FEELING BORED? INTERESTED IN WHY LADY GAGA IS IMPORTANT?
I HAVE THE ESSAY FOR YOU!
I wrote a paper on Lady Gaga for my “What is Postmodernism?” class and some folks expressed interest in reading it after it’s finished, so here is an excerpt (it’s the introduction):
Thus far in her career, a critical examination of Lady Gaga’s anomalistic position within the current postmodern condition has been notably absent; notable especially considering the markedly divided opinions expressed on both her character and career (she’s either depthless or brilliant or met with an ironic, qualified embrace). Except for the occasional aside in album reviews and articles, little effort has been made on the part of culture/music/art critics to consider the implications of Gaga’s insistence that she is first and foremost a performance artist, and what impact this has on the way we receive her perceptibly “depthless” dance music. The hesitation to do so can probably be attributed to Gaga’s status as a pop artist—that is, not fine artist. The impulse to categorize the two is characteristically modernist, but her attempt at bridging the two can be thought of as a postmodern effort, if not a naïve one. Regardless of whether she belongs in the high or low culture box, I believe the development of a critical discourse surrounding her work is highly relevant to a richer understanding of culture’s current schizophrenic state.
There are some holes in it and it’s kind of a draft for something I want to take further… but anyway, download the PDF here! Email me “your thoughts” to me at: annalouisemack at gmail
Your Lady Gaga obsession found its way into a weekly column I write for our school newspaper where I said much the same thing.
Got me a fake fur coat for my birthday. It’s absurd. Super useful for the happenings of this weekend.
AND the besties from home came up for the weekend and the boyfriend is a big cutie.
Good birthday gang, good birthday.
I mostly remember filling up the rest of that skol bottle with fruit punch at TKE. And then I just assume we had the most birthday fun ever.
Mr. Nate Rochester
Whoever can put on his top hat shall be undisputed mayor of Rochester.
Spending a wonderfully awkward evening in Theta pi gamma. The first time i have ever been
MALARIA!- Your Turn To Run
A few weekends ago a friend of mine, “W,” was raped. I’m sure that a lot of you know what that’s like, and that some of you don’t. The particulars of the incident don’t matter as much as you might think.
It was Halloween, we had been drinking at a friends party, and taken shots of Tequila in W’s room. She was pretty drunk, slurring her words, having a little trouble walking, in short, what most college students look like on Halloween. W, our friend B and I went to our campus bar to see a student DJ who was performing. We went downstairs to dance, and after a while B and I decided to leave. When you are on a small liberal arts campus, you tend to assume that nothing bad will happen to you. It’s what is often annoyingly referred to as “the bubble,” and usually it has more to do with disregarding the lives of others outside of your community than those within it. Unlike in a big city, where we would intervene if we saw one of our girlfriends leave with a stranger, at Beloit we generally let it slide. “Oh, so and so is going to get laid!” Is a pretty standard response.
We believe that our community is capable of respect and non-violence, that we are decent enough people that strangers are still people we can trust. So B and I left. Someone probably saw us leave, saying to their friend “Oh, so and so is going to get laid!” Meanwhile a man, a student, a member of our community, dragged W into a bathroom at the bar and began trying to take her clothes off. She told him “No, not here. I don’t want to.” I don’t have any idea what he said. They danced for a while, and she decided to go back to his townhouse to hang out. No one is denying it was stupid. No one is denying we should have been there to stop her. No one is denying she was drunk. It doesn’t matter. What matters is that he took her home and raped her. Raped her while she pleaded with him to stop, raped her like any other of a million rapes that happen all the time.
I know it sounds cliché to say we are all victims here. There is really only one victim here: Her. But it has amazed me how much it has affected my life and the life of my friends over the last few weeks. W is considering transferring, and has basically been unable to lead a halfway normal life. One of her friends is taking a semester off. Several of them can’t sleep. I haven’t been able to pay attention to classes or things I need to get done to graduate. I know it’s much worse for W. The emotional pain I have seen her and her friends go through has been overwhelming to the point that I don’t know how to go about my daily life.
The worst part for me was not the incident. I wasn’t there. The worst part has been what has happened since. I have heard often enough, about how rape is treated in the criminal justice system. I have taken classes on feminism and discussed the issue of race from a variety of theoretical and practical positions. Part of me wanted to believe that the days of Thelma and Louise were over, that the police, courts and other figures of authority would believe women who tell of the injustices done to them. This is not the case. W’s case was dismissed despite the fact that she very nearly required surgery. The DA did not feel there was enough evidence to take the case.
The response from the school has been even more depressing and infuriating. The rapist is still on campus. We aren’t allowed to know who he is, and we don’t feel we can ask W to talk about it so we can be sure. But we are pretty sure we know. We know where it happened, and we know who lives there. And we are ninety percent sure that we know who it is. And we have to see him, going about his life like nothing happened, lying to everyone about what he did, eyeing girls and eating salad and reading books. It’s the ten percent that kills me. I need to know that it’s him. He came to a party at my house this weekend and I kicked him out. I told him “you’re not supposed to be here,” and I tried to stay calm, but when he asked me why I was kicking him out I nearly lost it. Something in that interaction made me sure it was him, that he was lying to me, but what if I’m wrong?
I’m not sure what to do about all this. I’ve never actually wanted to beat someone up before. I’ve never thought that would really make me feel better or solve anything. I feel like it would this time. I want him off my campus. We all want him off my campus. I don’t know whether to send this letter to the administration, or try to publish it in our school newspaper. I’m not sure it would do any good, it might make W feel more ashamed, feel worse about what happened. Violence and rape in particular makes people feel powerless. That’s the point. That’s what I’m feeling. I need him to leave my school, and I don’t know how I can make it happen.
They weren’t kidding about this one. It does rule.
Feeling far too nostalgic. Want to move somewhere new. Contradictions abound.
