget to use protection.”
When he finally walked away, Taehyung let out a frustrated huff. He really did need better friends who wouldn’t fuck up his chances with every cute guy he tried to chat up. It’s happened too many times before, especially when Jeongguk got a little too drunk during their one department outing to a club and he had draped himself all over Taehyung that he missed out on the chance of getting that sugar daddy.
Though, he supposed fate worked in funny ways. If he had a sugar daddy, he might not have been so keen to seek out Park Jimin this way, and that would’ve been the biggest regret of his life. The two of them had good chemistry that neither of them could deny. Even after only one interaction and that lengthy conversation, Taehyung felt as if he had found a new best friend in this man.
“So was it true?” Jimin asked then, turning his head cutely. God, Taehyung wanted to kiss his plump lips and maybe suck in that bottom lip and bite it.
“What? My fear of doctors?” Taehyung cocked an eyebrow and Jimin’s lips tightened and nodded. “Yeah, I don’t know. They freak me out. I’ve always been kind of terrified of them, not sure why. They’re kind of scary, you have to admit. Lab coats and that intimidating glare.”
Jimin giggled again, running his hand up Taehyung’s arm. “Do you think I’m intimidating?”
“No, you’re just… really cute. Like really, really cute,” Taehyung frowned, wondering if he was satisfied with that answer. Jimin was far from frightening, the guy practically existed like an angel.
“Hm, really? That’s good to hear,” Jimin murmured thoughtfully. Before Taehyung realized, the man had already placed a warm palm on his thigh. His touch burned and Taehyung suddenly was hyperaware of how close they were. He could feel Jimin’s breath against his neck, against his cheek. His hand on his leg squeezing the flesh underneath as if to remind Taehyung that it was fucking there. The air in the room seemed to diffuse out completely, leaving him a little breathless. How had he not been aware of the tension that arose between the two of them until then?
Taehyung could only babble his agreement, taking another big gulp of his drink to get more liquid courage.
“So,” Jimin started, scooting even closer if that were possible. Their bodies were pressed together, leaving no room for Taehyung to breathe. Jimin tightened his hold around his thigh again, looking up from his pretty lashes at Taehyung. “Since you’re so scared, why don’t I give you private checkups? I can make sure that you’re fit and healthy.”
“P-private checkups?” His brain suddenly stopped working. How did one even comprehend sentences when Park Jimin was this close?
“Mhmm,” Jimin hummed, creeping his hand up higher. He was so close, so close to his crotch. Taehyung’s zipper might burst from the sheer tenacity of its desire to seek Jimin’s hand. “I can get my hands all over you, make sure you’re nice and comfy before I start checking your body. Make sure everything is functioning fine and that you’re still a healthy, growing boy.”
Taehyung wanted to say that he was no longer growing, but the thought of Jimin calling him a good boy, that he was a healthy boy, had his dick stirring in his pants. God, he could practically imagine Jimin in his coat, laying him back on the bed and exploring every inch of him. He would run his heated hands and act as if he was checking on Taehyung, fondling his nipples and pinching them. Then he would wander his hand down south, ghosting over the softness of his stomach before wrapping around his dick.
Taehyung wanted to cry just letting his imagination take over. He was perfectly aware that he was basically hyperventilating at that point with the thought of a sexy doctor roleplay with Park Jimin. All thoughts and fears of doctors seemed to fly out the window when it was Jimin handling him. He could most definitely roll with that.
This was going to be the death of him. RIP Kim Taehyung.
“Yeah,” Taehyung swallowed thickly, “I think I can work with that.”
Jimin grinned smugly, “That’s good. I can even do the private checkup in my house, lay you out on my comfortable bed to make sure you’re relaxed and ready for me. Do you want that?”
Yes, yes, fuck yes. Sign him the fuck up. He was going to book himself for this one-on-one session everyday for the next five years of his life. He was ready.
Instead he said, “Yep, yep, sounds great.” He was barely keeping it together. His chest was so tight with his lungs pushing out what was left of his breaths.
“Do you want me to check on you, baby?” Jimin tittered close to him, teeth catching the shell of his ear teasingly. Fuck. Taehyung jerked a little in his seat. The member between his legs was throbbing painfully, practically begging for a release. God, he could feel sweat collecting in the back of his neck and making his palms all clammy. He was reacting like a prepubescent boy, Christ, he needed to get laid soon. Preferably by this sexy dentist who probably knew just how to toy with his mouth, maybe fuck into it with his dick too.
Shit.
“Taehyung?” Jimin whispered.
“Hm?” His voice sounded strained, forced. He was on the cusp of a breakdown and an orgasm at the same time. This was torture.
“You wanna get out of here?” Jimin squeezed his thigh again. Bad move, very bad move. He wanted to come on the spot. “My place isn’t too far away and I drove so—”
He leapt to his feet, bouncing lightly as he offered a hand out to the other boy. “Yes, shit, fuck yes. Let’s go. I’m ready to bolt and have you fuck my ass or the other way around.”
Jimin’s lips parted in surprise, his eyes briefly glancing around the room to see if anyone had noticed them. Fortunately, everyone was busy with their own devices and conversations, far too distracted to notice the bubbling sexual tension between the two of them. That was, except for Seokjin. But Jimin shouldn’t mention it to Taehyung then because it might ruin the moment. So he took his hand and grinned up at him. “Let’s go, baby, I’ll make sure you feel all nice and cozy with me.”
It was safe to say that Taehyung went back to Jimin’s place and had the release of a lifetime. It was like magic had rained down fairy dust upon the world and righted all of its wrongs. His orgasms (yes, fucking plural) were mind-blowing and muscle-exploding. He couldn’t move an inch afterwards. His ass was thoroughly fucked out because, turns out, Jimin was pretty rough when it came to bed and Taehyung really, really wasn’t complaining. He had gotten a nice, satisfying fuck from a very, very pretty man who was lying down next to him in that moment.
Jimin looked beautiful awake, looked beautiful as he fucked into Taehyung from above and leaned down to capture his lips. But he also looked beautiful asleep, his expression smoothed out into one of absolute peacefulness and serenity. His shoulders were bare and so was the rest of him underneath the sheets.
Taehyung took his time drinking in the man’s glorious beauty and wondering how God could have gifted someone with all the powers in the world to rule it. Life really wasn’t fair. But for now, Taehyung could feel that at least his irrational fear of doctors had been somewhat cured but also  compensated by this lovely man across from him.
He scooted closer, draping his hand over Jimin’s waist and feeling the boy tuck himself into Taehyung’s chest. His heart felt like it was about to burst and it was strange to feel so much for someone he’s only known for a short period of time. It might just be the post-orgasm high, but he would take it for that moment. He had all the time in the world to figure it out after all.
With that, he allowed his eyes to close, eyelids fluttering shut, and fall into deep slumber, dreaming of a beautiful man who could fuck the living daylights out of him but shit sunshine out of his ass. It was a good night.
“Kim Taehyung,” Jimin chided and the guilty man turned around to look at his boyfriend sheepishly. It was in their fourth month anniversary and Taehyung had taken him out to a good dessert place somewhere in between both their workplaces to sit back and relax. They had enjoyed their time there and managed to fill their bellies full of ice cream and cakes to their heart’s content and their stomach’s suffering.
“Yes, honey?”
Jimin narrowed his eyes sharply at him, flinging the tiny package in his direction. “Don’t honey me.”
“Jiminie—”
“Not that either.”
Taehyung pouted petulantly, “You’re being mean. And it’s our anniversary too.”
“It’s been four months, darling. When we’ve gotten past a year, then you can start breaking the rules. But for now, you live under my boyfriend umbrella so you have to follow what I tell you to do.”
In any other situation, Taehyung would find his being bossy a sexy trait. Jimin knew how to control himself in bed and knew even better how to control Taehyung just the way the both of them liked it. However, in that moment, all he wanted to do was throw a tantrum and toss that blasted thing into a flaming pit of fire.
“You’re mean,” Taehyung repeated like a child but popped open the lid again.
“Do you really want another hole in your teeth? I patched one up a month ago and you’re already pulling this shit again.”
“It sucks,” he whined, nuzzling his face into Jimin’s neck.
Jimin kept him at arm’s length and raised an eyebrow, “Don’t play with me, Tae. Do it.”
Releasing a sigh of surrender, Taehyung nodded solemnly and pulled it out. He cut off the floss with the cap and began to work at the gaps between his teeth, picking out everything he needed to keep it clean.
His boyfriend beamed proudly and cooed while pinching his cheek. “That’s my good boy. I’ll reward you good tonight, okay? You’ve kept your teeth clean after all.”
“Does that mean I get to suck your dick again?” Taehyung’s eyes sparkled.
“Yes, baby, yes it does.”
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misterrad · 6 years
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Ok Men, What Now?
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This piece is in progress. So am I.
I am in progress, trying to figure out how to best be a guy right now. I understand some obvious don’ts, some obvious do’s, but there’s a whole lot of mess in between. I’m trying to figure those things out. Trying to figure out how to stumble through these things without doing more damage.
Admittedly, I am behind. I’ve done a lot of work on what it means to be white, to understand how race and racism work in our country. I’m no expert there either, but I’ve been putting in the work. I have a lot more to learn about gender, a lot more to do to see, really, the ways that sexism shape our experiences. I, like many, I imagine, have found this moment to be one I cannot look away from, cannot stop thinking about, but I’m not sure exactly what it means yet for men, for me.
I see men struggling with this everywhere. They want to supportive, yes, but also that’s hard when it seems so many men everywhere, most likely all of us, have been some part of the problem.  Men are hearing phrases like ‘toxic masculinity’ and worrying that all of masculinity is being labeled toxic. I see men acting like an awful lot is being asked of them.
We need to be better. This much should be glaringly obvious. This moment in history is not about us, it is from us. So, men, we have work to do. We do. Me too.
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It is ok to be a man.
Seriously.
No one is telling you that it’s not.  When someone says, “men have hurt me,” or “men can be dangerous and damaging,” or, even, “men are trash,” we feel it. We feel like they are saying it’s not ok to be a man, but that’s because brains are dumb, and any time we feel a little uncomfortable we go into full on oh-my-god-i’m-being-attacked mode. We run away from what’s been said at moments that we should be listening hardest.
But no one is telling you it’s not ok to be a man.
It is ok to find women attractive. Have you seen them? They’re very good looking, and it is ok to think so. No one is saying that you can’t think or hope for or share sexy things sometimes, but the purpose of women is not to be attractive and have boobs around you.
But we shouldn’t comment on the bodies of the women around us, shouldn’t reduce them to being objects of attraction, shouldn’t stare or grab or send that text that says, “hey, we just met, let me tell you the things I think about your body,” or “what an interesting spreadsheet of cost analysis you shared in the meeting today, also, here’s that picture of my penis you didn’t request.”
No one is saying that you shouldn’t find women attractive, but your attraction to women does not excuse actions that make women around you feel unsafe, uncomfortable, or undervalued.This is not a high bar for us to climb over. Like, this should be the easy stuff.
Part of the work ahead of us is to figure out how much we’ve internalized some concept that women are less-than, that their value as a colleague or friend or person has anything to do with how attractive we may or may not find them. This is harder stuff. We grew up in this, we swim in it all day. This is part of the process of this piece, that I had it out there and was checked on how much my “don’t objectify women” stuff still objectified women. Yes. Yep.
So it needs to be ok to be sexual, right? But also we cannot do it at the expense of respecting the whole real humanity of the women around us. Yes. This shouldn’t be the hard stuff, but it is kinda the hard stuff.
Look, sometimes work crushes and work flirting is the only thing that gets us back in the door the next day. But also, look, we need to know when it’s ok and welcome. We need to understand where lines are, need to understand that silence isn’t consent, that silence is often the loudest “no” that can be made without all the “just joking just relax just complimenting just guys being guys.” It’s not that hard, really, to know if someone is interested in that kind of attention from you and in that moment, not hard to ask or be clear or know people well enough to   but if you do think it’s hard, if you do believe that every interaction you have with a woman is a potential trap to you being branded a pervert and predator, then trust your instincts and leave women alone.
So I think that’s what people mean, that’s what I understand that they mean, when they talk about toxic masculinity. The phrase is not an attack on all of masculinity. The phrase is meant to highlight that there are pieces of masculinity that have been perverted in a way that encourage and excuse causing harm to others and yourself. Icky masculinity.
We may feel like the options in front of us right now are to behave as we’ve always behaved and blame the outrage machine or over-reactions or political correctness for all these stories being such a big deal, or we can chop our genitals and sit at home alone for the rest of our lives.  But, actually, there’s a whole bunch of area between those two things, a whole magical space called “being a decent human to other humans.” Again, this should be the easy stuff.
Men. Think about the times you’ve been the most angry in the last few weeks, the last year, the last time you called someone “Bitch.” How much of your anger, or even discomfort, was caused by someone saying you didn’t get to have or do something that you really wanted? And why does that make us so damn mad? Why does it scare us so much?
A lot of guys are scared. I get that. I’m kinda freaked out. I’m sure I’ve been the guy who made someone uncomfortable, and probably unsafe, and probably unvalued. I know that I never intended to. I know that when I’ve been called on it, I have gotten this spikey pit in my stomach that made me want to give up on talking to women forever, but I also know I didn’t mean to, which only kinda makes it a little better.
And though it may feel like every interaction with women we have or have ever had is this minefield we are all certain to stumble in, the reality is that the women in our lives are giving us thousands of chances to get this right. They want so badly for us to be one of the good ones. They want us to try. A witch hunt doesn’t typically have a thousand second chances for the hunted.
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I’d like to be one of the good ones. I’d like to be an ally, you know? But that’s not a word I think should be self-applied, and I have most certainly not earned it yet. I’ve been that other guy. I’ve never meant to, never had the intent to make someone uncomfortable or use my body or my voice or my position to make any woman feel uncomfortable, and certainly not in any way that she would feel there is no option but act like it’s fine. I’ve never tried to be the guy on the other end of #metoo, I would never want to have done that, but it’s also impossible to imagine I haven’t. Fuck. I didn’t know.
Still, though, it was my responsibility to know, right? Before the flirty comment or the joke, or whatever I did that was creepy. It was my job to know it was ok before I did those things, to know the impact those jokes and comments, that where my body is and the danger it could represent, to understand how my interactions with women are impacted by the history of interactions between all men and all women.
Maybe we don’t start at “he’s probably a good guy” and we don’t start at neutral. We start, very often, at “This man may do, say, or try something that may harm me.” Listen to the women of the world right now. We’ve earned it. Now, it’s our job to do better. It’s our job as men to do whatever is necessary to prioritize the safety and comfort of the women around us.
And you know what?
That’s really not asking too much.
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jennaschererwrites · 4 years
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‘Douglas’ Goes Deep Inside the Mind of Hannah Gadsby | Rolling Stone
All stand-up is curated confession, a chance for the person behind the mic to spill their guts but still shape their own narrative — to both tell the audience a story but also let us know how we should be thinking about it. We appreciate great comedians for their humor, of course, but also for their mastery. Like mentalists or con artists, stand-ups know how to pull our strings, how to put us at ease or discomfit us.
No one has had more occasion in recent years to think about the structure of stand-up than Hannah Gadsby. The Australian comic made waves in 2018 when Netflix released Nanette, a special in which she publicly processed her trauma about instances of sexism, assault, and homophobia she’d experienced in her life, all while deconstructing and questioning the format of joke-telling as a way to tell stories about ourselves.
Nanette earned Gadsby both admirers and haters in droves, as any thoughtful and provocative piece of media will in this age of instant public reaction. She went from being a comedian mostly familiar in her native Australia to an international household name, known as a woman who either revolutionized or took an ax to the art form. So it’s only natural that she opens her follow-up special, Douglas, by discussing how this new set will inevitably live in the shadow of her last one.
“If you’re here because of Nanette… why?” she asks her Los Angeles audience early on in Douglas. “What the fuck are you expecting from this show? Because, I’m sorry, if it’s more trauma, I am fresh out. Had I known how wildly popular trauma was going to be in the context of comedy, I might have budgeted my shit a bit better.”
Though nothing since (Douglas included) has quite gone to the places Nanette took us, other innovative stand-ups have been messing with the format in interesting ways since 2018. Gary Gulman experimented with documentary as a means of circling the topic of his depression in The Great Depresh; Jenny Slate meta-critically dissected her own fears about public performance in Stage Fright; Julio Torres utilized tiny objects and a mini conveyer belt to discuss his identity in My Favorite Shapes; and Lil Rel Howery related the story of his uncle’s funeral in a high school gym in Live in Crenshaw. As the diversity of comedians whose work makes its way to the TV-watching public broadens and more stand-up specials get released each year, so too does the format stretch and evolve to accommodate a wider range of both stories and tellings.
Douglas is in many ways a more traditional special, what Gadsby jokingly calls “my difficult second album, that is also my tenth.” But like its predecessor, Douglas is interested in pulling back the lid to see the structure of stand-up; the comic spends the first 15 minutes offering an outline of what we should expect, including “a lecture,” “the joke section” and “a gentle and very good-natured needling of the patriarchy.” (It’s not gentle; more on that later.)
But what might appear at first glance as a list of spoilers is actually Gadsby’s roundabout way of offering insight into how her brain works. Because where Nanette was about the comic unpacking old baggage, Douglas is about a more recent revelation in Gadsby’s life: her diagnosis with autism. Douglas is Gadsby’s attempt to acclimate the audience to her own inner weather system, inviting us into her thought processes and teaching us her own language of personal associations. (She memorably describes a time in school when a lesson on prepositions devolved into a young Gadsby very seriously asking her teacher to explain how a penguin could be related to a box.)
If you’re already a Gadsby fan, odds are you’re very much here for her brand of puzzle-box comedy, the kind that laughs at its own deconstruction. As in Nanette, Gadsby takes aspects of herself that are left of perceived center — her queerness, her femaleness, and, in this case, her neurodiversity — and invites viewers to realign their perspectives. “I’m not here to collect your pity,” she says. “I’m here to disrupt your confidence.”
If this all sounds a little heady for a stand-up special, don’t worry — Douglas is also very funny. Named after Gadsby’s dog but also for a pouch located between the rectum and the uterus in the female reproductive system (don’t worry about it), Douglas covers everything from an awkward interaction at the dog park to Renaissance art to the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. A portion of the set in which she tears antivaxxers a new one — and points out that there are probably a sizable number of them in her audience, overlapping as it does with “rich, white, entitled women” — hits in a powerful way in this time when certain people are refusing to wear masks in public in the middle of a pandemic.
Gadsby also devotes plenty of time to eviscerating that cause of so much collective grief, and the font from which most of her haters spring: the patriarchy. Just like in the real world, toxic masculinity lingers in the wings of Douglas: men telling women to smile, the male gaze in art, men (quite literally) asserting their dominance over women’s uteruses. If your reaction to this topic is that you’re tired of hearing about it, Gadsby would shoot back that she’s tired of living with it.
Gadsby spent much of Nanette questioning her own career-long reliance on self-deprecating humor. In Douglas, she lets us in on the way her mind works not to mock or undermine herself, but to revel in the way she, as an autistic person, experiences the world. “There is beauty in the way I think,” she says near the end of the set.
It’s likely Douglas will earn Gadsby as many hate-tweeting detractors as her last special did, if only for the fact that a woman getting up onstage to talk unapologetically about herself still makes a portion of the population very uncomfortable. But if Nanette was a dirge, Douglas is ultimately a celebration. So, in the words of Gadsby, “If that’s not your thing, leave. I’ve given you plenty of warning. Just go. Off you pop, man-flakes.”
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tauxolouves · 7 years
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Fanfiction: Lurking in the Dark - Prologue
Fandoms: Hetalia/Yugotalia and Supernatural
Genre: Crossover
Au: Apocalypse
Pairings: MaceHerze, RusAme, AusHun, CroSlo
Word Count: 1,690
Rating: T
Summary: “The calm before the storm is characterized by the peaceful moment before a turning-point. In this case, it marks the brief moment before the pact was broken and the world plummeted to a pit of fire. It never felt so welcoming before.”
Warnings: Mild swearing, death mention
Fanfiction also available on Ao3 
Fanfiction also available on FFNet
    It all started before the solstice.
    A cold, merciless winter marked the beginning of a new era, one that would be known for its wars, for its killing, for its deaths.
    The beings fighting in that war knew it would be all over in the blink of an eye. Their armies couldn’t take it for much longer, their people were dying rapidly and soon they would meet their end. There was no option left other than to perish.
    They all knew better other than to wage war against a powerful empire, especially against Germany. There was no reason anyone in their right mind would do that to themselves, much less to innocent people forced to go in.
    Then, one of them dared to take a chance. He, the one known for his wisdom, gathered six others to start the ritual, a pact promising to keep the peace between all of them, but it came with a price.
    And it all started at the dark mansion in the woods.
    “So are we all here?” Arthur asked, finishing the pentagram with what was left of the chalk he held. He spun around to meet the six other men in the room, scanning them with his eyes as if to see how they were. “There’s no time to lose.”
    ”You know, it was difficult enough to find our way here with those creatures roaming around.” Gilbert closed the door behind him, after Lovino took the front. “For a moment I thought we wouldn’t be able to make it.”
    ”That is the exact reason why I asked you all to come in pairs.” Arthur replied nonchalantly. I’m assuming you’re in one piece and good enough to start the ritual.”
    ”Are you sure this is going to work?” Sadik asked, raising an eyebrow, his voice holding a pinch of disbelief.
    “Not only am I sure, but I also know it will.” The Englishman replied, dusting off his robes. “Now, each of you grab an object and find your spot on the circle” he pointed to the long table before them. “Mihai was kind enough to lend us some material for the ritual, so we might as well get through with it.”
    “Don’t be too cocky, though.” Herakles looked up from the couch he was slumped in. “Your spells tend to fail more than to work.” His commentary earned a snicker from Sadik and Yao, and a glare from the Englishman. Gilbert looked away, while Lovino and Feliciano came to a silent agreement of reacting to the joke.
    He’s not wrong.” Yao simpered, covering his mouth with his hand. “You do have a certain reputation among the others for making things catch on fire.”
    ”Quit pestering him.” Feliciano raised his voice above the others, to put an end on the conversation. He understood the attempt of making the situation lighter, but that was not the time or place for them to joke around, especially the joke took a toll on Gilbert, who was probably the most affected by the war. The laughter stopped and the silence took its place in the room again.
    “This better fucking work, my brother’s life is on the line.” Gilbert mumbled, looking down at the table.
    They did as said, each of them grabbing a totem, amulet or symbol scattered on the table, and they held tightly against their own chest as if their own lives depended on it. In a way, they weren’t wrong.
    The room remained in silence for a few moments, while the seven men concentrated on the enchantment, calmly repeating the words in their mind before the real action began.     For a moment, the circle seemed to glow a faint shade of green, the air in the room seemed to grow dense and dry, and they could feel the powerful presence radiating from the center of the pentagram. The flames from the five candles placed on each end of the pentagram went out, from the gust of wind coming from the open window. The room grew cold and the circle went back to its dull form.
    “I see it really worked, Arthur.” Sadik spat, mockingly. Arthur and Gilbert glared at the Turk, making him shut up instantly. The Englishman opened his mouth to retaliate, when he felt a tug in the pit of his stomach.
    There was a sudden shift on the atmosphere.
    ”Over here, boys.” A masculine voice spoke up from the back of the room. There was definitely something wrong. The nations turned around to face the unfamiliar voice, finding a man in a full black suit, looking completely uninterested.
    “I see you’ve appeared out of the circle.” Arthur stated, warily. He nudged Feliciano to hand him the holy water and Yao to pass him the salt. Who knows what that demon could be capable of, considering it was out of the protection circle. “Why is that?”
    ”I’d recommend you to check to check your equipment before you even start a ritual.” The demon smirked, still not making eye contact. Realization dawned on the nation’s eyes, his body becoming stiff all of a sudden. Something must have erased the chalk on the floor where the pentagram was. There was no way of knowing, the disturbance could have been so slight the nations wouldn’t have noticed.     Arthur gulped. Even if the demon did try something, all of them held sacred objects with protective properties, while also having two exorcists in the group, Feliciano and Lovino. Nothing to worry for now.
    “So, did the cat get your tongue?” The suited demon finally looked at them, a pinch of irritation in his voice, even if his eyes reflected boredom. “I don’t have all night, you know?”
    “I want my brother back.” Gilbert asked, looking down. “I want Ludwig back, because your minions took him.” He clenched his fist, trying to let out any anger lingering in his body before things got ugly.
    “I want this war to stop.” Feliciano spoke up for the first time that evening, strangely with enough courage to make his voice heard. He stared at the demon, his amber eyes looking deep into the crimson red ones of the suited man. “This has hurt enough people, and I don’t want to see anyone suffer anymore.”
    “Very well.” The man nodded, walking slowly toward the Italian. “So you’re trying to say,” he quickly turned around, facing again the Englishman “you called a simple crossroad demon, a pact-maker, to deal with your stupid problems?” His tone was condescending, spattering mockery on every word coming out of his mouth, his accent being more and more prominent.
    “Crowley.” Arthur said in a threateningly tone. “You know very well the war started because one of your kind couldn’t keep it to himself. All I’m asking is for you to finish what you’ve started.”
    Crowley grimaced. He didn’t like that comment one bit. “As you wish. So what will it be for you, then? I take it you’ve become too soft for this, and need my help to fix your crap.”
    Arthur took a deep breath. “Let your minions out of our affairs and we won’t butt in yours. Make it clear for them to mind their own business, as we have enough on our minds to deal with at the moment.” That should be about right. It was what he wanted after all, a sacrifice for a greater good. A sacrifice to keep things in order so the world wouldn’t go to shit yet again.
    “Is that all?” Crowley looked around, meeting the other three nations’ eyes. “Don’t you have anything to ask for?”
    I’ll save mine for later. Came Herakles’ quiet response. The Greek man had decided to remain silent for the most part, as no useful opportunity for speech came up earlier that evening. “I might use it, who knows.” He shrugged.
    Lovino, and Sadik nodded in agreement, with nothing more to add to Herakles’ point.
    “One more thing, actually,” Yao interrupted. “Make it more than ten years for the deal to expire. You have no right of taking what’s ours to fill your quota, as we are a special case. We have a purpose to serve as representatives of our lands, and as keepers of peace in this world.”
    Feliciano smiled at his friend’s remark. Crowley had no say in this, as it was, in fact, the truth. The nations were indeed a special case, and if he did try to take their soul, it would go against their own deal. Wreck havoc; end the contract that is supposed to maintain peace. There was no loophole for him.
    And so it was done. With the demon planting a kiss on each nation’s lips, the deals made that night were sealed for as much time as needed.
    Everything was set for a smoother era of existence, if it weren’t for one thing. A stray creature, a lesser, simple demon overhead the conversation through an open window left unattended. How could his boss end his fun like that, without even considering the possibilities of their control over those beings? Surely, he probably was being forced into it! How the very same King of Hell could make a deal about “peace” with lesser, dirty creatures just like that? He was going to show Crowley, show how things could be handled his way. How things could be handled with the violent way.
    Unsatisfied with his share of the deal, he planned to make one of the nations his own puppet. And why not start with one of the most problematic of the group? The one and only Vuk Mišić known for starting the Great War, and for his short temper. Who knows what he’d be capable of doing with such nation at his feet? He needed to start small, right? Something that his boss wouldn’t notice at first or maybe would recognize as a temper tantrum thrown by the nation, to only then attack bigger nations such as America or Russia.
    And with that, after overhearing the conversation his boss had with the nations, he disappeared in the shadows of the night, and headed to the start of his plan.
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Chapter Three - Spinning Fields
London, England.
Despite my better judgments, I ended up here in London, and I have never felt more like an idiot. The last time I spoke with Harry was 5 days ago, he was calling me out of the goodness of his heart, and I told him to promptly "Fuck Off".
Guilt is what drove me here, to another country to apologize to a boy I hardly even knew. I knew I shouldn't be here. Jessie would absolutely kill me if she discovered that I flew to the UK with the hopes of meeting up with some boy instead of I don't know... working on my album that needs to be completed within a month. My parents always did say I was more book smart than common sense smart.
Anyway, I guess it really doesn't matter how I got here or in how much shit I will be I when I get back to Tennessee, all that matters is I'm in London, where Harry is, and all I needed to do was find him... Find an international pop star, piece of cake right?
It was a bright and fairly warm September day, I walked down the street just taking in the wonderful London sights. I could see why everyone gushes over it. It really is a beautiful and whimsical place.
The best way to reach Harry would be to call him I suppose... it is a very large city. But something was holding me back. I haven't heard from him since I told him to fuck off. I haven't reached out to him either, so that is partially my fault as well. But, I have this gut feeling that he won't want to hear from me, and that just seems to rip my heartstrings out.
Taking a deep breath, I just fucking do it. I call.
Ring, ring, ring.
You've reached the voicemail box of .....
Hanging up the phone I let out a huff of air. Maybe he was busy prompting his own album. Yep, keep lying to yourself Mollie.
I looked across the street and saw there was a cute little park with a small pond. I crossed the busy intersection and went over. I sat on one of the black park benches and watched the ducks walk in lines. Small children would come over and feed the ducks every so often, making me smile. But I was almost bored to tears. So, I called again.
Ring, ring, ring.
You've reached the voicemail box of .....
And what do you know? Harry did not answer again. Frustrated this time I swiftly got up from my park bench and walked back out to the street. Harry Styles really deserved a fuck off this time around. I mean I was here simply to apologize for my drunken ways...
That's when I spotted it. Sullivan's Tavern. It was four in the afternoon, so it was an acceptable drinking time. Beer would help my frustration... So I went in.
The bar was cute with green walls and a brown bar with matching brown stools. It reminded me of my father's office back home, a very masculine vibe came off of this bar. But I didn't mind, all I wanted was a beer in my hand.
I grabbed a seat at the bar and the bartended came over with a smile and slapped the menu on the countertop in front of me. I ordered a blonde ale and began drinking happily. Half way through my beer, I spotted him. A blonde hair fellow with twinkling sea blue eyes. He had a cocky smirk, but I found it somewhat adorable. He finished off his beer. I finished off mine.
He signaled the bartender over to where he was, and ordered another beer, never taking his eyes off of mine. Once he got his beer and began drinking away, I signaled the bartender over and ordered another beer for myself. I could play this little game too.
After we both finished off our second round of beers. He flagged down the bartender again and this time the bartender came back with two beers. The blonde haired guy smiled and thanked him before picking up the two foamy drinks and walked my way before sitting down next to me.
"Hope you don't mind if I sit, thought ya could use some company."
"No, I don't mind." I smiled taking the cold drink and putting it to my lips. Not only was this guy cute, but holy shit that Irish accent is out of this world!
"Niall. Pleasure." He held his hand out for me to shake like a true gentleman.
"Mollie. Nice to meet you as well."
"I hope you don't mind me calling you out like this, but your American."
I had to laugh at this little comment, aside from my accent did I really stand out that much?
"Yes, I am. And you seem to be from Ireland?"
"Good job! Irish and proud. What's an American girl like you doing in London?"
"Just... visiting." I lied. No way was I telling this cute stranger that I was actually here trying to meet up with Harry Styles. He would think I was absolutely insane.
"Well who are you visiting with? Doesn't look like you're with anyone..." He actually turned his head to search the little pub for other people! I could feel my face getting redder by the second. How embarrassing. I look like a total freak.
"Yeah, I'm going solo for this one."
"Not a bad idea really. I'm not much of a people person myself." He nodded before taking a long and hearty swig of his pint.
"You seem to be okay at meeting new people."
"Nah. Not in the slightest. Most say I'm rude. I just thought you were cute was all."
This definitely earned a laugh and a blush. Niall was a lot more blunt than Harry had ever been.
"Well thanks, Niall. And thanks for the beer as well."
"No problem. I figured you American girls expect that and all."
"Hey! What's that supposed to mean!"
"Oh yes, we know all about you American girls and your ways, just expecting us to act like someone outta a Jane Austen novel. Ya know she died many years ago?"
"I might have gotten the memo on that one, yes."
Niall laughed a hearty chuckle before throwing back the rest of his beer. He nodded down where my beer was resting. "I'm glad you're a beer drinker. That's admirable."
"Not going to lie, I'm just starting to get into it. Really wasn't a beer drinker prior to recent events..." Shit. Mollie. He doesn't want to hear about this!
"Ah. Most people do come to pubs because of said recent events." Niall nodded at the bartender, the bartender catching his signal and coming back with two more beers for us. Was I really comfortable getting drunk like this with a complete stranger? In a complete foreign town?
"I'm a pretty good listener, if it suits your fancy."
"Nah. That's okay. You don't want to hear about my little problems."
"I don't seem to have anything better to do." Niall replied looking sincerely in my eyes. Okay, there is no way that this boy did not have a girlfriend. Could he be any more perfect?
Listen to me. I must be desperate. First, Harry. Now, Niall. I really needed to get my emotions under control.
The soccer game was going on in the background on one of the two television screens in the little quaint pub. Everyone was watching, bartender included besides myself, and Niall. We were engrossed with each other.
"I'm just having boy issues." I mumbled looking down.
"Boyfriend, huh?"
"Well, no. He's actually not. I don't think he would ever want me to be his girlfriend at this point."
"Yikes. You must be crazy, then, right?"
"No! Not at all you jerk!" This boy did have a way of making me smile. A charmer this one, truly.
Then I felt a slight vibration coming from the countertop. I looked at phone and couldn't believe my eyes. His name lit up on the screen, Harry.
"Well, what are you waiting for. Answer it." Niall replied before drinking more beer and turning his attention to the game he suddenly became interested in.
"Hello?"
"Hi... I see you called." His voice was still husky, but it seemed distant. I really messed up this time around, as per usual.
"Yeah, I did. I'm glad you called back."
"Mhmm."
"Um. You'll never guess where I am."
"New York?"
I bit my lip. This is not the way I had planned for this conversation to go. What happens when I tell him where I am, he is going to think I am a crazy stalker. Maybe even one of those Lifetime movie killers. Honestly, all I wanted to do was just flipping apologize.
"Mollie, are you there?" His voice asked seeming a bit irritated.
"I'm in London..."
Silence.
"I just figured I would let you know... you don't need to come see me or anything. I just-"
"No. I'll come see you." Harry sighed.
"Oh okay."
"Where are you?"
"I'm not entirely sure... I know I'm at Sullivan's Tavern."
"Sullivan's Tavern? How in the bloody hell did you find that place?"
"I was at this park... Do you know where I am?"
"Of course. I'll be there soon."
"Okay, bye."
"Mollie, wait.... Thanks for calling." Harry responded before hanging up.
I hung up the phone feeling more hopeful than ever. Harry obviously did want to see me if he was willing to come to this little pub for me. Maybe things would work out, and we would live happily ever after, right?
Nope.
"Is your boyfriend coming then?" Niall asked with a grin.
"He is not my boyfriend." I mumbled, feeling somewhat shy now.
"Then hand me your phone." Niall replied with his flat palm stretched out waiting for my phone to be placed there.
"Um... okay?" I did. I gave this complete stranger my phone.
He took my phone, and entered his name and number. Then he flagged down the bartender and paid for our tabs. As he was getting up from his stool at the bar and he grabbed my chin, looked directly into my eyes, and whispered, "When you're ready for a good time. You know where to find me."
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spotlightsaga · 7 years
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Kevin Cage of @spotlightsaga reviews... F is For Family (S02E03) The Liars Club Airdate: May 30, 2017 @fisforfamily Ratings: @netflix Original Privatized Ratings Score: 8.75/10 **********SPOILERS BELOW********* One thing I've never been accused of is being un-empathetic, at least not since a bit after high school anyway... It is quite possible I may have had some sort of horrible God complex like most did in their early stages of adulthood. I often question why I treated people certain ways or did things that I did. Not knowing any better really isn't a good answer. Sure, empathy is a trait you hone and grow into as you age and experience life's many different heartaches, but its also true that it does come naturally, eventually anyway. Sometimes there's just something inside you that literally allows you to cosmically switch shoes with someone in a blink of an eye... At times I can be so sensitive to other people's energy that I adopt their general mood or disposition. I know I'm not the only one, but I think there's a select few of us that had a very distinct opportunity to experience as much as humanly possible and it shapes the way we see the world. As a young, developing adult, I wanted to be as street smart as I was book smart. For me, you couldn't just have one without the other or else you opened yourself up for great windows of ignorance. I purposefully put myself in awkward and dangerous positions. Sometimes I'd even travel great distances with nothing but a few hundred bucks in my pocket and an eagerness to connect with others in any way possible, hoping it would somehow shape my maturity, worldliness, and understanding. I'd end up homeless, reveling in it, attempting to draw as much as possible from the experience instead of focusing on removing myself from a bad situation. Homelessness wasn't the only thing... I had to see, feel, and try everything I could, because for me, perspective was everything... And even as a wiser adult (with still so much to learn), it still is. There was a large stint in my life where I was unemployed like Frank (Bill Burr). I allowed my core values and self-importance to destroy good things happening in my life. I always tell people this who are thinking of quitting their job on a whim or reacting off of strong emotion, or even those needing a dose of reality in confirmation form. When you have a job, everyone wants you. It's easy to find work when it's not a necessity, but when you find yourself in a position, like Frank where you're forced to take what you can get, suddenly nobody is in a giving mood. It's one of life's dirty little tricks, and if you don't believe me... Try it out. No, no, please don't, seriously. I wouldn't wish what Frank is going through on my worst enemy. I've been there and it doesn't feel good. Frank has been blacklisted by his boss throughout most airlines as an undesirable, no matter how qualified for the position he may be. Sure, there is pride involved. I saw a commenter call it 'toxic masculinity'. I understand the concept of 'toxic masculinity' and the harmful psychological effects it has on men and women within society. Even though this particular string of events happen p in the 70's, a better, more accurate example of 'toxic masculinity' would be the misogyny that Sue (Laura Dern) is dealing with in her stifling, unhealthy office space... Not Frank's unwillingness to break down and accept a handout from the government, or filter through jobs that he deems compromising or humiliating to his experience and very specific set of skills. I don't think there's anything 'toxic' about the drive to provide for your family... Or the desire Frank has to actually do what he's trained to do, what he's good at, and what he can potentially make the most money doing. If anything this is human in nature, not exclusive to the ideals of masculinity. When we talk about ego, there's definitely a split on how both genders handle things... Why each gender may protect certain aspects, attack issues in a particular manner or prioritize ideals more than they do others; but ultimately as human beings, at the end of the day, we all want to count. We all want to do our part in protecting and providing for the ones we love. Even in the 70's, where male ignorance and patriarchal control reigned supreme, as continuously displayed in Sue's ongoing story arc... i.e. 'I'd like to put some mustard on her sandwich', Sue is now head of her household and must assume the role of lead 'bread winner' and only working spouse. She wrestles with earning the respect of a group of men who rule over her company like a bunch of primitive primates and a woman who gives into the ideas of that sexually charged, insult driven, 'toxic masculinity' to maintain her position by acting like 'one of the boys'). Ultimately, they don't even deserve Sue's respect. We are seeing Sue, as a character, show signs of defying what a woman's role is in the 1970's. Honestly, this is one of the most endearing spots of S2 so far, Sue's drive is inspiring... Even though she's constantly pulled down and made to feel less than human, she wades through a cesspool of humiliation and depression because her family is counting on her. Sue pushes on because she must. She knows she has no choice, but this isn't about that... This is about maintaining her family, and clearly Sue is not afraid to step up to the plate, though it does take a lot out of her emotionally and physically as well. She looks to Frank to do the same, and as hard as everyone wants to be on Frank, I have to put my hand out here. I find it hard to believe that this many people have never found themselves in a situation even remotely similar to Frank's. His embarrassing breakdown during Maureen's (Debi Derryberry) 'Honeybee Troupe' meeting was comical and a great way to tackle these sensitive subjects with a cheeky wink and irreverent humor... But don't let that waggish satire cloud that sense of relatability and empathy with Frank. The follow-up scene that contrasts that similar humorous moment with an embarrassing private period of candid vulnerability where Kevin (Justin Long) catches his father sobbing and verbally exclaiming that he 'fucked up' as he breaks down on the living room floor had me torn. This is almost like an instance of 'talking to god', where you're completely letting your weaknesses and insecurities boil over to where you're simultaneously falling apart and attempting to find a way to cathartically push on... And then boom... One of the people that you go out of your way to always make sure they see you in a position of control sees you completely helpless. Frank springs into action and attempts to show Kevin he's still a man who can solve problems by attempting to create a space for Kevin to have private moments for himself, freedom to grow without being cramped by his younger brother, Bill (Haley Reinhardt), his constant hovering and a instinctive drive that is very similar to that of Sue's that annoys Kevin's apathetic teenage sensibilities. Kevin is gracious towards his father at first, but he hears Frank lie to his mother... And that doesn't exactly sit well with Kevin, especially since it was Kevin who was outed for skipping school and Frank then used his authority to keep his own lie going about keeping with his assumed responsibilities at the Unemployment Office. Any headway Frank made with his eldest son was destroyed in that moment. Kevin remains silent and allows the moment to remain uncontested, but the damage has been done. Obviously animated series rarely inspire this sort of impassioned article from me. 'F is For Family' is an extremely special and 'one-of-a-kind' show that really takes all my favorite elements of any type or genre of series and turns up the existential volume to full blast. Michael Price and Bill Burr have literally created my dream series in animated form. With each episode, I become more and more appreciative of what this show is at it's core. When people put their heart & soul, their blood, swear & tears into their work, it shows. People see that, they react to it, even if they don't completely understand it's value right away. I continue to take my time w/'F is For Family'. Netflix has already renewed the series for S3, there's no longer a need to rush through the episodes, and to be honest... Rushing through a show this earnest and intricately nuance is only doing it a disservice. Netflix may have reinvented the way we watch television, allowing for binge sessions, and all-night marathons... But 'F is For Family' provides us an exceptional antidote for that new style of consuming entertainment, calling for the series to be sipped like a fine wine, even promoting repeat viewings of episodes so that the series can truly be honored for everything that it is. Great job guys, I can't praise this one enough.
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awed-frog · 7 years
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Regarding Dean/A Tale of Icebergs
[Disclaimer: I wasn’t a fan of the other Meredith Glynn episode, and I’m not sure how much i liked this one either, so if you’re striving for zero negativity, feel free to skip this entire meta.]
The most obvious thing about this episode is, for me, the complete and utter disconnect between what the show’s saying on the surface and what’s going on in the subtext. Which, I don’t know - some of it is normal, because if you’re passionated about something you will notice different things and know more about it and that’s okay, and some of it I even like - the classic I can decipher this secret message, I must be a genius thing shared by anyone who’s ever learned a language and also anyone who was into treasure hunts as a kid, and as for that last bit - yeah - that’s where the problem is. So, well - let’s play.
Nice on the surface: Rowena’s backstory
Which is actually not so nice because as much as I want to know more about her, what the general audience will see as closing and minding the gap (why did Rowena even come to the US, and so on) I see as a) yet another villain being queer-coded and b) a tantalizing glimpse of a world I’ll never get to know being thrown into my face. Let’s get to the queer-coding first, because this is the main issue and man, I can’t believe they did it again, and it doesn’t even matter Rowena was offering herself up as a sex slave to all three Loughlins siblings out of necessity, does it, because everybody loves some woman on woman action, including all women, har har, so coercion doesn’t count. No, Rowena was willing to roll around in the hay with Catriona, which makes her bisexual, which brings the total of queer villains in Supernatural to - is that all of them? All the revelant ones, surely. And as we all know, the message this sends is disturbing, to say the least. And secondly - I could happily have watched a whole season about the BMoL, because they are new and didn’t we all wonder what was going on with hunting in other countries and man, look at those spells and that knowledge and those complicated moral questions and now it turns out they’ve got a beef with Rowena and what - and instead, we still don’t know anything about them. They pop up and then disappear. Sam and Dean are mostly ignoring them, unless there’s a deep and meandering conversation going on in the background we know nothing about. And by the end of this season, Mick and the band will probably be gone, and that will be it - like Jesse the Antichrist, like the hunting community, like a hundred other plot ramifications which could hold on a series on their own and instead are just an undeveloped afterthought. 
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Nice on the surface: Dean being all goofy
Which is actually not so nice because we know about Dean’s history, and his childhood, and how much free will means to him. So seeing him like that - I think this is where you notice how weird this show is, and how it’s read so differently depending on who’s watching. And this actually hurt, so, ugh.
Nice on the surface: Dean x Larry (Darry? Lean? Deanry?)
Which is actually not so nice because here was a classic example of in your face dogwhistling - once again, Dean is being coded as bisexual, and once again, his attraction to women is good and wholesome and shown on screen without any ambiguity whatsoever (the one thing we don’t know is whether she blew him in the bathroom or if they actually did it), while his attraction to men is played off as a joke, because this Larry Dean was riding last night - not a guy, duuuur, but actually a mechanic bull. Isn’t that clever! A mechanic bull, imagine that! Cue long sequence of Dean bouncing up and down the damn thing, Sam smirking about it, a relcuctantly impressed waitress and Dean being all wide-eyed and heartbreaking, because the one thing he cares about? ‘Was I good?’ Of course, that’s what Dean ‘everybody leaves me’ Winchester would want to know. Women, men, his dad, his mom, his brother, his pet angel - the only thing Dean cares about is earning his keep so he doesn’t get left behind. 
(All this talk about Cas feeling like ‘just a tool’ - guess where he learned that.)
Nice on the surface: Lookie here, a discussion about consent
Which is actually not so nice because, and I can’t believe I’m saying this, what Dean’s conversation with that waitress implied is that guys can’t get raped, and they sure as hell can’t get raped by smokin’ hot 20-year-olds, amirite, because check out the rack on that chick - she can take advantage of me any day of the week, mate. Now, I have complicated feelings about this whole issue and this is neither the time nor the place to discuss them, but the bottom line is, enough with this bullshit. The idea men want to have sex every hour of every day with any hot woman who comes through the door - next. Sexual behaviour is both personal and fluctuating - what turns you on one day can leave you meh the next, and that includes getting blown by waitresses in Old West-themed bars. Also, this may be a novel idea, but men are human beings as well and they have, uh, feelings? So, sure, sometimes they just want to have fun, and don’t we all, but probably not all the time? And Dean - look at him - dad bod or not, he could probably talk his way into anyone’s bed, and yet he hasn’t and doesn’t. He never touched anyone for months and months, and that was a choice, not circumstances, because we know Dean is tired of the adios and wants to try new things and have a meaningful connection for freaking once, which means this - this was him worried and angry and frustrated and unable to talk to anyone about it, yeah, because Mom’s off somewhere and it’s not like she cares, and Cas is on the verge of suicide as it is, and Sam’s apparently done with his caring ways and We got a case to work, so get it together, alright?, so what is Dean supposed to do here? And yet, this moment, which - to me - is actually sad af, first becomes an example of what the right kind of masculinity is like, and second gets played off for laughs, because, man, you can’t take advantage of me, babe, look at you, and I’m just bummed I can’t remember. Ugh.
Nice on the surface: Sam being all concerned
Which is actually not so nice because I should probably stop trying to guess what’s going on with Sam, except what the fuck is wrong with Sam? He used to be - well, he’s a complicated person, but lately he’s just - like, apparently he doesn’t talk to anyone, right? and that’s been canon for some time - that he’s got no connections, no friends, no nothing (and that’s not painful at all) but the fact he texted both Mary and Cas to give them the heads up about Dean’s broken phone throws this into sharp relief, again: Sam doesn’t talk to anyone. Dean is the one playing silly phone games with Mary and calling Cas at random moments to say nothing at all, and I bet (this is offscreen stuff, but still) that he’s got a whatsapp conversation open with Claire and Alex and he bickers with them about music and he may even talk to Jody or Donna or some other hunter from time to time (remember in Baby, when he’d texted that woman we never heard of because she might be around and want a beer?), and Sam - Sam is still so traumatized, perhaps, or feeling unclean after his latest brush-up with Lucifer, that he isolates himself. And not only he doesn’t want to talk about what’s going on with him, but he flat-out refuses to hear what’s going on with Dean, as well. That bitch face he pulled in the car, that snarky ‘we got a case to work, so get it together’ - that was well beyond the line of mean, and if we consider how Kumbaya Sam used to be in earlier seasons, a huge character shift. Also one that’s been building and simmering for so long, we might actually have to consider if it’s a character shift at all, or if this is simply who Sam actually is.
Nice on the surface: The Winchesters save the day, again
Which is actually not so nice because okay, now I’m sort of convinced the Winchesters’ sloppiness is on of the themes of the season? First of all, there was the way the first few minutes were framed - a man running through the woods, frantically calling his loved ones - I totally thought that would be a victim of some kind, and instead, nope. As Rowena points out later in the episode, Dean is a killer, and I’m always slightly uneasy during witching episodes - on the one hand, I get why the show is so hard on witchcraft, and I like that, but on the other - these are humans, right, and what’s the difference between killing someone with a gun and killing someone with a hex bag? And, sure, later we do learn the Loughlin family is Moste Ancient and Evile, but Dean didn’t know that when he started chasing after Gideon, did he? He was slightly drunk, and he simply started shooting at someone who’d used mild magic against him in a parking lot, without waiting to hear if there was a good explanation for it (maybe the guy had dangerous and vengeful accomplices somewhere, maybe he had nothing to do with the murder, maybe the murder was sort of justified, maybe maybe maybe). If Gideon’s siblings and been sensible and had skipped town for a few years (the whole Rowena story implies they’re supernaturally long-lived, right? and this is something fiction never gets quite right about immortal creatures - what’s the difference in switching safe houses for ten or twenty years, and why would you risk staying in one place at all?), Dean would have died, along with countless other people. Next we’ve got Sam calling Rowena (wtf?), Sam not telling anyone Dean’s got hours to live (why bother?), Sam leaving a dangerous witch who hates them both to care for his severely debilitated and mindless brother, Sam storming an ancient Den of Wicked Wisdom on his own...let’s be honest for a second - can’t you sort of sympathize with the BMoL’s concerns? Because I’m starting to think we might have an Indy Paradox on our hands here.
Nice on the surface: The brotherly love
Which is actually not so nice because come on, I understand it’s difficult to get over a childhood like that, and by now we’ve got so many metas about Dean being Sam’s parent even Sam’s probably heard about it (we still don’t know what he does online all day, right? so there), but this episode was a whole other level of weirdness. Because, uhm, so they’re in town to hunt a dangerous witch who’s already killed once, and Sam is in his motel room ‘looking into the lore’ (I don’t even want to know what that is code for) and Dean goes out to get himself a burger and never shows up again and Sam’s, like, fine with it? And, sure, this is what used to happen with John, but it doesn’t make it right. And next, it turns out Dean blacked out and, again, Sam’s fine with it? Uhm, hello? We haven’t seen Dean get wasted in a while now, and even when he did, Sam was generally not happy with it, because, I don’t know, that was an alternative reality where Sam recognized that getting blind drunk was Not Okay? And not for moral reasons, obviously (no - we know why, right? right). And finally - despite the state Dean’s in - he can’t even tell apart his damn keys! - Sam doesn’t even offer to drive, because this is what you do around parents, right? You assume they’re okay and self-reliant and that they know what the hell they’re doing, because anything else in unthinkable. So, sure - maybe it’s time for Dean to stop parenting Sam, but it’s also time for Sam to grow up.
Honourable mentions
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The doggie!!
That spell Gideon used sounded like the Irish name Diarmaid, which means ‘without envy’ - kind of fitting for a memory spell.
Dory!
The geography - Eureka Springs and Carroll County!
The torch!!!!
LET DEAN USE THE GRENADE LAUNCHER!
THAT FUCKING SONG AT THE END - GAAAAAAAAAH
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Love and Lust
I have heard over the years that marriage is where desire goes to die. I think that’s bullshit. It isn’t the fault of desire that we can't quite bring ourselves to believe that passion can thrive on modern love. It is because our sexual imagination is stuck in the past.
“'Searing’ is not the word I'd use," says my client, Sarah of her 23-year marriage to Rick. "Slow rumble" is more accurate. "One thing you pick up over the years," she says, "is that no matter how long you’re together, you both always dwell in separate worlds. Some part of your partner is profoundly impenetrable."
Even though it is hard to coax any words out of her on a topic she considers, perhaps curiously, so private, Sarah makes it clear that their sex life sticks to the lines of their commitment. "There are nights, not often but unforgettable, when appetite builds in molten passion from an unexceptional start," she says. And there are nights, "almost more divine," she confides, when the two share the separateness, lying naked together, holding hands in the richest of silence. And there are a million variations in between.
Sarah and Rick represent sex in America today. Contrary to what passes for “conventional wisdom,” research indicates that married couples—and their cohabiting colleagues—have more sex than the non-married. In a 2010 survey by the Kinsey Institute, researchers confirmed ideas on who does not have sex. Now sit down for this one: three out of five singles had no (none) sex in the previous year, versus one in five married people. In the prime years, ages 25 to 59, married couples were five times (yep, five times) more likely to have sex two- to three times a week (25 percent) than singles (5 percent). Face it: if you have a partner you don't have to go out and forage for what you need.
We all know that most couples have lots of sex early in the relationship while the frequency of sex slowly declines over time. Aging and the commotions of family life, not to mention earning a living, change when and how people can enjoy sex. That being said, long-married couples still have a big advantage; they appreciate it, they enjoy it more, and they enjoy each other more.
It really doesn’t take a great imagination to see that long-term couples usually get better at sex and more pleasure out of it. That has been found to be true of men as well as women, heterosexual and same-sex couples alike. Yes, people get older and busier, but as a relationship progresses, they also get more skillful, both in and outside of the bedroom. The facts don’t at all suggest that sex ends in long-term relationships. Still, people often have trouble accepting that synchronicity. We stand ready to blame any loss of sexual desire on the home life of modern marriage—particularly on the allocation of chores—or at times, the constant nearness of a well-known partner.
For some reason, lots of people fail to see the simplest of truths; sex is alive and well in long-term couples. Social scientists are not exempt from this view. When you consider how much research has been done regarding sex, it might surprise you how little of it focuses on middle-age sex. It really is hard to find studies that look at sex in traditional couples or sex in midlife as well. Even the "experts" have at best a limited view of what sex looks like in modern-day marriages, e.g., who initiates it and how, who does what to whom, how long it lasts. They just don’t fucking know. They never bothered to ask.
Even the "experts" have at
best a limited view of what
sex looks like in modern-day marriages.
If you have a hard time wrapping your mind around the balance between long-lasting love and sex, your own mental mechanism has to take some of the blame. We haven’t dropped those over-used images of bliss imprinted on us early in the TV/media age, when men went off to work in business suits and women cooked and vacuumed the house. Those images still prey on our minds and still direct many of our choices today. Lacking more accurate images of how the sexes communicate and share their lives, including sex, it’s easy to fall back on Leave it to Beaver period beliefs about what's sexy and what’s not. If you haven’t bothered to upgrade your sexual imagination, you’ll always fall back on one old idea or another. The movie that plays in your head will give you a life that always falls way behind your desires, I promise. In this regard, our sex lives lag well behind our work lives.
A Change to Shared Lives
Are household tasks always sex-killers?
As a coach, I think that the path to sexual commitment runs right along side of the willingness of partners to share in the running of their lives. Research clearly shows that men who do housework have more sex than men who don't. Period.
These studies are important because they track couples' inner and outer experiences across life in several ways. What that means in common language is that the results they get are particularly reliable. One researcher meticulously established detailed scales of emotions and behaviors. He used heart rate, fidgetiness, and facial expressions as data points. He studied both the content and manner of partners' conversations, and collected self-reports of how both people felt about their experiences, including sex.
 So what? Well guys, when men contribute to housework and childcare, their partners see them as sexy, and put simply, (so even a guy can understand it) they have more sex than their chore-free brethren.
Spoiler Alert: The finding establishes a correlation, but not a cause. So, I am not saying that housework causes sex, nor does it inhibit sex. Instead, what I am circling around is that the qualities of people who share in even one chore are many of the same qualities of people who share in the other, i.e., sex. Most important of all, something is going on inside the structure of the relationship that makes a big difference.
The sharing of the chores actually does help couples stay sexually connected. Surveys from thousands of people find that the more housework men do, the more sex they have. Intriguingly, the same was true for women. The real difference in couples was not if they completed one chore or another, but how much energy they had overall for everything. It could be said that more housework hours the couple shares equals greater sexual frequency. (Where’s that vacuum cleaner!)
Yes, sexual frequency is greater in couples where the men spent more time doing such traditionally "masculine" chores like car maintenance and yard work, as opposed to couples in which the men did such "feminine" chores such as cooking and cleaning. I wonder to myself at times, if women are in some way turned off by their men doing household chores most traditionally deemed to be in women's domain?
But interestedly enough, neither sexual enjoyment (as compared to how often you have it) nor relationship satisfaction was affected by the kinds of chores partners did. Egalitarian couples may have less frequent sex, which might be true, but they still report happy marriages and the same levels of sexual satisfaction as the “old-school” husbands and wives.
Egalitarian couples may have
less frequent sex, which might
be true, but they still
report happy marriages. 
How often you have sex isn’t influenced by which partner earns a greater share of the income either. Couples where a wife works more hours for pay than a husband, and makes a lot more money, have sex at the same rate as couples in which the man is the sole breadwinner. It just doesn’t seem to make a bit of difference whether or not the husband or wife earn more or less or the same. In our country today, you find fewer and fewer relationships predicated on the idea that men must be the breadwinners and decision makers, while women stick to vacuuming and the emotional heavy work. Indeed, American couples are coming to believe in sharing all responsibilities.
In a 2010 Pew poll of young people 18 to 29, 72 percent agreed that the best marriage is one in which husband and wife both work and both take care of the house. So it really doesn’t matter whether you pick up a hammer or a vacuum; working together on it makes the difference.
Diminished Lust or Expanded Love?
Our current notion of what's a feminine and what's a masculine task is pretty recent. When our nation was founded over 200 years ago, women fed the pigs and wrung the necks of chickens, while men did the shopping in town.
Even where there were statistically important differences in sexual regularity, the differences were, in real life terms, not big. Men who did more "feminine" housework had sex about four times a month, versus five times a month for men who did "manly" chores.
Be careful: sexual frequency is not always the best measure of relationship quality. Doing chores is only one of the observable ways to define the balance in participation most modern couples seek. Mutual respect and whose needs take priority in a pinch is way more important overall as a guide. Even though it was my example, housework is a very isolated variable. To understand relationships better you have to look at variables closer to the relationship, in particular, emotions, incorporating interest, affection, anger, sadness, and contempt.
Doing chores is only one
of the observable ways to
define the balance in
participation
most modern couples seek.
Housework doesn’t really have anything essential to do with developed sex drives. It's not fundamentally lethal to lust. Think about it, there really is no "natural" division of chores so embedded in our makeup that they are linked to our sexual drives. The homemaker-breadwinner model of marriage is a late 19th-early 20th century construct. It was practiced widely for only for a few decades in the 20th century, and then mainly among white families and mostly in the upper classes. But due to television and the general media, it's become accepted as the template for good relationship behavior.
     Relationships are not a zero-sum game, where more or less housework ends in more or less sex. Housework doesn't rob lives of love, yet curiously, it can increase it. Time spent on important and worthwhile shared activities enhance couples, and motivate them to have more sex. Couples feel more of a shared purpose. Partners don't experience friction between housework and sex. It isn’t because housework is sexy, it’s because they are in it together, they are doing it together.
 A Sexual Mystery
Sexual feelings are typically tempered rather than fresh. In society, the feelings are filtered through cultural rules that we learn. The rules shape desire, arousal, fantasies, and our most intimate behavior as we go through life. As a result, we each carry a set of "sexual scripts" that for the most part, control what we allow ourselves to do or not, and what those behaviors mean to each of us.
Sexual scripts change over time, and along with them, private behavior in the bedroom. For example, 50 years ago, straight couples rarely said they had oral sex. (Who knows if they were telling the truth, it is just what they said.) Today, couples are likely to avoid admitting that they don't have oral sex. It is much more a sexual staple than in the past. As with rivers, the mainstream changes over time.
There are still those who maintain that desire needs distance, not security, and definitely not the shared life favored by modern couples. The thought goes like this: by dwelling in separate worlds, maintaining sexual scripts more indicative of attitudes of the 1960s, men and women maintain a sexual mystique that feeds desire. The path to sexual connection, they say, is through mystery. They point to couples who share and describe themselves as loving, trusting, and caring, but still complain that their sex lives have become dull and devoid of eroticism.
There are still those who
maintain that desire needs
distance, not security, and
definitely not the
shared life
favored by modern couples.
As a coach, what I have seen is that they are failing to balance something important. They don’t balance the fundamental need for safety and security with an equally strong need for adventure and novelty. In this 7-day workweek and 24-hour news cycle, we absolutely need more play. Sexual desire is frenzied, chaotic, and something couples who feel sexually adrift should tap into, rather than push away. On a practical level, lots of couples share the growing load of earning and housekeeping today. It is just a part of the modern lifestyle we live with.
While some researchers say that such sharing is the opposite of sexy, like a flannel nightgown or worn-out boxer shorts, I always find the suggestion of more distance between partners puzzling to say the least. From what I can see, couples already occupy two different work worlds all day; they're already separate most of the time, so why make it even more distant? When you keep that up, you get a complete stall out.
It is interesting to note that heterosexual couples are still holding on, in a measurable way, to traditional his-and-her scripts. Some sexiness is still attached to old-school gendered activities, e.g., gardening for her, working on the car for him. And it's most prominent in the bedroom.
Heterosexual couples are still
holding on, in a measurable
way, to traditional his-and-her scripts.
What I have seen is that if desire is dampened in couples, it's because couples are “script-less,” or between scripts. What I mean is that they are now struggling with what sexiness is today. I don't think we have newer alternatives to traditional sexual scripts in marriage, what sex is supposed to feel like, which of the two is supposed to initiate and how, what fantasies are turn-ons or not. Sexual scripts have not changed to reflect the new ways couples relate outside the bedroom either. Our new sexual imagination has not been revised or updated yet.
 Zero-Sum, Zero Sex
In my experience, desire is a balance based primarily on how people relate in everyday life. It's not the form of the marriage that kills sex but what goes on in it. In those housework studies findings—couples in which men shared housework had more sex—I contend that what maintained the good sexual connection was that the wife felt respected and understood.
It's not the form of the marriage
that kills sex but what goes on in it.
Respect and understanding are communicated by accepting influence from another; that is, partners are responsive to each other's feelings. A study conducted by Stanford and UC Berkeley followed couples over 20 years, with one group starting at age 40, another starting at age 60. Excluding health problems, the couples had sex with each other on a regular basis, with only one important condition: they had sex on a regular basis as long as they didn't resort to evading, obstructing, or defensiveness to shut out their partner when handling problems.
In the very few marriages that were sexless, there was no "give."
The relationship was adversarial, shut down, zero-sum.
And that kills desire.
Just how does influence and connection support a great sex life? Well, it isn’t the saying “no” to sex that leads to the end of sex. It is the cost imposed by the other person. It happens in the best of couples. The next move in the interchange—what the "initiating" partner says or does in response to the turndown—that is the significant action.
Showing annoyance is a cost. It is a form punishment After being refused sex, the pursuing partner may say "fine." But tone is everything. There's "Fine!" said with an air of anger. (Read: "Fine. I didn't really want to have sex anyway." "Fine. I don't need you.") “Fine” is one of those things that doesn't even need to be spelled out.
It is an injured, hurt, even a little bit of an indignant response. So the initiator turns away, implying “I don't need you, I will be fine.”
It's an emotionally delicate situation. If there is any cost—even a tiny one—it leads to not having sex.
A non-costly response to "no" is easy enough. Way better than "fine" is something like, "I really appreciate your telling me you're not in the mood. I don't want to make love to someone who isn't in the mood. What would you like to do?" The best upshots for your sex life occur when you reward a "no" with positive treatment.
If asking for sex always has a cost, the sum of the disappointments grows toxic and it builds greater over time. Shutting out the voice and needs of a partner damages the marriage; it also harms the partners themselves. It has been discovered over 20 years of study men who were in zero-sum relationships were a lot more likely—7-11 times more likely—to die than men in influence-sharing relationships.
 Get this: zero-sum men felt good, or merely neutral, when their partners felt bad about the outcome of a disagreement. Do you see it yet, how can you have a good relationship when her loss was his victory? Zero-sum women also suffer; they were sicker than others, although their life spans were not shortened. They are indeed a harder group to study; the number of zero-sum couples is small, since they are less likely to volunteer for a long-term study of marriage. (Go figure.)
Couples who have a lot of sex end up somehow being able to communicate with one another that it's a priority. It isn’t going to be the last item on an infinite and growing “to-do” list. And they have an outlook of flexibility. A woman or man who feels somewhat uninterested in sex just might say, 'I'll help you get off' or 'I'll help you with a hand job or a blow job.” Or agree to a quickie. This is how balanced couples work it out. They emotionally reassure each other along the way. 
Distance vs. Connection: The Brain's POV on Sexual Imagination
Sexual imagination has one critical ingredient: the freedom to play. We all know that play needs a feeling of safety.
A fear response is expensive to the brain and commandeers many of its processes. The brain gets busy solving problems, including how to escape from the situation. When it comes to sex, self-focus decreases intimacy and inhibits one’s full focus the moment, which his having sex. The potential is much greater for leaving yourself behind and being in the moment, ready to play, with fewer distractions.
It is critical to offload things that are not relevant. When you do that, the doing allows us to get more aroused, not less, with our partner.
That's why many coaches are in my camp and see no war between love and lust. Our society conditions us to believe we can achieve and maintain a peak sexual relationship for decades. That isn't the way it is. There are valleys and plateaus, and they involve other things in life, including careers, children, and every other distraction under the sun.
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