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December, 2015

  • Totally Attainable New Year’s Resolutions

    The problem with New Years resolutions is that we tend to have unattainable expectations of ourselves. When we don’t live up to our goals, rather than rethinking them or adapting them to be more reasonable, we give up entirely and throw the baby out with the bath water. Which should be illegal by the way.

    Instead of presuming to be an entirely different person next year, why not just suck 5% less. I bet you could achieve that commitment – and if you do, in 20 years you would suck 100% less!! That’s not bad!

    So here are my totally attainable new years resolutions that I know I can do!

    1) Poop less in public: Now you probably wouldn’t think this was a big problem – but there was an instance when I was a kid. My friend and I pooped in plastic bags and left them on some stranger’s porch. This was a really bad moment for me. I still feel guilty about it. So if I never did that again, I am already on the road to self-improvement.

    2) When eating chocolate for breakfast, also have some greens: This is doable. I can have a few bites of kale with my morning chocolate.

    3) Don’t blame my farts on my dying dog Mona all the time: Mona doesn’t deserve that. Think of her pride Toni! From now on I will only blame 90% of my farts on her. The other 10% I can put on the cat.

    4) When holding the door open for someone, and they don’t say “thank you,” DO NOT then say “you’re welcome” in a sarcastic tone way louder than necessary: I got to be honest. This one is going to be hard for me.

    5) Don’t talk about my period while others are eating: Another challenge. But I can wait until they are drinking.

    6) Don’t get into fights about the moon landing being faked: After all – the moon could also be hollow, or a space station for aliens. Anything is possible.

    7) Don’t keep people on my Facebook news feed that I love to hate everything they post and make fun of in my mind: Unfollow Toni. Just unfollow.

    8) Don’t insist on telling people my dreams: It really isn’t that interesting. Except for the fact that other night I had a dream I was hanging out with Donald Trump and that SAME night my mom had a dream she had a sleepover party with Putin. So…

    9) When driving and someone cuts me off, don’t speed up to pass them so as to look them in the eye whiling giving them the finger: Just flip them off when I get the chance.

    10) Don’t call the universe cunty when things don’t work out the way I wanted them to: The cosmos is so obviously a dick.

    11) When at a restaurant and receiving the number “69” for my pick up – DON’T make sex jokes like “must be my lucky day,” to the server: It wasn’t.


    December 31, 2015 • Current Events, Musings • Views: 1177

  • Today is My Mother Fucking Birthday!

    Today is the day of my vaginal emergence. The remembrance of that fateful morning I tore through my mom’s body, and burst forth into the world headfirst while covered in birth cheese. What a lovely moment to picture in your mind while eating yogurt.

    Birthdays usually inspire me to reflect upon my life. To think back on not only the 365 days that have past, but also my entire existence. Did I have enough fun as a child? When did I lose my innocence? Was it ever there to begin with? Did I waste my 20’s? Will I ever feel accomplished? And seriously what the fuck happened in my 20’s because holy shit….

    I was hanging out with my cousin for the holidays and although he is 10 years younger than me, it feels like he has his life wayyyyyy more together. He’s an artist, owns a gallery, and wears clothes that actually flatter his figure unlike my fleece sweatpants. As happy as I am for him, it makes me think about how far I am from where I want to be. And also how I really need to go shopping and get some better clothes because I look like a 12-year old boy with messy hair who just got caught jerking off.

    The problem with striving for something is that it means I am always looking ahead, and never around. As soon as I accomplish one thing, I already want the next thing to happen. Yeah yeah yeah great – now that I’ve gotten here, I want to go there!

    Then I had this realization the other day…

    What if I can’t get to where I want to be in life, until I fully appreciate where I am in life?!

    Maybe that is obvious to you… but it felt like a goddamn revelation to me.

    I really feel that this expression on my face pretty much says it all…


    December 28, 2015 • Musings • Views: 1706

  • Dealing with Rejection

    I have a lot of rejection in my life. I will work really hard on something, put it out into the world hoping someone will like it, wait patiently for their response (otherwise known as checking my email compulsively every 11 seconds), and when I finally get a reply… they will say “no.” I then have to put the pieces of my self-esteem back together like a puzzle that is NOW MISSING FUCKING PIECES BECAUSE MY EGO HAS BEEN SHATTERED!

    Not everyone picks a career path where rejection is part of the process. But writing and making movies is my passion, so it doesn’t feel like a choice. I NEED to make content that will distract people from their lives – while I desperately try to make them think deeply about their lives and how they shouldn’t be so easily distracted. It’s a delicate balance.

    I know everyone who’s in the dating scene also deals with rejection, but if a man weren’t into me – who cares. It’s not like you are going to be compatible with every dude you may want to mash your genitals against. When a guy has rejected me it may have hurt, but that pain was easier to move past because it’s just some dude’s opinion. I mean… it’s not like I ever made out with a boy I met at a club, found out the next day he had a girlfriend who happened to be my Facebook friend, and then proceeded to stalk them both for the next 6 months wondering why he wanted to be with her and not me. I mean that would be crazy!!

    Even though I know rejection is going to be part of my path, that doesn’t make it any less soul sucking. For me it is the worst kind of rejection because my art is the deepest part of who I am. I can’t play it off and say “well that person didn’t really know the real me,” because I am exposing myself fully – maybe too fully for some.

    A few years ago an editor for a publishing company contacted me saying she thought I should write a book, and to write a proposal for her. I did what she asked, and after reading it she responded “No thank you. That’s enough of that. ”

    She found me only to reject me later!?

    But these things happen all the time. I recently applied for something and got rejected the same day!? How did you know so you didn’t want me so quickly!?

    I try to do all sorts of new age hippy visualization actualization manifestation work. I pray on the new moon, and write my intentions on the wall with period blood. I light candles and picture the future I want. I thank the universe for abundance and try to show gratitude. But I’m beginning to feel like the cosmos can suck my dick.

    My most recent venture is a movie script that I wrote with my friend Bridget. It’s a comedy about a female friendship, and let me tell you, it is pretty insane. If you read it you would say to yourself “yup, she went there.”

    I am working with a producer who has been helping us try to get it made, and she has been sharing her Hollywood network with us. With her help, we got the script to the actress I wanted to play the main role – Ilana Glazer from Broad City.

    The producer was the one who suggested Ilana for the part, and I knew instantly she would be prefect. I love Ilana. I think she is a comedic genius, and have so much respect for her. So for the last 89 drafts of working on the script, I had Ilana in mind. I thought about her obsessively… when driving, eating, sleeping… meditating (even though I am not technically thinking, so rather I was meditating on her). I talked about her constantly, and would wonder what she would think of this scene or that.

    I would have these fantasies that Ilana loved the script so much that she not only wanted to do the movie, but also wanted to be friends with Bridget and me. We would do fun friend things like braid each other’s hair and share tampons. A montage of our relationship played out in my head, and it always ended in a harmless pillow fight with lots of giggling.

    Those 3 weeks that Ilana had my script were the longest of my life – and then I got an answer. She said “no.”

    My heartbreak was consuming. I couldn’t say, “oh she isn’t that great anyway who cares” because she is that great. She is fucking amazing. Her type of comedy is the shit. I will never know why she said “no,” but “no” is what she said and I have to live with it. No sharing baths in our future or getting matching tattoos. I guess Ilana wants to write her own damn movie.

    After the Ilana rejection I was super depressed. It was a heartbreak of epic proportions. I couldn’t move on, or think of anyone else to play this part. I would just look out my window and think of Ilana.

    I had this deep melancholy I couldn’t work through. But I had one more glimmer of hope for this script. I had applied it to the Sundance Screen Writer’s Lab, and it had gotten through the first round. That meant they liked the first 15 pages, and wanted to read the rest. If I could get into Sundance – that would hopefully open up the doors I needed.

    I was going to find out on December 16th – but that was also a busy day for me creatively. I had to work, had dance rehearsal, and then was going to film my friend’s rap video. I couldn’t be in a terrible mood for that, because it would be really hard to rap when someone was behind the camera crying about their failures… Just not the right vibe for hip hop.

    I didn’t check my email until 12pm. I sat down took a deep breath, envisioned an acceptances letter, and looked. It was a “no.”

    My stomach dropped.

    I felt so lost and hopeless. The sadness was starting to set in, and I was about to cry. I texted my friend Bridget and we commiserated in the dejection.

    I felt like I was at a crossroads emotionally. Part of me was ready to get super fucking depressed and feel really sorry for myself. But I also just was really depressed, and felt a little bored of depressed Toni. When I’m depressed, I’m more self-absorbed. I care less about what other people are saying, because I am just waiting for my turn to talk about how bad I feel about everything. Depressed Toni is kind of egocentric.

    Just as the tears were about to fall I thought of something. When I had read the list of films that were going to Sundance they were all really serious. There were movies about Civil Rights, sexual assault, autism, public executions… really heavy shit. I started picturing Bridget and myself at a roundtable where everyone was pitching their script. The person next to us would say, “My script is about a young girl who was kidnapped from her village in Uganda and then sold into the sex trade.” Everyone would nod quietly in deep contemplation. Then it would be our turn, and we would say, “Our movie has the main character getting dumped by her boyfriend while dressed in a giant penis costume, and also a pretty sweet colonic scene where years of impacted shit sprays into her mouth.”

    I started laughing hysterically.

    The movie we wrote was never getting Sundance. If Sundance were to be interested in a comedy, it would be a sweet irreverent story about a boy and his goat in the mountains of Uzbekistan with beautiful cinematography. Not my crass over the top comedy that culminates in a birth scene where someone pulls out their own placenta. That is just not happening!

    In a way I was totally delusional thinking what I wrote was EVER going to make it into Sundance, but that mirage at least slowed me down for a while. Where I am usually excessively manic and a workaholic, I actually relaxed for a few weeks. Even though I thought I was going wallow in misery after this rejection, I actually feel pretty energized and ready to keep trying.

    I may not be where I want to be right now in my career dreams, but I think I am going to start sewing that penis costume anyway.

    Look how happy he is!


    December 21, 2015 • Musings, Working Mommy • Views: 1834

  • I Don’t Love You Anymore!

    The Munch is still in a state of healing from her eye surgery. It is for sure WAAAYYY more complex than I imagined, and as it stands right now the doctor is thinking that we may have to do another operation. I of course REALY don’t want to put Munch through that, so have been going hard on the holistic healing front.

    In these past few weeks I’ve taken her to a variety hippy doctors, and they all say her body is still processing the trauma of the experience. Because I want to be as proactive as possible, there are a bunch of things I am trying in order to address both the emotional and physical distress. This is the short list:

    1) Eye patch glasses: Munch didn’t want to wear an eye patch because she didn’t think patches were “fashionable,” and the adhesive gave her cheek a rash. So I made her some super sweet Hello Kitty glasses with a ballerina patch over the good eye. Now she looks like a punk rock pirate, and will wear them around her friends.
    2) Pills for her blood/liver: My acupuncture lady said we needed to support her liver/blood to keep tendons and eyes healthy. I brewed Chinese herbs for 2 days in hopes that Munch would drink it, but she refused because it tasted like “monkey poop and pee.” But she did learn to swallow pills so at least that is happening – but she is also now irrationally excited about swallowing pills… which makes me somewhat concerned for her future and doing ecstasy. PS I am also now drinking the “monkey poo and pee” drink because I don’t want it to go to waste, and it tastes more like giraffe semen.
    3) Eye Games: We play games with flash cards where I make her move her eye around. This game has now evolved to me also playing, and working out my eye, which can now bench press 250 lbs.
    4) Massages: I massage her leg to stimulate blood production, her feet to lower stress, her head to relax the brain, and her eye to bring awareness of healing. This is a 30 min process where I have to keep her relaxed and entertained so she doesn’t squirm around. This means I tell stories the entire time, which I make up from the top of my head. I now have carpel tunnel syndrome in my hands from all these damn massages, and probably should enter an improv group for my amazing off the cuff story telling abilities – although many of them end with someone farting really loud.
    5) Singing: Now I have to make her sing as much as possible because the vibration in her head is healing, but she HATES it when I sing because The Munch is a musical snob… sooooo this one isn’t going so well.

    I have also been taking her to healers who do cranial sacral work and trauma release. I have noticed that when we get home from these visits, she has total meltdowns that night. The Munch isn’t really one to have tantrums, so I figure she is getting out these buried emotions that she kept in while trying to be cooperative during the surgery. She was excessively stoic, and maybe needs to get some of the fear and rage out?

    I have been trying to give The Munch space to have these outrageous moments of outburst, and not take them personally or get angry with her for acting out. I know her well enough to know this isn’t her normal behavior, so there is no point in punishing her for needing to release. But this is what it looked like last night.

    The Munch: Mamma, can I have a candy cane?
    Toni: There is no way! It is bedtime, and you can’t eat a candy cane right before bed.
    The Munch: But I WANT ONE!
    Toni: That is understandable because candy canes are delicious. But you have to wait until tomorrow. You can have one then.
    The Munch: Well I can eat it anyway, and you can’t stop me.
    Toni: Of course I can. I am way bigger than you and can take it from you. I would rather you just put it away and have it tomorrow.
    The Munch: Try and take it from me.
    Toni: I am not going to do that.
    The Munch: Just try and take it from me.

    Okay fine… I am the grown up and could have refused. But she was TAUNTING ME OKAY!

    I grabbed the candy cane and it she held onto the hook, and now the other half was in my hand.

    Toni: Dude I am sorry. I didn’t mean to break it. It was an accident!
    Toni: You told me to try and take it!
    Toni: I didn’t mean to break it, but you did tell me to try and take it. Besides, you can have the pieces in the tomorrow. It gets all broken up in your tummy anyway. I will save them for you.

    The Munch then went into my room, and got my stuffed animal dog named Molly, and hid her. Okay fine a grown up isn’t supposed to sleep with stuffed animals. But I have had molly for 25 years! I always sleep with Molly!

    The Munch: There! Now Molly is hidden and you will never find her!
    Toni: Munch I hear that you are angry, but I think you maybe need some time to think and calm down and then we can talk.
    The Munch: NO! I am locking you in my room and YOU CAN NEVER LEAVE!
    Toni: Never? What if I get hungry?
    The Munch: You will get nothing to eat!!!
    Toni: So I would just starve to death in your room?
    The Munch: YES!!!
    Toni: So when people ask you “what happened to your mom?” you would just say “oh I got super mad because she broke my candy cane so I locked her in my room. She eventually starved to death and died.”
    The Munch: Yes!
    Toni: Don’t you think you would maybe miss me?
    The Munch: YES I WOULD!
    Toni: Okay well can we think of a solution for you to feel better so you are not yelling or trying to starve me to death?
    Toni: Well, neither of those things are going to happen.
    Toni: Of course I can’t make you happy! You have to make your elf happy! Can you think of something that might make you happy? Like maybe you could jump on the bed and then into my arms.
    The Munch: Ummm okay.

    Then she was totally fine and we did our 45-minute healing routine and I got early onset arthritis. This morning we talked about it…

    The Munch: I love you. You’re the best mommy in the whole universe.
    Toni: Remember when you told me last night that you didn’t me any more? Did you mean that?
    The Munch: No… I was just angry.
    Toni: I know. But when you say harsh things, even when you are angry, it can really hurt someone’s feelings. You have to always be careful with your words, because you can never take them back.
    The Munch: Well you didn’t seem like your feelings were hurt last night.
    Toni: That is because I’m your mom, and moms are always more forgiving towards their children. Not everyone will be that way. I knew you didn’t mean those words, but I also know you have been going through a lot, so have a lot of emotions you are working through.
    The Munch: Maybe you also knew you shouldn’t have broken my candy cane.

    She does look pretty bad ass right?


  • That Time My Dad Came To My Prom

    When I was in high school I had a lot of parties. A lot.

    You are probably asking yourself where were your parents? Were you not supervised? The answer…. Not really.

    My mom and dad were raising their kids in the 70’s and 80’s. It was a different time. They didn’t do silly PC things like quit smoking when pregnant. It never occurred to my mom not to have bourbon before bed while I was gestating inside of her. Nonsense! They didn’t share the same uptight morals of today – like making your children wear seat belts – poppycock!

    My parents wanted their independence from us, so in turn my brother and I had a lot of independence from them. We knew how to take care of ourselves, mostly. I did however eat candy for dinner many a night.

    When my brother went off to college, that meant my there was only one more child in the house – a 15-year-old girl. They were practically done with their whole parenting journey right?! I mean what kind of trouble could a teenage girl get into when left alone to explore her moral compass? The answer… quite a lot.

    My parents would leave most weekends to visit their country house in New Hampshire. That meant from Friday through Sunday, the Boston house was mine for the taking. As a result, I had a LOT of opportunities to throw parties. I developed a system that was so thought out, it would probably qualify me to run for president… you know… considering Trump and all.

    This was how it would all go down. My parents would leave Friday afternoon, and I would sweetly kiss them goodbye. As soon as they were out the door, the phone calls would start. This was before the age of cell phones, so we had to use my house phone. Because my parents craved autonomy, and didn’t feel like sharing, we had 4 separate phone lines – one for each member of the family. That meant that 3 of my friends and I could all simultaneously call almost everyone in our class.

    I believed in equal opportunity high school parties. I didn’t want to only invite the popular cliques. That felt way too cliché and exclusionary. So I invited representatives from each group from my grade. The kids who played Dungeons and Dragons, the hockey players, the druggies – everyone was welcome. At least everyone who answered their phone because there was no mass texting. If that had been around then… lord help me.

    The party would happen on Saturday. My friends and I would spend all day preparing. We would tape off rooms people weren’t allowed in, and leave a few open for make out sessions. We would take all my mom’s fancy living room bullshit frills, or anything breakable, and lock it away. We always provided a few cases of beer that a homeless man had bought for us (preferably something sophisticated like Red Dog), and the other kids would bring the rest. Everyone was invited to sleep over, so no one had to travel home wasted. At the end of the night, my one friend and I would walk over passed-out bodies, and drink all the half-filled drinks that were left over. You know, because we were classy.

    The next morning my core group of friends would stay behind to help me clean up. This often consisted of my calling the rug cleaners, and convincing them to come in on a Sunday. Once the house was spotless, everyone would leave just in time for my parents to come home.

    My Mom: Wow. It is really clean in here.
    Toni: I cleaned up for you… because I love you.
    My Mom: Did you have anyone over while we were gone?
    Toni: A few people.
    My Mom: You didn’t have a party did you?
    Toni: Of course not. It was a gathering.
    My Mom: What is a gathering.
    Toni: Well it is a little more than a get together, but much less than a party.
    My Dad. Oh. Okay.

    Maybe they knew I was full of shit. But there also weren’t any real consequences they had to deal with. The neighbors never complained, and the house was immaculately tidy.

    I started to get cocky. There was even one time when my dad was home, and I had a party while he was upstairs working. It was in the summer, and he was trying to finish his book in time for the deadline. Our house is a town house, so it is really tall and skinny. It has 6 floors, with one or two rooms on each floor. I figured since my dad was on floor 6, surely he wouldn’t hear us on floor 1 and 2!?

    Toni: Dad… I’m going to have some people over. Maybe you could just stay up here and not come down at all.
    My Dad: Well can I have some pistachios so I don’t get hungry?
    Toni: Sure. I will bring them to you.
    My Dad: I don’t have to talk to anyone do I?
    Toni: You don’t. Especially if you stay up here, and don’t come down at all until tomorrow morning.
    My Dad: Deal – as long as I don’t have to talk to anyone.

    He never even knew 40 kids were in his house listening to Snoop Dog and drinking 40 ounces of malt liquor.

    By the time I was 18 I felt invincible. I had this whole thing down to a science that would make Bill Nye proud. I was too confident, and that’s where things went wrong.

    We had a party the night before prom. Because it was towards the end of the year, some older students who had already graduated, and were home from college, decided to come. These older kids brought some of their friends, and shit got out of hand. When I usually had parties it was only kids who knew me, and appreciated the opportunity to drink and dance to Dr. Dre. They didn’t want to fuck shit up for me, or themselves. That’s why those parties were always respectful. Everyone was on the same team of wanting them to continue. But these older kids didn’t give a care about my house, or anything in it.

    The next day the house was a disaster. We spent all day cleaning, and I assumed no major catastrophe had gone down. I went to my prom thinking that I was in the clear. As I was on the dance floor, the energy suddenly changed. It went from lighthearted bouncing around to Adina Howard “Freak Like Me,” to like a dark haze of collective anxiety. Everyone was whispering to each other , and looking around frantically. Finally the message came to me. My friend pulled me aside.

    My Friend: Dude. Your dad is here.
    Toni: What do you mean my dad is here? At prom?
    My Friend: He is looking for you. He looks really angry. You better run.

    Without thinking, I ran. It wasn’t until I was pushing past people in the hallway that I saw him. I knew it was my dad, although he didn’t really look human. His face was a shade of red that you only see in horror movies. His hair was standing on end like Einstein had been electrocuted. But it was his eyes that were the most alarming. They weren’t exactly inside his face anymore, but rather bugging out so far that they touched you from a foot away.

    Toni: Uh. Hi Dad. What are you doing here?
    My Dad: You had a party while we were away didn’t you?!
    Toni: Maybe?
    My Dad: Well you mother’s laptop has been stolen! And her book was on that! AND NOW IT IS ALL GONE!

    With that, my dad left. This is the catholic way. To shame you with intense guilt for your wrong doings, then leave you to self-flagellate. It was very effective.

    I had no way of getting home, so I had to wait for the rest of my friends and ride in the limo to my house. It wasn’t exactly the fun “after prom limo ride” everyone had envisioned. We were all quite solemn because I was crying. Everyone knew I was in a ton of trouble, but they also really wanted to get rid of me so they could have fun with the rest of their night.

    Luckily my mom had backed up most of her book on hard drive so she didn’t lose the entire thing – although no one really ever forgave me. The only redeeming moment was my high school graduation. No one would sit next to my mom or dad, and all other parents were pointing and whispering “There are those Nagy parents with their hedonistic ways.” At first my parents couldn’t understand why they had the plague, but it eventually became clear to them the reasoning behind their social outcast. Then one mother came up to them with a different kind of energy.

    School Mom: I just want to thank you for inviting my son to all those wonderful parties you had.
    My Parents: Oh…. Right. Yes Of course.
    School Mom: They were the only parties he was invited to, and he always had such a great time. Thanks for making this high school experience happen for him.

    So you see mom and dad! Those parties were actually my form of philanthropy!

    This its he actual outfit I wore to my junior prom… couldn’t find any pictures of this fateful senior prom…

    toni jr prom night

    December 14, 2015 • Family Drama, Old School Stories • Views: 2120

  • Holiday Season Pressure To Be Perfect

    Half the fun of making out with someone is talking about it to your friends after. Of course the actual act of living out your lust is exciting – but the retelling of the experience is part of the exhilaration. By telling your story, you get to relive it again and again. Just so you know guys, your girlfriend’s friends know all about that freckle on your left testicle and that cool trick you do with elbow pad.

    Life is ethereal and gone in an instant. The second you have a great memory it’s already fallen into the past. A moment of pure bliss has disappeared just as soon as it happened. That is the nature of time. We can’t hold onto existence, because it just keeps slipping through our fingers. The only way to keep a moment is commit it to memory, and tell other people about it.

    That’s why humans are born storytellers. It is our way of rewinding time and reliving the parts we can’t let go of. Narrative is how we contextualize who we are, and what we have gone through.

    When you haven’t seen someone in a long time, it’s the perfect opportunity to tell them all the stories they have missed. When your life is going well, it is super fun to catch up with people. You enjoy sharing the chronicle because it makes you feel good to remember all things you are happy about!

    But what happens when you aren’t that psyched about your life?!!

    The holiday season is coming up. There are going to be a lot of social gatherings with family, friends, people I pretend to like… and they are all going to want to know how I am. But here is the thing… I don’t feel like I am in the best “update” place.

    For example I went to a party the other day, and a friend I hadn’t seen in years asked how I was. I am not sure they were emotionally prepared for my answer.

    Toni: Kind of terrible. Things have been super stressful in every aspect of my life. It’s like nothing is going the way I expect it to, and all my efforts are futile. I kinda just feel like giving up and…. Hey… where are you going!?

    I hope something fucking epic happens soon so I am in a better update place and don’t socially alienate myself at cocktail parties.

    Like I could win an Emmy or something…

    toni and bridget emmy

    December 9, 2015 • Musings • Views: 1177

  • Why Donald Trump Will Never Be President

    There is no way Donald Trump is going to be president. I am willing to bet my left labia on it. Not the right, because I’m a liberal.

    I truly believe the reason why Donald Trump is currently getting so much attention, and may even become the republican nominee, is because he is a pawn to placate the extreme right. There have been some pretty major social shifts in the Obama administration, and even though it wasn’t the “change” a hyper progressive conspiracy theorist like me would have wanted to see (ie a total dismantling of Wall Street replaced by a globally organized gift economy predicated on the trading of solely biodynamic goods and services) there still have been some pretty major developments.

    The thing about American politics is that people are excessively passionate about issues that aren’t political. Everyone has an opinion about abortion rights and gay marriage, but pretty sure most people don’t have much to say about the Federal Reserve’s impact on our banking system. The boring details of our government and how sanctions in Iran actually affect you are often not discussed. It is not like the national conversation centers around the truth that if everyone was deeply involved in their local political structure, they could potentially enact drastic national policy. That would be too complicated! So instead we fight about anal sex and the harvesting of baby parts because EVERYONE has something to say about that.

    The extreme right is angry, confused, and afraid. The social developments are intimidating, and that makes them feel insecure. When people feel backed into a corner and threatened – they act out. It is a strategy to protect oneself and preserve whatever it is they’re holding onto. The extreme right needs to feel like the government is still on their side in order for the illusion of democracy to hold true.

    I say illusion because we don’t live in a state ruled by the people – corporations and corporate interests govern us. It’s beyond oligarchy. We live in a “corporatetocracy.” Yet if we were to admit this, it would undermine the US global rhetoric that we invade other countries to spread democracy like a venereal disease – when our real motive is to pillage their resources and employ our companies.

    America isn’t a country – it’s a business. And let me tell you, the CEO’s of brand USA know that Donald Trump would be bad advertising. The ruling lizard elite (or whoever, no judgment here) are all well aware that in order for the US to continue it’s covert imperialism, we have to keep the brand intact.

    Donald Trump serves the agenda of pacifying the extreme right, but he would be an awful product ambassador for this country. The New World Order knows this! The US needs to seduce the global community in order to manipulate them into buying our merchandise. The exportation of Hollywood, fashion, technology, “freedom,” “progress,” all capture the imagination of those that want to believe in the land of opportunity. The true leaders of this country know our actual dependency on immigrants, yet they will allow Trump to publically shame them just to satisfy the stupidity of the citizens. It’s all a show.

    Donald Trump can’t be president because in the global stratosphere he is so obviously a joke. But America needs his voice right now because he does contribute to the schizophrenic identity of the American people. On the one hand we are one of the most socially tolerant countries on the planet, and on the other, we are just as archaic as Saudi Arabia. There are still very conservative old world thinkers in this country, and they are mixed up in a place where Caitlyn Jenner wins a woman of the year award. This schism is hard to mend because social and religious beliefs are way more engrained than political understanding.

    This election is the manifestation of the current cultural division in this country, and how emotionally bipolar we are as a nation. If we are looking at a Trump vs Clinton showdown, then I think it is pretty clear that what we are watching is not our votes at work, but our feelings at play. The more authentic representatives of the right and left are swept away like insignificant pests because they don’t fan the flame of the display. Trump and Clinton are the stars because their narrative serves the game and will keep people distracted from asking the real questions – like seriously, who are the lizard elite and what do they want!?

    (PS Even though I don’t fear Trump in the White house, that doesn’t mean his speech hate crimes and racist rhetoric – which the media has legitimized – isn’t detrimental).


    December 7, 2015 • Current Events, Political Banter • Views: 1991

  • More Philosophers and Less Murderers Please

    A lot of fucked up shit has been going on lately. The Planned Parenthood shooting, multiple terrorist attacks, white dudes mass murdering, a bagillion cases of police brutality…. The amount of violence is staggering, and also incredibly confusing. The thing I keep asking myself is “who the dick cares enough about an issue to kill another human over it!?”

    I get how someone might have an opinion on a subject. I have opinions about things all the time. For instance I think beets are gross. But that doesn’t mean I am going to snipe someone in the face for enjoying beets. You get what I mean?

    It’s one thing to be a total psycho serial killer who just likes massacring people. That’s a type of person. Not one I would like to date mind you, but they are out there. I don’t know what makes them tick, or what happened to them to inspire joy from cutting someone up and making sausage casing with their skin… but I think it’s safe to assume that they get pleasure out of that kind of Saturday afternoon activity. With the average vicious murderer, they’re dismembering people not because of some ideology, but rather because they want to.

    I don’t get what drives someone to kill for the sake of killing… but I get it.

    Yet there are these extreme fundamentalists who kill people over their own dogmatic beliefs… now that is a mystery to me. I am not that sure of anything!!! I would NEVER be so confident in my thinking that I would kill others who don’t agree. My perspective on life is always in flux. My entire ethical understanding of life is that everything and anything is possible, so I have to question all of it.

    I was a philosophy major in college and I remember having a total emotional breakdown about my life. My boyfriend wanted to break up with me, I was about to graduate, and I was kinda pudgy. I was crying one day and my teacher said to me, “Toni, you can’t just study philosophy, you are to live your life philosophically.”

    That sentence changed my life. It opened me up to realize that nothing is concrete, and I have to be open-minded to a variety of possibilities. No matter what I think, there is always an alternate reality. Perspective is inherently subjective, and therefor it can always adapt as I change and evolve.

    I question everything I hear, think, and feel. Did we land on the moon? Maybe? Maybe not? The moon could also be a hollow space station for aliens to observe us? Perhaps is it? The pyramids of Egypt might have been built with sound vibrations. Why not? I can never say I know anything for certain. Does my dad truly love me? I think so! But who knows! The universe is mysterious!

    To be so sure about your religious or moral beliefs that you actually KILL another human to uphold them – makes me think you haven’t really thought them through. Maybe I’m apathetic or don’t care enough about my values, but being so vehemently passionate that you would strap a bomb to your chest or open up an AK47 on an innocent crowd implies that there is a lot you haven’t questioned. If we all approached every subject philosophically we would be wayyyy to busy gazing at our navels to blow people up.

    This picture speaks to me….

    paris pic

    December 2, 2015 • Current Events, Musings, Political Banter • Views: 1131