Society Must Be Defenestrated

My parents are addicted to Scrabble. They're like crackheads. Withdrawal sometimes tears the family apart. That's why we play a lot. It also means that Scrabble has a relatively magnified importance here. Sort of like the increased importance of blonde hair in the Hitler household. This, in turn, is why it has nearly created a riff within the family that I'm on a rather vicious three game winning streak.

The first time I beat my mom in a 1-v-1 match. That didn't create too much trouble, such things do happen because I'm reasonably good at the game. Then I trounced my dad rather badly later in the evening. Since this event was separate from the first, they couldn't yet understand the ramifications of the winning streak I was on.

That was made clear when I beat them by roughly forty points together.

"We're going to trounce him this next game," said they.

I got first turn in said "next game" and picked up "DOMINOS." That scored 76 points. "We should buy him a lottery ticket," said my dear old ma. More like they should buy themselves tickets... to SCRABBLE SLAUGHTER ZONE! Population: Them. Have you ever noticed that slaughter is just laughters with the S in the wrong place? I did. Because when you spend enormous chunks of your days mixing around letter tiles, you start to notice all sorts of these things. You also start to wonder if you're losing your sanity.

Then I got "WEAVE" on a triple word score. My lead maintained rather heartily. Their moods dampened further.

My mother turned a bit bitter. She insisted that I was miscounting my tiles and forced me to recount on two occasions. I am not from Florida nor from a Kansas City, Missouri public school, I don't count that poorly.

My father is starting to sigh in the way he would sigh if, say, I had just told him that I broke his laptop computer over my knee. The upset sort of sigh that says, "He is utterly desecrating all that we hold valuable in this fourth game."

Then he slapped the table. Nobody in my family has ever been very violent, but nonetheless, I'm a bit concerned for my life. The way you would be concerned for your life is you were at a dinner party and someone turned to you and said that they always get hungry for flesh after socially drinking. That just happens to me all the time these days.

"I'm not getting enough turns. He is getting too many turns," says my mother.

Ole Papa, out of the blue, plays "MEGABITS" which I think is hardly a word unless you're playing Scrabble with Megaman or Bill Gates, but I'll have to take it nonetheless. That netted him quite a few points and honestly after "DOMINOS" I'd be sort of half-heartedly playing and had lost a good chunk of my early headstart, like taking an extended victory lap at the Tour de France.

"This is the worst Scrabble evening in my whole life," says mother, despondently. Then I start to feel a little sad. But not that sad because I'm still winning.

We learned that vulgar words aren't allowed in Scrabble after we looked up the validity of clit. No "SHIT" either. You know what an awkward word to play in Scrabble against your mother and father is? "CLIT" The people who decide what words are valid in Scrabble are a bunch of ninnies. "FUCK" them. But since that isn't accepted in the game, "FORNICATE" themselves.

You know what word looks funny in all capital letters because that's the way you've been indicating Scrabble words on your blog? "CLIT"

You know which word looks funny when repeated in all caps? Well frankly all of them do. But this time, it's "CLIT."

But nonetheless, after the minor fright from Papadopolous's play, I came away victor, with my winning streak now on to four games. And certainly they will force me to play tomorrow. And eventually I will lose. Or, maybe not, in a weird turn of fate I could become a career Scrabbler. While I wouldn't make much in the way of money, I could be more certain that I will never successfully seduce a woman. As if that were really in question. It would be completely out of the question at this point.

I'm Brad, I'm bored and the helicopters are surrounding me, but fortunately I'm trouncing them in the game they hold dearest. And not being a particularly good sport about it.

Original Article

Waiting to Meet Ted Danson at the Chillmark General Store

Slightly rocking

a wait more frustrating existentially

than Waiting for Godot

yet the sandwich was good

as you came not at all.

Knees Up and Saturn Continues Its Shallow Voyage

And I will admit four full days passed since last guess at time

Never less sure of

which will prophecy another age of becoming I

Which loss relative or comrade will shake listlessness from turpitudinal eyes

Forward forward slightly.

Let water rush through fallow hands trailing currents in directions

That I do not know final partial but fragile destinations

In a little Catullan boat floating drearily along summertime sunshines

Clouds dispersed in

Rhythm

To take up rest in cirri of solar rays

In a Pollack scatterplot

Space it out to find

Another way to be high.

I see you here too like ever before

And after and after and after

And such things that dreams find surprising still

And after and after and after and after

I refracted through a finely twisted lens

slipshod inside our private maladies

Humming positive melodies in minor keys

We once forgot to sing

A lyric so Cave.

Original Article

It was my mom's birthday today, so I didn't have a tremendous amount of time for random, sardonic note-taking which otherwise fills up an incredible amount of my time. I did, however, see Coming2Terms at the Vineyard Theater, my review is as follows:

The play stars Todd Gearhart and Kelly McAndrews. If you're wondering who Todd Gearhart is, you've probably forgotten some of his incredible work on Law and Order and Law and Order: SVU. You remember, that guy who was up to no good, the DUN DUN noise. Yeah, you know exactly what I mean. Todd Gearhart doesn't get bit parts. Bit parts get Todd Gearhart. He also did a Broadway show and some other smaller roles of little to no consequence. When I used to act as a kid, my mom always said, "There are no small roles, just small actors." That was clearly her way of explaining why I, year after year, got to play "Ignorance" in the Christmas Carol and was passed over for the more important roles. If Todd and I have one thing in common besides rakish good looks, it's that we've both had our share of small roles.

Todd Gearhart acts opposite Kelly McAndrews, who happens to be a graduate of UMKC. It's always nice to know someone survived that hellhole of sin and despair. She acts incredibly well. In fact, if Todd Gearhart weren't the greatest actor of our generation, McAndrews might have even put in the best job of the evening.

Coming2Terms is a comedy with a lil dramatic side about lesbians trying to get pregnant, about the beginning and ending of life, and about one man's insatiable poon-drive after his high school sweetheart. Yep, it's like every play you've ever seen. But to be perfectly honest, this play is Gearhart's, who delivers a magisterial performance, placing him high in the pantheon of the brightest stars in summer theater.

My mother said that Gearhart flubbed a few lines. Todd Gearhart doesn't flub lines, lines flub Todd Gearhart.

McAndrews really was phenomenal, I just love the name "Gearhart." She didn't have a great performance, she had a Todd performance.

I always go to summer theater with abysmally love expectations. That tends to work out for me, and it certainly did here. So if you're in Martha's Vineyard and want something to do, you could be one of the 10 people who goes to see Coming2Terms, like me, and, if your expectations are low enough, you'll almost be floored by Todd Gearhart and Kelly McAndrews. Or else you'll at least enjoy the nice snacks downstairs.

p.s. We know theaters are poor, but it just gets a little irksome when they're always asking for cash. As if I'm going to donate anyways.

p.p.s. It was weird that the play about the difficulty of one's mother dying was attended mostly by old women.

p.p.p.s. I was the youngest person by far, and probably dropped the median age by a few decades. Just doing my job.

My name's Brad, I watched summer theater, and sometimes I like.

Original Article

I woke up to a bright sun scalding my lower back and legs -- as it likely had been doing for an extended period of time -- through the panoramic ocean-view windows (which was the main selling point in "Reasons I Went on This Vacation") looking out across our private cove. How often do I get to say "our private cove" when discussing places I live and not bad metaphors in sappy love songs I write? Not nearly enough.

After kayaking today a mile or so, I believe I'm cut out for the maritime life, even though I have absolutely no talent at any maritime activities and swim about as compellingly as the main character's love story in Miss March.

But to be cut out for the maritime life, one doesn't necessarily need any talent at the maritime life. I've learned the most important part about staying in Martha's Vineyard is looking like you belong, which means specifically: 1) Wearing bright, colored pants; 2) Slight air of bougie superiority; 3) Animals or Bike Trips; and 4) A Boat. I don't have any animals, nor a boat, and left my red pants at home but I'm so brimming in #2 that I believe I make up for any deficiencies in the others.

I don't know who this Martha was, but that beezy had a lot of land.

And then there were bros...

Or to be more specific, there were always bros -- they're like dragonflies in their ability to disappear for colossal stretches of time and then make their presence known with a vengeance (also to prey on the kinds of women they have a deep affinity for which the rest of us see nothing but self-loathing and over-priced hair styling) -- they just weren't quite as obvious in the first few days of the Vineyard. But they're here. You can feel them, sometimes literally when their lax pennies rub across your shoulders as they bustle through the Stop&Shop telling their friends "there isn't beer here!" and then hustling back to their Jeeps. Sometimes figuratively when you see their "Pendleton Academy" sleeveless workout shirts from afar and their limitless collection of brogasmic, mesh athletic shorts. Bros are to Martha's Vineyard what IEDs are to the Iraqi landscape: destructive, terrifying, and near-infinite.

Fortunately, our little rentable home is located in a sanctuary of brolessness and the quiet comfort of knowing that discussions of Dave Matthews' greatest hits, lax strategy, and which backwards, neon cap fits best are semi-permanently deferred. What happens to a bro deferred? Frankly, I don't know, but he also won't understand the reference there unless he was also in Jeff Diskin's 7th grade English class. If you're reading, howdy, Mr. Diskin, long time no talk.

Yesterday, my brother and I taught my mom the word "jizz." It just goes to show, vulgar sexuality can also be instructional!

Today, we went for a long bike ride which was incredibly pleasant, as nearly all nature-related experiences are on this island which could also be a fitting place for a Jurassic Park movie -- how frightening are velociraptors, by the way? -- and was already the location for Jaws and a shitload of shit-tastic shit-quels. Pleasant and uneventful until, as I struggled up the one steep hill on this particular path, I was nearly hit by an older, bearded man in what I could only really begin to describe in hindsight as a Simpsons-colored dick-capsule vehicle -- like a banana on wheels, yet more phallic. I'm not one to believe that my psychoanalytic projection are escaping my head, but if I were, it seems like I have some paternal issues when I'm nearly being run down by large, cock-machines. My mother on the issue:

[quote]"It's like a jizz machine. Sorry, I just wanted to use that word."[/quote]

Martha's Vineyard has a strange tendency for businesses to share small buildings in an upstairs/downstairs split. I wrote down a few examples, all of which seem to involve an insurance agency, which would indicate to me that these places are all fronts for a lucrative mob scene or that insuring items at Martha's Vineyard is as futile an effort as attempting to stop an Irishman from ruining his country with a potato.

[unordered_list style="bullet"]

• Insurance/Pizza Place
• Insurance/Surf Shop
• (my personal favorite) Insurance/Family Planning

[/unordered_list]

I've never understood why people are so insistent upon buying clothing items with the name of the places they've gone to on them, especially if they don't plan on going back. I guess memory is important -- because a large portion of the population are ninnies. At the very least, Martha's Vineyard's tourism industry has taken this lesson to heart and will sell you literally anything you want with MV on it. Winter jackets? Baby clothes? Oven mitts? Banana hammocks? It's there.

As the night came to a close we found ourselves in Edgartown, the bougiest part of Martha's Vineyard -- a superlative sort of like the dirtiest part of the Jersey Shore -- and I had to urinate badly. I have the bladder of a 6 year old girl who has been kicked in the bladder, as I'm sure I've noted before, and the situation was getting desperate. It was made even worse by the fact that there are absolutely NO public restrooms almost anywhere on the island and the desperation-mixed-with-fear that comes from feeling an imminent pants-wetting coming up on you quickly set in. Then I found a dark parking lot and, while apologizing sincerely to whoever might own the building I was loosing the dragon upon, I made good on my promise. Then, after walking around to the other side of the store, I locked eyes with the blond cash-register attendant. I know she didn't know what I had just done -- there's no way even high quality cameras could have seen me back there -- but nonetheless, h er look seemed to say, "I know what you did." All I could do was nod a little and say to myself, "Yes, yes you do."

I'm Brad, I'm back where toilets are plentiful, and I still don't ever plan on returning to Kansas City.

Original Article

Did society decide that male, long jean shorts were acceptable while I wasn't paying attention? Did dogs learn how to clean their own vomit? (The answer to the second is yes, as my little pup vividly demonstrated the other day) At Kansas City International airport, I almost called the police because there was a redneck family committing a jean short atrocity: more violent than murder and far less fashionable.

I often complain about relatively minor problems, so let this blog post be no exception:

Attractive people never seem to fly anywhere I do, and they most certainly don't seem to ever fly out of Kansas City. I wonder if people ever have this exact same thought while looking at me: could I be their ugly thought trigger, as they are to me? In fact, it often feels like you're in the midst of a mass hideous individuals exodus while repasting in the departure area of KCI. When did we stop calling it the departure lounge? Probably once the 50s became the 60s and free handies from the friendly bartendresses became taboo. Oh the crwth old days...

Frontier calls itself a whole different animal. I wonder if that's their way of apologizing beforehand for my having to board one of their "signature Embraer Jets" via the fiery Midwestern tarmac and the abominable on-board beverage/meal service. When you call to complain about something involving Frontier airlines, it would be nice if you heard fierce lion noises as the "on hold" music and then were greeted by a manic depressive Alzheimer's patient who proceeded to tell you that he would get to work on your problem, promptly changed his mind to suggest that you go fuck yourself, and signed off with "Frontier: A Whole Different Animal." How furious would you be? How strangely amused?

The word Embraer really bothers me, and I think that Frontier airlines workers are obligated to say it at least 17 times every flight. "Welcome to Frontier Airlines on this Embraer Jet. Please enjoy all the wonderful features of this Embraer Jet." Wonderful features? There are none. The seats feel like my buttocks are being cupped by a stone golem. One thing that they are apparently not, however, obligated to do is heat up those once-delicious chocolate chip cookies that now taste like chilled, doughy bricks. "Oh you mean I can have another? You spoil me, Frontier."

I know a lot of people on airlines enjoy talking to people sitting near them. I am not one of those people. I am a curmudgeonly jerk and whilst flying all I wanted to do was watch my episodes of Breaking Bad, and thus was rather displeased at the all-too-pleasant couple next to me who thought we had an inside joke because my mom had trouble putting away her luggage.

A series of questions I wondered about while flying:

1. How much trouble do you get on a plane for getting into a non-terrorism-related violent incident? "I don't want to impinge upon anyone else, I just want to lodge my fist of fury into that man's cranium."
2. Why is it that the only hybrid juice available on planes is Cranberry Apple juice? And why is that from-concentrate fruit nectar so goddamn compelling to my taste buds?
3. If I upgrade my leg room, am I stealing from someone else? And if not, can we please create a system like that so plane upgrades become a highly competitive, "survival of the fittest"-type contest?

Who am I even kidding though, I got to fly through the air from the middle of the country to one side of the country in a steel tube. If I can't appreciate a little discomfort in that, I'm really just being a doucher.

It's hard to sound like you care very much about the plight of less fortunate people when you have to explain to everyone that you're staying at a cottage on the water at Martha's Vineyard. Look, I can't be socially conscious all the time.

I'm Brad, I'm taking a bougie summer vacation for the first time, and I'm sure there will be more to say on the matter.

Original Article

I decided to make a little mixtape for my summer listening (driving/walking/biking) needs, and I figured why not throw it together in a handy little mixtape package for other people in the world!

You can download the full mix here

or you can download the tracks individually, read my vacuous comments, piece it together from your collections, and enjoy! If any of the download links aren't working for some reason, let me know. If you like any of these songs, support the artists by buying their music!

Ice Cube - It Was a Good Day

This song means summer to me, if I lived in Compton, that is. I don't. But I think we can all relate: when we don't have to use our AK, it's been a good day.

Frank Ocean - Novacane

One of the more easier to adopt Odd Future members, Frank Ocean's slightly peculiar drug-tinged R&B ballad just hits the spot sometimes. The novacane-created spot.

The Dirty Tees - Where We Are (Cosmonaut Grecko Remix)

A calmer start that builds up into a pretty relaxing electronic bliss. Proof that to succeed in the remix business, the creativity of your name is of roughly equal importance to your actual work.

Curren$y - The Hangover (ft. Mikey Rocks)

Nothing tickles the fancy quite like a little Curren$y on those lazy days. Music made during and for exactly what you're doing.

Baths - Aminals

I'm an embarrassingly large Baths fan. All of his songs are references so childhood and the happiness therein, and Aminals reminds me of playing outside as a little kid. That's really what summer's all about, I suppose.

Two Door Cinema Club - Something Good Can Work (RAC Remix)

I missed out on seeing Two Door Cinema Club live when the volcanic eruption stopped them from meeting up with Phoenix in Kansas City. I'm really bummed about that, because this is one of my favorite songs right now, and the remixes just make it all the better.

Thievery Corporation - Radio Retaliation

I really don't like reggae very much, but this one was suggested by a friend, and I have to admit it's eminently pleasing whilst driving around the streets of Kansas City.

The Cardigans - Lovefool (Morning Benders Cover)

A short little ditty - lighthearted, catchy, crwth.

Beastie Boys - Make Some Noise (Passion Pit Remix)

A really bright remix of one of the better tracks off the Beastie Boys new album. I admit that I wasn't a huge fan of much of the new material they've been putting out recently, but Hot Sauce Committee may have changed that.

Gold Panda - Parents

A bit of Gold Panda never hurt anyone. His set at Sasquatch is really incredible, and still available on NPR. You should go check that out.

Yeasayer - Ambling Alp (Alan Wilkis Remix)

Alan Wilkis has the Midas touch on remixes. This is the best I've heard, and improves upon the original song by quite a bit. Friends of mine went to see Yeasayer the other day and it reminded me how much I love this song.

Fabolous - You Be Killin' Em

Requisite club-friendly track. This song is just so tight.

Of Montreal - Gronlandic Edit

I wish I had any idea how Of Montreal songs receive their names. It could be that it's obvious and I'm not smart enough to understand it. That is possible. This song is perfect for summer: sometimes you just want to stay inside with the other nihilists with great imaginations.

Architecture in Helsinki - Contact High (Clock Opera Remix)

I've always had a particular fondness for Architecture in Helsinki, if only for the name. Contact high is what we're all after these days. A little synth-driven electronic rock. Yum.

Fabian - 2 AM

Because what summer mixtape would be complete without a disco banger? This is the track that would be playing at my summer pool party... if I had a pool... or parties.

Foster the People - Pumped Up Kicks

This song is actually about a school shooting. With that in mind, I can't get over how chill this song is when you're just walking around. We do what we can.

The Drums - Let's Go Surfing

I've been listening to this song a ton since last summer, but for me this epitomizes the excitement of the warm days when you want to go anywhere but inside.

tUnE-yArDs - Bizness

With its strange African rhythms, and a voice that sounds almost manly, it's a little hard to really classify this tune, but it makes for incredibly enjoyable sing-a-longs.

Tokyo Police Club - Wait Up (Boots of Danger) (DOM Remix)

Tokyo Police Club is still one of my favorite concerts of all time, and this remix brings the crwthly infectious indie rock to a new electronic joy.

Fujiya & Miyagi - Collarbone

I first heard this song in a documentary about debate. How often does anyone get to say that? I have to admit that for a while it was just that song in the back of my head, but when I finally looked up the artist and gave it a proper few listens it became indispensable walking/biking music.

Germany Germany - Cold Hands

I don't know a single thing about this song. It's just good. It ends nice and slowly, like a good summer night.

Original Article

As I walked through the large Chihuly special exhibition hall at the Museum of Fine Arts in Boston today, a small girl in the arms of her dad turned to him and said, of the room with a glass ceiling filled with different types of colored glass:

It's bright but why is there glass in the ceiling? That doesn't make any sense!

It was, in simpler words, my exact thoughts about a majority of the Chihuly exhibit: it's incredibly colorful and impressively crafted, but in my opinion, gets rather old quickly. Or, as a small schoolboy said to his teacher:

It's like the Star Wars planet of Felucia.

Exactly. My mom, on the other hand, who worships Chihuly like Evangelicals love Jesus, was immediately smitten with the series of brightly-glassed rooms. Her journey through the Chihuly special exhibit took more than twice as long as mine. In the time before she finished -- and in the extra time when she went back for the second time -- I managed to peruse every item in the gift shop, trade eyes with the cute brunette (you know who you are), watch a bit of the documentary, trade eyes with her again, look at old people, continue looking at old people, and write the following poem, dedicated to the Ladies of the Dale Chihuly Glass Exhibit:

We still take all sorts of pictures

non-flash, assured,

and whisper witticisms

with loose-fitting smock

shirts and LL Bean tag scratch

and speak to ourselves

there is such beauty in the world,

at least here if only today.

If only...

And we will read

imprints of walls and heart

to become experts in a science

of comprative linguistics:

like nothing seen before.

How phallic, but softly thought

that Dale made these all

for me.

If only...

Sparkling glass glaze and light

preferentially accepted

thrills our pupils pale eyes in anticline.

To tell our husbands they've missed out

as we live our lives lost love

amidst luminations and shape,

not at normal non-places of

residence while we are

at least here, if only

Ladies of the Dale Chihuly Glass Exhibit.

Original Article

Today, a large tornado in Springfield, MA killed four people. I don't want to make light of the tragedy that severe weather has caused around the United States. There have been tornadoes all over the place though, so this can't be that strange. Except that:

Tornadoes in Massachusetts are not as common as they are in the Midwest and South. The last one was on July 23, 2008, according to the National Climatic Data Center. (via MSNBC)

So tornadoes in Massachusetts aren't exactly uncommon, but it's been three years since the last one: "Rare, but not unique." Fair enough, weather is clearly something that's beyond a lot of human comprehension given how poorly the local news anchors tend to predict catastrophic disasters like these. Except that in Missouri, just a few days earlier, I sat in my basement with my dad while we watched those same local news anchors tell us about the potential for danger from tornadoes streaking across the state. Those violent clouds avoided Kansas City -- it seems that tornadoes tend to avoid the bourgeois-y areas in favor of the poorer rural ones -- but it is nonetheless a little close for comfort when there are touchdowns only seven blocks from your home.

I haven't been to college yet, so I clearly don't understand the difference between correlation and causation, but I'm just saying that it appears very clearly that when I'm inside a state, the chance of tornado activity increases exponentially. Am I worried? No, because in the same way that I avoid making distinctions between correlations and causations, I also avoid binding my logic trains to science or accurate predictions: clearly, if I've never been hit by a tornado before, I will never be at risk of this. That's the type of reasoning that got us through the last financial recession, after all, isn't it?

But one further point that all these tornadoes are making clear is this: I, Brad Bolman, for better or for worse, am the tornado man. And, further, while I am around or near you, inside a place of relative financial and social privilege, you and all your friends, family, and pets, are 100% safe from tornadoes. Now I may not be the life of the party sometimes, but warding off tornadoes is no easy business and I'm willing to sacrifice however necessary to fight off these cyclical funnels of doom. We will fight it together, but mainly I will fight it off by doing exactly what I typically do during severe weather: tweet about it.

If you're not entirely convinced by my reasoning, these tornadoes have done an incredible amount of physical, psychological, and material damage to people and communities around the nation. The Red Cross has taken a lead in providing disaster support to those groups most affected by severe weather, and if you follow this link, you can donate a few dollars to help out: RED CROSS TORNADO SAVING. Or, if you'd like to thank me for doing my utmost to protect those of you living in large metropolitan areas, you can purchase one of these Brad Bolman t-shirts... I'll donate any profits to the tornado relief or a suitable charity.

Original Article

[dropcap]I[/dropcap] have a friend who insists upon pointing out any instances of racist speech. He's the Microsoft Word racism checker: his verbal red dots will interrupt your conversation if you utter something even tinged with racialized assumptions. Back when we were little kids it was grammar mistakes. You could never incorrectly use adverbs around him because he would tell you they were wrong: "You didn't do good, you did well." Recently while hanging out with a few old high school pals, my trusty Racism-Nazi pointed out the unacceptability of an unabashed use of the N-word. Everyone turned to him: shocked that anyone cared; shocked that anyone would point it out. What a kill joy!

But I started to wonder if he didn't have a point: we shouldn't accept racist thoughts just because we're "with our friends" and "having fun." First, it makes ethics incredibly situational: there are times when I'm against racism and times when I'm not. One would never make the equivalent statement that there are times when I'd authorize the Holocaust and times when I would not: at least, you wouldn't say it out loud to people you didn't know. It's clear that there's something going on beneath this type of quotidian encounter which we've no doubt all experienced in different ways: pointing out sexism in song lyrics, pointing out classism in the way we relate to the poor or the expensive nature of our purchases, etc. You feel awkward: paranoid in the very real sense that perhaps they're right that pointing out instances of problems is ruining everyone else's time. After all, don't we have some responsibility to the happiness of those around us? Recently, this situation appe ared in the indie music scene: Tyler the Creator started receiving flack for the highly gendered and heteronormative content of his lyrics. Many of the indie music blogging scene shot back: "But the music is creative and good, don't be kill joys."

[twocol_one]Violent Noms

To me, this struck something of a chord with my recent exodus into vegetarianism. I decided that at an age where I am capable of maintaining a consistent ethical system, it would be wrong to not establish some coherent practice. For me, to consume meat is to sanction the death of an animal. It's not to say you are laying the killing blow yourself, but instead that you are subtly endorsing that killing. When individuals boycott a product, companies respond by making less of the product or changing it. That is supposed to be a base rule for the market system, at least. So while my individual action may have negligible impacts, they are "felt." Very few people have much in the way of a defense of meat: it's delicious, it makes them happy, it's going to get eaten anyways, etc. For a lot of meat eaters, ethical concerns related to consuming animals are ignored or deferred. Which isn't to say that individuals who eat meat haven't considered the ethical issues: often they have. B ut when these contemplations are brought up at meals, it can make situations awkward. Largely for that reason I promised not to be the proselytizing type of vegetarian: we all don't like the kill-joy. At a recent dinner, two of my friends got into an argument about eating meat. But it ended quickly: nobody wants to ruin a dinner with squabbles.

In her most recent book, Sara Ahmed writes a defense of "the kill-joy." For Ahmed,

"we learn not to be conscious, not to see what happens right in front of us. Happiness provides as it were a cover, a way of covering over what resists or is resistant to a view of the world, or a worldview, as harmonious. It is not that an individual person suffers from false consciousness but that we inherit a certain false consciousness when we learn to see and not see things in a certain way. (pp. 83-84) [/twocol_one]

[twocol_one_last]Ahmed discusses the difficulties of pointing out issues of sexism at the dinner table to her conservative parents: it is awkward, precisely because to do so threatens the happiness of those around us. We all like when things go smoothly. Happiness, as a hegemonic ideal, exerts an incredible power over us: not "just" to be happy, but also to make others happy. In many situations, happiness is seen as contextually dependent and conditioned upon those who we interact with: friends, colleagues, and family. We're used to hearing "I just want to make you happy" or "I'm happy because you're happy," both of which apply and imply a certain strength located inside the feeling of happiness: "I am happy only if you are happy, and if you are unhappy, I too will become unhappy." There's something in this idea that gels both with my race-conscious friend and also my vegetarianism: often we're scared to say the things we really believe at the expense of perturbing the happiness of those around us.

Happiness Lost

Happiness truly is a powerful concept, and nobody wants to rock the boat too much. After all, there's a social consensus that being happy is better than being unhappy. We experience it all the time in our day-to-day interactions: I hate reading the SaveDarfur mailing list that I'm a member of because it's depressing to witness again and again the absolute inability of anyone of political importance to take a strong action on the genocide. To avoid unhappy topics is polite: there's no need to turn every communal get-together into an ethics discussion. But I also think that there's something important in embracing a certain level of unhappiness. For Ahmed, those who are more conscious of issues of race, gender, and sexual discrimination are often considered or consider themselves less happy. Feminists are frequently considered kill-joys because they insist upon pointing out sexism in the places we notice it and the ones we don't. "You always make everything about ge nder." But statements of this nature ignore that issues of gender equality really do impact people in incredibly powerful ways. To learn about the limits that society places on us related to race, gender, and class often makes one unhappy. To be unaware of many of those limits allows a more beautiful mental image of possibility: ignorance is bliss, after all.[/twocol_one_last]

But I think we have something of an obligation to every once and a while, and very likely more often than that, engage in those messy conversations: I'm tired of people throwing around "gay" like it means stupid, and was glad to be told about the Think Before You Speak campaign. Having gay relatives that issue has always stung me, ever since I first remarked about it in middle school. It's just one example of many of the ways in which we have inherited the "false consciousness" that Ahmed refers to in relation to many different issues. After all, other people do it, it's not entirely our fault.

But to allow racism, sexism, and classism to go unnoticed is often as violent as to be the enunciator of those views. To stand and watch a murder without stopping it or reporting it still makes you guilty in important ways. Discourses are powerful - which is, of course, Foucault 101 - and they function as much by what is spoken as those things which are accepted as speech and the things we are silent about. To begin to make true progress against the oppression of hateful speech and actions, sometimes means we won't be popular. But it's clear that sometimes we ought to be the kill-joys: we can and we should.

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