To people who refuse to concede that Bieber is killing it lately

Nobody is more surprised than me that I am writing a post about Justin Bieber.

But listen to me when I say this: his 2015 album “Purpose” has really found itself a place in my regular listens. There’s some definite stuff going on. Musical stuff. It’s good.

Let me break it down for ya (much like Biebs breaks it down on several of his singles):

  1. What Do You Mean?

This one is about not knowing what someone means, and actively trying to figure it out using the tactics of questioning.

  1. Sorry

This one is about a breakup, I think. And Bieber knows he’s screwed up. He wants to know if it’s too late now to say sorry, and then he decides to just say sorry anyway (I getcha Biebs, it can’t hurt, can it?).

  1. Love Yourself

This one is about a girl who used to hang out with Bieber or whatever and doesn’t anymore and he’s just realised she was a bit of a dick and his mum didn’t even like her. And he’d just really like to make it clear that he’s not still secretly in love with her. Publicly, he’s making it clear publicly.

  1. Where Are U Now

This one is about Bieber trying to locate someone – Skrillex has come along to help.

 

They might be a bit silly, really, but they are the catchiest damn songs ever. Listen to all of them a bit. Listen to all of them a bit more.

To people I hope to entertain and then annoy in 250 words

In this age of teeny tiny attention spans, we all look at things and decide how we feel about them in less than 5 seconds (I have literally pulled this stat from nowhere and I will not be challenged on it). It is my opinion that we should all accept this is a thing now and just start working harder on selling people on whatever we’re putting down that we’d like them to pick up.

Me personally? I am a fan of well-titled books and academic journal articles/dissertations. A friend sent me a book title recently that I enjoyed. It was “Barbara the Slut and other people”. I would read that, wouldn’t you read that? I would read that twice (or read the first half of it four times, depending on which part was about Barbara and which was about the other people).

I like the use of puns. I’d quite enjoy a research-based article about gluten free pasta to make use of the word ‘impasta’. I think we need to have a sense of humour about those oftentimes highbrow academic spaces, for if one is not able to laugh, then one should not be in charge of anything to do with other humans.

I digress. (Part of me always wants to say that and then leave it there).

To people on the internet (a long post because of all the so many reasons)

Let me preface this by saying that I respect science lots because it means I get the internet, a car to drive around playing Rihanna really loud and even scotch. Even scotch is from science! So I definitely respect its power. I also like how it gives me power(electrical). However, some people are definitely all “YEAH BUT SCIENCE” and I am not one of those people.

There’s other kinds of power besides electricity.

I’m not getting derailed by science, because I am not a scientist, and I don’t care to get a science degree just to make a point, for there are much more interested parties with much more scientific brains who have it covered. All the kinds of power to ya.

Just one quick thing though, about online conduct. I posted an article which made a little bit of fun of one science person’s thing they said. Mainly because I do not like when science is used as a tool to support perpetual inequalities, like science exists outside of the human world as untouchable facts in manner of God or similar. Science is made by humans and humans are flawed. Yes? Let us continue.

Also: philosophy is made by humans and humans are flawed. Still yes? Excellent.

There is no hierarchy of truth here. You cannot beat feminism with anything because it is not a true or false scenario. Also: feminism is made by humans and humans are flawed. Yes.

I don’t care about the words you know and I don’t care about how you’re using them to speak over me when I’ve told you I am not interested in anyone playing devil’s advocate, or investigating the merits of the article from a scientific perspective, or explaining to me about how I’ve read the article incorrectly. I know why I posted it and you’ve not changed my mind. Nor do you endear yourself to me in any way by explaining to me what feminism should be getting to the bottom of.

If you do not understand why I haven’t let you beat me with science or philosophy, all I will say is you’ve missed the point.

If you are offended that I am not speaking in hushed tones around you explaining the science to me, remember that I actually told you I wasn’t interested in what you were saying and you kept saying it and I also don’t care about your stupid feelings.

I don’t have much respect for philosophy when it’s bandied aboot on the Facebooks. I prefer to talk the way regular people talk when I talk on social media. It means anyone can join in.

And listen. I have no time for being educated on a better approach to feminism. Mine works really well, in fact it’s the best way of looking at things ever and I’m so not interested in having it challenged or changed. Thanks.

To the damn System, the whole of which is wrong

I am completely fucking over this whole fucking systematised misogynistic bullshit pile, for it is a gigantic waste of my excellent brain energy.

Hypothetically, let’s say I see a job I want to apply for that I would be very damned good at.

People react to me sharing my intentions by pre-emptively coaching me through the not getting of the job before I’ve even written a motherfucking cover letter. Breaking it down, you say “yeah, I mean, you may as well give it a shot” – I hear “bless your cotton socks, you think you’re people who get important jobs”. You know what? I don’t need any more suggestion to prepare myself for failure. I’m a young female person in an old male bureaucratic institution. I know full well that I’m staring down the barrel of a lifetime of busy work and spreadsheets unless I pick myself up, trudge through the mud and the gentle suggestions that I aim lower. I know women are meant to be happy little administrators who good-naturedly run the world with little to no acknowledgement, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to sit quietly waiting for someone to throw me a party.

System, you asshole. You’ve made me internalise some hectic self-doubt, and I’m equal parts heartbroken and furious. I could run this whole entire world, given the right gang and the correct breakfast – yet here I am, paralysed into breaking down selection criteria and listing reasons why the things I’ve done so far are Not Enough.

I think what really grinds my gears is that I know there are people in the world who just assume they will get the Job or the Thing or the Whatever, and then they just… get it, just like they thought they would. I want the Job! I want the Thing! I want the Whatever!

The end.

To people who get inspired and make brave choices that ultimately work out and then they write a book about it

I was sort of hoping this book “Eat Pray Love Made Me Do It” might be a bit like Pinterest Fails, but it isn’t.

It’s actually genuine and inspirational, and for some reason on this overly warm, tired out Wednesday afternoon I find that very disappointing. Here’s some examples of stories that would actually cause me to buy this book:

  • I got wistful for ‘The One That Got Away’, then I read Eat Pray Love and I left my husband on a whim but when I found my high school boyfriend, he had gotten ugly and had not developed any further personality or intelligence and then my husband wouldn’t take me back.
  • I went to an ashram and everyone had taken the vow of silence so I couldn’t find out where to sleep or eat and eventually I fell into a coma from sleep deprivation and starvation and then I realised just how poor everyone in India is so I couldn’t even really complain about it.
  • I decided to write a book about my life and then I realised nothing much had ever happened to me and that made me so depressed I couldn’t get out of bed for 6 weeks and then my annual leave was up and I had to go back to work.
  • I sold everything I owned and went to Italy and then I found out I could not eat gluten.
  • I went to Bali and I did not meet that hot guy and I was not Julia Roberts and it was the worst.

To people who think they’re still 18 (me)

Hey ya big dork,

What on earth were you thinking, staying in a shared dorm in a YHA on a Saturday night in Sydney? What are you, a recently-legal overseas visitor on her first trip to Australia? How exactly did you imagine it was going to pan out, trying to go to sleep at 10:30pm in a 6 person dorm room? My favourite part was your stubborn determination to not “rent a towel” so you could “have a shower”, because nothing says respectable attendee at a Sydney Opera House event like someone covered in two days worth of Sydney city humidity.

Let’s also talk about your decision to drive back to Armidale after a Sunday afternoon/early evening concert with the intention of going to work on Monday. For future reference, you are definitely too old for that shit. You are 30. Don’t be silly. Next time you should probably fly, let’s be honest.

In conclusion: you haven’t come all this way through all the poor student/crazy young person phases of the moon to still be avoiding the finer, slightly more expensive things in life, particularly when you can definitely afford them. Rent a hotel so you can go to bed at 10:30 like you like, and get a peaceful, holiday-quality full night’s sleep, like you like. Enjoy towels that are included in the bill. Avoid other humans at your discretion. You’ve earned this. Enjoy the serene and solitary while you can.

To people who remember their umbrellas on rainy days

You superior motherf*ckers.

You think you’re so much better than me, all dry-haired and dry-shouldered, strutting around the place like it’s yours. Look at you, you motivational-poster-in-the-making. For you, life is a sequence of sensical events: wake up well-rested, eat a balanced breakfast, put on your crease-free clothing, go to work and save the planet, trigger high-five montages and dancing sequences, blah blah blah. I’m certain, based on social media evidence I have been diligently collecting when I should have been doing something else, that none of you people with umbrellas have ever felt the icy sting of huge, fat, juicy raindrops running straight from the heavens down the back of your neck. I highly doubt you’ve ever darted from tree to tree as a means of shelter, only to realise the fattest drops to fall on you gather in wait on the leaves of those very trees.

I bet you’ve never thought to yourself “I could really do with some 2007-era Rihanna popping up to walk me to work right about now”. WHERE WERE YOU RI? IT IS RAINING MORE THAN EVER. MY SHOES ARE SQUELCHING.

Ella, ella, ay, ay, ay.

And just FYI: Life is not always about dancing in the rain. Sometimes it is about waiting for the storm to pass. In your car. Saying to yourself: “I will just march into the office pretending I recently had a shower fully dressed and dare anyone to question me”.