wrong pig

taxman

So I'm sitting here taking a stab at my taxes, and it just sucks. Sucks! I'm going to owe, and probably a lot, and I hate dealing with numbers, and it's the government, and just ugh. Sucks!

It would be better with a glass of wine, right? Maybe two? And maybe munchies? And maybe friends?

Or not?


Poll #1167476 it's business time

So, tax party:

Good idea
11(34.4%)
Bad idea: Your friends shouldn't have access, even obliquely, to how much you make, and vice versa
6(18.8%)
Bad idea: Everyone will just be in a shitty mood anyway
15(46.9%)
wrong pig

banning airbrushing

This should make me happy, and in some ways it does. Certainly as both consumer and accomplice, I’ve fell victim to unrealistic portrayals of women’s bodies. I’d love to see magazines stop airbrushing our bodies. (I will say, though, that the number of times I’ve seen our airbrushers instructed to slim down a body is outnumbered by the times I’ve seen them instructed to make the body appear not dangerously slim—but much of the heavy-duty “lifting” is done before I ever see the image. And about half the time those directives are along the lines of “make her ribs not as bony,” not “add some heft to her arms” or anything.)

But I guess the whole thing really just makes me sad. Sad that it’s gotten to the point where we need legislative protection against this assault. And angry, still, forever, always, that this kind of visual assault exists in the first place.

* * *

Actually, I’m not angry “forever, always.” I read once that anger was really a reaction designed to mask other emotions, usually sadness/depression. It made sense to me at the time. But the more I think about it, I think that’s male-centric. Men are “allowed” to feel anger but not sadness; women are “allowed” to feel sadness but not anger. (I mean, women are usually supposed to be cheerful at all costs, but within the realm of “unacceptable” emotions, one ranks higher than the other.)

I think my years of internalizing the body standard were actually masking the anger I feel now. I’m still internalizing it, to be sure, but instead of feeling either sad for myself and other women I see succumb to these pressures, or shaming myself for not conforming to the standard enough, I am fucking pissed every time I walk out of my home and see how images of bodies—bodies which are designed to bring joy and strength and cooperation and pleasure—are used instead to sell and belittle and instigate envy and preoccupy.
wrong pig

a short film that takes place in my imagination

My college roommate had a guy she was dating say to her, early in the morning after a long night of quilting or whatever it was they may have been doing, “Let’s go greet the dawn.”

When she told me this, I did not hear dawn; I heard don. This launched an entirely different vision in my mind than what likely went on. When I burst into laughter—to be sure, a phrase like “Let’s go greet the dawn” is laugh-worthy, but it was clear that this laughter was rooted in the absurd, not in mockery—she informed me as to my mistake.

This launched a sixteen-minute short film (in my mind): The first half is of two young lovers going to greet the don, who has taken a firm liking to one party in the couple. It’s very stereotypically Italian-American mafioso-comedic, with lots of red wine and checkered tablecloths and cheesy expensive suits, and is likely full of vaguely offensive stereotypes. The second half is muted and dreamy and takes place on a beach, with the young lovers in diaphanous clothing on a rocky stretch of beach.

The name of the film is, “Let’s Go Greet the Down.”

Not every idea is a good one, my friends.
wrong pig

top loin

So the company I work for has a ranch, in addition to publishing magazines and newspapers. Don't ask, I can't tell you why. But today's cafeteria special is steaks from the ranch, and they flew in a cowboy to help promote the meat.

"I'm all for knowing where our food comes from, Nathan*, but this is ridiculous!"

*Eco-conscious yuppie name chosen at random.
wrong pig

MAG LOADING

MAG LOADING

Question: Does ingesting large amounts of magnesium induce vivid dreams?

Background research: Some offhanded mention in Esquire. All other research methods ("Google") led to derivatives of this article by Chuck Klosterman and absolutely nothing else.

Hypothesis: Hell yeah! Or maybe Chuck Klosterman is just a dickhead.

Experiment: We ingested 2000 mg of magnesium citrate over a period of seven hours, in 400 mg increments. One dose was taken on an empty stomach; subsequent doses were consumed with a combination of lamb chops, saganaki, and maple juleps. At the end of seven hours, we entered a deep sleep, thus beginning the active experimentation.

Evidence: dream journal consisting of three entries ("long walk," "Andrew" or "Duwayne"--data is murky--and "teeth"); early morning conversation

Analysis: Mag loading induces a full night of very short dreams. Think a slide show rather than a short film, or even a commercial. Dream content is no more vivid or unusual than non-mag-loading dreams, but with a much greater frequency and thematic variety.

Conclusion: Mag loading is appropriate for people who wish to reliably increase one's number of hallucinations but are inappropriately old or reluctant to ingest lysergic acid diethylamide ("doses," "trips," or "acid"). Results may be unsatisfactory if you wish to have a semi-comatose hallucination that heralds the beginning of an era of collective unconscious that connects you to the web of humanity, letting you know that we are all one and bringing you inner light. Also, diarrhea.