200 Years Later Meme
Ariano Waiker
On the first night of the event, we hosted a party that was attended by some of our panelists and any interested guests. This is when podcasters and improv comedians Charlie Todd and Cody Livingston took the opportunity to cosplay "Distracted Boyfriend" in front of our high-res blowup of "Distracted Boyfriend." Data scientist Ulku Guneysu, coincidentally attending the event in the perfect shade of blue, jumped in to be the "jealous girlfriend" and complete the picture.
Hey! I'm the guy in this photo. This was at a Know Your Meme party at the Museum of the Moving Image in NYC. They had a gallery of memes hanging on the wall. I noticed my wife was wearing a red dress so I suggested she pose in front of the girl in the photo. While I was taking her picture someone came up to me and asked if I wanted to be in it, so I hopped in. Then the girl in blue walked up and said, "Hey! Let me be the other girl!" The whole thing was spontaneous and random, and of course it happened on the one day in my life I'm not wearing a plaid shirt.
Todd went on to explain that after Guneysu posted the picture on Facebook, it was eventually spotted by Redditor /U/thecrazygoodguy, who on September 28th, 2018, reposted it to Reddit with the title, "They are old guys." The following day, Scrubs actor Zach Braff tweeted the image, writing, "This is how much 2018 has aged us all," cementing the mythos that Todd, Livingston, and Guneysu were the original "Distracted Boyfriend" trio, aged an indeterminate number of years.
Adam is a journalist, critic, and the reigning, defending, undisputed Universal Champion of Know Your Meme. He has written for several music blogs and has sincerely argued on numerous occasions that vaporwave is the most important music genre of the 21st century. You can find him in the Know Your Meme office listening to Babymetal and Sugar Ray's Greatest Hits. Please don't tap on his shoulder if his headphones are on, as he is very easily spooked.
I had a breast back in 2009. A little over 3 years afterwards I started experiencing severe itching on my right nipple. It drives me crazy. I had dermatologists look at it and tried topical prescription cortisone among other things with no results. My physician thinks it's a damaged nerve and is starting me on Gabapentin since it's worked in other cases with nerve pain. How common is this?
It's difficult to know if the itching is a result of the breast lift or just bad luck. The fact that it occurred three years out makes me feel like it is less likely due to the surgery. Did you have any numbness of that nipple immediately after the procedure? Usually itching is a histamine reaction, so an antihistamine lotion like benadryl might be helpful. When you scratch an itchy area, the trauma of scratching causes the release of more histamine, so it's a vicious cycle. Do your best to avoid scratching! I have had some luck with using Vitamin B6 (pyridoxine) to reduce fritzy nerve discomfort. It's over the counter. I recommend patients take 100mg daily for 30 days. If it works, then slowly wean off. If it doesn't work, just quit it. Also, make sure you are up to date on mammography screening, just to be on the safe side.
Thank you for sharing your question. For your symptoms to develop long after the period of healing makes me surmise that something else is taking place in order to cause those symptoms. I would continue to work with your dermatologist and other skin specialists to identify the most likely cause.
I have almost the same exact issue. The two differences is I had a breast reduction (the procedure is similar to a lift) and my inching (also on the right breast) start a year later after I regained feeling. After surgery for a year I had no feeling in my breast. 7 years latter, I'm still inching. I've consulted with a few doctors. I've had a couple ultrasounds. I even had a mammogram. NO ANSWERS
This is a real thing!! I had a breast lift 2 years ago and about 6 months ago my nipples, both sides, intermittently, itch almost daily. I had a Tummy Tuck at the same time and where my drains were on my sides are still tender and at times even painful. I have Fibromyalgia and thought it was just me. After talking to a few medical professionals I am finding out that I am definitely not alone!!!
I am a garbage collector, racist garbage. For three decades I have collected items that defame and belittle Africans and their American descendants. I have a parlor game, "72 Pictured Party Stunts," from the 1930s. One of the game's cards instructs players to, "Go through the motions of a colored boy eating watermelon." The card shows a dark black boy, with bulging eyes and blood red lips, eating a watermelon as large as he is. The card offends me, but I collected it and 4,000 similar items that portray black people as Coons, Toms, Sambos, Mammies, Picaninnies, and other dehumanizing racial caricatures. I collect this garbage because I believe, and know to be true, that items of intolerance can be used to teach tolerance.
I bought my first racist object when I was 12 or 13. My memory of that event is not perfect. It was the early 1970s in Mobile, Alabama, the home of my youth. The item was small, probably a Mammy saltshaker. It must have been cheap because I never had much money. And, it must have been ugly because after I paid the dealer I threw the item to the ground, shattering it. It was not a political act; I, simply, hated it, if you can hate an object. I do not know if he scolded me, he almost certainly did. I was what folks in Mobile, black and white people, indelicately referred to as a "Red Nigger." In those days, in that place, he could have thrown that name at me, without incident. I do not remember what he called me, but I am certain he called me something other than David Pilgrim.
I have a 1916 magazine advertisement that shows a little black boy, softly caricatured, drinking from an ink bottle. The bottom caption reads, "Nigger Milk." I bought the print in 1988 from an antique store in LaPorte, Indiana. It was framed and offered for sale at $20. The salesclerk wrote, "Black Print," on the receipt. I told her to write, "Nigger Milk Print."
"If you are going to sell it, call it by its name," I told her. She refused. We argued. I bought the print and left. That was my last argument with a dealer or sales clerk; today, I purchase the items and leave with little conversation.
The Mammy saltshaker and the "Nigger Milk" print are not the most offensive items that I have seen. In 1874, McLoughlin Brothers of New York manufactured a puzzle game called "Chopped Up Niggers." Today, the game is a prized collectible. I have twice seen the game for sale; neither time did I have the $3,000 necessary to purchase it. There are postcards from the first half of the 20th century that show black people being whipped, or worse, hanging dead from trees, or lying on the ground burned beyond recognition. Postcards and photographs of lynched black people sell for around $400 each on eBay and other Internet auction houses. I can afford to buy one, but I am not ready, not yet.
My friends claim that I am obsessed with racist objects. If they are right, the obsession began while I was an undergraduate student at Jarvis Christian College, a small historically black institution in Hawkins, Texas. The teachers taught more than scientific principles and mathematical equations. I learned from them what it was like to live as a black man under Jim Crow segregation. Imagine being a college professor but having to wear a chauffeur's hat while driving your new car through small towns, lest some disgruntled white man beat you for being "uppity." The stories I heard were not angry ones; no, worse, they were matter-of-fact accounts of everyday life in a land where every black person was considered inferior to every white one, a time when "social equality" was a profane expression, fighting words. Black people knew their clothing sizes. Why? They were not allowed to try on clothes in department stores. If black and white people wore the same clothes, even for a short while, it implied social equality, and, perhaps, intimacy.
I was 10 years old when Martin Luther King, Jr. was killed; we watched the funeral on a small black and white television in my fifth grade class at Bessie C. Fonville Elementary. All my classmates were black; Mobile was proudly, defiantly segregated. Two years later, in search for a cheaper house, my family moved to Prichard, Alabama, a small adjoining city that was even more segregated. Less than a decade earlier, black people had not been allowed to use the Prichard City Library -- unless they had a note from a white person. White people owned most of the stores. White people held all the elected offices. I was part of the class that integrated Prichard Middle School. A local television commentator called it an "invasion." Invaders? We were children. We fought white adults on the way to school and white children at school. By the time I graduated from Mattie T. Blount High School most of the white people had left the city. When I arrived at Jarvis Christian College I was not naive about southern race relations.
My college teachers taught the usual lessons about Frederick Douglass, Sojourner Truth, Booker T. Washington, and W.E.B. Dubois. More importantly, they taught about the daily heroism of the maids, butlers, and sharecroppers who risked their jobs, and sometimes their lives, to protest Jim Crow segregation. I learned to read history critically, from the "bottom-up," not as a linear critique of so-called great men, but from the viewpoint of oppressed people. I realized the great debt that I owed to black people -- all but a few forgotten by history -- who suffered so that I could be educated. It was at Jarvis Christian College that I learned that a scholar could be an activist, indeed, must be. Here, I first had the idea of building a collection of racist objects. I was not sure what I would do with it.
All racial groups have been caricatured in this country, but none have been caricatured as often or in as many ways as have black Americans. Black people have been portrayed in popular culture as pitiable exotics, cannibalistic savages, hypersexual deviants, childlike buffoons, obedient servants, self-loathing victims, and menaces to society. These anti-black depictions were routinely manifested in or on material objects: ashtrays, drinking glasses, banks, games, fishing lures, detergent boxes, and other everyday items. These objects, with racist representations, both reflected and shaped attitudes towards African Americans. Robbin Henderson (Faulkner, Henderson, Fabry, & Miller, 1982), director of the Berkeley Art Center, said, "derogatory imagery enables people to absorb stereotypes; which in turn allows them to ignore and condone injustice, discrimination, segregation, and racism" (p. 11). She was right. Racist imagery is propaganda and that propaganda was used to support Jim Crow laws and customs.
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