There’s so much stuff I want to write about that I feel like something’s bottling in my chest, wanting to burst out. But I’m also feeling desultory and lazy. It’s Memorial Day weekend, and I should be lying on the beach with a sugary drink, feeling bad about my body. Not sitting in front of Caleb’s computer, eating baby carrots like a fucking anorexic, writing on this stupid fucking blog. But I went to the beach for fucking 20 minutes today. And if I were concerned with being like everyone else—which I am—the picture above would be enough proof that I did something just as good as you, with your BBQs, and your baseball games, and your beautiful fun fucking American long weekend times.
I’ve become pretty obsessed with Iran this past week. I mean, I was always kind of obsessed with Iran, because it seems so foreign and Persian. And people there make a lot of good movies that make it seem kind of glamorously oppressive. The kind of place where you could have no original ideas, but in expressing difference, come off as a real fucking rebel.
Recently, however, my fascination has become acute. First, I saw those excellent films—“A Separation” and “This Is Not a Film”—which made me very concerned with the Iranian judicial system. And then I read this piece on the Iranian elections by Laura Secor in the New Yorker. It literally made me ache with jealousy that she got to be there, observing it from the perspective of a beautiful white woman.
Like, are you kidding me? How did she even get into Iran, and why am I not this girl?