novice Buddhist, expert neurotic. writer. aspiring adult.
sophcw at gmail dot com
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just attempted to sing blessings over menorah with entire family via google hang out #jewaesthetic
That sensitivity seems inevitable, I think, because what we consider folk today might actually be a strange and particular thing. It’s not a living tradition, really. It’s more like a snapshot of a tradition—American rural music as it existed at the precise moment that someone thought to make recordings of it. At some point in the twenties or thirties, once enough of those recordings had been made, the whole thing was trapped in amber: It became, officially, the oldest version of rural-American “folk” music that anyone could go back to consult and imitate using their own ears. It became, almost by technological accident, the wellspring and the touchstone, leaving every generation of revivalists looking like a bunch of people holding blurry Polaroids of Eden and arguing over how to resurrect it. It’s like a cargo cult in reverse: Instead of “primitive” people coming across a modern object and surrounding it with elaborate mystical explanations, we get modern people discovering something traditional and erecting intellectual fetishes around it. And looking back to the “beginning,” even out of an earnest, uncalculated love of the music itself, is always going to be at least a little bit ideological, a response to whatever’s happened since.
tumblr user agrammar brings the logic
About a year ago, I saw snow falling for the first time. It was my second month out of Florida, so I was dressed in a sweater, leggings and Ugg boots (total no-nos that have since been confiscated by the Brooklyn fashion police). I was recording my second EP at a studio in Williamsburg. After spending all day in a warm, windowless room, I stepped onto a snow-covered sidewalk smeared with dirt and dog shit, totally appalled. I watched the snowflakes fall; the little bastards were everywhere, and my pigtails turned to icicles as fifteen cabs ignored me and my timid waves. Since Hurricane Sandy had filled every train back to Manhattan with water, I had to trudge to a vegan grocery story (lol Williamsburg) in squishy wool boots to charge my dead phone and call a car. It took a full hour for the driver to arrive, and I cried the entire trip back to the East Village. I didn’t leave the house again until March.
This experience sums up my year pretty perfectly. Throughout my crusade to prove my worth to myself and everyone who’s ever thumbs-downed my YouTube videos, I’ve faced a thousand of these new little “struggles,” and each time I’ve rashly wondered why the fuck I even chose this path when it would be so much easier to move back home to Florida and fall back into my Claire’s assistant management routine. I’d never have to read another bad review, I’d never have to listen to another audience of 16-year-old boys chant “suck a dick! suck a dick!” louder than my rapping. I’d never have to see another 4chan conversation about how my thighs are getting fatter (I hit puberty!!! Leave me alone!!!). So I cry and call my mom and tell her I’m moving back in because of all these “problems,” and with one laugh she puts everything back into perspective. THESE are the bad things in my life? This year, I’ve announced my retirement from music at least 5 times because an audience wasn’t bouncing as much as I’d told them to. Really?
These are the things that feel so tragic and damning when they happen, as if I’ll never find success someday because I’m not already universally beloved for whatever it is I do. I’m blushing/rolling my eyes at myself as I write this, because it sounds really lame. That’s what I’ve learned from my year as a “professional” “musician”; success=work+time, but only if you have the right attitude.
shout out to miracles!
um guys, if you haven’t been following Sufjan Stevens’ Tumblr, this is what’s happening over there
You should always be trying to write a poem you are unable to write, a poem you lack the technique, the language, the courage to achieve. Otherwise, you’re merely imitating yourself, going nowhere because that’s always easiest.
The first item I see in Amazon’s Swansea warehouse is a package of dog nappies. The second is a massive pink plastic dildo. The warehouse is 800,000 square feet, or, in what is Amazon’s standard unit of measurement, the size of 11 football pitches (its Dunfermline warehouse, the UK’s largest, is 14 football pitches). It is a quarter of a mile from end to end. There is space, it turns out, for an awful lot of crap. […]
On my second day, the manager tells us that we alone have picked and packed 155,000 items in the past 24 hours. Tomorrow, 2 December – the busiest online shopping day of the year – that figure will be closer to 450,000. And this is just one of eight warehouses across the country. Amazon took 3.5m orders on a single day last year. Christmas is its Vietnam – a test of its corporate mettle and the kind of challenge that would make even the most experienced distribution supply manager break down and weep. In the past two weeks, it has taken on an extra 15,000 agency staff in Britain. And it expects to double the number of warehouses in Britain in the next three years. It expects to continue the growth that has made it one of the most powerful multinationals on the planet. […]
If Santa had a track record in paying his temporary elves the minimum wage while pushing them to the limits of the EU working time directive, and sacking them if they take three sick breaks in any three-month period, this would be an apt comparison. It is probably reasonable to assume that tax avoidance is not “constitutionally” a part of the Santa business model as Brad Stone, the author of a new book on Amazon, The Everything Store: Jeff Bezos and the Age of Amazon, tells me it is in Amazon’s case. Neither does Santa attempt to bully his competitors, as Mark Constantine, the founder of Lush cosmetics, who last week took Amazon to the high court, accuses it of doing. Santa was not called before the Commons public accounts committee and called “immoral” by MPs. […]
Because Amazon is the future of shopping; being an Amazon “associate” in an Amazon “fulfilment centre” – take that for doublespeak, Mr Orwell – is the future of work; and Amazon’s payment of minimal tax in any jurisdiction is the future of global business. A future in which multinational corporations wield more power than governments. […]
"They dangle those blue badges in front of you," says Bill Woolcock, an ex-employee at Amazon’s fulfilment centre in Rugeley, Staffordshire. "If you have a blue badge you have better wages, proper rights. You can be working alongside someone in the same job, but they’re stable and you’re just cannon fodder. I worked there from September 2011 to February 2012 and on Christmas Eve an agency rep with a clipboard stood by the exit and said: ‘You’re back after Christmas. And you’re back. And you’re not. You’re not.’ It was just brutal. It reminded me of stories about the great depression, where men would stand at the factory gate in the hope of being selected for a few days’ labour. You just feel you have no personal value at all." […]
It’s taxes, of course, that pay for the roads on which Amazon’s delivery trucks drive, and the schools in which its employees are educated, and the hospitals in which their babies are born and their arteries are patched up, and in which, one day, they may be nursed in their dying days. Taxes that all its workers pay, and that, it emerged in 2012, it tends not to pay. On UK sales of £4.2bn in 2012, it paid £3.2m in corporation tax. In 2006, it transferred its UK business to Luxembourg and reclassified its UK operation as simply “order fulfilment” business. The Luxembourg office employs 380 people. The UK operation employs 21,000. You do the math. […]
"It’s a form of piracy capitalism. They rush into people’s countries, they take the money out, and they dump it in some port of convenience. That’s not a business in any traditional sense. It’s an ugly return to a form of exploitative capitalism that we had a century ago and we decided as a society to move on from." […]
It’s a mirror image of what is happening on the shop floor. Just as Amazon has eroded 200 years’ worth of workers’ rights through its use of agencies and rendered a large swath of its workers powerless, so it has pulled off the same trick with corporate responsibility. MPs like to slag off Amazon and Starbucks and Google for not paying their taxes but they’ve yet to actually create the legislation that would compel them to do so.
For all the nasty corporate influence, excessive sponsorship deals, gross product placement garbage, and general ‘selling of ones cool’ that is happening right now in the music press, I cannot, for the life of me, figure out why one would focus the brunt of those complaints on a handful of young female writers who primarily cover diy punk and indie bands that tend to be feminist or at least female-fronted, while simultaneously playing bro-dad to their male counterparts.
As far as I’m concerned, this is all that needs to be said about any of this.
I literally need this all to be over
"White woman does terrible rendition of Japanese fashion and does it better than actual Japanese people" like literally title it what you mean and what the article is about omfg
Also I would like to note that Kyary is not known for being “ridiculous” she’s known for bright, cute styles and being very fun and quirky. I feel like they’re trying to say” The Asian Lady Gaga isn’t as crazy as the real Lady Gaga, but at least she tried right? Lol!”
fuck outta here
And then that “definition” of kawaii like who wrote this? a 2006 naruto die hard? wtf. “kawaii’d out of her mind” “kawaii was the type of cute Lady Gaga was bringing with this outfit” what
so many things wrong here i cannot I CANNOT
kyary looks so uncomfortable and unhappy
The look is “It’s 2004, just got a copy of FRUiTS and I’m trying to make do with the weirdest shit I could find at Kohl’s”
YOU (CLAP) ARE (CLAP) PAYING (CLAP) YOUR STYLISTS (CLAP) TOO MUCH (CLAP) FOR THIS SHIT
Lady Gaga’s looking like one of those assholes how just shows up at school one day ending all their sentences with “desu.”
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