sniclefritz asked: THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU!
Roseanne Barr, in a recent piece in New York Magazine, pointed out that there’s next to no television these days about working-class people, much less working-class women. It’s certainly true now and was true then, in the 80s, when she got started. And in the 90s, when teen television took off, the flagship show was Beverly Hills, 90210—not exactly a blue-collar zip code.
Yet there was one show that did deal with class and teenage life, the struggles not just of economic pain but of the difficulty for working-class and middle-class kids to understand each others’ problems. A show that knew that the struggles of surviving high school were sometimes just that—literally a struggle to survive.
I love to make bad decisions. They come to me so easily, and at the heart of every one is the same fundamental thesis: that more is always better. There is this thing in me, this thing that means that one of anything will never be enough, that once I’ve started it will be impossible to stop, that deciding something is not a good idea and doing it anyway is infinitely more satisfying than anything else in the world. The moment of letting go, when you stop fighting your impulses and plow ahead with another big fucking mistake, is what is at the heart of so much in my life, from the music I love to the book I just finished writing to the friends that I’ve chosen, to the point that I am often perplexed by people who are afraid to get hurt or make mistakes, things I consider to be pretty much the price of admission for this, the human experience. I’ve gotten pretty good at recognizing other people who regularly seek out the magical catharsis that can only be brought on by one’s own stupidity, and I can assure you that Rayanne Graff has got it bad.