WE LOVE SLUTS!

Deleted Post.

Sorry. I can do better.

Blue Collar is the New Black

Blue Collar is the New Black

Two nights a week, I make my living serving booze to Boise’s finest. The bar I work in boasts a randomness in clientele that keeps the cash registers ringing at all times of day. My shifts are on Friday nights and Monday nights. Working these two shifts has brought to my attention not only how people drink, but what they drink. On Fridays, we have a lot of younger patrons in the bar who aren’t usually seen on the weekdays. Mondays, being industry night, we serve the folks who work in other bars and restaurants downtown. I have been doing this job for almost nine years now, and when I first started, I would have been hard pressed to see girls in little dresses, or guys in skinny designer jeans slinging back a cold one, but these days it seems to be the norm.

There has been a noticeable shift in what young people are drinking, and I have witnessed firsthand the trendiness of drinking PBR. It is easily recognizable as “shitty beer” and it used to be that given the option between a PBR and another domestic beer, people would snub their noses at the blue ribbon winner and opt for something a little less “trashy.” Now Pabst is the biggest seller in my bar and from what I have read, in many bars across the country. To keep up with demand, Pabst even stepped into the realm of light beer by offering Pabst light. Now people can look trendy while keeping those calories in check.

In the bar where I work, we offer PBR (the quintessential blue collar beer) in every imaginable form and we consistently sell out of it. Our latest trend is PBR 40 oz. bottles for $4.50. At the end of a Friday night, you can hear the moans of the door guys as they pick up the half full soldiers left to waste. The notion of large quantities of beer for a good price does not factor in here. These bottles are purchased for the look. On more than one occasion, customers have been spotted in the bathrooms dumping portions of their beers out in the sinks. It is not about getting the most bang for your buck in terms of alcohol. Instead it is about getting the recognition for being a cheap beer drinker. It is about adopting the identity of the working class.

Cheap beer is synonymous with low economic status. It is what people buy when they want to get drunk for the least amount of money possible. It has generally been relegated to working class folks who throw a couple back at home, or kids scraping together all the change in their ashtrays to buy a case of beer for a party. Cheap beer has commonly been seen as the redneck beer. This spoof ad with Brad Pitt playing Chester Nelly is a perfect example of the connotations beer like PBR used to bring with it. (Warning: if you click on the Chester Nelly link, just be aware that this video is pretty offensive) There are people out there who have been drinking Pabst in bars for years, either because it is affordable, or because it is union made, or because it is one of the last large scale independent breweries remaining, or simply because they prefer the taste of it. Pabst Blue Ribbon has been around for almost 120 years, and the brewery has consistently marketed the product as the good ol’ American beer. It has generally been seen in the hands of the blue collar demographic. Now twenty-somethings all over the country are embracing this particular sign as a part of their identities.

What is it about the idea of blue collar that is so appealing to the new generation of drinkers? My best guess is it is the new rebellion against the upper tiers of society. There has been push back against the wealthy and the elite in different eras, and this new rush to guzzle the working man’s drink seems to be today’s manifestation. Though Pabst does not do any large scale advertising, the marketing for other domestic beers has seen a shift. Instead of the bikini-clad babes that used to beckon to frothing troglodytes, we now see a delivery man hero putting beer back in the hands of the common man, and women poking fun at tragically unfashionable men who drink light beer. We have spokespeople like Keith Stone. The marketing scheme has gone from “drink beer and get laid” to “drink beer and be an everyman.” Though I am unable to articulate just what it is, there is a certain identity that comes along with drinking Pabst these days. It implies that you are a working class hero; that you are above all that crazy consumerism that would drive other people to opt for a more expensive hand crafted beer. While this seems benign, I feel it begs analysis.

As with many adaptations of style, this beer nouveau crowd is borrowing cues from a group of people who are underrepresented in society. It has become cool to be poor, and the guzzling hipsters are waving their red, white, and blue beer cans high as they shamelessly exploit the working class. My issue is not with the fact that they are drinking a certain type of beer to look cool. My issue is with the notion that they have adopted a recognizable sign of low economic status in order to make themselves readily identifiable as “blue collar” but they can easily shed that identity when it is convenient. I doubt that any of the new cheap beer club members would willingly adopt all aspects of the working class culture, and they are lucky because they don’t have to. They can get the credibility for drinking the working man’s beer, but they do not have to bear the burden of the working man’s plight. The choice they make in their beer selection is not out of necessity, but out of desire.

The danger in this type of identity marker for me is that it ignores the representative group. It lessens their visibility in society because it smoothes over the unattractive parts. It downplays the seriousness of economic hardship by making it look fashionable to be poor. I am all in favor of people having choice and being able to express themselves freely, but I do feel like there are far too many trends that exist at the expense of others. I suppose that is the benefit of having a set of tools with which to deconstruct them.

The Great White Hype Part Duex: The Media Representation of Jimmer Fredette

How are players viewed by sportswriters? A combination of statistics, race, similarities with other players and reputation. Just look at Jimmer Fredette, the BYU point guard, through the lens of a sportswriter (or fan). How he is viewed and represented in the media is reflective of a system that the fuels a myth. The myth that white players can’t be successful in the National Basketball Association. By looking closely at how the media represents Fredette, we can test the legitimacy of the system used to judge players before they even play one professional game. The easiest place to start is race. Since Jimmer Fredette is white he is immediately set apart from a majority of the other players in the NBA. And no, that is not a racist thing to say. It would be hard to believe that if Fredette was black he would generate nearly as much buzz as he does. There are very few good white players in the NBA today and so whenever a white player is really good in college everyone pays close attention to see if he might be the next white superstar. Of course, most sportswriters would never openly say just how much race matters in their analysis of players. Though when pressed on the subject one can tell that through all rhetorical bullshit they really would like to admit that race is central to their opinion. When people look at Fredette’s statistics (he led college basketball in scoring, or was at least in the top three, look it up), they often dismiss his gaudy numbers by saying, “well he’s not athletic enough” and “look at the competition”. That’s a fun way of pointing out that Fredette plays in a primarily white league and sometimes struggled against “better athletes” (sportswriter speak for black players). So, in this case a player’s race and the race of his peers becomes a means of dismissing his statistics. Is this warranted? No. Fredette’s statistics are concerning because he’s a point guard that shoots 30 to 40 times a game. Sure, he makes a lot of those shots, but that isn’t the role of an NBA point guard. They are expected to facilitate and be almost like another coach out of the floor. He could move over to shooting guard, but he’s only 6’3” and most shooting guards are at least 6’5” to 6’7”. So, yes Jimmer’s statistics are very alarming, but not because he played in a predominantly white league. They’re concerning because point guards aren’t supposed to shoot and score that much. Somebody should probably tell Jim Rome that (well, don’t because he wouldn’t listen anyway).
When Fredette’s name is mentioned in regards to his professional prospects sportswriters often compare him to players like Adam Morrison and Christian Laetner. There is no reason for this. The only thing these players have in common is that they are white. Morisson was a scorer from the small forward position at Gonzaga, but lacked the ability to create his own shot and was woefully incompetent on defense. That killed him in the NBA. Laetner goes down as perhaps the greatest college basketball player ever and for good reason. He was and still is a legend at Duke, which is the most legendary basketball school, so yeah he’s kind of a big deal. He wasn’t very good in the NBA mostly because he was overshadowed by his far more famous teammate Kevin Garnett and for being a jerk. Players can get away with that in college (especially at Duke), but the NBA is relatively lax when it comes to fouling someone hard (or just smacking them in the mouth). That caused Laetner to crash back to earth. Jimmer Fredette doesn’t have to worry about these same faults. He’s a good kid, can create his own shot, and while he will be an eternal legend at BYU, BYU is no Duke. Then, why is he constantly compared to Morrison and Laetner? Easy they’re all white. It doesn’t matter that their games are all different, in order to perpetuate the stereotype the white players can’t be successful in the NBA race is all that matters. Therefore, Fedette’s media representation must be associated with less successful white players so that white signifies crash and burn.
Finally, there is reputation. In the NBA reputation is everything. Bill Russell hasn’t played in almost 50 years, but we all know that he won 11 championships. We also know that Charles Barkley never won a championship despite being an elite player... and an incompetent commentator. When it comes to Jimmer Fredette his reputation, sportswriters and especially color commentators are quick to point out that he plays in inner city games in the summer. “Playing inner city games” is a code that signifies a level of equality between Fredette and the other top rated prospects, who, for the most part, are black. Again, race comes to define Fredette, but it here that the true motive behind the “white guys can’t play basketball” myth: hope that a white player, any white player will become a superstar. There hasn’t been a white superstar in the NBA since Larry Bird and he retired in 1993. There have been many good white players, but not elite players. That drives away conscious and obnoxious fans (racists) and some other parts of the white male demographic. The NBA is a multi billion dollar industry and while it remains so without this demographic, popularity in the mainstream media and culture is nowhere near where it was in the 1980’s. By some odd coincidence the 1980’s were also the days of Larry Bird, Magic Johnson, and the highly public and racially motivated rivalry of the Boston Celtics and Los Angeles Lakers.
And so, there it is. The myth that white players can’t play in the NBA is perpetuated by the media so that when the next white superstar does arrive, they’ll have years worth of material to write and report. Therefore, any white player, like Jimmer Fredette, is going to be portrayed as a player that has no shot of making it the NBA so that if he does, they’ll have a plethora of material to write about. The difference between white and black has been the backstory of some of sports greatest stories. The NBA would say day like to return to the days of Magic versus Bird and Los Angeles versus Boston. But that won’t happen without a white superstar.



PS: Kevin Love could solve this problem if he didn’t play in fucking Minnesota.

Green Consumerism

As a former vegan and occasional vegetarian whose tolerance of lactose is skeptical depending on the weekday, I’ve spent a fair amount of time in coops and natural food stores. I have to admit that I love being in a coop. Not shopping there, necessarily - just being. What’s being sold in stores like Whole Foods or the Boise Coop is atmosphere as much as product. It’s the mist covered produce, smartly designed product packaging and lack of primary colors, all kept stocked by hip looking employees who each seem to be buying time before their next backpacking trip across Southeast Asia or their band’s next tour. It somehow feels healthy, and responsible, just being there.

There is a smugness intermingled with the Australian wines, fairly-traded coffee and hand-dyed organic cotton saris made by former prostitutes in Calcutta – it requires a certain level of interest and cultivated understanding of the global market, with its specific offerings and nuanced economic ramifications, to fully appreciate and indulge in coop shopping. A seasoned shopper will know not to ask where the artichokes are (they’re out of season) and which bar of dark chocolate really is worth $6.79. They will navigate the Health and Wellness section with poise and purpose (homeopathic sleep aid, check; ear candles, check; probiotic supplement, check), banter with the butchers and gladly accept and comment on the apricot gelato samples.

The myth in this approach to consumerism is that it is all “green.” A parallel market has grown up to fill coops and natural food stores with products that aren’t found in conventional grocery stores. Conscientious consumers don’t want to be confronted with brightly packaged Ziplock boxes or unsophisticated, plain white cutting boards, so companies with unrecognizable names are providing the same products with a different aesthetic and the vague promise of sustainability.

These green products have been tacked on to the local food movement, so that next to your locally grown potatoes is vegetable peeler made from recycled plastic. Down the aisle there are plastic sandwich bags and plastic wrap made by Natural Value, as well as brown paper towels, pea-green disposal utensils and substantial, homemade- paper looking plates. Amidst all of the responsibly grown, produced and shipped items the inconsistency of “natural’ disposable plastic sandwich bag loses its punch.

The focus on ethic foods is another element to the myth. Somehow buying green and eating ethnic foods have been associated with one other. The coop is the only place in town where you’ll find 52 different types of Asian hot sauce, or a whole shelf of bottled curries, or three different kinds of instant miso soup. The energy used to distribute these items makes them distinctly ungreen, yet they are purchased with the same feeling of well-being as the kale grown down the street.

The idea of a green consumerism is a myth. To be truly green would be to stop participating in the demand for and production of useless crap, and the wasteful and illogical distribution of food across the world. But...that's too hard. And the myth feels so nice.

Hand Sanitizer Makes Me Sick (version 1.01)

“Keep in mind that the nearest bacteria may be behind you.” – Purell advertisement

The War on Terrorism may have caused much more widespread disgust, but The War on Germs, perpetrated by Purell and its compatriots, takes the same fear mongering to an even more shameless place. The following is a brief tour of the world as seen through a film of ethanol, thickening agents, and artificial scent:

On the surface, Purell relies on fear mongering, highlighting the uncontrollable, chaotic nature of our daily existence and proffering their products as one way to take some control back. Recent magazine advertisements shout in bold, capitalized black text on a stark white background: “BACTERIA FOUND IN THESE PAGES INCLUDED IN NEWSSTAND PRICE,” inviting readers to “Think of all the people who flipped through this magazine and put it back on the rack. Fathers on diaper duty. Mothers with runny noses. Cooks who handled raw meat all day. They’re strangers to you but their germs just got pretty friendly with your hands.” This message paints a world that is not only chaotic, however. It also is full of antisocial people who do not value cleanliness. People who don’t care that their actions will lead to a violation of your person. On this level, Purell and company also paint a world that glorifies isolation; where even indirect contact with other members of a community equals contamination rather than any sort of beneficial exchange or synergy.

In fact, the contamination that Purell warns against is much worse than simple infection or illness. Rather, without Purell, the filth and chaos of the world will become an inextricable element of your very being. As put by a recent ad campaign, “You are what you touch.” You will not only be weakened and sickened by outside forces, you will become them. You will merge with toilets and trash cans, and you will be chaos incarnate:

Although hand sanitizer is mostly touted as a protection from illness, there is a second, deeper layer of symbolism at work in its promotion as well. Although at best only capable of killing bacteria and not removing any physical grime, it is also portrayed as a cleaning product. In fact, a product that is superior to previous, lower tech methods.

This connection to cleansing is also heavily associated with the feminine. This is easily demonstrated by a glance at the scents currently available: Spring Bloom, Ocean Mist, Crisp Apple, Cucumber Melon, and Spring Splash; all names that pick up on some of the most common labels of other feminine hygiene products. Names that draw on elements of nature that are joined to stereotypical Western femininity throughout the ages: flowers; spring; the ocean and water in general; and the overflowing bounty of Ceres herself represented through fresh fruits and vegetables. In addition, Purell offers product variations that not only boast these fresh and dainty scents, but also borrow from other elements of feminine hygiene and upkeep in the form of Moisture Therapy, and Purell with Aloe. With Purell, women will not only be clean, but have soft skin to boot.

Markers of femininity extend to advertising campaigns as well. Here, it is the woman’s job to protect those she loves, namely children, from a “dirty world”.

In short, Purell is a woman’s defense against a disgusting world that’s out of control.

Oh, and it’s not a Purell ad, but in closing, you should keep some around just in case you run into a wolfman or mummy as well. Those guys are notoriously germy...

The Las Vegas Post

I’m writing this upon my return from Las Vegas, but as I reflect on the experience through the lens of semiotics, I’m faced with a pronounced difficulty. In this course, we’re concerned mostly with denaturalizing signs—with reading and deconstructing the texts, ideologies, and myths embedded in our surrounding world. But having been to Vegas twice, I’m surprised by the extent to which the city denaturalizes itself. There isn’t so much as a thin veneer of honesty overlaid upon it—the strip revels in and announces its artificiality—people travel there less to be, and more to escape their everyday being. Yet even as I announce these facts, I find them surprisingly untroubling. At the very least, Vegas represents itself as it is—pure veneer, utterly constructed.

My experience in Vegas started on Fremont street, where I stayed at the Vegas Club. Fremont street—also known as old downtown—is in many ways set in opposition to the more famous strip. Whereas the latter’s development is on an inhuman scale (any one of the large casinos is about the size of a NYC block), one can traverse from one end of Fremont to the other in about thirty minutes—and pass around a dozen or so casinos along the way. In contrast to the celebration of wealth in new Vegas, on Freemont street neon signs unapologetically entice passerbys with cheap buffets and booze. Posters announce casinos “loose slots” and dirt cheap blackjack tables. Fremont is a relatively more accessible Vegas experience than its more famous cousin.

Despite the charm of Fremont street, one can nonetheless arrive on the more fabled strip by traversing a few miles down Las Vegas Boulevard with its surprising array of wedding chapels, pawn shops, and bail-bond outfits. Yet once one arrives, the strip itself is a little banal. At all hours of the day, a strange mix of characters walks up and down the street carting overpriced liquor. Various nightclubs charge exorbitant fees and play the same top forty music that’s everywhere else. Beneath the glittered facades of the Bellagio and Venetian, homeless people sell water and Mexicans advertise for escort services. It’s all wholesome family fun.

Aside from somewhat crass materialism, there are other interesting elements common both to Fremont Street and the strip. Sex is one of the more prominent of these elements. Dead center on Fremont, you have the unfortunately named “Glitter Gulch” strip club. And at all hours, barely dressed women dance for crowds of middle-aged men and their slightly disgruntled wives. Similarly, the strip is exceedingly proud of its nightlife and unabashedly advertises itself as a good place to hook up. Aside from sex, and unsurprisingly, booze also features prominently in Vegas. This is likely because alcohol facilitates a casual disregard both for STD’s and for losing one’s shirt.

One might wonder why Vegas is a vacation destination at all—couples and families go there. But alongside the cities admittedly awesome scuzziness, there’s a peculiar beauty to the nature of its myth. Though one can rip on venues like Caesars for their faux marble and chimerical displays of wealth, it’s remarkable that these venues exist at all—in the middle of an empty desert waste. Vegas is a city that built its fortunes, yet it simply did not have a lot of raw material to work with. Vegas constructed itself upon its myth—the city is artificial, yet it announces this fact—it revels in at the same time that it believes its mythologizing. Though Vegas is steeped in sex, booze, and artificial wealth, it at least doesn’t pretend that things are otherwise. There’s a chutzpah to the city which I admire.

Vegas is a somewhat difficult city to write about, much less deconstruct, simply because the place is so excruciatingly obvious. The place lacks subtlety. I nonetheless write about Vegas because it raises a question that’s of at least some interest to the study of semiotics and to myself. I’m untroubled by, or even love, Vegas and its materialism, strange sexuality, and escape from reality. But I love Vegas despite these elements—which I sometimes find objectionable elsewhere—simply because it announces them so cleanly. I appreciate the fact that Vegas, by being so extreme, make visible those tropes which underlay so much of our culture. The negativity that surrounds us simply loses its power once it becomes visible. In this way, Vegas is simultaneously able to embrace cartoonish materialism and also to offer an escape from it.

There’s a strange double-movement to Vegas. By being so obvious, the city lies suspended between myth and myth’s dissolution.