It is this egocentric-ism that becomes offended by these words. They talk themselves into believing that such words are dishonorable because how could anyone dare speak so ill of them? They bury the knowledge that the pain does not come because the words are lies, but because they are actually truth. And it is in this way they continue on through their lives, acutely aware of their misery but still refusing to investigate the true source. Instead, they blame those around them as much as they can, absolving themselves of all responsibility.

This suffering is their penance. It follows them and will continue to follow them until, in some moment of revelation, they realize blaming external sources will never kill the monster in their hearts and minds. They will never become men of happiness until they make amends for the horror they have sewn. It is the rare breed who recognizes this, I’m afraid.

How you recognize such pathetic goblins is through observation of behavior. Sadly, this is the only way to identify them so it is hard to keep them out of your life until the damage is already done. It’s always a tragic realization when you come to know someone as a monster. They will treat you terribly and convince you that it is your fault. This wretched species is doomed to repeat the mistakes of their pasts until they acknowledge their own terribleness (you will recall this is a critical part of many 12 Step programs).  They wrap themselves in their selfish blankets and continue on in life wondering why happiness is always eluding them. They will blame you and do everything in their power to dismantle you.

You cannot let this happen. It is tempting to try and rehabilitate the monster on your own, but this is a therapy that will remain fruitless. This will, in fact, only provide them with more opportunity to destroy you. Often, the best and only thing you can do is cut contact. They will try to apologize furiously when they realize this is the course of your action. False apologies are not to be accepted. True apologies can be considered, but only if they have the critical element: What can I do to make it better? Anything that lacks an offer of amends can only be a continuation of the parasitical behavior. A monster can only help itself, and the only true marker of this stretch for change is the true and complete apology and a cease & desist of tyrannical behavior.

Because Riese over at Autostraddle wrote the most amazing takedown of Taylor Swift and the Grammys. That’s how. And oh boy, it touches on virgin/whore complexes, and copycat songwriting, and the perpetually perceived purity of childhood. And she’s got awesome charts and awesome comparison pictures between Taylor Swift and Lady Gaga, and has quotes like this:

Let’s bring it back around to the lady that obvs should’ve won: Lady Fucking Gaga. Lady Gaga is viscous hungry sex in hellfire. She’s more theatrical than Broadway and every night she sings in romantic open fists. Lady Gaga opens her dress, extracts her gut, assembles it in shapes splashed in sinister glitter and then shatters her dangerous violent diamonds onto the piano and screams FIRE and it sounds like bad romance. She wants your ugly, she wants your disease, and she’s everything Taylor Swift will never be. Punks don’t win awards, they eat awards.

Yeah. I don’t need to talk about the Super Bowl. Or anything else. Just go read it.

The only problem is I never finished it.

Some books have that problem with me: I just can’t get them read. American Gods is a book I’ve started at least a dozen times and as much as I love reading the first 100 pages, something always comes up and I can’t finish it.  With The Beauty Myth, life happened. A series of catastrophic events in early 2008 left me unable to do much else but cry and feel sorry for myself.  I had read what I needed for the paper with the intention to finish it at my leisure during the following semester. It has languished on my shelf ever since.

No more. While generally I would say I have never bought into the monolithic beauty myth, I think I am at a point in my life where I need to read it again (and actually finish it). It’s an important text and it will be good for me and the goals I am working toward right now. The whole strong woman thing.  And, in general, I need some non-textbook reading to happen in my life.

My subjects are only five and six years old, and they have no idea that the interactions they have today will, in many ways, affect who they will become for the rest of their lives.  My inner anthropologist has reared its head and I can’t help but notice the subtle interactions of social hierarchy that my kindergartners display.  They are in an awkward position: they know nothing about what social power means, but somewhere deep in their subconscious, they know they want it.

Already conspicuous consumption is a big part of their lives.  It’s never more apparent than on Halloween.  It makes me cringe to see them so young already deciding what’s cool and what’s not and forming opinions of their peers based on this.  Especially when none of them really understand what it means to be Michael Jackson when they decide it’s not the hip thing.  It hurts me greatest when I realize I’m the most prized possession of all.

I am not a teacher and our kids know that.  Since it’s hard to explain to students so young what exactly I am and why, they just know me as my buddy’s special adult friend.  They know he is different, but they do not really understand why, nor why it demands so much attention from an adult.  They’re still young enough that they don’t see the ability gap.  They know he is different because we say he is, and because he doesn’t talk often and has so much modified furniture to help his tiny frame fit.  Bless them, they do not hold it against him.

They volley for my attention.  They ask me questions about lots of things, more so than our teacher.  I think they feel more comfortable asking me the random questions since I sit at tables with them, and am with them during carpet time.  I occupy this strange in-between place.  Not teacher, not student, but someone who acts as both depending on the situation.  And that is where my own status endowment comes in: I’m the coolest of the students because I’m not a student.

I don’t know how to deal with this.  My Classroom Dynamics class is also on the topic of social status and the influences it has on the classroom.  I made a status map of our classroom.  It broke my heart how easily I placed some at the top and some at the bottom.  They don’t know how in a few years time, the opinions they have formed of each other will determine everything about their school life.  They don’t know just how important being part of a clique will be.

I can’t stop it.  I can only help it by, somewhat uncomfortably, giving what power I can to the students on the bottom of my list.