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Ryan Gosling has a band called Dead Man’s Bones, a lighthearted, macabre-inspired rock-ish choral venture that seems to have toured at one point and I think has an album. I can’t tell, the website’s hard to figure out and I have deadlines to fill. This is probably old news to some of you. It definitely is, actually; Pitchfork even covered it in 2009, before Gosling mania took hold of the hysterical masses. But I just now found this out and so was immediately compelled to share this exciting situation with like-minded Ryan Gosling admirers who might not have been aware.

What’s sort of confusing is that this video is four years old, and it doesn’t yet have even a million pageviews. That doesn’t make sense to me. Why has a video of hunky ass Gosling looking extremely doable, sonically caressing us with his velvety voice and being all adorable and stuff not gone bigtime viral? I mean, it does have 900k views, which is impressive, don’t get me wrong, but I figured it would’ve just destroyed the internet by now.

…Anyways. Please enjoy his performance below, and here’s the band’s YouTube channel if you’re interested in getting into a Ryan Gosling k-hole.

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1. Start crossing the street to the side of the road you’re walking parallel to, see a group of people laughing gregariously on that side of the road, quietly return to the side from which you came and wait to cross the street until you’ve walked well out of sight of the loud, gesticulating, scary people.

2. Accidentally fail to make eye contact with your roommates and uncontrollably mumble one-word answers as they attempt conversations with positive facial expressions and enthusiastic vocal meters. Laugh nervously and fail miserably at puns and witticisms, responding with barely audible, misunderstood, semantically inaccurate colloquialisms.

3. Stay in bed until noon or 1 p.m. watching Netflix Instant under the pretext that you’re bored and that there’s nothing to do while aware that this behavior is actually a self-perpetuating loop in which continually and passively affirming that you’re bored and that there’s nothing to do by not doing anything at all reinforces the boring concrete reality that nothing is happening (and that it’d likely to cease if you got out of bed and did things).

4. Wear headphones in public. Order your bagel and coffee with them in and just nod to whatever the cashier asks you, trusting you won’t somehow get a lox and cream cheese, because that sh-t is disgusting. Keep your headphones on at the post office, at the bank, at the ATM, at the coffee shop. Etc.

5. Hear someone coming up the stairs toward your room and freeze when they knock on your door, attempting to remain motionless and silent. Once the person leaves, walk as quietly to the door as possible and lock it.

6. Go invisible on all your chatting accounts, despite the fact that there’s some indecision there — your ex or your crush or the one friend who you’re insecure you like more than s/he likes you/ are maybe over-dependent on for social opportunities won’t know you’re online and thus won’t know to message you a validating, warm, comfortable sentiment.

7. Say “yes” to plans for drinks at 9 with your friend; at 8 text your friend to cancel. Buy a bottle of red wine and retreat to the warm glow of your computer screen.

8. Field a few emails and texts that aren’t ‘good enough,’ as if any text or email could be ‘good enough’ in the state you’re in. The only text/ email you could receive that could possibly be good enough is one from the ex you’re still kind of in love with saying that she’s hopeless without you and that she needs you to continue living, or one from someone offering a huge contract that will double your income for the next six months, etc.

9. Think about your peers and about your job and their jobs and their talent and your talent. This leads quickly to a toxic spiral of self-loathing in which you become so convinced that you’ve only managed to get your job via a very fortunate series of coincidences and instances when you successfully fooled others into believing you’re a worthwhile human being that you can actually begin to feel your heart beating harder, faster.

10. On the sidewalk, look down when you’re walking. Avoid eye contact with everyone. If someone stops you and asks for directions, flinch and look shocked, act flustered and mumble that you aren’t sure what s/he’s talking about while briskly fleeing the scene.

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A vacation period as defined by therapists and couples counselors is a time frame that generally occurs at the onset of a romance. It is thought that its actual length is dependent on the two individuals involved — one couple’s may last a week, another’s may last for a year. Therapists and couples counselors characterize the vacation period by referring to an almost desperate euphoria when in each others’ presence, a desire to somehow physically merge, a deep-seated experience of protectiveness. It is thought by some that the vacation period represents Falling In Love; the accuracy of this belief is unverifiable. I was reading a TC submission the other day, in my new apartment, in a new city, and I came across two successive sentences that are, coincidentally, exactly the same two successive lines in a song by WHY? I used to listen to that sometimes made me cry a little. After the vacation period it is generally expected that a couple will experience a “fall from grace” — a dip below equilibrium, two people disillusioned by an unexpected loss of passion and excitement and the awareness of this loss, how disappointing that feels. Then the couples either break up or they don’t; in the latter case they are often heard describing to their couples counselors an abstract “something” that has gone “missing,” their facial expressions earnestly confused and dismayed, frustrated with this unexplainable new presence or lack thereof. The fallout associated with this “something” that goes “missing” is one of the most common reasons post-vacation period couples seek couples counseling in fact. Often therapists must not only attempt to address whatever the couples perceive as having gone missing but also the anger and disillusionment that are consequences of the supposed complexity of the process of how something went missing at all, and how exactly it so suddenly eluded the couple — its disappearance against the will of the couple itself, in direct contradiction to what the couple feels is the point of their relationship. Some couples initially approach relationship therapists unable to articulate that something has been lost, others arrive at their first sessions with theories regarding core personality traits, childhood trauma, and a mess of cause-and-effect logic that’s altogether impossible to make sense out of.

I know this girl who puts spells on things. If we’re having dinner together, she casts a spell over it by insisting that all the plates match, that the glasses coordinate with the plates, that the silverware be set on the cloth napkins, that everything we might possibly need be on the table, that classical music is playing on the radio at the right volume, and that both of us are seated before we start eating. If we have wine together, she casts a spell over it by lighting candles and adjusting the amount of electric light and putting on Pavarotti or Charlie Parker or Nick Drake or Beirut or WHY? and sitting on the couch with her glass and looking out the window and patting the cushion next to her and asking me to sit there. One of the many spells she has for her kitchen is this system for dishtowels in which certain towels, according to where they are located (on the stove handle, on the small kitchen towel rack, on the refrigerator handle), are meant for either drying your hands, drying dishes, or cleaning dirty surfaces. She can even cast spells on mundanities, like walking to the store, by buying a small hot chocolate on the way and insisting on doting over it, sharing it with me in equal proportions. Just like everyone is alone, this girl is alone, regardless of whether or not she’s surrounded by people who love her. She’s going to die, but she’s maybe more aware of it than most others, and putting spells on her most immediate surroundings provides her an aspect of control which I think translates to a feeling of security and “home,” maybe a feeling of distance from death, or the idea that when death comes, it’ll be easier to bear.

Post-vacation period couples typically seek relationship therapy as a last resort, the vast majority having reported feeling “beaten” and “ready to give up” when questioned about their decision to pursue it. This is because seeking couples counseling requires the emotionally difficult tasks of first articulating and accepting the premise that the relationship is “failing” — a term wide open for interpretation — second, admitting to and accepting pathetic feelings of helplessness in regards to their ability to “fix” — a term wide open for interpretation — their problems, and third, placing all their faith in a savior called Couples Counseling, publicly groveling at its feet despite any reservations or embarrassment they may feel about the similarities between their supposed new faith and the bovine attitudes of newly converted evangelical Christians. The song by WHY? that I used to listen to that sometimes made me cry a little, whose two successive lines are coincidentally in a TC submission that I read the other day in my new apartment, in a new city, is called “Light Leaves,” off the LP Elephant Eyelash, released by Anticon in 2005. Additional to the first step of admitting there exists a problem critical to the relationship’s success, often making post-vacation period couples’ therapy-seeking experience even more difficult is problematic indecision regarding which type of counselor to hire. It is believed that there are two types of therapist, both of which can be explained by simple analogy. The “passive” therapist sits in the passenger seat of the car, letting the clients drive. The therapist suggests points of significance along the way and asks the clients if they’re interested in exploring them. The clients can accept or reject the therapist’s suggestions; ultimately, the clients make all the decisions. The “active” therapist drives the car while the clients sit in the passenger seat. The therapist drives to points of significance regardless of the clients’ wishes (unless they are strong), urging the clients to participate as much as possible in exploring these points in an earnest manner. It is not unlikely that one partner of a post-vacation period couple prefers a passive therapist while the other prefers an active one. This discrepancy can produce measurable discord.

I have this thing that happens to me in novel situations, my personality sort of changes. I become a person more similar to my idealized version of myself. I perceive myself as becoming way more charismatic and likable and desirable when for example I’ve just moved to a new city for a job editing a website where I already have a built-in network of individuals eager to meet and like me. Completely new contexts in the presence of consistent validation from new and interesting people seem to free my personality from parts of itself that I detest. I believe that I’ve gained irrevocably enhanced clarity on social interaction, and I forget, for example, that I’ve just broken up with someone with whom I lived in a small studio apartment in Seattle’s Capitol Hill neighborhood for three years, with whom I worked on a farm for two years, who cried when she saw flamenco in an impossibly small, crowded jazz club in Barcelona, who I freaked out over and cried about and lied to and whose parents hated me and who loved Pavarotti and Charlie Parker and Nick Drake and Beirut and WHY? with me and shaved me in the shower and worked the farmers market with me and about whom my best friend looked at me serious and said “Don’t be a dumbass” when I was talking with him at the Redwood about maybe breaking up with her and who had this funny system of dishtowels in our kitchen that I could never get the hang of. Somehow I don’t process the loss of anything like that in novel situations, somehow I’m just excited and free — I actually will think things like “Wow I’m handling this well, this is super easy,” and “I did a good job preparing myself.” There is no principle involved; the sudden up in charisma and positivity isn’t by design. But following each of these personality-change events is an eventual but inevitable loss of clarity. As if some program inside my personality had suddenly and unexpectedly shut down, I become aware that I simply don’t know how to think, feel and act as I did not a week before. Things aren’t exciting anymore. All the charisma and positivity just sort of fizzles out.

It is thought by some that one of the concrete manifestations marking the end of the vacation period is the unforeseen arrival of difficulties with sex. As is admitting to needing relationship therapy, this is something that is typically difficult for couples to discuss, and not just because the very suddenness of the onset of sexual problems is itself cause for bafflement. Many couples consider their sex life to be a reliable barometer of the health — a term wide open for interpretation — of their relationship — indeed, many relationship therapists are cognizant of and embrace this notion themselves. Post-vacation period couples can therefore find it extremely troubling to bring sexual problems into the relationship’s ongoing dialogue, whether or not sexual behavior and relationship health — a term wide-open for interpretation — are indeed significantly correlated: to address such issues is to acknowledge that the relationship is perhaps failing in a manner over which the couple seemingly has no control. For post-vacation period couples who are particularly codependent, this can be an extremely frightening thing to do, and so it’s common for them to participate in several therapy sessions before being able to discuss their sex life. But when couples counselors are able to get them to speak candidly about their sexual problems, a blanket-statement is, typically, immediately issued: “I just don’t feel like it anymore,” “It seems like all the passion is gone,” “It just doesn’t feel right,” etc. After further prodding and cajoling by the couples counselor, each party eventually reports specifics: “I don’t know what to do — it’s like when she knows I want to make love she seizes up, she almost cringes now when I touch her–” “There’s really nothing wrong with the relationship — I love him and want to be with him, we’re so good together, it’s why this is so frustrating, because it doesn’t make any sense at all–” “[Speaking to the therapist] You’re not going to be able to tell us to do anything. I mean, you’re not going to be able to be like ‘Instead of trying to have sex next time, why don’t you spend a lot of time on foreplay?’ That isn’t going to work, because it’s like if sex even enters our shared consciousness it’s immediately over, everything shuts off and becomes awkward, it’s toxic, thinking of having sex is basically preventative of having the sex itself–” “I need him to just take me and have it not be full of thoughts, it needs to be spontaneous–” etc. After recounting specific emotional experiences such as the above, couples counselors generally attempt to explore “deeper” issues which may or may not strike at the core of the post-vacation period couple’s newfound problems with sex. Ultimately, it is not yet known if sexual chemistry is tied to logical problem solving, “figuring out” or “accepting” deep-seated emotional complexities and “open” communication — as is promoted by couples counseling — or if it is more positively correlated with sexual hormones released by the body in the presence of fixed triggers that have somehow become inaccessible to the post-vacation period couple.

The morning I moved to my new apartment in the new city, New York City, the girl who puts spells on things and I ate breakfast as we did most mornings, three years, watching her digital alarm clock on her bookshelf next to her couch so we would know when I had to leave so I could catch my flight, and when we were hugging in the middle of the living room after breakfast I looked at the clock and told her it was time for me to leave and she looked at once shocked and saddened, and she looked at me worried and said, “Oh, is it really happening now?” Exactly two months later, in New York, I noticed that I was uncontrollably experiencing nuanced visual images of seemingly insignificant places in Seattle’s Capitol Hill neighborhood, where I lived with the girl. Specific parts of a sidewalk on the left side of John between 11th and 12th. The way the road slopes diagonally on the northwest corner of Olive and Denny. A beautiful tree next to the tennis courts in the lower part of Volunteer Park. The weird open space on the corner of 11th and Republican. The view in front of The Crescent walking up the right side of Olive toward Denny. The facade of the corner store at Olive and Summit. The foliage on the second roundabout on Summit from Olive. The way the ivy at the Capitol Hill library looks after it’s died off for the winter. The way I’d experience these images was as if I’d just walked face-first into a brick wall; my mind would blank, I’d grimace, it would hurt. If I got these images when I was having a conversation with someone, or if I was having a meeting with my boss, or if I was sitting on the subway avoiding eye contact with the person across the car from me, I’d blink and do a sort of mental teeth clenching, forgetting it as hard as I could, forgetting it, I didn’t want to think about any of it.

“The point” of a relationship is arguably a false construct imposed on a chaotic romantic union between two individuals, by one or both (usually both) of the individuals, in an effort to maintain a feeling of control and place the relationship within a pre-existing narrative that’s proven its long-term ability to comfort and provide security. Some couples who believe that a relationship has a point, a sort-of concrete end-goal, and are able to articulate it, have described it to their relationship therapists as a sustainable, mutual feeling of adoration and love for each other, a healthy sex life, an ability to support each other until death. The general premise is that it’s the couple against the world, that at the end of a day full of adversity they can come home and find their other half in 100% solidarity, that they take care of each others’ needs, that each is completely certain the other is the person they want to love until they die. The general premise — the “point” — is sustainable happiness in the relationship. Fulfillment, a life-long falling into each other, security, a constant merging, stability, home isn’t a place but where you are, comfort, accepting the universe, safety, holding hands, sex, an island for your kitchen, beauty, finally getting a cat together, forever, etc.

One night after the bar during the first week I moved to New York, I was in my new apartment, and I felt great. I felt like I could handle everything I’d recently changed about my situation. I felt happy about my new coworkers. The feelings were unexpected. I had this irrevocable sense of clarity regarding social interaction, and it was like I had completely forgotten that I’d just broken up with someone with whom I lived in a small studio apartment in Seattle’s Capitol Hill neighborhood for three years, with whom I worked on a farm for two years, with whom I went to Europe for three months, who cried when she saw flamenco in an impossibly small, crowded jazz club in Barcelona, who I freaked out over and cried about and lied to and whose parents hated me and who loved Nick Drake and Chopin and Beirut and WHY? with me and shaved me in the shower and worked the farmers market with me and about whom my best friend looked at me serious and said “Don’t be a dumbass” when I was talking with him at the Redwood about maybe breaking up with her and who had this funny system of dishtowels that I could never get the hang of. Somehow I wasn’t processing the loss of any of this stuff, somehow I was just excited and free — I was thinking things like “Wow I’m handling this well, this is super easy,” and “I did a good job preparing myself.” I had just gotten back from the bar, and I took off my clothes, in my new apartment, in New York City, and I began reading a TC submission and came across two successive lines that are, coincidentally, exactly the same two successive lines in a song by WHY? I used to sometimes listen to, and that was the first time I cried since we broke up.

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Kanye fans who read TC (according to our Facebook stats there at least 2,000 of you…), here you go — a fresh-faced, 19-year-old Kanye West in 1996 rapping on stage in Chicago with his then partner Phenom. The poor video quality actually makes it difficult to discern if his ego had already grown to the absurd proportions it currently maintains, but even this unsavvy contributor must admit that he sounds pretty damn good.

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Stephan Czuratis

Pawcrates (b. 2011) — Chicago, IL

Delighting humans with one of the most playful demeanors 2011 saw in kitties, Pawcrates set the world record for time spent attacking his own tail and chasing a flashlight beam. Pawcrates is also the youngest cat on the American team for the “How Many Times Can You Wake Up Your Owner During The Middle Of The Night By Attacking Them Apropos Of Nothing, And Other Cat Games” Games, to be held in 2015 in Sao Paulo, Brazil.

Carbonroku

Doogie Meowser (b. 2009) — New York, NY

By and large known for his elegance and grace, Doogie Meowser was feted by the New York new media
intellectual elite throughout the course of 2011 for, as the Observer put it, “possess[ing] a king’s poise and an unusually rapt demeanor.” In 2012 we expect to see Doogie Meowser to enjoy even more media attention, as rumor has it he’s been contacted for several magazine shoots and is scheduled to appear in this year’s NYC Fashion Week.

werner100359

Gizmo (b. 2004) — Berlin, Germany

Hailing out of East Berlin, newcomer Gizmo caught his first big break in 2011 after a picture of him stalking pigeons — shot by an American tourist — made it to the front page of Reddit, garnering over 20,000 upvotes and less than 500 downvotes. The photo quickly caught the attention of New York-based talent agency International Creative Management (ICM), and rumor has it he’s working on a webseries with MacAulay Culkin and Claire Danes.

Simon, (b. 2009) — Seattle, WA

From Seattle’s trendy Capitol Hill neighborhood hails Simon, who impressed the Seattle public and media last November by being the first and only cat to take residence at the Occupy Seattle encampment. He used his initial media exposure to springboard into his current position as Office Pet at The Stranger, and is now something of a catlebrity in and around the Pacific Northwest. We heard he’ll be up for a Genius Award nomination this fall.

Janinski

Bonkers (b. 2011) — Tokyo, Japan

Catapulted to fame last February with her hit appearance in “Kittens in Bowls” (see below), Bonkers has ridden her recent wave of stardom to land deals at multiple Japanese sitcoms and cat food commercials. Watch out for her at a venue near you this spring, when she’ll be on her first American tour.

Seedermaster

Alabama (b. 2007) — Brooklyn, NY

Breaking into the Brooklyn underground feline scene in late 2009 with an impressive meow and super chic black coat whose sheen you can see from a mile away, Alabama turned her poverty-stricken upbringing on the streets of Bed-Stuy into personal brand that’s at once hardcore and cuddlysoft. Look out for her dazzling passersby this year on the sidewalks of Greenpoint and East Williamsburg.

Daemen

Crazy Kitty (b. 2007) — San Francisco, CA

Crazy Kitty and her trademark bent tail made waves in the Mission District of San Francisco in 2011. Owner of an excessively soft coat and an adorable propensity to sit in sinks, and on your hands when you’re trying to type, watch out for Crazy Kitty this year — she’s likely got a few more tricks up her sleeve.

Claudia Zaino

Chairman Meow (b. 2006) — Miami, FL

Chairman Meow gained notoriety last year with his fluffy mane and intense stare. One of the most unimpressed-with-you cats in his generation, Chairman Meow and his admirers represent a new paradigm in feline aloofness.

Andrea 93

Tom (b. 2003) — Austin, TX

The oldest cat on our 10 Cats Under 20 list, Tom got our attention for being one of the most affectionate felines internet cat culture’s seen in a long, long time. Garnering rave reviews everywhere from the New York Times to Die Spiegel, Tom’s best known for his propensity to hop up on your lap when you sit down on the couch and begin purring without apparent cause.

Viriditas

Snowflake (b. 2005) — Mexico City, Mexico

Straight out of Mexico City, Snowflake made our list for her uncanny ability to scale walls and otherwise navigate intensely dangerous stunts. In February of last year, two street children reported having seen the Catina jump from one rooftop to another rooftop — a distance of about 15 feet, plus a vertical drop of around 10. Pretty impressive, Snowflake!

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James Franco: Finish triple masters’ degrees in the following ultra-exclusive mini-programs offered by, respectively, Stanford, Arizona State, and Kenyon College: Post-Post-Modern Feminist Francoism Theory In The Digital Age, Why People Are Obsessed With James Franco, and Melodrama And Gentricity In Cinema As It Relates To James Franco With A Minor In Alternative Theories About Why People Are Obsessed With James Franco.

Kim Kardashian: Commit to a long-term relationship that lasts at least four months.

Ryan Gosling: Induce a paradigm-shift in “Top Sexiest Men” lists wherein instead of relatively “insignificant” write-ups in “puny ass” (his words) magazines, “Top Sexiest Men” lists become, simply “Top Sexiest Ryan Goslings” such that all “Top Sexiest Men” lists are composed only of ratings and analyses of myriad Ryan Gosling photos and internet memes.

Kanye West: Maintain a Twitter account for over six months without having a catastrophic meltdown before 10 AM.

Skrillex: Stay relevant.

Zooey Deschannel: Perfect the Manic Pixie Dream Woman image: an iteration of the Manic Pixie Dream Girl who feels comfortable shopping at Ann Taylor Loft and driving a minivan, on occasion, as needed. Look into cost of commissioning a concept artist to create ‘life-size,’ fully-functional pixie wings out of the wings of a thousand dead dragonflies and the additional finances necessary for fully-functional surgical implantation of said wings.

Jesse Eisenberg: Submit to McSweeney’s Internet Tendency under a pen name, “just to be sure.”

Michael Cera: Kill Jesse Eisenberg.

Beyonce: Successfully derail Jay-Z and Kanye’s relationship by a combination of withholding sex, frequently demanding that Jay-Z “Facetime” with in-laws when in the studio with Kanye, and instilling in Jay-Z a Pavlovian response to Kanye’s ring on Jay-Z’s iPhone such that whenever Jay-Z hears the ring he immediately, subconsciously desires a “sh-t ton” (this is the word Beyonce used, to her nutritionist) of fried, “cheesy ass” (again, Beyonce’s words) foods and so instead of picking up the phone is compelled to “gobble” the closest approximation to a fried, cheesy food in sight.

Ashton Kutcher: Co-star in Dude Where’s My Car, The Sequel opposite Seann William Scott and more barely-legal breasts than a poultry slaughter plant.

Chris Brown: Let go and let god.

Leonardo DiCaprio: “Finally” overcome the “f-cking” (his words) baby-face image with a series of roles predominately directed by Clint Eastwood, Terrance Malick, and Woody Allen portraying, for the most part, “musty” 80-somethings struggling with identity, masculinity, sexuality, and successive layers of dream-sleep.

Drake: Connect with Amanda Bynes on Twitter, who followed Drake prior to deleting her first account but has since abstained from refollowing him, despite Drake feeling certain that, as child stars, the two are kindered spirits with an unspoken bond that could potentially grow into something more.

Woody Allen: Divorce wife, propose to great-great-great-great-great-great-adopted-grandaughter.

Tim Tebow: Convince Broncos management to shoot fireworks from the top of Mile High Stadium everytime he performs his signature move.

Lana Del Rey: Via surgical processes and an intense botox regime, transcend existing corporeal form as pop-hipster-millenial-faux-underground goddess to become the first-ever identity to exist as brainwaves designed to elicit response in pleasure centers of 18 to 25 year-old urban males.

Brangelina: Adopt at least 20 more children from 3rd-world nations; begin a process of educating them in high-powered business management and political indoctrination for the express purpose of creating a “bunch of little Hitlers that’ll overthrow the governments of the world’s wealthiest nations… Just putting our pawns into place for the takeover. Viva la revolución, babe,” as Brad put it, secretly, to Angelina, at the peak of a two-day coke bender this September in Dubai.

Tom Hanks: Punch out the next “asshole” on the sidewalk who yells “Run, Forrest, Run!” at him.

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I think it was in Atlas Shrugged that Ayn Rand wrote something about how excusing one’s behavior with the phrase “I’m only human” is bullsh-t. I don’t condone the book, the woman and all her “philosophies,” I just want to give credit where credit is due, but the reasoning she offered for her dislike of the phrase did make sense to me, so much that it’s become one of those kernels of truth for me, something I think about sometimes and maybe even value. Rand’s dislike for the phrase “I’m only human” was more specifically a rejection of the premise of the phrase, which is something like “Humans are inherently lazy and lacking sufficient willpower to uphold personally- or culturally-assigned values.” I have the feeling that this premise is actually more true than false, Rand obviously didn’t, but despite my feeling regarding its truthfulness, I do think relying on that premise to justify, say, consciously allowing yourself to get into a four-hour long internet tunnel when you know that you’d feel like a much better human being if you instead worked on being a person you want to be (i.e., Writer, Well-Read, Physically Fit, A Good Significant Other/ Friend/ Sibling/ Daughter/ Son)… to excuse yourself from working on being a person you want to be because you’re “only human,” the idea being that you’re biologically determined to avoid ‘work’ and so it’s just your natural state to be somewhat of a sloth-like zombie and that that is an acceptable way to live, is just not a very healthy thing to do if you’re interested in feeling good about yourself.

Because I mean one of the truths about being a modern Western individual is that you likely have this idea about a person you want to be, and that person has a title even, a title like Young Professional or All-Around Good Person Of Above Average Intelligence, and to justify excessive ‘gaps’ in productivity by holding firm the belief that you’re “only human” and thus naturally lack sufficient motivation to do anything beyond obsessively watching YouTube videos and browsing reddit — where the premise of the idea of doing “anything beyond” obsessively watching YouTube videos and browsing reddit has, in a kind of relief, suddenly become sort of congratulatory, as if by doing “anything beyond” watching YouTube videos and browsing reddit you’ve become secretly heroic or are, just by not wasting oxygen, currently actualizing a person you want to be/ have always known you were/ are at your core — to justify your inaction with the belief that you’re “only human” is a behavior that stands in opposition of who you tell yourself you want to be and believe you are, if you have any Western-style aspirations at all. I know that no one’s perfect, on a scale of one to 10 I’m like a three on the ‘Bad’ to ‘Perfect’ scale probably, but I feel like consistently allowing yourself the luxury of the “only human” argument is almost infantile, or would lead to a more infant-like, helpless, non-productive state that I personally would find very meaningless and bleak.

I apologize for having started this piece of writing off with something about Atlas Shrugged, I know a lot of you feel very strongly about that book. The thing about personal goals of any sort is that for some people like me the existence of these goals alone — goals which can range from as concrete as Get Another Freelance Gig So You Can Start Saving Big Money to as abstract as becoming the person you want to be — serve to create the illusion of progress, of moving through time and space in a linear, structured fashion, even if you’re doing nothing to meet these goals. The existence of these goals also create the illusion of identity. So if you’re anything like me, a person almost helpless to his fixation on this narcissistic idea of becoming a Whatever, a Writer and a Very Good Person and a Successful Young Savvy Professional in my case, just a preconceived narrative really, buying into these types of goals is a way to delude yourself. Just having these ideas alone seems to be a substitute, however unsustainable, for consistently behaving/ being more in line with who you’re telling yourself you are. In this little navel-gazing paradigm can also exist, conveniently, the concept from above that you’re “only human,” because the existence of goals and the identification with those goals doesn’t necessarily mean — anymore, In This Day And Age — that you’re doing anything to complete those goals. Here’s a relevant video, NSFW language.

So that’s sort of a defense of productivity right there.

The thing about what I’ve written thus far is that’s not necessarily good advice, if it can be conceived of as such. Because what I described above can really just be distilled into the idea that being “productive” means “bettering yourself”/ “being happy” and that transitively being “productive” means “behaving like your preconceived notion of Self,” which is basically what people do when they buy environment-destroying SUVs as status symbols, or routinely mysogenize women because it affirms ideas about themselves that they for whatever reason find desirable, or work their asses off at work while neglecting individuals who love them very much and who might offer a much more meaningful connection than the one they have with their work, etc. Just as problematic but in a more abstract sense is the fact that the defense of productivity seems to have relatively little to do with what might be considered a deeper idea of happiness, one that isn’t already conceived or available to be bought into, one that doesn’t seek Answers From Within but instead relies on external cues and circumstances to drive an agenda of contentedness that most likely should be inwardly focused.

I’m trying not to be ironic about “Answers From Within” — what I mean to earnestly address is for example the pathos of the movie Office Space and the popular television show The Office, the feeling that the many grim versions of the Self are limited, unavoidable and completely unsatisfactory. Another example of what I’m trying to address is just general 20-something disillusionment: the problems of the rising tide of post-college humans who feel awkward about their parents who were expecting a more familiar, less alien narrative out of them, who tweet they don’t feel like “real people,” who enthusiastically place all their faith in the prospect of becoming one of the cliche definitions of an American, one they approach as if approaching a pristine rack of shiny, perfectly-tailored suits when, in reality what they behold and are so hopeful about is a dirty pile of worn out generic pieces of sh-t manufactured by Chinese sweatshop laborers and purchased from Wal-Mart 20 years ago.

My point is not productivity is bad, or that some preconceived notions of Self are Bad, but that the premise that they’re defined, concrete and of limited range is maybe Bad, and most definitely false. And if you use your willpower to leverage productivity in the pursuit of these ideas of Self, I think you have to rely on ‘rules’ and ‘guidelines’ that are external to you and have never and will never take into account how you actually feel and what you actually care about. So like just choosing a Self, as is encouraged/ expected by (and probably a premise of) Western society and powering your way into it like a mule can’t be the Secret Of Life, in my opinion.

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Yesssss. @shitgirlssay continues to outdo itself. Here’s Episode 3 of Shit Girls Say, in which we see a different ‘format’ of sorts — this one lacking the quick-cut scenes we’ve come to expect and composed of two ‘skits,’ both featuring Juliette Lewis, who made a cameo in Episode 1. It’s also about a minute longer than the first two episodes, both of which definitely left us wanting more. While the humor of these videos has me completely sold on the Twitter account and the genius behind it, I can’t help but wonder what this series is going to turn into. Are they going to pitch the concept to network television? Is a book deal in the works? Does anyone have any idea? I feel like something’s going to happen here. I anxiously await.

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Here’s a new Ryan Gosling thing for you. Does it matter what this new Ryan Gosling ‘thing’ is? Does it matter in what capacity Ryan Gosling deigns to grace the internet with his presence? Does anything other than Ryan Gosling matter at all? Obviously not. No — he is Ryan Gosling. Man Among Men. A chiseled god in a land of puny mortals. Even heterosexual males such as myself sometimes find themselves speculating on what he might smell like up close, or if he might compliment us on our style choices if we were in some kind of bromance. No — it does not matter what the video below — which also features some other famous albeit completely insignificant actors you’ve maybe but probably never heard of — might describe. The only important thing here is that it is a vehicle for further consumption of Ryan Gosling, who at this very moment is definitely thinking, “Hey girl. Merry Christmas.”

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Wow, @shitgirlssay is super productive! Fresh off the heels of their chic ass first video comes another episode of the funny stuff a certain type of girl says. TC faves on this one include “Is that hummus?” “Does this taste funny to you?” “So good, right?” and “I’m just like……..” Missing the Juliette Lewis cameo, though. Anyways, I kinda have a feeling that the creators are maybe leading us into fuller-length videos with actual plots rather than continuing to produce quick-cut minute-long dialogue clips, and that these might turn out to be trailers? We’ll see.

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