Clarissa's Blog

This is a fascinating story about who the famous “COVID whistleblower” really is.

It is unfortunately not even shocking any more that a stalker and sexual harasser would be lionized because she helps to make such ridiculous political point.

Yes, it’s juvenile but I found this on FB and I feel like doing something cheesy.

As Valentine’s Day approaches, share your story

Where you met: We met at a Starbucks in New Haven. N was a great fan of my online writing and wanted to meet his favorite online author. What’s really funny is that he doesn’t read my blog, and I’m grateful for that.

First date: our first date was actually our last date. The rest of the relationship was us living together in a variety of states and housing situations.

Age difference: I’m two weeks older. His birthday was actually my due date. But I just had to get there first.

Who was interested first: N liked my texts before I knew he existed. He reads all my article and books. I try to read his but I don’t understand them.

Who is taller: He’s a lot taller.

Who said I love you first: I have no idea. I don’t think it mattered. I knew from the first second that he was it for me.

Worst temper: I have a temper but I don’t bring it home. When House, MD came out, everybody I knew reached out to say there’s a new TV show about me and I need to watch it. We watched it, and N said he had no idea why anybody would say House is me when I’m so sweet and gentle.

Most sensitive: Him. He’s so sensitive, he never watched SVU with me. It gives him nightmares.

Loudest: me, of course. But it’s not because I yell. I never yell unless somebody throws a hundred-pound mirror on my head (true story). I have a teacher’s voice that comes out super loud if I forget to control it. I also have a hearing problem caused by childhood ear infections so I don’t notice how loud I am.

Most stubborn: Totally him. People see how quiet and gentle he is and how loud and overwhelming I am and assume he’s a total rollover. But it couldn’t be farther from the truth. The guy has balls of tungsten. I can’t make him do absolutely anything. I wouldn’t be able to live with anybody else because I’d just break him.

Falls asleep first: everybody falls asleep before me. I have gigantic sleep issues.

Better driver: N has 20 years of driving experience on me, and he’s the person who taught me to drive, so obviously him.

Most competitive: I am but we don’t compete with each other.

Best cook: we all know the answer.

I discovered this “poet” (and actually a brilliant comedian) Amanda Gorman today. Obviously, I didn’t watch the Superbowl but somebody posted her performance on Twitter, and it’s extremely funny.

Do look her up. She’s a perfect illustration for our discussion of postmodernism. It’s all completely meaningless but you can’t deny that it’s funny. Whether it’s meant to be funny is unimportant. Is anything ever meant to be anything? What’s more important intention or perception? Or is the only point of existence to have a good laugh? These are very postmodern questions.

It’s like Seinfeld. It was truly a show about nothing but everybody watched. The characters constantly discussed how it was a show about nothing. And that was the joke.

Gorman and Seinfeld had the same audience, too. It’s kind of heart-warming to see that nothing changed in 30 years.

As for the Superbowl, I hope your team won. 🥳🎊🎉🏈🔴

I was asked to explain Jean-François Lyotard’s The Postmodern Condition in a brief, simple way. The book is older than I am but it’s still the best and the most concise explanation of postmodernism.

The postmodern era begins after WWII. People are so horrified by what happened that they lose faith in all grand narratives. A grand narrative is a coherent way to explain everything. Religion is a grand narrative. Marxism is another. Feminism, psychoanalysis. These are grand narratives because they purport to explain everything in the world to the believer.

But after WWII, it became clear that the world is so complex and incomprehensible that there is no narrative that can explain everything. It’s useless to look for an explanation. Nothing has any meaning.

Since nothing has any meaning or leads anywhere, all one can do is have fun and follow whatever whim possesses one at any given time.

So that’s the postmodern condition as it was described in the 1970s. Fifty years later, we can see that people are still desperately looking for a grand narrative. The current fad is anti-racism. It’s going to fail because that’s the postmodern condition. They all fail.

Of course, on the level of individual lives each of these grand narratives can be very satisfying. There are people whose grand narrative is raw food dieting, and they are perfectly content with it. But it’s always going to be an individual hobby or, at most, a very small, niche thing.

That’s all there is, really. Postmodern art is the art that expresses this emptiness, cynicism, and lack of depth.

I’m open to questions.

The greatest achievements of the Enlightenment era were:

• The belief in the primacy of human reason
• Sex-based rights for women
• Individual rights, such as freedom of expression and association
• Nation-state
• The idea that children are different from adults and should be treated differently
• Comprehensive education for everybody

Enlightenment has its problems but any point on this list is a gigantic achievement of human civilization.

We are now walking them all back out of obscurantism, ignorance and prejudice.

Adultism is a new fad in education. It’s the idea that treating children as children and not as adults is discrimination.

It obviously is discrimination in the sense that we discern that a child is different from adult. But the new fad is that we should stop discerning. I’ll let you guess who wins from erasing a boundary between children and adults.

The majority of people need religion because they have nothing except God. The minority needs religion because they have everything except God.

It’s s quote but I don’t know the author. If anybody remembers, do let us know.

In the meantime, we are off to church. Haven’t missed a single weekend this year because we keep lucking into empty spots on the roster.

“Go play with papa,” I tell Klara. “I need a little break.”

“You need a break from loving me, mama?” she asks in a voice of a provincial actress starring in a tragic play. “You need a break from loving your own child?”