Bey Yourself

I would like to address pop-culture for a moment.  Specifically, pop music.  I don't really do pop.  Never have.  To be frank, it makes me queasy.  I admit to the 'catch' factor.  On a few rare occasions I've caught myself reciting some random top 40 nonsense, usually without conscious thought, on my way somewhere.  That's what pop culture is though really;  It's like venereal disease in that it is something that you catch.  Then it's in your body forever.  You can pass it on to other people, but that shit will always be with you.

I've recently caught, for the third time...my body just can't fight this shit off...Beyonce fever.  Her recent "Visul Album" has really awoke something primal in me.  Disgust.  Although I think it interesting that she chooses to "artistically" purge herself of her personal woes on her own terms in her own words, uh-hum...actually tis other peoples words, poems, visuals, cinematography, concepts, etc...she bores me.  The world ejaculates over her powerful perception and vulnerable ability to showcase such raw vigor.  She is controlled by the people who hawk her merchandise.  She is a piece of merchandise and we all want a piece.  Don't get me wrong, they do an excellent and flawless job of making us ache for the product but she's just that.  A commodity.  She sells an image, we buy it.  She sells a concept, we buy it.  However, don't mistake this figure head as anything more.  Her career is a perfectly orchestrated machine designed to make money, distract and control the masses.  Don't be fooled sheeple.  Talented though she may be, she's just as fucked and empty and alone as the rest of us poor schmucks.  She just has millions of dollars to fill her emptiness.  That's ok.  I'm not writing this because of envy.  I want people to succeed.  Especially women.  What I don't enjoy is watching a performer whose husband cheats on her become a feminist icon while standing by his side claiming he's 'the love of her life.'  Hunni please.  He's just a man.  With a dick.  Who stuck it in someone else.

It saddens me that her album is receiving such acclaim especially since she had very little to do with it.  Sure her emotional struggle and turmoil were the catalysts but other, unknown creative types made the product what it is.  It's indeed masterful and she gets the credit.  Gross.  Tis life I suppose.  The people underneath do the labor and the jerk on top acquires the accolades.  Beyonce is no genius.  Just a woman in the public eye trying to find her own.  I wish others would leave it at that.  She`s no God, though she demands that ``Bitches Bow Down.``  What kind of feminist behavior is that?  Also, making Ike and Tina references in yer songs ain't really selling the whole female power vibe either.  I guess what I'm trying to say is that young women need to be themselves and take this Queen B "movement" for what it is: fleeting entertaining distraction.

The Watch-Men

When I travel I tend to spend an excessive amount of time watching others.  It can be quite the consuming hobby.  One can learn a great many thing when they just look.  No participation, just simple observation.  My observations have resulted in some fascinating findings.  Nothing revelatory I'm sure but here it goes.

I have watched countless women watching their man watching other women.  It gets sad how blatant men can be about their ogling.  Like on a deep societal sadness kind of level.  Women are kept down by a look:  The lecherous look of a man only concerned with what his eyes tell him.  The woman being gawked at and the woman with the man are both depreciated by the insensitive and worn out axiom that 'men are gonna look'.  'That's how men are', 'men need to look', 'it's part of their biology to be visual creatures'.  Bullshit.  Women are just as visual.  The difference is we don't act like savages, rubbing our corneal clits in public.  Men do it out of selfish routine to feed the protuberance in their pants and nothing more.  It keeps the consciousness of man down as well when he reduces the opposite sex to a mere physical conquest.  How can we advance past gender stereotypes and entrenched roles when we keep running through this cycle?

Man and Woman meet.  Man proclaims his affection, in whatever form that may take, for Woman.  Woman reciprocates.  Woman feels secure in relationship.  Man sees another female in the distance.  She is scantily clad(it's her fucking right to where whatever the fuck she wants).  Man takes notice to the extreme.  Man has mini fantasies of bending new Woman over something hard and stiff and breeding.  Woman with Man feels lost in her own insecurity and questions relationships foundation.  Woman in the distance feels objectified and uncomfortable...for herself and for the poor Woman with Man.  Lose, lose.

Here's the deal.  I watched a man standing in the ocean with his gorgeous, bikini clad supermodel of a girlfriend/wife.  He practically broke his neck trying to peep on a woman passing by in a g-string.  Why?  What does the man gain from this behavior?  Has he never seen an ass before?  Are there secrets buried in this particular ass that could potentially save the world from all of its ills?  If so dude, get on in there! What happens to his brain during this time?  It seems to me all is shut-down except his need to feed the pant monster.  What is he thinking?  Is he thinking?  Is he able to form conscious thought about how his behavior benefits society or not?  Trust me, it does not.  His actions do not.  Not, fucking not.

Yesterday I was at a crosswalk waiting for the light to change.  In front of me was a handsome couple.  They were both dressed quite well, obviously on a date.  Regardless of how far in their journey together they were makes no matter.  Especially to the eight dudes across the street who stopped conversing to eye the poor girl up and down until I felt uncomfortable.  Perhaps I'm just more empathetic than most but it felt pretty shitty being a part of this awkward and totally avoidable moment which went on for the duration of the longest light in history.  Some of you may say, "You're just jealous they weren't staring at you."  I get enough stares and catcalls and ridiculous behavior from the opposite sex that when I don't, I feel a sense of relief and anonymity.  I much prefer to be obsolete to men for I am strong enough to be independent of their leers and jeers.  Others are not so lucky.  I feel for the others a great deal.

I feel bad for the Women who must watch their Men fully consume a perfect stranger based on mere appearance.  I feel bad for the Woman who must pretend as though she does not feel eyes undressing her constantly on the street, at work, in the grocery store for fear of retaliation if she speaks up.  I feel bad for our society when women must avoid confrontation and then guard oneself because the onslaught of unwanted attention is overwhelming at times.  You'd be surprised how often I can look at a man and know exactly what disgusting thoughts are racing through his pea brain based on his body language and facial expression.  We are after-all pack animals with keen observation skills.  We've evolved this way for many reasons, one such is for our protection.  I shouldn't have to be on-guard everyday, all day. I know what you're thinking.  'Just ignore it.'  'You should feel grateful anyone looks at you at all.'  I say no.  I say no to those thoughts.  I should feel free and safe to walk down the street without feeling eyes all over my body.  It's my body.  People say looks can't hurt you.  They're right.  Overtime they just slowly erode a persons sense of identity, self-worth and confidence.  Keep your eyes on your partner.  If you want out, get out.  Nobody is forcing you to stay in the relationship you're in except you.  If you want to show interest in a girl and you're single, do so in a manner that respects her personal space.  Your gaping rubbernecking serves nothing but your own selfish needs.  Think of how your actions sit with other people and we'll all elevate our civil consciousness together in a way that serves the greater good instead of just the junk in yer pants.   

Dear Travelling Parents

Please stop.  Having children and raising them is the hardest thing in the world.  It is also the most selfish.  Please stop forcing your children under the age of, oh let's say eight, to clamor on an air bus with several hundred other people for fifteen fucking hours because you want them to see the world.  I hate to break it to you but the little shits are not going to remember any of this.  What they will remember is the hatred felt from other passengers and the extreme ear/throbbing skull pain they feel as the plane disembarks and then re-enters the earths atmosphere at a colossal speed.

I get it.  You had children and believe that they should fit into your jet-setting lifestyle, for why should your life change just because you have tiny versions of yourself to care for?  BECAUSE THAT'S WHAT FUCKING HAPPENS WHEN YOU HAVE KIDS.  Your life is now their life.  You as an entity no longer exist as you once did.  You are nothing more than a vessel for these little mouth breathers you've created and it's time you fucking own that.  You made the choice so now live with it in a mature and reasonable and less self-interested manner.  Your children do not have the mental capacity nor the physical proficiency to understand what is happening to them as a plane prepares for re-entry.  They are in severe pain...for quite some time.  Though I'm sure it feels longer for the rest of the passengers, it must feel an eternity for the little guys who can't fathom this searing pain of ears adjusting to the pressure.  I know it's incredibly painful for them because as I start to swallow and go through my own ear popping steps, the babies start to scream bloody murder.  The little guys under eight start to squirm and then scream and then really scream and then scream some more.  You, as their parent should know better.  You as their parent are suppose to protect them from such unnecessary pain until they are old enough to understand it and then deal with it.

Every flight I was on in the last month, (there were nine of them ranging from an hour to eleven), all had fucking babies on them.  Babies!  There is something so undeniably insane about flying halfway around the world already but then to be unable to escape the piercing, frenzied cries of a child in pain for thirty fucking minutes after no sleep, terrible food and a brown dude elbowing you in the ribs every time he doses off...it's enough to evoke severe fantasies of shaken baby syndrome;  Followed by parent punching play time.  Is it truly necessary for you and your baby to fly to China, you daft woman?  You can't wait a few years until the child can properly cope with this nonsense?  And don't get me started on people who bring their fucking pets...there is a special place in the netherworld for you fucking idiots.

Children are rocks in a raging river.  Parents are the water.  It is the parents responsibility to flow around the stone and to gently shape and mold it into a decent rock that can not only survive in the river but prosper.  You have the choice to bend to the needs of the boulder or smother it with wave after wave of stupidity and concern for one's own profit or pleasure.  Think before you choose to bring little ones' a flyin' and the rest of the traveling world will be forever grateful.