Thursday, May 13, 2010
Monday, November 2, 2009
Tess = ArithmeTICKED OFF
I often confuse left with right. I understand the concepts of left and right perfectly well in theory, but in practice I turn a lot of circles. Scholars of my existence have identified a recurring motif: I'll misspell "ie" words with "ei", call Doug "Dave", shift to reverse when I mean to drive, yadida. I've accepted this as a glitch in my brain and I'm okay with turning a few circles occasionally, but I'm not fucking doing math anymore.
If you tell me I can excel in math by just trying harder, I'll blow up your house with a bazooka. I know I can excel in math, but I can only do it if I constantly flagellate myself and invest all of my energy into working against my natural weaknesses, and in that amount of time I could achieve three times as much doing something else. It's a waste of my effen time - so don't invite me to your math parties; don't take me on a math cruise to Math Island. I don't have to go, and I won't. Fuck your math.
If you tell me I can excel in math by just trying harder, I'll blow up your house with a bazooka. I know I can excel in math, but I can only do it if I constantly flagellate myself and invest all of my energy into working against my natural weaknesses, and in that amount of time I could achieve three times as much doing something else. It's a waste of my effen time - so don't invite me to your math parties; don't take me on a math cruise to Math Island. I don't have to go, and I won't. Fuck your math.
Tuesday, October 20, 2009
Tesscribe
I write. Similarly, I poop. I've been pooping for as long as I can remember. I poop because of a process that I don't completely understand, and I don't have an intimate emotional relationship with my poop. I poop with relative predictability, but sometimes my pooping is impeded indefinitely, which has an understated but paralyzing impact on my life. Sometimes I create epic poops uncontrollably, and sometimes when I try desperately to poop my efforts are rewarded only with a few pathetic little bits of par-digested fecal matter. Often I can't stand the stink of my own poop. This is gross and offputting, right? This is something you really don't need to know about, right? Such, in my case, is the creative process.
When I've been complimented on my writing, I generally don't know how to respond beyond the default thanks. I'm vaguely flattered but mostly embarrassed and vulnerable; I've been caught on the toilet with my pants down. I really can't take much credit for my writing anyway. Beyond maintaining my diet, I barely have any control over the caliber of my poop. I can't explain what makes my poop how it is, whether or not other people think it's good for some reason. My body creates my poop, and my soul creates my writing - not me.
When I've been complimented on my writing, I generally don't know how to respond beyond the default thanks. I'm vaguely flattered but mostly embarrassed and vulnerable; I've been caught on the toilet with my pants down. I really can't take much credit for my writing anyway. Beyond maintaining my diet, I barely have any control over the caliber of my poop. I can't explain what makes my poop how it is, whether or not other people think it's good for some reason. My body creates my poop, and my soul creates my writing - not me.
Tuesday, October 13, 2009
Thursday, July 2, 2009
Art Tesstory
I'm taking an art history class at the local community college, which has a reputation for attracting delinquents and underachievers from our school district. Predictably, this is true, but not completely true. I was surprised to like community college - but why shouldn't I? It has all the resources of college, ironically without the obligation to community. Every student is an island by default, and the pressure to crash together and form continental cliques is absent. Most people that end up at community college have deviated from the beaten path to get there... we're hitchhikers all; lonely, but united by an unspoken bond of the road.
Art history classes have a reputation for being obscenely boring. Again, this is true, but not completely true. Art history is one of the richest subjects that can be studied; I think the best way to learn about history is to learn about its art and vice versa. With that frame of mind, I don't hurt myself with my feverish, obsessive note-taking. But if I forget why art history is cool, it's very easy to be bored by videos about Romanesque architecture. My point is: everyone should take an art history class. My other point is: remember not to be bored in art history class.
Art history classes have a reputation for being obscenely boring. Again, this is true, but not completely true. Art history is one of the richest subjects that can be studied; I think the best way to learn about history is to learn about its art and vice versa. With that frame of mind, I don't hurt myself with my feverish, obsessive note-taking. But if I forget why art history is cool, it's very easy to be bored by videos about Romanesque architecture. My point is: everyone should take an art history class. My other point is: remember not to be bored in art history class.
Sunday, June 21, 2009
Tess at Twilight
Twilight sucks, you guys. Well, it sucks just as much as any standard paperback romance, but yet millions seem to think that it fell out of the heavens' great literary vagina. Here: there's nothing wrong with liking to read Twilight, just like there's nothing wrong with liking to read paperback romances, as long as you can recognize them all for what they are: lush fantasy stories basically designed to get you off.
I enjoy reading Twilight because personally I get a big arrogant kick out of its shitedom, and I'm minimally entertained by it, and vampire romances make me horny. Reading Twilight is like eating Cheetos; it's indulgent, satisfying, guilt-ridden and utterly lacking in nutritional benefits. Go ahead and eat your Cheetos (I'll eat them for you if you don't want them), but don't tell yourself you're eating fine cheese on crackers. My beef with Twilight doesn't pertain to its immense popularity, but to its reputation as being totally fucking great, because that is false. Twilight isn't Great; it's not Gourmet, it's Cheetos. The writing is mediocre at best, the story is simplistic, the characters are hollow, the plot is vapid. My guess is that the raw allure buried underneath the crappy crap made everyone so goddamned horny that they grew to associate Twilight directly with intense pleasure, which might have led the layman to believe that Twilight is totally fucking great.
I'm not booing the vampire fad - in fact, my other beef is out of respect for the vampire fad. Vampire stories inherently evoke a motherload of sexual tension and symbolism, which is further pursued by the vamp-human romance. Someone setting out to write a vampire story has a lot of deep shit to work with - sex, passion, temptation, love & hate, life & death, right & wrong, what have you - but yet Twilight is so maddeningly shallow and empty. Twilight reads like a fanfiction of its own story, because Stephenie Meyer writes like a drooling fangirl. (Indeed she is, actually - she's a fan of her own dream.) I mean, you can't just stick an apple on the cover and call the deep shit dunzo. Boy, is there a difference between fandom and artistry, and stories as rich as those of vampires deserve to be portrayed artfully.
Now I'm going to deliver this verdict without a trace of bitterness: if you want a shallow, empty and cheaply arousing vampire story, read Twilight. If you want a sensual, thoughtful and intriguing vampire story, watch True Blood. Vampires are dead, long live vampires.
I enjoy reading Twilight because personally I get a big arrogant kick out of its shitedom, and I'm minimally entertained by it, and vampire romances make me horny. Reading Twilight is like eating Cheetos; it's indulgent, satisfying, guilt-ridden and utterly lacking in nutritional benefits. Go ahead and eat your Cheetos (I'll eat them for you if you don't want them), but don't tell yourself you're eating fine cheese on crackers. My beef with Twilight doesn't pertain to its immense popularity, but to its reputation as being totally fucking great, because that is false. Twilight isn't Great; it's not Gourmet, it's Cheetos. The writing is mediocre at best, the story is simplistic, the characters are hollow, the plot is vapid. My guess is that the raw allure buried underneath the crappy crap made everyone so goddamned horny that they grew to associate Twilight directly with intense pleasure, which might have led the layman to believe that Twilight is totally fucking great.
I'm not booing the vampire fad - in fact, my other beef is out of respect for the vampire fad. Vampire stories inherently evoke a motherload of sexual tension and symbolism, which is further pursued by the vamp-human romance. Someone setting out to write a vampire story has a lot of deep shit to work with - sex, passion, temptation, love & hate, life & death, right & wrong, what have you - but yet Twilight is so maddeningly shallow and empty. Twilight reads like a fanfiction of its own story, because Stephenie Meyer writes like a drooling fangirl. (Indeed she is, actually - she's a fan of her own dream.) I mean, you can't just stick an apple on the cover and call the deep shit dunzo. Boy, is there a difference between fandom and artistry, and stories as rich as those of vampires deserve to be portrayed artfully.
Now I'm going to deliver this verdict without a trace of bitterness: if you want a shallow, empty and cheaply arousing vampire story, read Twilight. If you want a sensual, thoughtful and intriguing vampire story, watch True Blood. Vampires are dead, long live vampires.
Friday, June 12, 2009
It's Tess, Bitch
I'm not a bitch in any capacity. It's not in my nature, nor was my bitchiness ever nurtured; insecurity has crippled my initiative to learn assertion. This has cut out a lot of potential conflict from my life, which is superficially relieving, but ultimately the only result is that I've become an excellent doormat. To become an excellent doormat, one must achieve a passive and flaccid state of mind, which results in grotesque plasticity. I've noticed myself warping my personality as situations vary just so I can avoid the minimum amount of conflict. Pathetic? Embarrassing? If you say so.
On the contrary, you'll notice that bitches are rigid. A bitch is a bitch no matter where she goes. In my opinion, every woman is entitled to harness bitchiness. Bitchiness is raw power (which is mostly recognized in the context of being used for evil). Bitches are strong and secure, and are thereby capable of great accomplishments. I'm not talking about cruel sophomores who pick on the fat and ugly, because they're just mean, and are actually the opposite of true bitches. Similar misconceptions make true punks hard to identify. Here's a hint: true bitches and punks are rare amongst teenagers, since adolescents are plastic by definition. Another hint: yes, there is a significant overlap between bitches and punks.
I need to learn bitchiness. To be a functional adult, one must be a bitch. My time has come. Bitches, I salute you.
On the contrary, you'll notice that bitches are rigid. A bitch is a bitch no matter where she goes. In my opinion, every woman is entitled to harness bitchiness. Bitchiness is raw power (which is mostly recognized in the context of being used for evil). Bitches are strong and secure, and are thereby capable of great accomplishments. I'm not talking about cruel sophomores who pick on the fat and ugly, because they're just mean, and are actually the opposite of true bitches. Similar misconceptions make true punks hard to identify. Here's a hint: true bitches and punks are rare amongst teenagers, since adolescents are plastic by definition. Another hint: yes, there is a significant overlap between bitches and punks.
I need to learn bitchiness. To be a functional adult, one must be a bitch. My time has come. Bitches, I salute you.
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