I liked being called smart. Who doesn’t? And, so long as I didn’t have to think too hard about my purchase, I would be a Smart One. Cool.
Teen Tribe appears to be more punishment of spoiled white privilege through hardship and isolation. Here, however, they are sent to live as different indigenous tribes do; in other words, their “punishment” is to live the customary lives of the Other.
I position my fourth finger on the high Eb just as my 3rd grade self learned from Ms. Schnute, my piano teacher from the 1970s. The damp dusts of her cramped basement studio pass through me; I hear her voice calling down from the kitchen where she does dishes: “Septuple! Septuple! Four and three!”
Yet even with a literature replete with warning, we find ourselves enacting weird efforts to attract the opposite sex on our own with Axe body sprays, faux perms and balayage, Forever 21 sales, and Tinder profiles. Call them “Love Potion Lite,” protection against our own insecurities. It’s a kind of Cinderella complex–without the duds, no ball.
It struck me that part of the wonder from the story is the absence of alien antagonism. Abductions are mysterious, not malevolent, It’s a story of a search, not a triumph over evil. We have, in this story, really nothing to fear.
Florida is a Stand Your Ground state, after all. And while it seems a small and innocent bit of satire amidst the ongoing destruction, it should not surprise us that Americans are–indeed–shooting at the storm. How many do it in an earnest desire to drive away the wind?