While the Orwellian prediction of “Newspeak” makes the constant and vexatious habit of abbreviation no surprise in the present, one would have thought that it could have at least managed to evade usage on people’s names. Alas, not so with Paul Thomas Anderson, whose ardent, largely “male” fanbase has prompted the overly familiar epithet of “PT” to arise. But unless we’re talking about the famed ringmaster, no “man” should have the misfortune of such a bastardization of his moniker. What’s more, as the auteur known for sweeping, lengthy cinematic experiences, doesn’t he at least deserve the courtesy of being addressed as his own overly long for the American tongue name?
And, to be sure, this abridgement is employed primarily by “male” acolytes of his oeuvre. Because, by and large, women only get on the Paul Thomas Anderson train when their boyfriends do, generally for the cachet of being one of the “cool girls” of the sort that Tove Lo declares herself to be. And because women are typically better at savoring and appreciating things, they’re less prone to blurt out Paul Thomas Anderson’s name in an incomplete form. Their “male” counterparts, however, get a vague titillation out of the, in their minds, “informality” of addressing him as such. Which is really nothing short of dweebo.
So next time you think of asking someone if they’ve seen such and such “PT” Anderson movie, please, use your words. It’s not that many more syllables.
Cross-gender–not to be confused solely with cross-dressing or being transgender–empathy is the simple ability for someone–a “man”–to put himself in the place of another person that is not technically packing a dick (though probably has more of a dick than most cisgender “men” of the moment). This propensity is usually most helpful when contributing to what the powers that be funnel into mainstream society, specifically within the realm of film and television.
If the suits in charge see that “men” continue to be non-amenable to the vision of women in roles that usually only generally “befit” a “man,” of course they’re going to find no monetarily profitable reason to change the tired “male”-oriented formula. As Emma Watson pointed out, it’s harder for “men” to relate to genders and walks of life that aren’t straightforwardly “male.” This is, one supposes, why they sit there with their mouths agape upon seeing a woman onscreen who isn’t being objectified or melodramatic. And, in general, “men” only tend to see women as melodramatic in their comportment because they react so little themselves to emotional trauma. You’re not gonna see them pull a Jasmine Francis on a park bench in most cases.
With “Netflix and chill” being the pervasive euphemism that it is, it’s not as though any woman experiences shock when a “man” reaches over her shoulder with his arm and grabs her tit old school-going-to-the-movie-theater-style so as to initiate the inevitable process of disrobement. What’s more shocking, however, is when he does absolutely nothing sexual to her after inviting her over to “watch something.”
“I don’t want your popcorn, I want your dick.”
The only thing that should be watched when a woman is invited over is the gradual engorgement of her vagina as you finger it. And yet, knowing the Williamsburg lot, the only fingering that goes on is in the bowl filled with artisanal popcorn. The utter gall of subjecting a girl you’ve asked to your shittatay but expensive apartment to actually sit through almost two hours of cinematic non-gold (the dickless “men” always choose titles like Die Hard or Scarface as the classics they want to use to “impress” others in terms of showcasing how masculine they are) is completely unwarranted. If you really want to watch a movie in its entirety, do it on your own time, not the time you should be sexually satisfying someone else.