Jekyll2023-11-27T17:02:15+00:00https://www.wiks.wiki/feed.xmlwiks.wikiThe public, practical, personal, and political journal of your favorite high IQ bitty.Jaded Hearts & Shattered Mirrors2023-05-04T21:46:02+00:002023-05-04T21:46:02+00:00https://www.wiks.wiki/self-care/2023/05/04/jaded-heart<p>I enjoy people-watching. I’m jaded right now and feel bored just because I’ve realized (or maybe remembered) that every story seems the same when you look at it from a distance. Every story has a beginning, middle, and end. Stepping back far enough from anything at all, the details become fuzzy. But even though we’re clearly not that special or interesting, we’re still so obsessed with ourselves. When I watch people go by, I’ve seen far too many of them be absolutely captivated by every opportunity to stare at their own image. Walking past the slightest reflective surface, they can’t help but stare. At least it’s not as bad as walking down the street taking pouty selfies… I mean, I’m not against taking selfies because I do see the value in capturing the memories you experience even when you’re alone, but— and maybe this is just my boredom and jaded heart speaking— but your face shouldn’t be as interesting as your soul and mind.<!-- more --></p>
<p>This past week has been tough, and I’ve been reflecting a lot on vanity. People go to extreme lengths to become beautiful. It’s been said that narcissism stems from insecurity, so the beautiful people who are overly obsessed with their appearance must be particularly insecure. The people who demand constant external approval are afraid to admit to themselves the less-than-relative relativistic truth that they are beautiful. Hence, they seek it from external sources, constantly, from others. Sorry, some truths are truer than others. Clearly, you can tell that my heart is jaded— I like the thought of a heart-shaped jade rock. It’s dark green (which I like), shiny, and reflective. It’s ironic that I find a reflective surface appealing, considering that this essay is about my dislike for such surfaces. However, I imagine that the surface of this jaded heart distorts the reflection and doesn’t show the true image. This is true for almost any mirror, as our own perceptions can distort even the most honest reflections— At least the jaded heart is honest about it. There’s no pretending that it presents an objective truth.</p>
<p>While obviously taking selfies for the sake of vanity doesn’t necessarily mean you’re a boring person, considering that I know I definitely have engaged in that activity a fair bit in the past but have somehow largely grown past it, choosing to take every opportunity to gaze at your reflection when walking both shows a kind of disinterest in where you’re going and where you are. Taking selfies slows down the pace of a walk, so the end goal must not be that urgent. Though, as my friends would tell you, I do love long, aimless, meandering walks. I indulge in them not because I’m too busy staring at myself, but because I want to stop and smell the roses. While I clearly feel disillusioned with individuals, people collectively have their own mystical ebb and flow that I don’t really understand and therefore find fascinating. The surroundings I’m in always have their own beauty as I find myself moving through what is essentially always a liminal space.</p>
<p>Let’s acknowledge that there’s a powerful line between confidence and vanity. I’ve been accused of being vain more than once; however, at this point in time, I think I’m just self-assured. To be clear, I’m talking about aesthetic vanity in this regard— specifically the kind of vanity that Narcissus indulged when he gazed into his reflection in the pond for so long, he turned into the flower that would later bear his name. I don’t find my reflection all that interesting (unless I’m under the influence of some vice), but the external validation I have received over the course of many, many circumstances and environments has solidified the belief in me that I am beautiful. It is more reasonable to believe that the statement is true than not. And yet, I strongly feel compelled to ensure that I am more than the sum of my physical parts. I do remember that being a major message in one of my favorite young adult novels from when I was a girl growing into my womanly body, but that’s beside the point.</p>I enjoy people-watching. I’m jaded right now and feel bored just because I’ve realized (or maybe remembered) that every story seems the same when you look at it from a distance. Every story has a beginning, middle, and end. Stepping back far enough from anything at all, the details become fuzzy. But even though we’re clearly not that special or interesting, we’re still so obsessed with ourselves. When I watch people go by, I’ve seen far too many of them be absolutely captivated by every opportunity to stare at their own image. Walking past the slightest reflective surface, they can’t help but stare. At least it’s not as bad as walking down the street taking pouty selfies… I mean, I’m not against taking selfies because I do see the value in capturing the memories you experience even when you’re alone, but— and maybe this is just my boredom and jaded heart speaking— but your face shouldn’t be as interesting as your soul and mind.For Nikolai2023-03-22T19:27:02+00:002023-03-22T19:27:02+00:00https://www.wiks.wiki/contact/2023/03/22/for-nikolai<p>Nikolai Muchegian died in November 2022. I didn’t know he had died until five months after it had happened, actually. I just thought he didn’t want to talk to me anymore. He and I <a href="/images/nik/photos.PNG" target="_blank">don’t have any pictures</a> of us together, but he was an important part of my life and my growth since <a href="/images/nik/04-01-2020.jpeg" target="_blank">the moment I met him</a>. I guess I’m writing this essay as a recording of my memories, to supplement the missing photos. His death was a shock to me, and I suppose that this essay is some sort of eulogy. I’ve never lost somebody like this before, and it is… uncomfortable at best, and terrifying at worst. I wish I could’ve gone to the funeral or even knew where he was buried. But I don’t, and so I cope.<!-- more --></p>
<p>He Superliked me on Tinder during the summer of 2019— that’s where we met. His profile said that he only used Superlikes for stewardesses, and I pointed out to him that I’m most certainly not a stewardess. We chatted and exchanged Instagram handles. At the time, I was a marketing intern at a small jewelry company. I don’t know what he was doing. He was involved with and thinking about Anton’s Dumplings, at the very least. He was definitely not a big fan of Anton himself, from what I remember. He always seemed paranoid about somebody being out to get him, whether it was Anton or anybody else. I remember that he was also making the Balancer logo at that time— I wasn’t sure what it was for but told him it just looked like a smooshed snowman. Over Instagram, while he wouldn’t say much, he’d often ask for pictures of me and from my day— while superficial in some respects, caring enough to see pics from my day was sweet in its own way. It makes sense, though— I was just a pretty girl on the Internet. He once described me as the fairy that lives in his phone. He eventually started properly telling me about his thoughts and ideas, and somehow or another, we ended up genuinely writing to each other a lot, and often. I remember that the first time we ever met in person, he picked me up from my neighborhood in his car— it was that silly Tesla that coaxed me into coming out. He messaged me, asking me if I had ever been in a Tesla, and I said no. He eventually ended up picking me up and we listened to music in his car as we drove into deep Brooklyn. It was really funny to me that when he first pulled up, he stepped out of his car to say hello and I immediately went, “Why are you getting out of the car? We’re going to the beach!” as I pulled open the passenger door and hopped in. I guess I trusted him, or at the very least, liked him enough to not mind being murdered by him.</p>
<p>I think he once introduced me to his friend Kevin briefly. I don’t remember much about Kevin other than that he had an oddly shaped head and was staying with Nikolai at the time. This friend also used my photos to catfish people on Tinder at one point— I remember that much. I even had a friend on the west coast text me at one point, asking me if I was going by a pseudonym on Tinder in California! Nope, it’s just some man LARPing as a pretty blonde girl. I do wish I got to meet some of Nikolai’s other friends. Now that he’s gone, I don’t even have anybody with whom I could talk about how fantastic he was. However silly it sounds, I find myself connecting to some of the “sources” who described Nikolai in the articles about his death.</p>
<p>Nikolai was smart and loved what he did. And not in a selfish way, but in a passionate, warm way. He had the kind of affection for and knowledge of computer science that I’m only now beginning to <a href="/images/nik/specialize.PNG" target="_blank">understand</a> and resonate with. But I am now unbelievably grateful that he saw my desire to learn years ago and decided to indulge it— he nudged me here and there when I needed it, and without him, I don’t think I’d be where I am now. That summer we met, I told him that I wanted to code my own blog, and he said I could if I put my mind to it. I’m not sure if I’d describe it as him having held my hand through the process, but he was certainly there for me when I needed a nudge here and there. He pointed me to Github Pages and to Jekyll, and that was more than enough to get me started. And now here I am, having finished my computer science major at a prestigious college in record time and now working as a software engineer in the fintech industry. Nikolai would even take time out of his busy day to help me with my <a href="/images/nik/hw.PNG" target="_blank">homework</a> sometimes once I started taking the classes. The man often talked about magic and being a computer wizard— and at first, I thought he was being just silly and trying to entertain himself, but considering everything I’ve learned about science and engineering and computers in the past two years, largely inspired by him, I’ve realized that he had a point. I like to think of the Heisenberg quote, “The first gulp from the glass of natural sciences will turn you into an atheist, but at the bottom of the glass God is waiting for you.” It honestly reinspired my dedication to God.</p>
<p>I seldom feel particularly understood, accepted, or heard by… well, anybody. I don’t think Nikolai and I were necessarily kindred souls— or maybe we were— but if we were, maybe then we would’ve worked out better as a couple— or maybe by nature of being kindred souls, <a href="/images/nik/dream.jpeg" target="_blank">we never could’ve worked out</a>— but he made me feel much more normal in my own head. And now that he’s <a href="/images/nik/favorite.PNG" target="_blank">gone</a>, I’m becoming quite sober to the fact that I cannot fathom anybody ever being able to replace his presence in my life. Like me, he was chronically online. Probably more, considering that when we were closest, I was still in college and didn’t have the flexibility or mind space to necessarily indulge in the kind of lurking and shitposting he indulged. But he was funny and charming, at least over text. In person, though, I could always tell he had so much on his mind. The gears in his mind were nearly always churning quite loudly and I guess it sometimes made it hard for him to connect with me in person the way we did over the phone. That intensity honestly resonated with me but also made me worry sometimes about him. There’s a mental toll on maintaining such heavy trains of thought for days or weeks or months on end. But our shared autism, obsessive tendencies, and lack of a filter made me feel like he and I were maybe birds of a feather.</p>
<p>That summer with him was fun, and he later told me that I had helped him at an especially low point in his life. I feel deeply happy about that since it clearly meant a lot to me as well. I ended up going back to school, but we kept in touch. He and I spoke and texted a lot during <a href="/images/nik/quarantine.PNG" target="_blank">quarantine</a>. I suppose that when lockdowns were enforced, and only our online avatars were the ones capable of socializing and we weren’t limited by geography or physicality, he and I ended up wanting to provide for each other the virtual company and the mental stimulus that only another human being impart. It was sweet. He was really <a href="/images/nik/comforting.jpeg" target="_blank">sweet</a> to me then— I still have our text conversations on my old phone from that time. I saw him a couple more times throughout the years and they were fun— with him living in Florida, and then later in Puerto Rico, there weren’t many opportunities to see him. He often invited me down to his new place on the island, but for some reason or another, typically related to my family, I always said no.</p>
<p>We’d still call and chat sometimes in the past year or two. I remember us getting on the phone and we’d talk. At one point I could hear that he was outside, and I asked him where he was going. He told me he was outside on a stroll— the ocean was only a 20-minute walk from his house. He asked if I could hear the ocean in the background, and I don’t remember if I could. He was living in Puerto Rico for more than a year at that point, and he told me about how obvious it was that the beach was getting smaller as the months went by due to rising sea levels. Later hearing that he got taken away by the riptide broke my heart and felt all too real. He was a confident guy and I wouldn’t have been surprised if he walked too close to the edge of the beach and overestimated how safe he was at the point where the sand met the ocean.</p>
<p>The last thing he sent me was a series of texts— one of which was a photo of a Lego set he made. He wrote that he liked the <a href="/images/nik/symbolofcreativity.png" target="_blank">symbol of creativity</a>. I’m not really sure what he meant by that, but it was about 12 days before his body was found on the shore of San Juan. It worries me that in the picture he sent me, there was a little Lego figurine in the river of the tree he had made. I even asked about it when he sent the picture to me, but he never responded. I’m not sure why. I just assumed he was busy. By that point, it seemed like he was fairly on-and-off with his ex-girlfriend and I worry that he got caught up with the sort of people on the island and sorts of ideas regarding his lifestyle that weren’t good for his mental health. It makes me wish I could’ve been there for him more.</p>
<p>I messaged him again in November, trying to see what he was up to, and see how he was doing. Again, he didn’t respond— and note that I typically describe myself as an angry girl; I’ve certainly got a temper. Due to the lack of a response, I decided that he must’ve not cared about me anymore and that he was done with our friendship. I felt hurt— and this sort of thing from men typically doesn’t phase me, but this time it did. I deleted our chat from my phone; with the context of time, I now recognize that this shows how much I actually care about him, regardless of whether or not I was willing to acknowledge it at the time. And now I know that he’s just gone and couldn’t have gotten back to me even if he wanted.</p>
<p>I’m mad because I find most people disposable, but Nikolai wasn’t. I think the world— or at least I— needed him and his charm and intellect and personality, and it’s so deeply unfair that he’s gone now. Nikolai shaped me as a person and was the cause of <a href="/images/nik/mentor.PNG" target="_blank">the first spark</a> that inspired my love for computer science. The terms “a fun fuck” and “mindshare” are forever in my vocabulary due to his use of them, and his ambition rubbed off on me, and because of him, I discovered a deep appreciation for geeky graphic tees. I so deeply hoped that maybe he and I could go on more adventures in life, or at least vicariously live through each other. It was a life cut short. There was still so much to do… But God decided that this was the way it was meant to be, and so it is. In the worst moments of mourning, I’m afraid that I’ll end up getting caught up by the ocean too. I keep bouncing between different stages of grief, but I know that in the end, there’s nothing for me to do but to feel grateful to have ever gotten the opportunity to meet him and adore him in the first place. And maybe write an essay about how much I miss him.</p>Nikolai Muchegian died in November 2022. I didn’t know he had died until five months after it had happened, actually. I just thought he didn’t want to talk to me anymore. He and I don’t have any pictures of us together, but he was an important part of my life and my growth since the moment I met him. I guess I’m writing this essay as a recording of my memories, to supplement the missing photos. His death was a shock to me, and I suppose that this essay is some sort of eulogy. I’ve never lost somebody like this before, and it is… uncomfortable at best, and terrifying at worst. I wish I could’ve gone to the funeral or even knew where he was buried. But I don’t, and so I cope.Love’s Labyrinth2023-01-23T21:46:02+00:002023-01-23T21:46:02+00:00https://www.wiks.wiki/sweet-lovin/2023/01/23/pachinko<p>There’s a distinction between complicated and complex in the context of the English language; complicated things carry the heavy implication of difficulty, while complex things do not. Interestingly, the opposite seems to be implied in the world of engineering. Complicated systems with complicated problems are predictable, while complex systems with complex problems are not. Understanding romantic relationships and how they form is both complicated and complex, in every sense of the word. I think this process can be likened to creating a <a target="_blank" href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Topic_model">topic model</a>– extract latent themes and connections between individuals, and uncover the underlying structure of our interactions and emotions.<!-- more --></p>
<p>One perspective on dating and relationships posits that while women hold the keys to sex, men hold the keys to relationships. According to this view, both genders hold these keys hostage until they get what they want from a single person. However, it’s worth noting that this perspective doesn’t account for homosexual relationships and overlooks that some women are actively disinterested in relationships, or some men may lack sex drives. Therefore, this discussion is focused on populations not falling into any of these three categories.</p>
<p>From a high level, dating comprises two major components: personal and sexual compatibility. These components are complex, encompassing a wide variety of traits, but I’m abstracting them away for now, because distilling complex personalities and desires into smaller, manageable categories will allow us to navigate the dating landscape with a clearer focus. Let’s assume that when both, personal and sexual components are satisfied, a relationship can be considered stable. It doesn’t matter whether these conditions are consistently satisfied; what matters is that they <a target="_blank" href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Logic_level#Logic_voltage_levels">average out enough</a> to yield a stable relationship, or more accurately– a lack of breakup. However, this doesn’t account for the fact that in a Society, people interact with and consider others as potential partners even when they are already in a relationship. This concept is akin to an unsolved problem in computer science known as <a target="_blank" href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Stable_marriage_problem">the stable marriage problem</a>. While the optimal algorithm for this problem hasn’t been found yet, in practice, people still navigate their way into healthy, lasting relationships— it’s just a matter of figuring out how. Much like the <a target="_blank" href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Central_limit_theorem">central limit theorem</a>, where random variables converge to a normal distribution, the diversity of individuals in the dating pool can lead to surprisingly consistent patterns in human attraction and behavior. This theorem reminds us that even amidst the chaos of dating, certain trends prevail.</p>
<p>As we delve deeper into the complexities of the dating landscape, it’s worth considering the <a target="_blank" href="https://medium.com/@worstonlinedater/tinder-experiments-ii-guys-unless-you-are-really-hot-you-are-probably-better-off-not-wasting-your-2ddf370a6e9a">80-20 rule of online dating</a>, which suggests that the top 80% of female attention often goes to the top 20% of men. However, whether this rule holds in the real world is a topic of debate. This discrepancy could be due to a combination of <a target="_blank" href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Response_bias">response</a> and <a target="_blank" href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Selection_bias">selection bias</a> present in the data collected from dating apps. But considering the widespread rise of the manosphere, it’s evident that many males feel that the real-life dating market does not favor them. These men are left with whatever sexual scraps they can get. And for <a target="_blank" href="https://incels.wiki/w/Chad">those men of that certain powerful tier</a>, having a girlfriend is simply a choice; these are the men who don’t find it hard to find a cheap hookup. These are the men that are so attractive, girls find it fun and hot to give themselves up to these guys for even just a single evening– a risky behavior, no matter how you spin it. Consequently, these boys and men have lots of sex keys at their disposal– and sometimes, somehow, they manage to break out of their cycle of solitude and meaningless rutting, and decide that they want a girlfriend. But that doesn’t mean he’s ready for one or that this will yield a successful relationship. Sometimes, what appears perfect on the surface isn’t.</p>
<p>The devil’s in the details, and I think approaching dating with flexible precision is beneficial. By this, I mean that knowing what you want and what you need is a strong aid to finding a partner, and not just merely an attractive person to have casual sex with. I mean, if that’s what you’re looking for, all the power to you. I totally see the appeal; sex is fun. I’m fully convinced that misogyny is still present in full force, though, and I truly hate being treated exclusively like an object. Obviously, I enjoy objectifying myself (because what woman doesn’t enjoy dressing up and being admired?), but that should be noted separately from my humanity. I’d compare it to <a target="_blank" href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Suspension_of_disbelief">the suspension of disbelief</a> during a movie. But that doesn’t mean I want to be treated like an object. Objects don’t make good significant others. And I sure would appreciate having a genuine partner-in-crime with whom I feel truly in step. We navigate through a maze of choices, hoping to align our goals and desires with someone who shares our trajectory, all while contending with an element of chance— think <a target="_blank" href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pachinko">Pachinko</a>.</p>
<p>“You don’t have to do that,” he says. I know I don’t, honey. But I’m not going to be sticking around for long if you don’t let me. Consider that I clearly want to stick around, considering that I’m doing it in the first place.</p>There’s a distinction between complicated and complex in the context of the English language; complicated things carry the heavy implication of difficulty, while complex things do not. Interestingly, the opposite seems to be implied in the world of engineering. Complicated systems with complicated problems are predictable, while complex systems with complex problems are not. Understanding romantic relationships and how they form is both complicated and complex, in every sense of the word. I think this process can be likened to creating a topic model– extract latent themes and connections between individuals, and uncover the underlying structure of our interactions and emotions.Sunny and 75: Spring Break 20222022-03-22T19:27:02+00:002022-03-22T19:27:02+00:00https://www.wiks.wiki/self-care/2022/03/22/flying-to-cabo<p>I’ve never been to a place where it’s warm all the time. I’ve also never been on a vacation by choice, up until now. It had always been family vacations where I had no control over where we went and what we did; typically, we either ended up in Bumblefuck, Poland or somewhere in upstate New York. I didn’t really think I could afford a tropical vacation by myself but then I realized that my workaholic self actually made money during that internship I did last summer, and I remembered that money is earned to be spent. I’m glad I had a friend with whom I could go— if it wasn’t for her nudging, I doubt that I would’ve found the bravery to ever leave my basement. Spring break is such a major milestone of every college experience, and as a senior, it’s about time I literally choose to broaden my horizons.<!-- more --></p>
<p>But apparently for those born with money, whose parents dragged them all over the world to a variety of tropical locations for family vacations ever since they were born, I suppose it gets repetitive; a certain apathy sets in when you realize that the tropical sunset stars the same sun every time. Regarding my spring break plans, one classmate of mine rather apathetically said, “Oh, Cabo’s nice.” I’ve never been, though, so I can’t speak to it, but the Weather app on my phone tells me it’s going to be <a href="https://youtu.be/hZwVvwp8i-M" target="_blank">Sunny and 75</a> all week. I can’t wait.</p>
<p>While vacation is meant to be a time to relax and lounge about, I can’t just do that. I just get apathetic and bored. I love my hobbies too much. I love genuine experience too much. I enjoy seizing life by the balls too much to just watch it go by, and so I brought a sketchbook and pencils with me, and I’m already writing this essay on the plane. I haven’t slept much these past few days, just because I still had last-minute assignments to complete but I also knew that I’d only get two days in New York City before we left for Cabo. Sure, I basically prolonged my school-related strife by taking two late days for an assignment, but I knew I’d rather spend my time enjoying the city instead of finishing a silly problem set. Wow, that’s called Senioritis. I can’t really sleep on the plane, either, because I think I’m just far too excited. Also, these engines sure are loud.</p>
<p>One of my professors literally told me that the rest of the academic year after Spring Break doesn’t really exist— I personally never felt that way, but I’ve never had a real Spring Break and I’ve never been a senior at college, so maybe I don’t know any better. I do see a change in my peers’ attitudes as the end of the school year approaches. The friendships that I have with people with whom I’ve been butting heads recently just doesn’t seem to phase me much, and it seems like they can’t be bothered to egg on the conflict either. Better to end on a happy note or something, right? Or maybe we both have better places to put in our energy recently. Regarding my relationships with the men in my year on campus, they suddenly seem to be treating me with much more respect than they did years ago— I can’t tell if it’s because I’m looking and doing better, or if it’s because they’re realizing that they’re running out of time if they ever want to get to know me.</p>
<p>One guy who I had been crushing on years ago told me quite honestly and off-handily at a party that I was one of the most interesting people that he had ever met, but considering how much of a compliment that is, I pushed back, asking if he was sure. Remembering who he was speaking to, he vaguely retracted the statement by telling me that I was one of the most interesting people he had ever met specifically on campus. Giving somebody everything they want right from the get-go isn’t ever really the smartest tactic— I’d know. If only he hadn’t slept with a good friend of mine the weekend before, either.</p>I’ve never been to a place where it’s warm all the time. I’ve also never been on a vacation by choice, up until now. It had always been family vacations where I had no control over where we went and what we did; typically, we either ended up in Bumblefuck, Poland or somewhere in upstate New York. I didn’t really think I could afford a tropical vacation by myself but then I realized that my workaholic self actually made money during that internship I did last summer, and I remembered that money is earned to be spent. I’m glad I had a friend with whom I could go— if it wasn’t for her nudging, I doubt that I would’ve found the bravery to ever leave my basement. Spring break is such a major milestone of every college experience, and as a senior, it’s about time I literally choose to broaden my horizons.Nightmare on Park Street2021-10-30T05:27:02+00:002021-10-30T05:27:02+00:00https://www.wiks.wiki/self-care/2021/10/30/nightmare-on-park-street<p>I like Nancy from <a href="https://www.imdb.com/title/tt0087800/" target="_blank">Nightmare On Elm Street (1984)</a>. She’s sweet and yet strong; she’s characterized by bravery. Her character arc resonates with mine, I think. Freddy Kruger haunting the dreams of her and her friends makes me think of how I’ve been struggling with sleep recently, mostly just because of the day-to-day anxieties of being a college student and the typical wandering thoughts of a young woman who spends too much time alone.
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<p>I like how emotional the film is. Nancy is attacked by Freddy when she falls asleep in class, and she burns her own arm on a hot pipe in the dream in order to wake herself up. I’ve accidentally burned myself on a hot pipe too, drunk and high in a former frat house. My burn wasn’t on purpose, though. Nancy’s kind of self-inflicted pain is clear and intentional, meant to help her escape her nightmare and save herself from Freddy’s grasp, practically speaking. People only do what they want. She wakes up, screaming, rushes out of class, and stands outside the school. She weeps outside in the sunshine and the colors look so bright; the nightmare sequences are so blue and so dark and make the waking hours look so bright by comparison. I love the use of color in the film. Why did Nancy wear a bright blue, polka-dot dress to Rod’s funeral? It just doesn’t make sense, but it’s so noticeable. I dream a lot, and the clarity of sunny autumn mornings makes me forget most nightmares; I’m too focused on the changing colors of the leaves in the Berkshires.</p>
<p>The film is largely about motherhood, and the potential inadequacies of a maternal figure: <a href="https://youtu.be/aGJffa_6lu0?t=47" target="_blank">Nancy’s mother tries to offer her warm milk</a> early on in the movie, to which, Nancy says, “Gross.” I guess she just doesn’t like milk. Her mother’s a much bigger fan of alcohol as her drink of choice, anyway. Her mother also wakes up in the middle of the night to Nancy’s screaming (due to Freddy’s attacks in her dream) and insists that she could always call for her if she’s needed. And yet, instead of turning to her mother for help, Nancy asks her boyfriend, Glen (who is played by <a href="https://youtu.be/bH-JQkwt9j0" target="_blank">a young Johnny Depp</a>), to watch her as she sleeps and to wake her up if she appears to be having a nightmare; he fails to do so, falling asleep himself. The first victim of Freddy’s during the duration of the film is Tina, Nancy’s best friend, who comes from a broken home. Her mother’s away on a trip to Las Vegas with a boyfriend when Tina is murdered.</p>
<p>Maybe this is supposed to be about the strife of womanhood in general, considering the focus on women in the movie, and a motif of man’s helplessness. Of course, like any 80s horror film, the 15-year-old girl who partakes in pre-marital sex is murdered at the very beginning of the movie. I’m referring to Tina here. The bad boy with whom she had sex, Rod, dies as well, murdered by Freddy in prison, but made to look like a suicide. Nancy is also attacked by Freddy when <a href="https://youtu.be/aGJffa_6lu0?t=30" target="_blank">she’s in the bath, reaching up from the water, in between her legs</a>. He drags her into the apparent depths of the bathtub, <a href="https://youtu.be/aGJffa_6lu0?t=81" target="_blank">and she struggles to fight him off and return to the surface</a>. The emotion is poignant and resonates with me for some reason. Later, the camera spends one too many seconds panning over Nancy’s back as she undresses to change into her pajamas. <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wNEUbQ3T7tM" target="_blank">The phone scene</a> is notable as well, when Freddy calls Nancy on a phone that’s disconnected, claims that he’s her boyfriend now, and the phone receiver turns into a mouth that licks her lips. She drops the phone and stomps all over it.</p>
<p>Mother’s still untrustworthy, though. After Rod’s death, <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2Q1DSA1Iy4g" target="_blank">Nancy’s mother sends her to a dream clinic</a>, telling her to “Trust us.” And so, Nancy does, to no avail. She sleeps, but this time, she brings back Freddy’s hat from her dream, and still, her mother asks her to “Trust [her] for once” and to forget about it. Eventually, Nancy’s told by her mother that Nancy’s destiny is to face things, but reminds her that it’s important to turn away sometimes. I still think that people mostly just do what they want.</p>
<p>Due to the stress of Freddy’s hauntings, Nancy ages over the course of the movie. Her skin dries out, and her hair starts to grey. Her own mom smokes and drinks to cope with her own stresses, clearly; her eye bags are deep and her makeup is caked on. Her hair is bottle bleach blonde, and it turns out that she herself was part of a murderous gang of parents that had killed Freddy Kruger years ago when they discovered that he was a child murderer that escaped the police due to a mishap in paperwork. Nancy’s father is a policeman, ironically enough.
Nancy prepares to deal with her enemy: she sets up Home Alone-style traps and decides to bring Freddy with her into the real world. She warns her father repeatedly of Freddy and tells him that he’s the one that has been murdering all her friends. I can’t help but wonder why her friends are roped into the situation; regardless, her father doesn’t believe her. They all, including Glen (her boyfriend before his tragic passing at the hands of Freddy), think that she’s “nutty as a fruitcake”.</p>
<p>Her plan works; Freddy’s in the real world. A <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ik9zwQnjoyw" target="_blank">dramatic, action-packed sequence ensues</a>, and Nancy bashes out the windows of her house and cries out to the policemen across the street investigating Glen’s murder, demanding help. Nobody believes her claims for help, but she keeps trying. You’d think that she could just run out of the house, but her mother had locked all the doors and put grates over all the windows; the reason why is uncertain, but we can just label it as “a mother’s love”. She breaks three windows before anybody believes her, and then her father arrives at the scene.</p>
<p>During the dramatic chase, Nancy had set Freddy on fire in the basement. It appeared that that was the end of Freddy, but that assumption is wrong. He had survived and climbed the stairs to the bedroom of Nancy’s mother, and Nancy and her father walk in just in time to see Freddy smothering the mother to death, and then dragging her into a deep, dark hole that Freddy had manifested. He tries to come back, but Nancy doesn’t give him that power. She declares that he’s just a dream; powerless, truly. And he disintegrates.</p>
<p><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=S4AhTjaaDJE" target="_blank">Turns out, she’s right; it’s just a dream</a>. One of the last lines of the film is, “It’s so bright.” from Nancy, as she steps outside with her mother, who isn’t dead, apparently. Neither are her friends, as they pull up to Nancy’s house in Glen’s red convertible. Her mother tells her that she’s decided to quit drinking, just because she doesn’t seem to enjoy it as much anymore. And yet, the fog comes in, and it appears that this may just be another dream sequence.</p>
<p>I wonder why the mother was never given a name. It’s a movie about her, really, and not necessarily Nancy. She’s the catalyst for all this; and I’m left wondering why Nancy’s father never really dealt with the consequences of having made a mistake in paperwork, letting Freddy go all those years ago. Maybe that’s what the movie is supposed to be: the cataloging of the aftermath of misdirected rage as a result of a lack of justice. Poor Nancy.</p>
<iframe src="https://open.spotify.com/embed/track/3acL1MPwxFQ3ACzDrSFGzT?theme=0" width="100%" height="80" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen="" allow="autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; fullscreen; picture-in-picture"></iframe>I like Nancy from Nightmare On Elm Street (1984). She’s sweet and yet strong; she’s characterized by bravery. Her character arc resonates with mine, I think. Freddy Kruger haunting the dreams of her and her friends makes me think of how I’ve been struggling with sleep recently, mostly just because of the day-to-day anxieties of being a college student and the typical wandering thoughts of a young woman who spends too much time alone.Journal Entry: Approaching Midterms2021-10-25T19:27:02+00:002021-10-25T19:27:02+00:00https://www.wiks.wiki/contact/2021/10/25/halloweeny<p>Sometimes my thoughts are crisp and clear like certain, beautiful autumn mornings. I’ve been so busy recently, everything around me is shrouded in fog. And yet, these moments exist when my internal narrative begins to sound so clearly all of a sudden once again; and since people only do what they want, I find a moment to record these thoughts.<!-- more --></p>
<p>I’ve been rewatching <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Terminator_(franchise)" target="_blank">the Terminator movies</a> recently. <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fPk3jG9c-DU" target="_blank">There is no fate but what you make</a>, right? I’ve loved the series since I was a kid and in a situation when I’m clearly losing control and succumbing to my own academic weaknesses, the thought about fate is comforting. Things can never be so bad that they can’t be worse. At least I’ve still got my looks, right? And a mind that’s articulate at times. Not in the right way, though: not for science, I guess.</p>
<p>I lift to blow off stress. It took about two months of heavy lifting at the gym before I finally pulled something. It’s mild, but being forced to slow down is annoying. I love being physically strong. Obviously I can never reach <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-xZQ0YZ7ls4" target="_blank">Arnold Schwarzenegger</a> levels of muscle, but that’s not the goal: I’m a woman, biology has capped my strength, and I don’t mind. I’m not trying to compete with men. Even when my mind and lack of direction make me weak, I still have that primitive kind of strength that isn’t particularly common among my sex. It makes me happy. Does that make me a meathead? Probably not. A funny thought to entertain, regardless.</p>
<p>And that’s what I’m doing today, right now, instead of hitting the gym: writing, for the first time in… months? I could provide an in-depth analysis of the Terminator movies, but I just finished <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Terminator_Salvation" target="_blank">the fourth one</a> last night (what a <a href="https://www.rottentomatoes.com/m/terminator_4" target="_blank">shitshow</a> of a movie) and that kind of writing requires far too much grit and focus for me to do right now. Maybe I’ll write it up after midterms. I sure do love those films.</p>
<p>It’s midterm season and I’ve got so many exams, but for the first time in a while, I don’t have three problem sets to complete over the course of a week: it’s amazing because suddenly, I don’t have a chunky assignment constantly hovering in the back of my mind. Sure, I have three major exams back to back to back, but that’s in the distant future at this point (which I say now, before I crumble like sand in the next coming days). Halloween’s on Friday. Being in college, all Halloween does is make me think of <a href="https://www.imdb.com/title/tt0606116/" target="_blank">that one clip from How I Met Your Mother</a> when Barney talks about Halloween being the best holiday because women use it as an excuse to dress up as the slutty version of, well, anything. Me? I’m going to be a <a href="https://blackmilkclothing.com/artoo-2-0-dress" target="_blank">sexy R2D2</a>. My line for the night is going to be, “<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=532j-186xEQ" target="_blank">Am I the droid you’re looking for?</a>”</p>
<p><img src="/images/nonsense/mountains.jpeg" style="margin: auto; max-width: 300px;" />
</p>Sometimes my thoughts are crisp and clear like certain, beautiful autumn mornings. I’ve been so busy recently, everything around me is shrouded in fog. And yet, these moments exist when my internal narrative begins to sound so clearly all of a sudden once again; and since people only do what they want, I find a moment to record these thoughts.iZombie is a Dumb Show2021-04-29T17:38:15+00:002021-04-29T17:38:15+00:00https://www.wiks.wiki/self-care/2021/04/29/izombie-is-bad<p>I really like <a href="https://www.netflix.com/watch/80027159?source=35" target="_blank">iZombie</a>. I watch it the way most people watch some show like The Office, probably. I like that it’s geeky and funny and dark: it resonates with me, the way most things liked by somebody have a tendency to do so. It’s not really a work of art or anything, but it’s functional and serves its purpose. I enjoy it, at least. You can find it on Netflix, just in case you were wondering.
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<a href="https://www.netflix.com/watch/80027159?source=35"><img src="https://pa1.narvii.com/6879/23b6da6d2fb2836ae55c8d1503416a8ce25873f5r1-500-250_hq.gif" style="margin-top: 1rem; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" /></a></p>
<p>When you Google the show’s title, the search engine spits back the following “knowledge panel,” whatever that means:</p>
<div style="padding: 1em; background-color: white; color: #4d5156; font-family: Roboto, arial; margin-bottom: 1em;"><h5 style="font-family: Roboto, arial; color: #202124; font-size: 20pt; margin-top: 0;">About</h5>When over-achieving medical resident Liv Moore attends a party that turns into a zombie feeding frenzy, she ends up joining the ranks of the living dead. Determined to pass as human despite her pale appearance and newly listless demeanor, Liv forms a plan to resist her drive to consume fresh human brains by taking a job at a coroner's office, where she can secretly snack on the brains of corpses delivered there. Soon discovering that she absorbs the memories of those she feeds on, she finds new purpose by posing as a psychic and working with a detective to help solve their murders.</div>
<p>I’ll admit, the description sounds terrible; it’s like a combination of <a href="https://knowyourmeme.com/photos/1165176-cosplay" target="_blank">“Steampunk, Gender swapped Joker, in a Willy Wonka hat…”</a> and a plot for one of those cheesy soap operas that my mother likes to watch. But then again, I’m fairly convinced that most science fiction is sort of like that: how else would you ever make anything interesting other than by just mishmashing a bunch of other vaguely interesting things? Moving past the thought that maybe the creators of the show were trying too hard, the premise is nevertheless interesting.</p>
<p>I think I like the performance of Olivia “Liv” Moore (played by <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rose_McIver" target="_blank">Rose McIver</a>) most about the show. While the characters are consistent, Liv’s personality and behavior have drastic shifts from episode to episode, displaying McIver’s talents as an actress and keeping the audience curious to see Liv’s next change in the following episode. One of my favorite personas has to be in the second episode of the first season when the depressed Liv turns into an emotional, sexually driven painter. I wonder why. I also enjoyed the agoraphobic, gaming basement-dweller persona (season 1, episode 6) and the dominatrix one (season 3, episode 5). But however varied and interesting Liv’s personas may be, she always ends up coming back to her true, unfortunate condition: part of the living undead, forced to eat human brain to prevent herself from becoming a George Romero-style zombie.</p>
<p>Have you seen those Tasty videos on social media? The ones where you get an above shot of some hands cooking some sort of meal? Those are featured in essentially every episode, except for the ones where she doesn’t feel like cooking. Except instead of having wagu beef be the star of the show, it’s human brain. It’s honestly still pretty satisfying to watch.
<img src="https://i.imgur.com/6Xkliem.gif?noredirect" id="fixedwidth" style="margin-top: 1rem; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" /></p>
<p>Speaking of pretty satisfying, there are many shots of shirtless men and of the pretty curves of the actresses in the show, emphasizing that which Liv (and we as the viewers) can’t get. Which I thoroughly enjoy. Sex and love are themes of the show’s overarching plots, surprisingly enough, mostly because zombies could possibly transmit the virus to their human lovers, limiting the number of sexual and romantic relationships that our heroine may have. And when Liv does have an opportunity to have sex, the scene is provocative enough to the point where I would be quite ashamed to have my parents walk in and hear and/or see it. Keeps my gears grinding, you know?</p>
<p>The actual mysteries that are solved by Liv and the other leads are interesting enough, emphasized by Liv’s connection to the victim through the literal consumption of their brain. I enjoy murder-mystery, not because I like guessing who it is and then being right, but because of the process of learning more about the scenario and seeing how the suspects behave, how our heroes react, and their interactions amongst themselves. Liv is sassy and confident, literally gaining insight into the lives of the murder victims through their memories, and Clyde, her cop partner, keeps her grounded morally and mentally. Ravi, Liv’s boss at the morgue, is also charming and British and adorably nerdy. I also enjoy Liv’s major love interest, Major, just because of how hot and chipper he is. It’s fun to watch.</p>
<p>The show’s pretty funny and cute, but it also falls into the sci-fi horror genre, meaning that it falls under the label of “dark humor”. I personally think that most humor is pretty dark by default, just because it’s fundamentally meant to help people cope with misfortune, but that’s besides the point. The show varies between the characters making actual jokes in the form of comments but also situational humor, involving the circumstances of the victims and encounters between different characters with comical results, with the theme of death subtly always hanging out in the background.</p>
<p>I could tell that the show is made by geeks, for geeks. iZombie was initially <a href="https://www.dccomics.com/blog/2018/10/30/vertigo-for-the-dc-fan-izombie-by-chris-roberson-and-mike-allred" target="_blank">a comic book series</a> by <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Vertigo_Comics" target="_blank">DC Vertigo</a>, upon which the show was loosely based, and funnily enough, Vertigo was mentioned repeatedly throughout the series, but this time as a reference to <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Vertigo_(film)" target="_blank">the Hitchcock movie</a>. iZombie references cosplay, Dungeons & Dragons, video games, comic books, and all sorts of stereotypically geeky things, which appeals to me on some vague, active level. Anyway, now I’m seriously considering investing $50 bucks in getting a print copy of the iZombie omnibus, just because I’m a sucker for zombies, dramadies, and books in print.</p>I really like iZombie. I watch it the way most people watch some show like The Office, probably. I like that it’s geeky and funny and dark: it resonates with me, the way most things liked by somebody have a tendency to do so. It’s not really a work of art or anything, but it’s functional and serves its purpose. I enjoy it, at least. You can find it on Netflix, just in case you were wondering.Journal Entry: Silence of a Lamb2021-01-01T19:27:02+00:002021-01-01T19:27:02+00:00https://www.wiks.wiki/contact/2021/01/01/journal-entry<p>Y’know, <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Silence_of_the_Lambs_(film)" target="_blank">Silence of the Lambs</a> is a weird movie. It’s cool, but weird. According to <a href="https://bipolarphysician.com/mental-health-and-the-silence-of-the-lambs/#:~:text=The%20lesson%20learned,us%20to%20speak%20our%20truths." target="_blank">one blog</a>, the moral of the movie is that “it so courageous to peer into our psyches and dare to share our authentic selves. Our truths don’t kill us, our secrets do.” I don’t think I have many secrets. I’m technically an open book. Or, at least, an open website. And it has made me vulnerable. That’s scary. I’m not sure if I really like this.<!-- more --></p>
<p>It’s the lack of knowledge as to who, how, and for what reason people choose to look at my site. I thought about revamping the way it looks at one point or another recently, but I couldn’t get myself to actually go about it. It was almost like I was compensating for my lack of things to say on a new post. But even then, I still couldn’t get it done. I just didn’t care enough, really. I don’t have much to say on the subject of politics or government anymore. It’s lots of authoritarian, shill nonsense on both sides, if you ask me. The few stories that stand out to me are just the odd one off occasions involving individuals’ self-destructive behavior. It’s probably because these stories sort of resonate with me: from <a href="https://abc7ny.com/staten-island-bar-autonomous-zone-shuts-down-restaurant/8425537/" target="_blank">a bar owner choosing to keep his business open</a>, to <a href="https://www.reuters.com/article/us-new-york-shooting-cathedral-idUSKBN28N0TO" target="_blank">a man who chose to commit suicide by police</a>, to the <a href="https://www.cnn.com/2020/12/30/us/nashville-christmas-bombing-wednesday/index.html" target="_blank">recent Nashville bombing</a>. These choices all required initiative. I have none. Instead, I have a sort of macabre fascination that lead me to wonder what factors led to these events occurring.</p>
<p>The events I listed aren’t really directly systematic things. Maybe in some disconnected, far-off way, they might be, but end all be all, these were all driven by individuals: one specific person who got up and decided to do something. The most I’d do is make this website implode, I think. I could just delete all the information on it. That’d be alright. I talk too much anyway. The archived version of it would still exist somewhere on the Internet, but accessing that would require one extra step, which I can’t imagine anybody ever wanting to do. Who cares, after all?</p>
<p>I recently met a man who said his goal in life is to not leave a mark on the world. Maybe he’s right. Maybe it’s better to just keep quiet. Be an NPC, or something. I’ve had too many people bother me because of this website. I guess creating my own platform wasn’t enough. Is this why people keep their diaries private? Probably.</p>Y’know, Silence of the Lambs is a weird movie. It’s cool, but weird. According to one blog, the moral of the movie is that “it so courageous to peer into our psyches and dare to share our authentic selves. Our truths don’t kill us, our secrets do.” I don’t think I have many secrets. I’m technically an open book. Or, at least, an open website. And it has made me vulnerable. That’s scary. I’m not sure if I really like this.Journal Entry: Vidya as a Cope2020-12-12T19:27:02+00:002020-12-12T19:27:02+00:00https://www.wiks.wiki/contact/2020/12/12/journal-entry<p>My journal entries are like letters to nobody: I mean, they’re on the internet, though, so who knows; somebody might end up reading this nonsense. I’d like to think that reading this might be relieving for somebody– the mere fact that somebody else is also experiencing purely emotional suffering and strife with no sense of denial about it. I mean, who ever admits they’re sad on a public platform? I mean, I’m fine, really, but I think we all get terribly sad sometimes, right? Life would be good, I just wish the outside wasn’t so cold and that I had someplace to go.<!-- more --></p>
<p>Given the fact that people don’t really go to work anymore, college isn’t really college anymore, and going out isn’t really going out anymore, our copes are all we have. I mean, I don’t know what it’s like where you are, but I’m in New York City, and essentially, we’re under full lockdown again. Just as a brief reminder, the <a href="https://www.who.int/news-room/q-a-detail/herd-immunity-lockdowns-and-covid-19" target="_blank">WHO</a> admits that lockdowns cause “profound negative impact on individuals, communities, and societies by bringing social and economic life to a near stop. Such measures disproportionately affect disadvantaged groups, including people in poverty, migrants, internally displaced people and refugees, who most often live in overcrowded and under resourced settings, and depend on daily labour for subsistence.” But I digress.</p>
<p>I’ve got a final on Wednesday. I sure as hell am not studying for that. I should, though. I probably will, eventually. I’m tired. I just play a lot of video games nowadays. Like, a lot. But I’m playing on my Mac and with a rather tight budget, so my options are limited. I’ve gotten really into <a href="https://store.steampowered.com/app/49520/Borderlands_2/" target="_blank">Borderlands 2</a> because it works pretty well on my computer, I get to blow things up, and some of the missions are <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=85vaUsruRLQ" target="_blank">really entertaining</a>. I also enjoy the multiplayer co-op on occasion. I don’t really like battle royale games because I mostly just suck at those. I think I just don’t have that masculine sense of competition. I mean, that’s one excuse I’ve got. I’ve got lots of excuses, but it probably mostly boils down to that: I suck. I like the escapism that video games provide and I like hiding from all of my real life problems— like my finals for the semester. I like living in a different world with different priorities with a different persona with something resembling real goals in mind. I like helping <a href="https://knowyourmeme.com/memes/npc-wojak" target="_blank">NPCs</a>, whether they be real or fiction. I still feel like I’m in college for a career I don’t really want, though.</p>
<p>I’m conventionally pretty, so I guess it’s a little ironic that I wish I was somebody else. I won the genetic lottery, didn’t I? I don’t have any social media, though, so my beauty means little to me. Especially now that nobody’s outside, I can’t even go on a walk and have people stare. Today at family dinner, I completely spaced out. I glance at my dad, and he’s staring at me. I glance at my mom, and she’s staring at me. And I’m like, “What?”. My pops said something about observing my appearance. I’m still in my PJs, my hair is greasy because I haven’t washed it in more than a week, and my lips are chapped and bloody because I keep chewing on them from the anxiety and the dry wintry air. But I guess I’m still pretty. Even right now with my bloodshot eyes and tearstained cheeks. Lucky me.</p>
<p>I hate quarantine and I hate the news <del>and I hate being alive</del> and I’m just absolutely miserable. A man asked me, “How are you so depressed at 20?”. Well, I think most 20 year olds are depressed, especially girls. Most of them are just receiving a constant flow of social approval directly into their brains via social media platforms that manipulate and indirectly control their moods, thoughts, and behaviors, which then temporarily medicate the fundamental sadness in their souls. I mean, admittedly, that sadness is further sedated on occasion via eating disorders, nicotine, and meaningless sex. I’m also on my fucking period so that doesn’t help. Fucking fantastic. I feel the mood swings approaching, and I could tell the resulting feelings are not going to be fully rational, but I can’t help but cave into them— the experience is vaguely therapeutic. At least I’ve got my writing to help me tuck away the strife.</p>
<center><p><img src="https://i.makeagif.com/media/6-27-2015/nI7ecn.gif" />This is <a href="https://borderlands.fandom.com/wiki/Tiny_Tina" target="_blank">Tiny Tina</a>. Isn't she cute?</p></center>My journal entries are like letters to nobody: I mean, they’re on the internet, though, so who knows; somebody might end up reading this nonsense. I’d like to think that reading this might be relieving for somebody– the mere fact that somebody else is also experiencing purely emotional suffering and strife with no sense of denial about it. I mean, who ever admits they’re sad on a public platform? I mean, I’m fine, really, but I think we all get terribly sad sometimes, right? Life would be good, I just wish the outside wasn’t so cold and that I had someplace to go.The Deterioration of Man2020-11-25T19:27:02+00:002020-11-25T19:27:02+00:00https://www.wiks.wiki/sweet-lovin/2020/11/25/one-fan-for-an-onlyfan<p>While men may be the head of the family, in most situations, women are the neck. Men are rather simple creatures, motivated by a nut. If the nut’s good enough, they’ll stick around and hover. Through this, a woman can find herself in a very <a href="https://www.wiks.wiki/politics/2020/04/14/a-womans-power/" target="_blank">powerful position</a>, getting to nag and help the man improve himself. Maybe she isn’t always actually helping, but <a href="https://www.wiks.wiki/contact/2020/06/09/mottos/" target="_blank">people only do what they want</a>. But now technology has enabled us alternatives: when you give men the opportunity to buy that nut, giving them the rush similar to the one they get from a real woman, it can lead to poor results.<!-- more --></p>
<p>I really like <a href="https://www.gq.com/gallery/most-iconic-playboy-covers" target="_blank">vintage Playboy magazines</a>: sexy, tasteful, classic. I wouldn’t mind dating a playboy. I mean, I don’t like being played but the type of man who would read Playboy when it <a href="http://content.time.com/time/magazine/article/0,9171,2042352,00.html" target="_blank">first came out in 1953</a> was one of taste and a certain mindset, which I like. This was a man who liked beautiful, full women and cared about appearances and a cultivated mind. I know that doesn’t sound true, but it was an American magazine, and until <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Penthouse_(magazine)" target="_blank">Penthouse</a> entered the U.S. market (sparking what would be dubbed the <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pubic_Wars" target="_blank">Pubic Wars</a>), they didn’t even show pubic hair. And I don’t mean that the girls were hairless– I mean that you couldn’t even see these girls’ <a href="https://www.theguardian.com/media/2015/oct/14/playboy-abolishes-nude-defeat-art-history" target="_blank">sex organs</a>! Wow! Who would’ve thought that there was ever a <a href="https://time.com/4373765/history-obscenity-united-states-films-miller-ulysses-roth/#:~:text=The%20Miller%20test%20was%20not,built%20directly%20on%20Roth%20v.&text=The%20tide%20began%20to%20change,including%20materials%20about%20sex%20education." target="_blank">time like that</a>, right?</p>
<p>And then, because these magazines were run by men with little self-awareness chasing a nut, these magazines all deteriorated into <a href="https://www.sbs.com.au/guide/article/2017/04/05/men-only-rise-and-fall-porn-magazine" target="_blank">full-on, hardcore nudie magazines</a> by the 90s. Because men, like women, are primal creatures, and it’s easiest to just chase a nut. Reading the magazine for the articles became a literal on-going joke.</p>
<p>After the peak of the Pubic Wars, Playboy apparently decided to be the magazine meant to actually be read for the articles, but the reputation was set. If you ask me, I don’t think they stuck to their guns enough in terms of their politics and written content. Second wave feminism had come and gone: <a href="https://cw.ua.edu/61361/opinion/pornography-degrades-women/" target="_blank">pornographic magazines objectify women</a>, and that was that: always and forever. There was no way the magazine could ever become significant in public discourse anymore. Before the magazine deteriorated, Playboy had featured articles by <a href="https://www.bbc.com/news/entertainment-arts-41426419" target="_blank">Roald Dahl and Ian Flemming</a> and interviews with <a href="https://longform.org/posts/playboy-interview-martin-luther-king-jr" target="_blank">Martin Luther King Jr.</a> and <a href="http://reprints.longform.org/playboy-interview-steve-jobs" target="_blank">Steve Jobs</a>. Can you believe it? The girls were realistic, tasteful, and inspired the imagination and the written work gave single men some direction in how to be a refined, stylish man without losing his sense of masculinity. I love masculine men.</p>
<p>But <a href="https://www.webroot.com/us/en/resources/tips-articles/internet-pornography-by-the-numbers#:~:text=About%20200%2C000%20Americans%20are%20classified%20as%20%E2%80%9Cporn%20addicts.%E2%80%9D&text=35%25%20of%20all%20internet%20downloads,of%20porn%20viewers%20are%20women." target="_blank">porn is common now</a>. It’s a major <a href="https://www.healthline.com/health/pornography-addiction" target="_blank">addiction</a> for many men, and it is not surprising to see <a href="https://www.reddit.com/r/Instagramreality/" target="_blank">aggressively photoshopped</a> women, with cartoonishly unreal, sexually provocative body proportions on Instagram with a wild follower count. With that follower count, all too often comes an OnlyFans account, with accompanying filtered and photoshopped images. <a href="https://www.newsweek.com/what-who-how-only-fans-social-media-platform-content-creators-1520001" target="_blank">OnlyFans</a> is interesting, though, because of the paywall: it’s almost like a <a href="https://illimitablemen.com/2014/12/14/the-shit-test-encyclopedia/" target="_blank">shit test</a>, which is just difficult enough for men to find the reward appealing, but easy enough to where they want to do it. All you need is $9.99 a month, right? These men also get to message these girls, creating a much more real imitation of intimacy; the girls are being paid for this, so they respond, regardless of how low-quality the initial text was. I wouldn’t respond to a “Hey” on Tinder, personally. Probably not even a “How are you?”. Don’t ask if you don’t want to actually hear about it.</p>
<p>But the men get the rush they crave from this mimicry: they get the rush of intimacy and orgasm from porn or OnlyFans or through beating off to pictures of their favorite unreal Instathot. Unfortunately, they turn into what 4chan would call <a href="https://incels.wiki/w/Incel" target="_blank">incel</a> <a href="https://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=coomer" target="_blank">coomers</a>, giving themselves <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Death-grip_syndrome" target="_blank">death grip</a>, and then often end up complaining about how women are terrible, hold their standards for men too high, and how they could never meet their personal expectations of a woman. But while maybe that may be true to some extent (considering the rush of approval that women get nowadays from their careers and social media addictions, <a href="https://www.reddit.com/r/FemaleDatingStrategy/" target="_blank">leaving men in the dust</a>), I think of the different men I know and they all seem to be… <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3D32Z5hjtR0" target="_blank">cowardly</a>? Lacking in masculinity? I’m not sure that’s the right word. They just don’t seem to really care about how they present themselves in real life. And when they do, it’s a deeply performative kind of Instagram appeal: nothing more than a photograph. Same goes for most women nowadays. Talking to most people feels like talking to a brick wall, if you ask me.</p>
<p>We talk so often of how gender is a <a href="https://onlinelibrary.wiley.com/doi/abs/10.1002/9781118663219.wbegss220#:~:text=Gender%20performance%20is%20the%20idea,American%20poststructuralist%20philosopher%20Judith%20Butler." target="_blank">performance</a> and how we live in a sexually-liberated society, but in that case, why aren’t these boys acting like men? Why don’t they look like men? Barbie doesn’t really want a Ken doll, if you know what I’m saying. I’m 20 years old at the time of this being written, and it would take a lot to convince me to date a peer of mine: they’re too hooked on their copes. I’d like to think older men know better. I’m considering blaming my lack of affection for my male peers on the fact that boys hit puberty at a later age than woman. Scientific, right? Still love me some <a href="https://williamsrecord.com/2019/09/reflection-on-football-why-narps-should-support-eph-sports/" target="_blank">football</a>, though…</p>
<p><img src="/images/nonsense/kimfarber.png" style="margin: auto; max-width: 300px;" />
<center>This is my favorite photo of <a href="https://www.reddit.com/r/OldSchoolCool/comments/4s40ku/kim_farber_the_hottest_playboy_playmate_ever_feb/" target="_blank">Kim Farber</a>, Playboy playmate of February 1967. I can't seem to find this photo anywhere on the web other than deep in the <a href="https://www.instagram.com/playboy/" target="_blank">Playboy Instagram page</a>, so I'd like to post it here. Isn't she stunning? I like the mystery.</center></p>While men may be the head of the family, in most situations, women are the neck. Men are rather simple creatures, motivated by a nut. If the nut’s good enough, they’ll stick around and hover. Through this, a woman can find herself in a very powerful position, getting to nag and help the man improve himself. Maybe she isn’t always actually helping, but people only do what they want. But now technology has enabled us alternatives: when you give men the opportunity to buy that nut, giving them the rush similar to the one they get from a real woman, it can lead to poor results.