February 17, 2014 § Leave a comment
Mary Beard opens her recent London Review of Books essay on the public voice of women –or lack thereof– by beginning at the beginning, or very close to the beginning, specifically the Odyssey. She describes an incident in which Telemachus, Odysseus and Penelope’s son, tells his mother to shut up and go upstairs to make crafts or sing or something because “speech will be the business of men, all men, and of me most of all; for mine is the power in this household.” As Beard explains:
There is something faintly ridiculous about this wet-behind-the-ears lad shutting up the savvy, middle-aged Penelope. But it’s a nice demonstration that right where written evidence for Western culture starts, women’s voices are not being heard in the public sphere; more than that, as Homer has it, an integral part of growing up, as a man, is learning to take control of public utterance and to silence the female of the species. The actual words Telemachus uses are significant too. When he says ‘speech’ is ‘men’s business’, the word is muthos – not in the sense that it has come down to us of ‘myth’. In Homeric Greek it signals authoritative public speech (not the kind of chatting, prattling or gossip that anyone – women included, or especially women – could do).
November 25, 2013 § 1 Comment
As it turns out, having a real job takes some getting used to. I really like it –the work is consistent, I like the schedule, and what I’m working on is interesting– but there are certain things that feel a bit strange, like “remembering to clock in” and “not bringing the work home with me.” Apparently there are laws in place that protect me from overworking, and require that I am in fact compensated for my labor. Which is weird because I’m an academic; I’m not supposed to get paid for the things I do! I’m supposed to volunteer my time and energy because doing things for others, for free, will be “good for my career,” someday. Over time, I suppose I will get used to drawing a regular paycheck, and not being exploited. But that doesn’t mean I won’t feel weird and somewhat guilty (!) for doing so. (what has the academic world DONE to me??)
I am, in other news, pushing forward on my Here Comes Honey Boo Boo chapter, which I’m submitting to an edited volume on antifans and haters. This weekend I provided a fuller AN HISTORICAL account of TLC’s exploitainment lineup, and sniffed around for representative .gifs illustrating the ambiguous wait-are-you-laughing-at-or-laughing-with anti/fan engagement that surrounds the show. Here’s the image I ended up going with, from Tumblr user conversationalconversations:
Anyway It’s been a while since I’ve worked on this chapter, and I’m enjoying myself, especially the part about how I’m pushing against the traditional framing of “antifan,” which is far too rigid for my taste.
ps TEDx talk went great! I will upload as soon as the video is available.
November 14, 2013 § 1 Comment
September 26, 2013 § 3 Comments
Dear book I am still in the process of revising:
I hate you. I have hated you for years. At this point I can’t even remember what I first saw in you. You are abrasive, boring, and you keep me up at night. No matter how much time and energy I give you, you are never satisfied — it’s always one more revision, one more round of restructuring, complete with empty promises about how you’ve changed, and how you really mean it this time. I’ve heard it all before! And yet I keep coming back, hoping against hope that things will be different, and that finally, after all this turmoil, we can just move on with our lives.
I know I’ve said this before, but this really is the last straw. I’ll give you ONE more chance, but only because we have so much history. The tiniest whiff of bullshit and I’m gone, I mean it. I’m just so tired of this.
But I will admit, it’s nice to see you again. I’ve been thinking about you, actually. Pure force of habit I suppose. Different things I should say, little jokes I forgot to tell you the last time we tried to work things out. It’s too bad we keep ending things on such a sour note. I’m not even sure why. I appreciate your politics, you make me laugh, and I like your stories. We’ve had some good times, it’s just that at some point, I don’t know, things maybe got a bit intense. But that won’t happen again. I certainly learned my lesson, and anyway that was all so long ago.
It really is great to see you. I don’t even know what to say. I just — I love you.
With all my heart,
September 16, 2013 § 2 Comments
A few months ago, I wrote an article about fan engagement with so-bad-it’s-good media content. I focused specifically on Troll 2, which is the greatest terrible movie ever made (and is the inspiration for countless tribute videos). Open-access media studies journal Transformative Works and Cultures just published the piece, the full text of which is available here. Here’s a portion of my conclusion:
[4.2] Although proponents of the “so bad it’s good” aesthetic may appear to subvert the hegemonic meaning of a particular text by imposing some new or wholly unintended meaning (Hall  1980)—for example, by laughing at a statement or scene not intended to be comical—they adhere to larger and more pervasive cultural conventions that must remain intact for the subversion to function. In the case of Troll 2, these conventions have to do with the “correct” way to write, produce, cast, edit, and perform in a film. Troll 2‘s scathing critical reviews echo this point, particularly James Kendrick’s (2010) insistence that the film commits “infinite and varied sins against the traits of good cinema.” A person who does not accept these conventions—which ultimately are arbitrary; they could be otherwise, but they are taken to be natural and necessary—would have no reason to laugh at the glorious failure that is Troll 2. There would be nothing to laugh at.
[4.3] Of course, only those who have fully internalized the rules (about filmmaking, about television production, about video game design, about anything else to which these sorts of conventions may be affixed) will be invested in the degree to which they are followed. Not everyone has the access to the requisite materials, education, or time to pursue these types of leisure interests, nor the inclination to care one way or another. In this way, giddy engagement with “so bad it’s good” content is as much an indication of privilege, my own privilege as a white middle-class American academic very much included, as it is an expression of a particular comedic aesthetic. In fact, I would argue that in this case, privilege and kuso are one and the same. You can’t have the latter without a certain degree of the former—a point that brings into sudden political focus the overwhelming whiteness of the fan audiences profiled in Best Worst Movie.
In a later iteration of the project, I ended up connecting kuso stuff to discussions of the New Aesthetic. That exclusive bonus section is after the jump!
June 10, 2013 § Leave a comment
As I mentioned the other day, I’ve written an article for The Daily Dot in which I argue against the phrase “don’t feed the trolls.” The post just went live, so for a good time check it out. Here’s a snippet:
Instead of agreeing not to feed the trolls, thereby accepting the terms of the antagonist’s game, the target should be encouraged to respond with his or her own game—a game called Ruining This Asshole’s Day.
The first and most basic way to play Ruin This Asshole’s Day is to shut them down, ideally by unceremoniously deleting their comments. (This presumes that the target has some control over the posted content, and that the target can keep up with whatever comments, which isn’t always the case and immediately begs a nest of questions about best moderation practices—a conversation for another day.) This shouldn’t be done passively, as an act of acquiescence, but actively, as an exertion of power—specifically the one-two punch of a raised eyebrow and extended middle finger.
Now go read the rest please!