Fashioning the Body: Versions of the Citizen, the Self, and the Subject

    My name is Whoopee Cushion. Many of you may know me from TV or maybe you met me at a friend's house or received me for Christmas. You've probably all laughed at me once in your life, but I'm here to say enough is enough! I am NOT funny! It is not my fault that I sound like a fart! It is my body mechanics. First of all, I am rubber, I breath in and out through a rubber hole, that unfortunately flaps creating embarrassing hilarity. Growing up I always wanted to attend school, but due to my classmates abuse, I'm band from most classrooms. Most of the time I hang out on someone's shelf, in their toy box, or shoved into the back of their closet. Even before purchase I have to hang out in gag shops. Do you know what kind of people come into gag shops? I would kill for some intelligent conversation! The only time I've been in a shop I actually enjoyed, was when I was put on display in Barnes and Noble as a Klutz book. Life as a whoopee cushion is hard and lonely. The only time someone wans to play with me, they blow in my mouth making me all bloatie, giving me all their germs, and making me all moist inside. Then they proceed to sit on me, or trick their friend into sitting on me. I am soooo sick of being sat on! Farts are NOT funny!! They are natural bodily functions! God!

    When I was a sophmore in high school, we had an arts assembly during which my friend, Pat a senior, read an essay he wrote about his Peugeot. He talked about his love for his car, in spite of the man things that were wrong with it. I was 16, but had delayed getting my license. Later that year, I was shocked to hear that Pat was selling his car. "I'll buy it!" I said. The Peugeot was famous in our school and it broke my heart to think of it going elsewhere. 

    So, That's how I ended up buying my first car for $650. I was pumped when I first got my license! I wanted to drive so bad! I got into my Peugeot and headed off down the street, only to get about 2 blocks away and brake down. this was the beginning of my journey with the Peugeot.

    It's funny how many flaws you can over-look when you really love something, and that car had sooooo many flaws. The back door didn't open, the cruise control was broken, when you turned it on it never turned off. The sun-roof leaked, the child window locks were stuck on, the trunk was rusting and leaky. The spare tire had to ride in the trunk because the thing that held it up was broken. The windshield wipers broke multiple times, actually, the whole car broke multiple times! But none of this mattered because I was the Peugeot driver!! Every part of the Peugeot was endearing to me. 

    One day, after getting my car back from the shop, again. I was heading off to my senior pictures and BAMMMMMM hit from behind and BAMMMMMM into the car infront. "How's my car?" I asked as I was loaded into the ambulance. "I'm affraid it didn't make it." After putting all my love into my Peugeot, it had returned the love by saving my life. Thank God old cars were made of tons of sturdy metal and big solid rubber bumpers. 

    Shoe Basket was born August 2001 at a basket factory. She was one of thousands of siblings born from this factory. After completing her time at Ikea store, she was adopted by Michelle Whittaker and moved to Olympia, WA. Her first job was holding and storing toys for Sheba Dog. 2002-2006. She was fond of this job and enjoyed her contents very much, but was thrilled when she was promoted to shoe holder in late 2006. The new position allowed her a beautiful location by the front door and contact with many people. Sometimes she was so full of shoes that she would spill over. She was used most frequently by Michelle Whittaker's daughter, Melissa. Shoe Basket Passed on January 3rd, 2009. Cause of death was braking due to being stepped on. She is barried in the Hawks Prairie Landfill and is survived by her shoes that called her home for so long. They think of her fondly, saying, "She was a good basket, she held things well."

An by children's distorted European. Frightful, gourd her is known line. More were modeled of the mouth in multitude. May they mix with beeswax and be blood blanched. But merely a madame's mouth began biting the brilliance. Herself, our young damsel, our pretty girls, an envious old maid. Beauty of form, as far as appearance is concerned, overcame her natural disgust. The man is jaundice, wearing mustache and beard, one human being sooner or later. One Man. One Woman. Children. European One. African maiden moistening them. One mind, great minds, much meaning might matter. Frequently injured, distorted, shriveled, disgust, acid. Little of it can be seen, overheard, discussed. The possibility of being in any part a woman capable of kissing, bestowing a certain fullness upon the lips of their ideal loves. 

Redness, rose-bud, blood, Rouge.

    "Roses are her cheeks,

    and a rose her mouth"

Purplish paint to touch herself up, a cold and sour disposition. Lean mouthed, flat nose, blubber lip, shriveled mouth, shrewish, decay, spoil at the mouth. As far as always as approaches a temporary gloss, destroys any grace, disgusts a grizzy, dangers a            , disguises a, decolorizes, dissipation. 

Curtain opens on a black box theater. 3 tables, one with an older couple, one with a middle aged woman, one empty. All 3 people are dressed very nice, all 3 sip some coffee(ish) drink. Man reads paper, older woman reads book.

In I walk, carrying baby and diaper bag. I sit at the empty table.

Baby fusses.

Me: Are you hungeee? Do you want some numb numbs?

Older couple glance over. Middle aged woman watches intently. 

I hold baby up, middle aged woman very non-discreetly checks for a ring.

I reach into my diaper bag and pull out a blanket that I lay over my chest and begin to feed the baby.

Older couple looks shocked! The woman leans over and whispers to the man. They both berry their faces in their reading. Man coughs, shuffle paper, woman fidgets. 

Baby begins farting. Loudly. I think it's sort of cute and funny. Middle aged woman thinks it's funny. Older couple do not!

Older couple looks totally offended and they get up to leave.

I finish feeding and pull the baby up.

Baby laughs and smiles at the woman, she smiles and talks to the baby.

Woman: Hi Sweetie. Aren't you a happy girl!

I turn

Me: Are you being friendly?

Woman: How old is she?

Me: 5 months

Woman: Out for a day with mommy? or will your husband be joining you soon?

Me: Oh, it's just us. I'm single.

Woman: Oh

Long silence

Woman: Is this your first?

Me: Yep, Thank God. I can't imagine having two already.

Woman: Do you mind me asking how old you are?

Me: (laughing) How old do you think I am?

Woman: Oh I can't tell those sorts of things. I'd guess 17?

Me: I'm 21

Woman: (sounds totally relieved) Oh (lets out a breath)  What a cute sweater, she has on. Where did you get it?

Me: It was a hand-me-down.

    The need to step outside oneself seems o be strong in our society. We make our identities but we have a constant desire to explore ohters. This is very apparent when looking at performance of any kind. Why do actors act? Most likely because it is fun to wear something we would not usually wear, act a way we wouldn't normally act, be someone else. The need to change our role is not only quenched by acting out another identity, but also by watching and fantasizing. You watch a movie about someone's life and fantasize about being her object of affection. In this way, performers fulfill a societal need to step outside one's self. On the other side there are bodies that represent shame and dislike. The homeless man talking to himself on the street corner, the meth-head with welts and cracking lips. These are the things we turn away from, we fantasize that they do not exist.

I'm a bit conflicted. On the one hand, the whole deal was amazingly funny and drag queens (I believe) improve any situation. On the other hand... why is over-the-top parody, no matter how funny or effective, the first solution people find to famous irritants?

 

I was devastated to find that the amazing interview with Pauline Pantsdown and Vanessa was not available on YouTube. However, I was able to find mp3s of I Don't Like It and Backdoor Man.

Backdoor Man

(you should be able to save this as an mp3 from this page)

I Don't Like It 

(this link will take you to a page with a link you can use to download the mp3 right near the top.  WARNING: this site has swastikas as the background, I think as a critique of Pauline Hanson's racist politics.)

 

Yeah, porn's pretty cool, but check out a re-airing of a "This American Life" show on "milestones" with an amazing segment about a funeral parlor director who's replaced the image of the embalmed body with "new media", video montages of old photographs.

http://www.thislife.org/Radio_Episode.aspx?episode=174

Italy: IBM faces Second Life strike

Ever wanted to go on strike, be part of that feeling of solidarity on the picket line, but felt too cowardly to take the risk? September should see just the opportunity for you. Flying furry penis pickets By Martin Banks Published Friday 24th August 2007 Ever wanted to go on strike, be part of that feeling of solidarity on the picket line, but felt too cowardly to take the risk? September should see just the opportunity for you. That is when Rappresentanza Sindacale Unitaria IBM Vimercate (RSU), the official trade union representing IBM's 9,000 workers in Italy, is planning a most novel form of industrial action – a strike on second life – and it wants as many avatars as possible manning the picket lines. Details of what form the industrial action will take in this virtual world are scant at the moment, except that a Union spokesman has hinted that they are hoping second life avatars from around the world will participate. A statement sent to The Register by the RSU sets out the reasons for the industrial action as follows: It seems that the reasons for this first virtual strike are related to the renew of the internal agreement. While IBM is one of the company with major profits, its employees are receiving very few fruits of this big mountain of money. The internal climate is below all the IT industries (taking advantages for the famous IBM's competitor: HP), and the drop that overflowed the glass is the long and inconclusive negotiation for the internal agreement. While the works council, supported by the majority of IBM Italy employees, was asking for a small salary increase, IBM responded with the complete suppression of the "productive results benefit", with a loss for a single employee of €1000 per year. For a company that wants to lead the corporate social responsibility, this is really too much.