Ever since we got together, he's been telling me that the US economy is screwed, we'll all be in the toilet in a matter of years and this economic turmoil is the perfect breeding ground for revolution. To such musings, I usually reply, "You know, that new skirt I bought will go really well with my hot pink shirt."
However, more than usual, he has been giving me evidence of his musings. The housing bubble popped, rents are coming down, the dollar is falling, all his friends in the financial world pulled their money out of the US markets and continue sending their sons to Princeton for free, his cronies are flapping their arms all about, watching markets in China expand and likely kick our ass in more than just the near future 2008 Olympics, it seems like yesterday I was in Beijing fending off cheaply made hats with insignia stiched in colorful, albeit misshapen rings--but I digress.
I am no ostrich, but when he goes on these rants, I ask him to translate it into terms of student loans, i.e. will I have to pay those fuckers? Luckily he tells me no, the dollar will drop so low that it will make the actual amount of my loans low as well. He said that it is better to be a debtor when the economy falls, which incidentally is also good news for my father and every other person I know.
Point being, every time he logs into Facebook, therein lies more information about the failing economy, descending line graphs give him wood, he practically jacks off the Economist. Oh my Marxist Little, running around university, squacking, the stocks are falling! the stocks are falling!
Wednesday, September 26, 2007
Saturday, September 22, 2007
Style Guide: Do I look like a Marxist?
In the last two weeks, two totally unrelated people have said that the Marxist and I look alike--so much alike that we could be related. The first was a slightly drunk girl at an art gallery opening, and the second a psychic guide type on Abbot Kinney on Venice. The latter revised his statement saying that we were old souls and had we have been together for a long time, that is, in the eternal plane. I certainly do not feel this way about the Marxist.
We begin deciphering our looks. We are both tall, slender, dark haired bespectacled bookish types. However, the Marxist, a gypsy Jew is much hairier than I am with much darker hair. I certainly can't stand when he wears blazers at the same time I wear blazers and he has been known to borrow my t-shirts.
In a parking lot, he concludes that he clearly hails from an upper-class Jewish society in Westchester, New York while I come from white trash in South Jersey. I then remind him he was born in Jersey.
We begin deciphering our looks. We are both tall, slender, dark haired bespectacled bookish types. However, the Marxist, a gypsy Jew is much hairier than I am with much darker hair. I certainly can't stand when he wears blazers at the same time I wear blazers and he has been known to borrow my t-shirts.
In a parking lot, he concludes that he clearly hails from an upper-class Jewish society in Westchester, New York while I come from white trash in South Jersey. I then remind him he was born in Jersey.
Saturday, September 1, 2007
Girls have boyfriends, academics have partners
Back in the day, even though I was only seeing the Marxist and liking him dearly, I refused to call him my boyfriend, much to his distress. He demanded to know a reason and I could not give him one. I simply just did not want to call him as such. But then I decided to move with him to LA so I decided I should start calling him something and chose "boyfriend" so I was his "girlfriend," but then when we got here, we became "partners," the update to the totally gay, stiff and mouthy: "significant other".
At first I liked to think that it really was because we were partners; we split expenses, supported each other in our endeavors and formed a small union in the world. Then I realized, I was childish as the boyfriend/girlfriend translation. Technically, a girl or a boy is someone who is not yet a woman or a man suggesting immaturity whether in body or mind. Of course, in conversation, we often say, You should meet this girl, meaning woman and not a child.
A partner is gender neutral allowing it to be used as a euphemism for gays and lesbians. The Marxist and I are not gay, but at times I often wonder if we are. We both pursue same sex relationships, but have yet to be in a sustainable one. Once in awhile I joke if we are in a functionally gay relationship and we just do not know it. I think there is something sexy and mysterious for the first few seconds you mention "partner" since it is immediately unknown if your partner is opposite sex or same sex, making the person you are speaking to wonder if you are heterosexual or homosexual.
According to the Urban Dictionary, we fit most of the criteria for being partners. Although we most certainly inhabit an apartment, we often call it our "space" as in his and hers. We sleep on a very new Sealy mattress with an antique wood frame. However, I do confess to our "ethical' or sustainable diets of organic vegetables, Free-range meat and fair-trade coffee." It's true: we buy local. We heart organic. We grind organic, fair-trade, shade grown coffee. Once, the Marxist bought chicken, I was thoroughly disgusted until I saw it was responsibly purchased from the overpriced Whole Foods, thus was organic, free-range, no hormone and no antibiotic meat. What really flipped my cookies was this near exact description of a male partner: "Often, a male 'partner' can be recognized by the presence of frappichino glasses, fashionably-unfashionable clothes, 'old-man' or 'quasi-military' hats, a deliberately messy hair-do odd facial hair patterns and a generally wimpish and elitist attitude." Let me unpack that. The Marxist has spent considerable time trying to turn our space into a salon, stocking good tea and coffee, good books, buying a glass water pitcher, and an immersion frother. He made the best almond milk lattes and also learned how to make chai from scratch. Most of his clothes were from cheap thrift stores in Chicago which mean dozens of threadbare polo shirts and corduroys. I took him shopping at Wasteland because I couldn't stand the way he looked anymore. While watching Blame it on Fidel, there is a scene where the main character, a little girl, faces a bunch of "revolutionaries." They could have all been the Marxist's friends or close relatives marked by the unkempt hair. The following also rang quite true: "A 'partner' is generally chosen on their potential to advance one's own status in a given scene. A leader of an activist group, a drummer of a post-rock band or the focus of a peer group is generally considered prime 'partner' material. Having a good 'partner' increases your ability to name-drop, facilitates ladder climbing and makes for a fashionable conversation piece." I am very proud of the Marxist for his early success and how important he already is in his chosen field, not that I have the opportunity to name drop yet, but perhaps some day I will be able to say, Oh him? Yes, we used to co-habit a space. The Marxist, on the other hand, loves to mention that I am a dominatrix even though he has no real interest in the scene.
I remember very distinctly being introduced at a party as the Marxist's partner and somehow that made me feel simultaneously proud to be considered an equal, yet also sad that this intellectual equality negated romance and screw-me-to-the-wall sex.
Sigh.
At first I liked to think that it really was because we were partners; we split expenses, supported each other in our endeavors and formed a small union in the world. Then I realized, I was childish as the boyfriend/girlfriend translation. Technically, a girl or a boy is someone who is not yet a woman or a man suggesting immaturity whether in body or mind. Of course, in conversation, we often say, You should meet this girl, meaning woman and not a child.
A partner is gender neutral allowing it to be used as a euphemism for gays and lesbians. The Marxist and I are not gay, but at times I often wonder if we are. We both pursue same sex relationships, but have yet to be in a sustainable one. Once in awhile I joke if we are in a functionally gay relationship and we just do not know it. I think there is something sexy and mysterious for the first few seconds you mention "partner" since it is immediately unknown if your partner is opposite sex or same sex, making the person you are speaking to wonder if you are heterosexual or homosexual.
According to the Urban Dictionary, we fit most of the criteria for being partners. Although we most certainly inhabit an apartment, we often call it our "space" as in his and hers. We sleep on a very new Sealy mattress with an antique wood frame. However, I do confess to our "ethical' or sustainable diets of organic vegetables, Free-range meat and fair-trade coffee." It's true: we buy local. We heart organic. We grind organic, fair-trade, shade grown coffee. Once, the Marxist bought chicken, I was thoroughly disgusted until I saw it was responsibly purchased from the overpriced Whole Foods, thus was organic, free-range, no hormone and no antibiotic meat. What really flipped my cookies was this near exact description of a male partner: "Often, a male 'partner' can be recognized by the presence of frappichino glasses, fashionably-unfashionable clothes, 'old-man' or 'quasi-military' hats, a deliberately messy hair-do odd facial hair patterns and a generally wimpish and elitist attitude." Let me unpack that. The Marxist has spent considerable time trying to turn our space into a salon, stocking good tea and coffee, good books, buying a glass water pitcher, and an immersion frother. He made the best almond milk lattes and also learned how to make chai from scratch. Most of his clothes were from cheap thrift stores in Chicago which mean dozens of threadbare polo shirts and corduroys. I took him shopping at Wasteland because I couldn't stand the way he looked anymore. While watching Blame it on Fidel, there is a scene where the main character, a little girl, faces a bunch of "revolutionaries." They could have all been the Marxist's friends or close relatives marked by the unkempt hair. The following also rang quite true: "A 'partner' is generally chosen on their potential to advance one's own status in a given scene. A leader of an activist group, a drummer of a post-rock band or the focus of a peer group is generally considered prime 'partner' material. Having a good 'partner' increases your ability to name-drop, facilitates ladder climbing and makes for a fashionable conversation piece." I am very proud of the Marxist for his early success and how important he already is in his chosen field, not that I have the opportunity to name drop yet, but perhaps some day I will be able to say, Oh him? Yes, we used to co-habit a space. The Marxist, on the other hand, loves to mention that I am a dominatrix even though he has no real interest in the scene.
I remember very distinctly being introduced at a party as the Marxist's partner and somehow that made me feel simultaneously proud to be considered an equal, yet also sad that this intellectual equality negated romance and screw-me-to-the-wall sex.
Sigh.
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