my most accomplished moment so far is when i yelled “bultaoreune” while crossing the street to a guy in a bts jersey and he turned his head over so quickly, gave me the look, before both of us yelled fire and flailed our arms
the thing is, i don’t make a bunch of posts about the biphobia we face from straight people because that isn’t a debate. everyone within the community accepts that straight people can be biphobic. no one tries to argue that point or deny it or blame bi people–because we all have this in common, where cishet folks are the main oppressors. that is not questioned.
but as soon as we bring up the biphobia we face from within the community, which to me seems like a bigger issue since this is supposed to be a safe space bi folks can go away from the biphobia we face from straight people, suddenly its “discourse” and we’re being homophobic or we need to focus on wlw/mlm solidarity instead of our intercommunity issues–unless ofc those issues are the homophobia that lg people face from others in the community. like believe me i am aware that lgbta+ people are not the only or even the biggest source of biphobia out there. but it pisses me off twice as much as biphobic straight people, bc y'all should know better, and bc even as its happening its being denied or debated like its an opinion or something and not a literal fact.
The thing I’m liking the most about Frank Ocean’s new album is that it’s forcing a generation of kids, who don’t know what the world “patient” means, to be patient. I had a conversation the other day with the rapper MadeinTYO, a young kid who scored a viral hit called “Uber Everywhere,” a post-Keefian trap song embracing the conveniences of 2016-app use. It’s a silly little track, one that’s easy to sing when drunk and even more fun to quote in your every day life—like, um, when you’re riding in an Uber.
During our conversation, he talked a lot, but specifically tried to explain to me what the last year of his life has been like, what possibly “going viral” could mean in the post- post- post-modern modern modern era (or whatever it is that we’re currently living in). I don’t remember exactly the phrase he used, but at one point, he mentioned something about how it’s crazy, when you get famous on the internet at a rapid pace, suddenly “everyone” is wanting to send you snaps. He defined “everyone” by using names like Kylie Jenner and Lil Yachty. I told him that what he was saying made me feel old.
I saw someone tweet the other day, and I don’t quite remember who exactly it was, and said something about how she loved Snapchat so much because it feels like Rihanna is not only one of her friends, but in her friend circle.
When I was making a documentary earlier this summer, we were in a place where nobody really knew or heard of VICE. It was in Middle America. But upon hearing our name, they did perk up with curiosity, like when you overhear a stranger mention a friend. Then, on multiple occasions, I’d hear the following question: “Wait, is that the Snapchat story?”
This, I hope, doesn’t read as “old man yells at cloud,” with the old man being me and the cloud being Snapchat. It’s a beautifully innovative social network that has brought humanity closer together, which is something I’m all for. After all, the phone I carry around in my pocket 24 hours a day—an iPhone 6s Plus—is the size of a small television. Later today, I plan to have a video call with my parents who live in the mountains of Colorado. I’m in New York. I’ll probably be annoyed if the video isn’t crystal clear on my big phone. I just think it’s good for us to think about what it means to be patient.
About a year ago, on this tumblr that I rarely update because of reasons like “work” and “doing other things,” I wrote a quick post in the middle of the night while listening to Carly Rae Jepsen’s latest album EMOTION. It wasn’t really about the music, but about how I felt my life was spinning at that time—which, I guess, out of control would be both the wrong and right way to describe it. Not alarmist, just forward. This is being an adult. This is life. This is the time when you make decisions, like about which frame should be used for a painting to be hung on the wall, what coffee table should be purchased, should we get a used couch. Paychecks now go further than bar tabs. New socks are a regular expense.
Blond, or Blonde, or Boys Don’t Cry, is somber. It’s a record that seems to be wandering with purpose, like walking aimlessly through a city only to find a perfect bar for a sunset drink. The whole time I felt as though I was in the presence of a $16m McLaren F1 armed with a disposable camera, Frank wrote about its inspiration. It’s packaged this way, sleek and heartbroken and wrapped up in a cocoon of nostalgia. In some ways, this entire project feels like a continuation of “Bad Religion,” a song from Channel Orange. A song about letting go. A record, now, about accepting what that means.
The months of this year have been full of looking back my life, both purposefully and not, asking myself how I’ve arrived at this moment. Some friends of mine from home got married in June, and I found myself sweating in the Iowa summer heat for the first time in almost a decade, watching these two lovely people commit to one another for the rest of their lives. Then I got hammered into the night and road a bus with a bunch of people I hadn’t seen in over ten years through cornfields below a sea of very bright stars while listening to Justin Bieber’s “What Do You Mean.” The time surrounding the wedding, I spent with my nephews, playing countless hours of Battleship and Monopoly Jr. My birthday also fell on a date during this time, and they made me a birthday cake. It had way too many sprinkles, but not enough for a couple of six-year-olds.
My uncle died in February. My grandma died a couple weeks after that. They were different sides of the family, but the same in my family. I know it was difficult for my mom and my dad, experiencing each loss as they compounded on top of one another. My grandma lived a marvelous life in which she gave birth to nine children. I don’t really know if there’s a better eulogy for her than to just look at the size of the family. She wanted the grandsons to carry the casket, so the eight of us hoisted it up the stairs of the big Catholic church—the same one in which my friends would get married—as the rest of the family, all sixty-plus of them, followed behind. The reception provided too much food, and, I’m not exaggerating here, roughly 33 different types of casseroles. Grandma was 98, and had been fighting the inevitable for quite some time. Despite the sadness, it seemed appropriate to lay her to rest.
When Ron died, he was 70, which is not unreasonably old. It was a surprise, despite the fact that he’d never been the healthiest guy. I don’t know what to write about him that will do him justice. Can I say he was the best storyteller who’s ever walked the planet and not feel like I’m lying? Yeah, I can. His obituary agreed, describing him as “a great storyteller and a student of history and government.” The day he died I published an interview I’d done with Paul McCartney. It felt like a big moment in my career—a Beatle!—and I wrote about it on my Facebook page. Ron commented, writing about how he was proud of this “Professional” moment (his capital P), calling me “nephew” directly. I smiled and liked it, both mentally and physically. A few hours later, my dad called me. “Ron died,” he said. There was a slight crack in his voice. Two days later, I flew back to Iowa. It was the same day that Kanye West released The Life of Pablo. To no one but myself, I called Ron an ultralight beam. I still call him that.
I think my favorite song on Blond, as of now, is “Solo.” I think it’s a song about meditation, smoking marijuana and taking psychedelics alone, marveling at how big the world can feel if you think about it long enough. Here are the first lyrics: “Hand me a towel I’m dirty dancing by myself, gone off tabs of that acid, form me a circle, watch my Jagger, might lose my jacket and hit a solo.” It’s a song meant for what 2016 has been to me, growth and acceptance and being comfortable with whatever my Jagger is. I still don’t really know what I’m doing, but I’m more comfortable with that lack of comfort. There’s never been a moment in my life that’s been happier than I am right now.
The new apartment is nice. Soon we’ll have a guest room.
can they give jackson rest like wtf also i read that they barely took care of him while it was super hot, im fucking mad take care of ur artists jype wtf or do u absolutely not know how to do to anything legit im furious