April Awakening: Day Eleven 🌤️
I didn’t want to get too deep in the weeds about news this month. I’m still not using social media, which is where a lot of my more salacious news stories come from. I’m surely avoiding the more insane things the internet has to offer, making it a huge help to my mental well-being. However, there is one story that I just couldn’t avoid, as it seems my favorite outlets are doubling up on what they cover. And just when I think it’s the final straw, another long line of bullshit comes bubbling down the pike.
If you haven’t heard of this story, I’m sorry for bringing it up. But Anheuser-Busch has been in the news a lot over Bud Light’s peculiar partnership with Tiktok influencer Dylan Mulvaney. You know, that guy who lives like a woman and has performed “365 Days of Girlhood,” whatever that means. He’s been hocking a whole bunch of products, from skin care, to sports bras, to fucking tampons, because he gets clicks online. I mean, I’m talking about him, aren’t I? Obviously there’s some kind of lasting ‘influence’ there. Either way, the news lately is how BUD is taking a stock hit after Bud Light’s partnership with Dylan to not only celebrate his Girlhoodrattedness, but to coincide with March Madness. It was a baffling campaign that caused public backlash, including the cringe kind, but also could be hurting distributors, people who have no say in what the marketing entails. All they know is the end is near if the company keeps this crap up.
I’m not trying to get too weedy about Dylan himself. He doesn’t seem like a particularly bad person, just a little confused and obnoxious to the nth degree. I won’t pretend he’s a woman, so I won’t call him as much. I’m insulted by the subjection to his make-believe land and those who gaslight about it, and that’s that. I’ve said my piece. This isn’t even about him. There’s actually another aspect to this story that might help put an end to all this nonsense once and for all.
The VP of marketing for Bud Light is Alissa Gordon Heinerscheid. She’s a woman. It was her who made the decision to appeal to Gen Z with Dylan because of his TikTok notoriety. This is evidently blowing up in her face, which is fine with me, as some things deserve to fail. But as I read more, I saw various sites touting her as the first woman to head up Bud Light. Tell me, why is “being the first” of something still a notable achievement in this day and age? The first woman to lead marketing for Bud Light produced an absolute failure. Hope the second woman doesn’t suck as much.
It bugs me that a characteristic we can’t help is enough to celebrate the “first” of something. This administration does it a lot. KJP is the first black and openly gay woman to be White House Press Secretary. Well, she sucks at her job too. Nice representation. Kamala Harris, the first female VP. Don’t even get me started. She even wrote a letter to Dylan. But still, the “first” of us are the ones getting high fives from every corner of the galaxy, even going so far as using it as a shield against criticism. I say, it’s time to stop caring about the ‘first’ of things and work on raising our standards to where we see the last of it.
I had a preoccupation with “the last time” I’d be seeing things as a kid. Growing up, I had a distinct knowledge that all that lay before me was going to end someday. I was young, too, like six years old. I don’t remember how I learned about it, but I somehow knew life was finite, so I may as well be doing what I like.
I remember the day before my sixth birthday, my mom stood me up in front of the mirror. “You’re going to be six years old, tomorrow,” she said. I stood there, admiring my six-year-old self, feeling like I knew who I was in that moment, marking a significant enough milestone to know this was the beginning of the end. One day I wouldn’t be here, but tomorrow I’m six. This carried through to other things, like the first moment I crossed into my first grade classroom. I remember looking at the empty seats and the colorful decorations, a room full of possibilities for a young and growing mind, thinking, “Boy, I can’t wait for this to be over.” I knew I was about to spend the next sixteen years of my life going in and out of classrooms, slogging through every lesson, bored by every minute of it. I hated school, but I knew I had to do it, and I’m better off for having the education I did. But the end of it all was never too far away.
I took this preoccupation with finality and endings into more aspects of my childhood. I was fascinated by graveyards but too scared to ever traverse through them. I knew what was in the ground, and I didn’t want to accidentally get buried before my time was up. And then there was my grandmother’s famous “noodle soup.” She made it for us virtually every time we went over. It was simply top ramen boiled in chicken broth, but she made it the best. I still use her recipe to this day. But as I got a little older, maybe approaching ten, I remember thinking, “One of these times, it’s going to be the last noodle soup my grandmother ever makes me.” I was terrified consciously thinking that the soup I was eating was actually the last one. All those thoughts kept swirling in my head until the day that it actually was the last time. I don’t remember it whatsoever. And maybe that’s a good thing.
I’m going to ask the last of us here to maybe consider the last of it. It’s morbid and weird, sometimes even cruel, but at the rate we’re going, pulling the handbrake may be worth it in the end. I feel people are waking up to it more than we think, on a wider scale than they think. Just know they’re going to keep pushing this crap on us as we stand in line, waiting for the next ticket out of here. Don’t give them the reaction they want. Put a stop to your emotional outbursts. Talkin’ to you, Kid Rock. It’s up to us to intervene and know when to end it for ourselves, instead of waiting for them to do so on their end. Those who have warped standards usually don’t think they’re doing anything wrong. Well we don’t have to go along with their game of celebrating no accomplishments. Is it not tiresome to see? Tiresome to hear? Has reality become the best parody (of women) of all?
I know there’s a lot on our plates and in our cups these days. I can’t predict the future anymore than I can read another’s mind. But I do know everything ends at some point or another. This entry will have an end, even if I have trouble finding it sometimes. But knowing that at any given moment, you’re in the final countdown of life, it makes you appreciate where you are in each moment a little more. All the outside noise will be over soon. Once it’s the end, it’s over. You move on to bigger and better things. Maybe even a nation united once and for all. Just one more bowl and a final nightcap, and I’ll see you tomorrow. Until I don’t.
balanced & fair 