![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Called Max to wish him Happy Birthday. He was in an odd mood -- I think maybe Nirvana or the Traveling Wilburys were covering the old Peggy Lee standard Is That All There is? somewhere in his brain.
Which was cool. I didn't really want to talk to him either. I fuckin' hate talking to people on the phone.
But somehow we stayed on the phone anyway. Talking about how we needed to have a longer conversation soon.
And then somehow, we were in the middle of that longer conversation. Except it was a short conversation.
"Because if you're going to be staying in New York," Max said, "that would definitely be a factor in where I decide to go to school."
"Well, I'll be in New York for the foreseeable future," I said. "I like the Hudson Valley. I mean -- winter sucks. But there's a particular gravitational pull here that I find very, very magical. A good deal of that is my living situation, which is nice for the first time in -- what? I don't know. I have more friends now since I've had at any time since moving to Monterey. But, Linda -- who owns the house I'm living in -- is pretty old. She could drop dead tomorrow. But the fact is, Max, you're not going to leave California."
"Probably not," he agreed. "But I want to keep my options open."
"And in a way, that's a pity. You'd do much, much better in a professional sense at NYU than you would at Boalt. Not that Boalt isn't a great school -- "
"No, I know what you mean," Max said. "At NYU, I'd definitely be surrounded by a higher caliber of minds."
"Right," I said. "But you're not coming to New York because when push comes to shove, Liza is not going to leave California."
"Well, we're making this decision together, Mom --"
"Max, can I say something to you? And will you hear it understanding that it's a potentially offensive observation, but it's not intended to give offense?"
He laughed. "Sure, Mom."
"Well, you know, it's axiomatic that in every intimate personal relationship, there's a power dynamic. One person's the lover; the other person is the objet du desir. In your relationship with Liza, you're the lover. Which means that ultimately, you're always going to defer to her."
I could hear him taking a deep breath. "Well, there are lots of reasons why a California school would definitely be a better choice for me, Mom --"
"Sure, sure. I get that. I mean law school itself is going to be a big enough change, why throw moving into the mix?"
"I've gotten where I'm supposed to be," he said tiredly. He'd been talking to me while driving. "We're playing music at this little club on Telegraph tonight. We'll talk more --"
"Sure, sure, we'll talk more," I said.
But actually, I have no intention of talking more. I didn't feel guilty at all about bringing up the dynamics of his relationship with Liza. I felt furious. As though I'd been set up somehow. Like why were we even having this conversation? It's a foregone conclusion: He'll go to school in California. Why even waste the breath?
And I thought, I'm not even going to pick up the phone when he calls this weekend!
That'll teach him! Snort.
I couldn't even tell you why I felt so angry. I suppose it's because I'm so old. I remembered that conversation Max and I had about privilege driving back from Santa Fe. It was the last time I could remember feeling so furious at him. He told me he was ashamed of the degree of privilege he enjoyed, and this just goaded me into a white hot fury. Any degree of privilege you've enjoyed has come at the expense of your mother's happiness, shithead, I wanted to say. I struggled to put you through all those expensive schools. I went without to give you everything you wanted -- .
But, of course, to be perfectly honest, that was all selfishness on my part. Ipso facto, I was reparenting myself, giving him the childhood I wished I'd had, which means I was objectifying him to some degree, viewing him not as his own individual but as an extension of me.
Plus, happiness. Not the right word there. As longtime readers know, I'm temperamentally incapable of happiness.
Still. I'd like to commandeer a mass slaughter of everyone who's ever used the terms "identity politics" and "privilege" without ironic intent. I'm just so fucking sick of self-righteous young people. And old people who identify with self-righteous young people. Like it's our fault that the world is one big fucking mess. In another 40 years, it'll be your fault, sucker! 'Cause dem's the rules of the game.
I wonder what form youth rebellion will take in another 40 years. I see the antipodal swing of the pendulum 180 degrees away from this humorless insistence on political right-speak back into an equally humorless fundamentalism. I suppose that's what characterizes the modern world: The pendulum has begun to swing to its extremes more and more swiftly. The best place to exist from my perspective is about 30 degrees in either direction from the midpoint of the pendulum's swing. But I doubt that's even gonna be an option in the future. The pendulum will linger longer and longer at each end of its track.
The irony is that Max and his ilk think they're supporting individualism with their constant prate about privilege and how bad it is. They're not.
Bias is not bad. Equality is not good. Both principles are value-neutral. If everyone is equal, then everyone is an interchangeable cog in the same machine. If no one has bias, then no one has individual tastes, thoughts, or visions.
No. What you want is do to eradicate bias from the legal code. You want everyone to have equal opportunities.
Anyway, in this punch-happy mood, since I'd dreamed of Meryl Streep the other night, I decided to watch Sophie's Choice on Netflix. Movie holds up surprisingly well considering it was made 40 years ago -- mostly on the strength of Streep's performance. The scenes in Poland and the death camps are truly wrenching; the scenes in Brooklyn somewhat less so since Peter MacNicol and Kevin Kline (upon whom I had a huge crush at the time) turn out to have been overacting.
Which was cool. I didn't really want to talk to him either. I fuckin' hate talking to people on the phone.
But somehow we stayed on the phone anyway. Talking about how we needed to have a longer conversation soon.
And then somehow, we were in the middle of that longer conversation. Except it was a short conversation.
"Because if you're going to be staying in New York," Max said, "that would definitely be a factor in where I decide to go to school."
"Well, I'll be in New York for the foreseeable future," I said. "I like the Hudson Valley. I mean -- winter sucks. But there's a particular gravitational pull here that I find very, very magical. A good deal of that is my living situation, which is nice for the first time in -- what? I don't know. I have more friends now since I've had at any time since moving to Monterey. But, Linda -- who owns the house I'm living in -- is pretty old. She could drop dead tomorrow. But the fact is, Max, you're not going to leave California."
"Probably not," he agreed. "But I want to keep my options open."
"And in a way, that's a pity. You'd do much, much better in a professional sense at NYU than you would at Boalt. Not that Boalt isn't a great school -- "
"No, I know what you mean," Max said. "At NYU, I'd definitely be surrounded by a higher caliber of minds."
"Right," I said. "But you're not coming to New York because when push comes to shove, Liza is not going to leave California."
"Well, we're making this decision together, Mom --"
"Max, can I say something to you? And will you hear it understanding that it's a potentially offensive observation, but it's not intended to give offense?"
He laughed. "Sure, Mom."
"Well, you know, it's axiomatic that in every intimate personal relationship, there's a power dynamic. One person's the lover; the other person is the objet du desir. In your relationship with Liza, you're the lover. Which means that ultimately, you're always going to defer to her."
I could hear him taking a deep breath. "Well, there are lots of reasons why a California school would definitely be a better choice for me, Mom --"
"Sure, sure. I get that. I mean law school itself is going to be a big enough change, why throw moving into the mix?"
"I've gotten where I'm supposed to be," he said tiredly. He'd been talking to me while driving. "We're playing music at this little club on Telegraph tonight. We'll talk more --"
"Sure, sure, we'll talk more," I said.
But actually, I have no intention of talking more. I didn't feel guilty at all about bringing up the dynamics of his relationship with Liza. I felt furious. As though I'd been set up somehow. Like why were we even having this conversation? It's a foregone conclusion: He'll go to school in California. Why even waste the breath?
And I thought, I'm not even going to pick up the phone when he calls this weekend!
That'll teach him! Snort.
I couldn't even tell you why I felt so angry. I suppose it's because I'm so old. I remembered that conversation Max and I had about privilege driving back from Santa Fe. It was the last time I could remember feeling so furious at him. He told me he was ashamed of the degree of privilege he enjoyed, and this just goaded me into a white hot fury. Any degree of privilege you've enjoyed has come at the expense of your mother's happiness, shithead, I wanted to say. I struggled to put you through all those expensive schools. I went without to give you everything you wanted -- .
But, of course, to be perfectly honest, that was all selfishness on my part. Ipso facto, I was reparenting myself, giving him the childhood I wished I'd had, which means I was objectifying him to some degree, viewing him not as his own individual but as an extension of me.
Plus, happiness. Not the right word there. As longtime readers know, I'm temperamentally incapable of happiness.
Still. I'd like to commandeer a mass slaughter of everyone who's ever used the terms "identity politics" and "privilege" without ironic intent. I'm just so fucking sick of self-righteous young people. And old people who identify with self-righteous young people. Like it's our fault that the world is one big fucking mess. In another 40 years, it'll be your fault, sucker! 'Cause dem's the rules of the game.
I wonder what form youth rebellion will take in another 40 years. I see the antipodal swing of the pendulum 180 degrees away from this humorless insistence on political right-speak back into an equally humorless fundamentalism. I suppose that's what characterizes the modern world: The pendulum has begun to swing to its extremes more and more swiftly. The best place to exist from my perspective is about 30 degrees in either direction from the midpoint of the pendulum's swing. But I doubt that's even gonna be an option in the future. The pendulum will linger longer and longer at each end of its track.
The irony is that Max and his ilk think they're supporting individualism with their constant prate about privilege and how bad it is. They're not.
Bias is not bad. Equality is not good. Both principles are value-neutral. If everyone is equal, then everyone is an interchangeable cog in the same machine. If no one has bias, then no one has individual tastes, thoughts, or visions.
No. What you want is do to eradicate bias from the legal code. You want everyone to have equal opportunities.
Anyway, in this punch-happy mood, since I'd dreamed of Meryl Streep the other night, I decided to watch Sophie's Choice on Netflix. Movie holds up surprisingly well considering it was made 40 years ago -- mostly on the strength of Streep's performance. The scenes in Poland and the death camps are truly wrenching; the scenes in Brooklyn somewhat less so since Peter MacNicol and Kevin Kline (upon whom I had a huge crush at the time) turn out to have been overacting.
