April 15, 2005

• Edit: I changed the title–I always think of better ones while running, and I went running after I posted.

  Also, dig my new profile pic! I wish it were me, but its not. It’s a frame from a video by one of my favorite contemporary video artists, Cao Fei. This is from the 2002 video, Rabid Dogs. While this video is not up at our current exhibition at the Museum of Contemporary Art, Universal Experince: Art, Life, and the Tourists Eye, (one of my many jobs is in the Marketing Department there), you can see my other favorite in this exhibition–Jeff Koon’s 1986 scultpure, Rabbit, or as I like to call it (in a screaming, happy voice), “KOON BUNNY!” Here is a picture of that for your veiwing pleasure:
  

  Anyhow, I’ll leave this post alone from now on, I swear. ::smile::
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  I’m a Slave for You? The Emancipation of Britney Spears

  © The Author, 2005

  “It’s simply an outrage!”
  “It’s disgusting!”
  “I just can’t believe it.”

  This is the college youth of America, my friends. They are eager and willing to participate in society—to form educated opinions, to hold intellectual discourse, to breathe a breath of fresh, albeit naive air onto the stale old mismanaged problems handed down to them by their elders. The youth of America has the energy, the will, the drive, and the un-jaded optimism to identify the wrongs of this world and create change. There is hope for this world yet.

  “I know—it’s totally disgusting. Britney is just way to young to have a kid.”

  Oh, wait. Never mind. I guess we’re hopeless after all.

  Sometimes working at a college really gets me down. Yesterday, I was waiting for a student to show up for his appointment in the lobby of the Writing Center where I work, when I stumbled upon the aforementioned conversation. Before the Britney comment, I assumed that from the heated tone of the conversation, that this dialogue had to do with the fact that Oregon decided to annul the gay marriage certificates issued in that state, or perhaps it was a local discourse over Chicago public transit service cut backs, or of the FDA’s recent decision to lift the ban on silicone breast implants, despite gruesome disclosures of ruptured implants leaking silicone from women’s tear ducks, nostrils, and ears. I assumed that this heated conversation was about anything other than Britney Spears recent case of preggers. Sadly, I was wrong.

  These silly students continued on at length about Britney’s fat ass (although most college kids and their doughy freshmen 15 are much worse off than Britney ever will be), how the young pop star was too young to have a child, how Ms. Spears and Jason What’s-His-Name are doomed for divorce, how Britney’s bun in the oven sets such a bad example for women, blah, blah, blah. I listened on, my mind angrily churning. And I’m not even a Britney fan.

  Their trivial conversation got me thinking about a recently published Time Magazine article about Twixers, which for those of you who did not read the article, is a stupid term invented by marketers interested in persuading twenty something’s to leech off their parents so that mommy and daddy will foot the bill for expensive stuff that they “need” (you don’t want to know how many people I see with Ipods given to them by their mommy dearest), instead of getting off their butts and working to support themselves. Plus, the longer they leech, the longer Twixers can delay adhering to a budget scraped together from the earnings of an entry-level job that probably won’t allow them to spend their meager paychecks at the bar, or at the new H&M store opening soon at a mall near you.

  This leeching works out pretty well for our economy. Not only does it provide businesses with the frivolous spending of Twixers and their dumbly accommodating parents, but it also provides the shit job market with a way to weed out many potential candidates for jobs, since the Time Magazine Twixer article states that most employers don’t consider anyone under 26 an adult. Aside from this Twixer situation irritating me as an independent, college educated, mature, and financially responsible 23 year old trying to find full time work in a world where I am apparently not a grown up, I am also annoyed at my peer counterparts who support this nightmarish behavior, because they are reinforcing the Twixter truth to our elders, which is creating a society where young people like myself get blindly lumped into their lame ass demographic. I typically hate labels, especially those invented by marketers, but when people so blithely play into the labels they have been given, without taking the time to create change and dismantle the stereotype—then the labels tend to stick.

  I wish that these Twixers at the Writing Center would step out of their cushioned apathy for a moment to get even half as enthusiastic and opinionated about any issue that is not Britney Spears fetus. But the Twixter mentality that they embrace not only results in young people having even more difficulty with the always tough job of competing for full-time employment after college, but it also impedes their ability to give a shit about the world outside of the happenings in Britney’s uterus. Laziness sprawls out from the Twixer’s approach to independence and into the realm of how they regard the rest of the world. The average Twixter seems uninterested about formulating articulate opinions on government, global policy, culture, and society at large. Plus, I don’t think it is psychologically healthy (for parent or Twixer) for a 19 to 25-year old to have his or her mommy do their laundry and eat her food like mommy’s home is a goddamned hotel.

  I don’t mean to insult anyone who is temporarily living at home after college while they conduct a job search, as long as they are being honest and hard on themselves—they need to know that no entry-level, post undergraduate job they will find can maintain the standard of living that they grew accustomed to in their parents home. Luckily, the personal growth that accompanies independence is more valuable than that. They need to know that formulating articulate and educated opinions is important, and valuable, and necessary for us to collectively plot and scheme ways to fix this shitty world we’ve been handed. These opinions and schemes will be what we use to create change when we are the bigwigs employing others. Also, those living at home to conduct a job search should be careful to respect their parents and their home during the (short) duration. Many awesome 18-25 year olds who are temporarily living at home understand and implement all of these things and more. But many do not, and I have to deal with their resignation to Twixerdom weekly. To them, I don’t mind being insulting.

  Listening to the Twixers at the Writing Center prattle on about Britney’s bun in the oven, I was becoming enraged. I tried to suppress my big mouth—I begged it not to open and bite off the heads of these kids (because kids are apparently what they want to be seen as) to get their lips to stop flapping about how Britney’s fertilized egg is a travesty. But eventually, my opinions started burning a hole through the inside of my mouth, so I had to at least open it to let them out.

  “Britney’s fetus is the absolute last concern I have for this world,” my diatribe began.

  “Yeah, but she’s not going to be a good mom,” a mascara-ed, blonde lump of collegiate cleavage stated.

  “Why? Because she bears her midriff? Well your mom probably did that too before she had you, and I’m sure she might still if your birth hasn’t ravaged her body. Besides that, even if Britney isn’t naturally a good mom, you damn well know that she has enough money to afford to for someone to raise her daughter well for her. What concerns me is the moms who have to cope with a welfare system and pay rates that are so shitty that they have to leave their kids home alone while they work their asses off for minimum wage.”

  “But that marriage is going to end in divorce and then that kid will be from a broken home.”

  “What is this—1950? How many of your parents are divorced?”

  All the Twixters raised their hands. I raised both my hands.

  “And look at how well off we all are. 50% of all marriages end in divorce, so you are probably right. But that has little bearing on how a kid is treated or turns out anymore.”

  “Yeah, but she is so young,” a pimpled, pale, pile of sticks interjected.

  “My mom had my when she was 19, and she was a good mom. Britney is 24. She has made more money than any of you will make in a lifetime. She has a career and she works her ass off. She has a family that gave up their entire lives so that Brittany could writhe about in halter-tops and sing pop songs. Something tells me that even if Brittany doesn’t embrace the joys of motherhood, her family will still ensure that the kid is spoiled rotten. There are a million and one things that need your attention in this world, and Britney’s fetus simply is not one of them.”

  I wish that these students at the Writing Center and that all my peer counterparts could see that we are a powerful group. We may not have much spending power, but we are loud mouthed, opinionated, creative, and full of vibrant energy. If only we were all raised to channel those assets properly. If only we weren’t raised in a society that has newspapers that give Britney’s pregnancy front page billing (on days when Michael Jackson hasn’t chosen to wear pajamas to court), then perhaps the youth of America could value their minds and opinions enough to spend time thinking and discussing new strategies to all the real issues that this world has. But since our society is full of Bill O’Reily’s, Rush Limbaugh’s, and Chicago Sun Time’s—all of which prefer to forego real intellectual discourse for blind, emotional appeals that sell advisements—can we really expect more than the apathy, the blind resignation to ignorance that seems to be all that Twixers are willing to contribute to this world?

  After I voiced my harsh analysis of their criticisms for Britney, a Twixter girl glared at me from beneath the shrouds of her hooded sweatshirt. Her apathy had been insulted and I was the culprit. From her Lip Smacker-ed lips, the mantra of the Twixers commenced,

  “Whatever.”

  • 2:36 pm
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