I enjoy walking; or, more specifically, I enjoy taking walks. Whenever I've got a lot on my mind or I'm not sure what to do with myself, or even just when I want to get out and move around a bit, taking a walk is one of my favorite choices. Something about being alone out in the open air and trekking forth without a necessarily clear-cut destination is relaxing, and it provides a level of privacy that I can almost never get in my own house. I'm able to mull things over, to consider my circumstances and how they could be impacted by decisions I've made or will make, and, on occasion, make some interesting observations. I can't say it clears my head, because usually it's just the opposite. My thoughts crash about just as furiously as they always do, but whenever I'm out wandering around, they do their crashing with less interference from external distractions, which sometimes leads me to draw some interesting conclusions based on how the different interpretations of what I've experienced intermingle.
Lately I've been trying to make some decisions, and I've been rather frustrated with my complete lack of progress, so I decided to go out and walk in a giant circle around my neighborhood. If nothing else, I figured I was at least getting some exercise. So I took off down the street at about 8:50 PM and figured my journey would take roughly an hour (it did). As I was walking, I saw a small green bug scurry across my path and into the grass by the side of the road just as a car came flying by. It occurred to me that this bug probably just crossed the road, and that may not really seem like anything special, but think about it: a bug crossed the road. Without getting hit by a car. Honestly, what are the odds? Think about how huge that road is in the bug's eyes, and consider the frequency at which cars travel down it (this is a pretty busy road, for the record, not some backwoods dirt path, just so you know). I can picture the bug sitting on the one side of the road, psyching himself out in preparation for the coming ordeal. There he is, knowing this is an all-or-nothing undertaking; his success at this endeavor makes or breaks his entire future. He pauses to contemplate for a moment: his very life is on the line if he decides to go ahead with this very dangerous maneuver. Is what's waiting for him on the other side worth risking everything to attain? Is he even capable of making it across at all? Finally, he comes to the conclusion that he must go, that reaching whatever is on the other side is worth the price of making the journey. He skitters out and for a little while, it's smooth sailing. Suddenly, a car comes barreling down the road at what seems like a million miles an hour, and he just narrowly avoids a sudden and untimely demise underneath its tires. More cars come and go just as rapidly, but he succeeds in avoiding death at their hands as well. Finally, after what feels like hours, the bug has the lush green scenery of the other side of the road in his sights; if only he can make it past that final white line, the line that denotes his success. If he can just keep going for a little while longer, he'll be home free. He hears one last car rumbling toward him from way off in the distance, and resolves to make one last push toward that line. With all his effort, he heaves his body out of the way of the car, and finds himself, at long last, within the safety of the grass, having made his way laboriously across the entirety of the road, triumphing against all odds and in the face of the most adverse circumstances he's ever known. He rejoices victoriously, and scampers off to claim his prize, proud of everything he has achieved.
And yet... it was still just a bug. Crossing the road. He got where he was going, but really, where was he going? No one cared when he started out, no one cared when he got there, and no one cares now. Who knows if he's even still alive? I happened to see him cross the road successfully, and after processing it, I thought, "Wow, that's pretty impressive." But in the grand scheme of things, his accomplishment in crossing the road was completely and utterly worthless and irrelevant.
Which begs the question ladies and gentlemen... what's the point? I could beat myself up overanalyzing the context of every decision I ever have to make, weighing the pros and cons and trying to figure out what the very best course of action to take is. That course of action could be a risky one, but it could very well pay off handsomely in the end if I succeed. Or I could take the safe route, one that may not be as rewarding in the end, but that guarantees a solid and stable environment for myself. Either way, that bug who wanted to cross the road may as well have been named Bill, and I think I can take a lesson from the exploits of Billy the Bug: whatever I do, it ain't gonna amount to a hill of beans in the end. The irony that any given circumstance can seem so gravely important and yet have virtually no real significance is something I can appreciate, which just makes me chuckle even more heartily at this masterfully crafted joke we live in. I can't wait for the real punchline.
Tuesday, August 11, 2009
Monday, August 3, 2009
This Post Brought To You By the Christian Love Of Liberty University's Administration
It is with a heavy heart that I begin this post... so brace yourselves kids, when I start a blog with a statement that serious, you know something's amiss. I still can't quite wrap my head around what I'm about to say, and although I've been dancing around the possibility all summer, hoping it would never actually come to this, the breaking point has finally been reached via, dare I say, a series of unfortunate events. And so, I must finally step up and take my place in the Real World alongside the greats who came before me, Jamie Newman, Sean Harrison, Andrew Clark, and Ryan Trammell. I will not be returning to Liberty University in the Fall.
For those of you who know me (which I'm pretty sure is everyone reading this), you are aware that this is the moment I've dreaded the most since I first started college in the Fall of 2004. And even though I was able to prolong my educational experience for an extra year beyond undergrad by enrolling in grad school at Liberty, I still feel like it's been cut short because I was planning on having one more year. Of course, after having completed my Master's Degree, I would certainly have been finished; I'm not one for the scholarly scene, and my solitary year of grad school was miserable enough on the academic front. But that loss of one year really throws everything off, you know? I suppose in a certain sense it's good that it's playing out this way, because I didn't spend the whole of my last year fretting about the fact that it was the last time I would be doing any given thing, and in that capacity I probably got more enjoyment out of all those things. But the realization that I will never again get to do any of those particular things (play intramural sports, go to Scaremare and Coffeehouse, even eat at the Rot) when I had been intent on having another whole year to do all of them comes as quite a shock, and I still don't think it's really hit me yet.
For all the fond memories of I have of 8th Grade, my four years of undergrad at Liberty University were without a doubt the best times of my life. I could go on forever with stories, amusing anecdotes, interesting factoids, and references to inside jokes that I've compiled since I arrived in Lynchburg on August 15th, 2004. I think part of what made it so great was how easy the program actually was; I pretty much breezed through my Communication Studies (with a concentration in Video Broadcasting) degree and had tons of spare time for socialization. And this past year was nothing to sneeze at either; the schoolwork was hell, but socially it was great, in spite of the fact that several of my closest friends had graduated and moved on. Liberty University truly is an amazing institution, primarily because of the awesome people who comprise the student body. Actually, replace the word "primarily" in that last sentence with "only," and we have an excellent transition to my next section.
If you're wondering about the title of this post, allow me to explain. The aforementioned series of unfortunate events all began back in late May, when I ran into an unsettling situation regarding my employment for next year. I hadn't wanted to say anything directly about it via this forum until I knew for sure what the resolution of the whole fiasco was, which is actually what kept me from blogging for so long back then, but since it's all over now I might as well spill. As most of you know, I was a GA with the Coms department teaching Coms 101 to freshmen this past year, and GAs are required to maintain a yearly GPA of at least 3.0 in order to keep their jobs (hilarious side note: the minimum GPA to be a GA is the same as the minimum GPA just to graduate; you would think the requirements for holding a special position would be higher, but that's just one example of Liberty's brilliantly thought-out graduate program). Well, I ran into a few problems, so I sought help from the higher-ups at Liberty, starting with the Coms department heads. Now, I don't want to mention anyone by name, so I'm going to give all the important characters fictional names. The first response I got came from the man we'll call Dr. Michael Richards, and it was nothing short of Christ-like; that is, if you're talking about the Fake Life Jesus who just said "You screwed up? That's really too bad. I can't die for you, and though I am condemning you to hell, I sincerely hope you manage to find your own way into heaven somehow." I believe he'll be teaching a graduate course in Baptist Phariseeism sometime this fall; for those of you with no compassion and a desire to do tons of work, I would highly recommend this class.
So, of course, I climbed the chain of command, bringing me to the Obelisk of Academia and its high priest, Dr. Prasiebandsinger Handjoint. Again, I got a similar roadblock, even after explaining my situation in even greater detail to him. Apparently the phrase "I can't afford to continue my education without this job" means nothing to people who already have their PhDs; either that or they were just calling my bluff. Well boys, if this were a poker game, I'd be raking the chips in right now, cuz that was no bluff. This response, of course, is right in line with the course of action we as GAs were instructed to take when approached in a similar manner by our own Coms 101 students, and it seems rooted in some kind of extreme dishonesty paranoia. We were always told that, if a student asked for an extension of a deadline, for instance, only give it to them if we were absolutely certain they were not lying, if they had a history of turning their work in on time and could somehow prove the truthfulness of whatever extenuating circumstances they claimed. They said that we couldn't afford to make exceptions to the policies with all the people out there willing to lie just to get a better grade. That philosophy always seemed backwards to me, and as such, I essentially disregarded it. I almost always gave extensions if they were requested, because the way I see it, if a kid is lying about his circumstances, then sure, he gets a break he doesn't really deserve. But on the other hand, if that kid isn't lying, he isn't needlessly screwed over just because he can't prove he isn't lying. Boy I could go on and on about the rather surprising attitudes held by many of the GAs who supported this philosophy and the things they said and did to adhere to it, but I digress.
After being rejected by Dr. Handjoint, who told me that he had been persuaded that the decision of the department heads must stand, I had no recourse but to go to the Big Man himself, who we will call Billy Kincaid (which, as a somewhat obscure Spawn reference, actually works on three levels... bonus points if you can figure out what they are. Hint: the primary one is symbolic of his most worthwhile contribution to the running of the university). Initially, I got a response from one of Billy's assistants, saying that Billy would be unable to intervene in this situation, as that decision is up to the heads of the department, and that I should contact them with my appeal. Well, considering this was my last resort in the first place, I had already detailed my previous exploits with the department heads and basically implored him for mercy because I had nowhere else to turn, so obviously this assistant didn't bother reading much more than the first line of my email. I can't say I really blame her, because she must have to weed through tons of those kinds of emails every day. Still, "unable to intervene?" Really? A particular line from the end of Aladdin springs to mind here: "Am I Sultan or am I Sultan?" Fortunately, I was able to acquire Billy's personal email address (it's helpful to have athletes as students, they have connections), and I sent him the same message at that address. After a week without getting a response, I resent the message, and he replied not five minutes after I sent that second message, telling me that he would look into it for me. I was actually very hopeful after that, until the next day when I realized that "I will look into this" meant "I'm going to dump this on Dr. Handjoint and have him deal with it." Obviously Dr. Handjoint's mind was already made up; I had been hoping that, after I thoroughly explained my situation to Billy, he would find it in his heart to grant me an exception, but hey, what's leadership without delegation? Oh and just as a brief aside, Billy's wife, who loves the students so much and acts as an advocate for them, was good enough to never respond to either of the two messages I sent her.
So, long story short, I just can't afford to come back. Of course there are other factors involved aside from the whole GA debacle, but were it not for that, I would be able to. At this point, it's time to bring up an old turning-point-in-your-life cliche: Good Riddance (Time of Your Life) by Green Day. I always got the "time of your life" aspect, and how you regard fondly the memories you've made along whatever journey you're just wrapping up, but I never quite understood why the song was titled "Good Riddance." It seemed the exact opposite of what the song represented. But now I think I get it, having reached a truly bittersweet crossroads in my life. As I said before, I did indeed have the time of my life at Liberty, but by leaving, I'm also saying "good riddance" to all the crap, crap that mostly manifested itself in this past year through pompous academia and pretentious "scholarly" work. As far as something unpredictable that in the end is right... well, I was planning on finishing my Master's at Liberty and didn't really see this coming till mid-May, so that was plenty unpredictable, and I really have no choice so it has to be right... I guess you could say that's time grabbing me by the wrist and directing me where to go as well. I'll have to make the best of this test without asking why... blah blah blah, I could dissect the song line by line, but you get the idea. The point is, I can now look back at Liberty and say "Man, I had the time of my life there," but also say "Good riddance," which, in a way, makes my departure a tiny bit easier. So props, Green Day. As if your song wasn't iconic enough, it now has my official endorsement. I'd say you've officially made it as a band now.
Anyway, I'm gonna miss Liberty a whole lot, probably more than I've missed any institution that I've ever left. Even in the past year, when my experience was somewhat different from the experiences of the first four years, I had a great time. I thoroughly enjoyed playing Mafia with the wily women of East 7, playing Catchphrase with those same women (who were not so deft at that particular game), and every single hilarious Ian-infused round of Apples to Apples ("It's ketchup AND mustard!"). The unexpected joys of sitting on the floor in convocation, actually having a good sister dorm for once, the Starcraft Era which evolved into the Age of Empires Society and the best breakfast I've ever had, and playing Magic in the twilight hours of the year are all experiences I will look back upon fondly. And being a Coms 101 GA... while I had my gripes with the way the program was run, I really loved being in the classroom with my students. I learned a lot about the difference between simply performing the duties of a teacher and actually encouraging learning, which is much different than the academic bigwigs would like to think... but that's another story. And don't even get me started on my four years of undergrad. I had so many amazing experiences during my time on Dorm 22-3 that attempting to encapsulate them here in just a few sentences would be an injustice. I think what I may do, purely for my own enjoyment and the entertainment of those who lived through those times, is start a series of blog posts devoted to stories from those days, with each post given its own story. That could be fun. Stay tuned.
The really funny thing is, like I said earlier, it hasn't really hit me yet, and I don't think it really will until the school year gets into full swing and I'm no longer there. This will be the first time I'll experience September in New York in five years. And to be honest, while Fall in upstate New York is second to none, I wish it could have been six years before I'd seen it again. One of the most depressing things is that I keep remembering, periodically throughout the day, that I am not going back. I'll be carrying out my daily activities when I come across something that reminds me of Liberty or the people there and think "I can't wait till I get back so I can... oh wait..." and it's rather crushing, honestly. A nugget of encouragement, however, comes from the fact that I am a big boy now, and I can go back to visit if I want to. Obviously the expense of a trip between Albany, NY and Lynchburg, VA is too great for me to be coming down every weekend, but I'm gonna try my best to make it to Liberty at least once before the coming semester is out, hopefully with Andrew Clark and maybe even Ryan Trammell at the same time.
For now, though, I don't want to drag this out too much longer. If you're reading this, and at some point in the future think back to any of the times when I went off on a wildly aggressive rant about anything that happened to be bothering me at any given time, check in on this blog; there's a good chance I'll be doing the same thing for a long while in digital form. But I think I've made my point here, and that is that I sorely grieve my premature departure, and I will miss everything and everybody I'm leaving behind at Liberty. Life will never be the same. Thanks for a great time guys.
Godspeed.
For those of you who know me (which I'm pretty sure is everyone reading this), you are aware that this is the moment I've dreaded the most since I first started college in the Fall of 2004. And even though I was able to prolong my educational experience for an extra year beyond undergrad by enrolling in grad school at Liberty, I still feel like it's been cut short because I was planning on having one more year. Of course, after having completed my Master's Degree, I would certainly have been finished; I'm not one for the scholarly scene, and my solitary year of grad school was miserable enough on the academic front. But that loss of one year really throws everything off, you know? I suppose in a certain sense it's good that it's playing out this way, because I didn't spend the whole of my last year fretting about the fact that it was the last time I would be doing any given thing, and in that capacity I probably got more enjoyment out of all those things. But the realization that I will never again get to do any of those particular things (play intramural sports, go to Scaremare and Coffeehouse, even eat at the Rot) when I had been intent on having another whole year to do all of them comes as quite a shock, and I still don't think it's really hit me yet.
For all the fond memories of I have of 8th Grade, my four years of undergrad at Liberty University were without a doubt the best times of my life. I could go on forever with stories, amusing anecdotes, interesting factoids, and references to inside jokes that I've compiled since I arrived in Lynchburg on August 15th, 2004. I think part of what made it so great was how easy the program actually was; I pretty much breezed through my Communication Studies (with a concentration in Video Broadcasting) degree and had tons of spare time for socialization. And this past year was nothing to sneeze at either; the schoolwork was hell, but socially it was great, in spite of the fact that several of my closest friends had graduated and moved on. Liberty University truly is an amazing institution, primarily because of the awesome people who comprise the student body. Actually, replace the word "primarily" in that last sentence with "only," and we have an excellent transition to my next section.
If you're wondering about the title of this post, allow me to explain. The aforementioned series of unfortunate events all began back in late May, when I ran into an unsettling situation regarding my employment for next year. I hadn't wanted to say anything directly about it via this forum until I knew for sure what the resolution of the whole fiasco was, which is actually what kept me from blogging for so long back then, but since it's all over now I might as well spill. As most of you know, I was a GA with the Coms department teaching Coms 101 to freshmen this past year, and GAs are required to maintain a yearly GPA of at least 3.0 in order to keep their jobs (hilarious side note: the minimum GPA to be a GA is the same as the minimum GPA just to graduate; you would think the requirements for holding a special position would be higher, but that's just one example of Liberty's brilliantly thought-out graduate program). Well, I ran into a few problems, so I sought help from the higher-ups at Liberty, starting with the Coms department heads. Now, I don't want to mention anyone by name, so I'm going to give all the important characters fictional names. The first response I got came from the man we'll call Dr. Michael Richards, and it was nothing short of Christ-like; that is, if you're talking about the Fake Life Jesus who just said "You screwed up? That's really too bad. I can't die for you, and though I am condemning you to hell, I sincerely hope you manage to find your own way into heaven somehow." I believe he'll be teaching a graduate course in Baptist Phariseeism sometime this fall; for those of you with no compassion and a desire to do tons of work, I would highly recommend this class.
So, of course, I climbed the chain of command, bringing me to the Obelisk of Academia and its high priest, Dr. Prasiebandsinger Handjoint. Again, I got a similar roadblock, even after explaining my situation in even greater detail to him. Apparently the phrase "I can't afford to continue my education without this job" means nothing to people who already have their PhDs; either that or they were just calling my bluff. Well boys, if this were a poker game, I'd be raking the chips in right now, cuz that was no bluff. This response, of course, is right in line with the course of action we as GAs were instructed to take when approached in a similar manner by our own Coms 101 students, and it seems rooted in some kind of extreme dishonesty paranoia. We were always told that, if a student asked for an extension of a deadline, for instance, only give it to them if we were absolutely certain they were not lying, if they had a history of turning their work in on time and could somehow prove the truthfulness of whatever extenuating circumstances they claimed. They said that we couldn't afford to make exceptions to the policies with all the people out there willing to lie just to get a better grade. That philosophy always seemed backwards to me, and as such, I essentially disregarded it. I almost always gave extensions if they were requested, because the way I see it, if a kid is lying about his circumstances, then sure, he gets a break he doesn't really deserve. But on the other hand, if that kid isn't lying, he isn't needlessly screwed over just because he can't prove he isn't lying. Boy I could go on and on about the rather surprising attitudes held by many of the GAs who supported this philosophy and the things they said and did to adhere to it, but I digress.
After being rejected by Dr. Handjoint, who told me that he had been persuaded that the decision of the department heads must stand, I had no recourse but to go to the Big Man himself, who we will call Billy Kincaid (which, as a somewhat obscure Spawn reference, actually works on three levels... bonus points if you can figure out what they are. Hint: the primary one is symbolic of his most worthwhile contribution to the running of the university). Initially, I got a response from one of Billy's assistants, saying that Billy would be unable to intervene in this situation, as that decision is up to the heads of the department, and that I should contact them with my appeal. Well, considering this was my last resort in the first place, I had already detailed my previous exploits with the department heads and basically implored him for mercy because I had nowhere else to turn, so obviously this assistant didn't bother reading much more than the first line of my email. I can't say I really blame her, because she must have to weed through tons of those kinds of emails every day. Still, "unable to intervene?" Really? A particular line from the end of Aladdin springs to mind here: "Am I Sultan or am I Sultan?" Fortunately, I was able to acquire Billy's personal email address (it's helpful to have athletes as students, they have connections), and I sent him the same message at that address. After a week without getting a response, I resent the message, and he replied not five minutes after I sent that second message, telling me that he would look into it for me. I was actually very hopeful after that, until the next day when I realized that "I will look into this" meant "I'm going to dump this on Dr. Handjoint and have him deal with it." Obviously Dr. Handjoint's mind was already made up; I had been hoping that, after I thoroughly explained my situation to Billy, he would find it in his heart to grant me an exception, but hey, what's leadership without delegation? Oh and just as a brief aside, Billy's wife, who loves the students so much and acts as an advocate for them, was good enough to never respond to either of the two messages I sent her.
So, long story short, I just can't afford to come back. Of course there are other factors involved aside from the whole GA debacle, but were it not for that, I would be able to. At this point, it's time to bring up an old turning-point-in-your-life cliche: Good Riddance (Time of Your Life) by Green Day. I always got the "time of your life" aspect, and how you regard fondly the memories you've made along whatever journey you're just wrapping up, but I never quite understood why the song was titled "Good Riddance." It seemed the exact opposite of what the song represented. But now I think I get it, having reached a truly bittersweet crossroads in my life. As I said before, I did indeed have the time of my life at Liberty, but by leaving, I'm also saying "good riddance" to all the crap, crap that mostly manifested itself in this past year through pompous academia and pretentious "scholarly" work. As far as something unpredictable that in the end is right... well, I was planning on finishing my Master's at Liberty and didn't really see this coming till mid-May, so that was plenty unpredictable, and I really have no choice so it has to be right... I guess you could say that's time grabbing me by the wrist and directing me where to go as well. I'll have to make the best of this test without asking why... blah blah blah, I could dissect the song line by line, but you get the idea. The point is, I can now look back at Liberty and say "Man, I had the time of my life there," but also say "Good riddance," which, in a way, makes my departure a tiny bit easier. So props, Green Day. As if your song wasn't iconic enough, it now has my official endorsement. I'd say you've officially made it as a band now.
Anyway, I'm gonna miss Liberty a whole lot, probably more than I've missed any institution that I've ever left. Even in the past year, when my experience was somewhat different from the experiences of the first four years, I had a great time. I thoroughly enjoyed playing Mafia with the wily women of East 7, playing Catchphrase with those same women (who were not so deft at that particular game), and every single hilarious Ian-infused round of Apples to Apples ("It's ketchup AND mustard!"). The unexpected joys of sitting on the floor in convocation, actually having a good sister dorm for once, the Starcraft Era which evolved into the Age of Empires Society and the best breakfast I've ever had, and playing Magic in the twilight hours of the year are all experiences I will look back upon fondly. And being a Coms 101 GA... while I had my gripes with the way the program was run, I really loved being in the classroom with my students. I learned a lot about the difference between simply performing the duties of a teacher and actually encouraging learning, which is much different than the academic bigwigs would like to think... but that's another story. And don't even get me started on my four years of undergrad. I had so many amazing experiences during my time on Dorm 22-3 that attempting to encapsulate them here in just a few sentences would be an injustice. I think what I may do, purely for my own enjoyment and the entertainment of those who lived through those times, is start a series of blog posts devoted to stories from those days, with each post given its own story. That could be fun. Stay tuned.
The really funny thing is, like I said earlier, it hasn't really hit me yet, and I don't think it really will until the school year gets into full swing and I'm no longer there. This will be the first time I'll experience September in New York in five years. And to be honest, while Fall in upstate New York is second to none, I wish it could have been six years before I'd seen it again. One of the most depressing things is that I keep remembering, periodically throughout the day, that I am not going back. I'll be carrying out my daily activities when I come across something that reminds me of Liberty or the people there and think "I can't wait till I get back so I can... oh wait..." and it's rather crushing, honestly. A nugget of encouragement, however, comes from the fact that I am a big boy now, and I can go back to visit if I want to. Obviously the expense of a trip between Albany, NY and Lynchburg, VA is too great for me to be coming down every weekend, but I'm gonna try my best to make it to Liberty at least once before the coming semester is out, hopefully with Andrew Clark and maybe even Ryan Trammell at the same time.
For now, though, I don't want to drag this out too much longer. If you're reading this, and at some point in the future think back to any of the times when I went off on a wildly aggressive rant about anything that happened to be bothering me at any given time, check in on this blog; there's a good chance I'll be doing the same thing for a long while in digital form. But I think I've made my point here, and that is that I sorely grieve my premature departure, and I will miss everything and everybody I'm leaving behind at Liberty. Life will never be the same. Thanks for a great time guys.
Godspeed.
Sunday, July 5, 2009
The Taco: Source of Endless Strife
At last, the moment you've all been waiting for: After a drought of a month and a half, I have returned to rock the blogosphere. Without a long-winded explanation for my sabbatical, I'll just proceed to the meat of the post - after all, you don't come here to listen to me make excuses.
Speaking of meat, yesterday was the 4th of July. How are the two related, you ask? For the holiday, my sister went to a friend's house to celebrate and spend the night. You can probably guess what kind of classic American food was served at this party: tacos. "Happy Independence Day everybody! In honor of the occasion, let's all have some patriotic Mexican food!" Seriously? Who does that? And as if that sleight against Americana wasn't enough, one of the girls at the party was a vegetarian, so she had a cheese quesadilla. I'll hold off on my vegetarian rant for now, but I'm telling you, it better be burgers, hot dogs, or other forms of grilled flesh on the 4th, kids, or you're doing something horribly wrong.
In the summer of 2000, I got this Arizona Jeans American Flag t-shirt, and I don't remember exactly what it said on it, but it was something along the lines of "100% American Made" something or other. It was designated my 4th of July shirt, and I wore it on the 4th of July every year starting that summer and all the way through the summer of 2008. Of course, it also got regular rotation year-round during my high school days, and so it's become reasonably worn since then. This year, I went to my dresser to get my shirt so I could celebrate the holiday properly... and it was nowhere to be found. I had to hurry up and get dressed (to take my sister to the aforementioned party, in fact), so I didn't have time to hunt around for it, and I wouldn't have had the slightest idea where to look anyway. Instead, I just threw on my red Old Navy t-shirt. This happens to be the very shirt that Andrew Clark gravely wounded toward the end of the Spring 2006 semester at Liberty when he lashed out violently at me after I had performed a rendition of his infamous Sub-Walk. Fortunately, thanks to the sewing efforts of my mom, the day was saved, and the shirt is alive and well to this day. Anyway, it's a solid red shirt, so I figured that combining it with my blue jeans and Yankee hat would create a red white and blue motif, suitable for the occasion. I was a bit sad in light of my broken streak, but then I remembered the circumstances surrounding the day. The 4th of July is meant to celebrate all that is American, and one thing that stands out to me as distinctly un-American is socialism. Thus, what better way to end the era of the longstanding patriotic 4th of July shirt than under the new reign of our wonderful President, Barack Obama? I found it to be a very fitting piece of symbolism, which made me feel better about my shirt... but not so much about the future of our country.
In other news, a few nights ago I was doing the dishes, and at the same time my mom was watching The Nanny on Nick at Nite in the kitchen, so I could hear the TV loud and clear from m post. I gathered that the episode they were airing was one of the last of the series, and the main character, Fran, was going into labor, about to push some babies out into the world. Now, the pain of childbirth is one of those things that women perennially complain about, and they always use their ability to withstand this pain as a means to tout their resilience and overall perceived superiority to men. Barring the testicular torsion argument, I've always conceded that giving birth must be incredibly painful and that women are to be granted this point in the Pain Threshold Challenge. The thought struck me while I was listening to this show, however, that women are notorious drama queens. Seriously, they make humongous deals out of the most trivial of occurrences; what proof do we have, then, that childbirth is indeed as painful as they make it out to be? It could all be a trumped up ploy designed to gain attention and garner the rendition of various other services in light of the allegedly traumatizing experience. The way women regularly react to mundane inconveniences is, in my mind, enough evidence to convince me of this. Of course, ladies, this is your cue to post indignant comments or harass me by a number of other more personal means for my egregious and unfounded attack on the integrity of the fairer sex. If you feel led in that direction, please, I encourage you to do so and prove my point for me.
I think that'll do it for this blog. I don't have any wise words or half-decent advice to offer tonight, and I'm really struggling with bringing this thing to a viable conclusion, so rather than just let it flail about pathetically, I think I'll just take this post out behind the shed and end its suffering here and now.
Come to think of it, I better get a gun while I still can.
Speaking of meat, yesterday was the 4th of July. How are the two related, you ask? For the holiday, my sister went to a friend's house to celebrate and spend the night. You can probably guess what kind of classic American food was served at this party: tacos. "Happy Independence Day everybody! In honor of the occasion, let's all have some patriotic Mexican food!" Seriously? Who does that? And as if that sleight against Americana wasn't enough, one of the girls at the party was a vegetarian, so she had a cheese quesadilla. I'll hold off on my vegetarian rant for now, but I'm telling you, it better be burgers, hot dogs, or other forms of grilled flesh on the 4th, kids, or you're doing something horribly wrong.
In the summer of 2000, I got this Arizona Jeans American Flag t-shirt, and I don't remember exactly what it said on it, but it was something along the lines of "100% American Made" something or other. It was designated my 4th of July shirt, and I wore it on the 4th of July every year starting that summer and all the way through the summer of 2008. Of course, it also got regular rotation year-round during my high school days, and so it's become reasonably worn since then. This year, I went to my dresser to get my shirt so I could celebrate the holiday properly... and it was nowhere to be found. I had to hurry up and get dressed (to take my sister to the aforementioned party, in fact), so I didn't have time to hunt around for it, and I wouldn't have had the slightest idea where to look anyway. Instead, I just threw on my red Old Navy t-shirt. This happens to be the very shirt that Andrew Clark gravely wounded toward the end of the Spring 2006 semester at Liberty when he lashed out violently at me after I had performed a rendition of his infamous Sub-Walk. Fortunately, thanks to the sewing efforts of my mom, the day was saved, and the shirt is alive and well to this day. Anyway, it's a solid red shirt, so I figured that combining it with my blue jeans and Yankee hat would create a red white and blue motif, suitable for the occasion. I was a bit sad in light of my broken streak, but then I remembered the circumstances surrounding the day. The 4th of July is meant to celebrate all that is American, and one thing that stands out to me as distinctly un-American is socialism. Thus, what better way to end the era of the longstanding patriotic 4th of July shirt than under the new reign of our wonderful President, Barack Obama? I found it to be a very fitting piece of symbolism, which made me feel better about my shirt... but not so much about the future of our country.
In other news, a few nights ago I was doing the dishes, and at the same time my mom was watching The Nanny on Nick at Nite in the kitchen, so I could hear the TV loud and clear from m post. I gathered that the episode they were airing was one of the last of the series, and the main character, Fran, was going into labor, about to push some babies out into the world. Now, the pain of childbirth is one of those things that women perennially complain about, and they always use their ability to withstand this pain as a means to tout their resilience and overall perceived superiority to men. Barring the testicular torsion argument, I've always conceded that giving birth must be incredibly painful and that women are to be granted this point in the Pain Threshold Challenge. The thought struck me while I was listening to this show, however, that women are notorious drama queens. Seriously, they make humongous deals out of the most trivial of occurrences; what proof do we have, then, that childbirth is indeed as painful as they make it out to be? It could all be a trumped up ploy designed to gain attention and garner the rendition of various other services in light of the allegedly traumatizing experience. The way women regularly react to mundane inconveniences is, in my mind, enough evidence to convince me of this. Of course, ladies, this is your cue to post indignant comments or harass me by a number of other more personal means for my egregious and unfounded attack on the integrity of the fairer sex. If you feel led in that direction, please, I encourage you to do so and prove my point for me.
I think that'll do it for this blog. I don't have any wise words or half-decent advice to offer tonight, and I'm really struggling with bringing this thing to a viable conclusion, so rather than just let it flail about pathetically, I think I'll just take this post out behind the shed and end its suffering here and now.
Come to think of it, I better get a gun while I still can.
Sunday, May 17, 2009
You Seem To Take Premise To All Of These Songs
Well ladies and jellybeans, I'm back. I made my much-anticipated return to New York's Capital Region last Tuesday, May 12th, and now I've finally got enough down time to sit and organize the scattered thoughts I've collected since then. I began my work as a mercenary landscaper/general hired hand the day after I got back, and today was the first day I didn't spend at least five hours working for someone else. Instead, today I did work around my own house. I haven't gotten up later than 8 AM since before I left school, and the latest I've gotten to bed since I left Liberty is 1 AM. On Friday night, I was willfully in bed by 11:30. Talk about violating the sanctity. Add onto that all the time I spend at the Little League park and I've got quite the busy summer... and I've only been home for five days. What is the world coming to?
Speaking of the Little League park, on Friday night I was in the bleachers watching my 8 year old brother play. Earlier that evening, my 15 year old sister had asked me to take her to one of her high school get-togethers after the game, which was fine, but I did not know how to get where she needed to go, so I asked my mom for directions. As my dear sweet mother was laying them out for me and writing them down on a piece of paper, another lady right next to us in the stands asked us perplexedly, "You don't have a GPS?" Of course I was slightly irked at the surprise in her voice and the assumption that everyone has a GPS and that we were somehow culturally anomalous because we don't, but I let it slide. Then, the lady behind us went "Ah, MapQuest," and that's what really got me, because the intonation was such that she was basically saying "Ah, you poor unfortunate soul, I'm sorry to hear you're so technologically behind the times. May God have mercy on your soul." Hold the phone... are you actually lamenting the fact that we would have to resort to a convention such as MapQuest in lieu of a GPS system? I'm sorry, but the last time I checked, MapQuest itself is a pretty amazing technology. Think about it: you type in your start point and your intended destination, and it charts your course for you. All you have to do is follow the directions it lays out right there, plain as day. It blew my mind when I first learned about it in Computer Tech in the Fall of 2000. Sure, it would be great if I had a GPS and could just tell it to hold my hand all the way to Hoffman's Playland (which was where I was going, for the record), but since I don't, I guess I'll have to just go blow the dust off the ol' keyboard, get on the Internet, and manually plug my coordinates into MapQuest like they did in the olden times. Man, I can't even begin to imagine what it was like when people actually had to read maps for themselves... what a chore. Life in the Stone Age of the 20th Century must have been unbearable.
I don't know if you've ever heard of a band called 3OH!3, but their song "Don't Trust Me" is getting a fair amount of airplay on the radio right now. Interestingly enough, when I first heard it, I wasn't a fan, but I recall the words from the chorus of "Dead On Arrival," an old school Fall Out Boy classic: "The songs you grow to like never stick at first." How very true. At first I didn't like the song, I found it to be rather obnoxious, but it grew on me after I listened to it a few times, and now I love it. You ought to listen to it, and even if you don't like it initially, give it another shot. Who knows, it might turn out to be your favorite song.
Cough cough. Sorry, I almost choked on a bit of metaphor there.
Yesterday, I was at the park (and when I say "park" I mean the Little League park, for future reference), and I was on the 4:00 duty shift, as I will be every Saturday for the rest of the season. I had just finished selling 50-50 tickets and I was quite thirsty. Now, they charge $1.50 for a 20 ounce bottle of Coke at the concession stand, and anyone who knows me knows I am exceptionally frugal and would normally never pay such an exorbitant price for that quantity of liquid. But I thought about it, and the more I considered my options, the more appealing that Coke sounded, until I basically had to have one. I mean come on, their new slogan is "Open Happiness," and I felt like I could use some happiness. So I went down to the stand, slapped a dollar fifty down on the counter just like that guy in the commercial they show all the time at the dollar theater, and got myself a Coke. In so doing, I demonstrated a lesson I learned from that British guy in Confessions of a Shopaholic: there is a difference between cost and worth (okay, I've always known this, but since I saw that movie I keep finding ways for myself to apply it in my life). Sure, I think $1.50 is too much to charge for a 20 ounce bottle of soda, but at that point, I didn't care, I wanted that Coke, dangit. Plus, it never hurts to support the league. I headed upstairs to the announcing booth, cracked that puppy open, and let me tell you, that was the best tasting Coke I've ever had.
Well, it is now time for me to hang up my blogging hat for the time being, but hopefully I'll be able to make the digital rounds more often in the near future. Until then, keep the milk out of your shoes, kids. I've had milk spilled once in each of my shoes on separate occasions in the last week, and it is not a pleasant experience.
Speaking of the Little League park, on Friday night I was in the bleachers watching my 8 year old brother play. Earlier that evening, my 15 year old sister had asked me to take her to one of her high school get-togethers after the game, which was fine, but I did not know how to get where she needed to go, so I asked my mom for directions. As my dear sweet mother was laying them out for me and writing them down on a piece of paper, another lady right next to us in the stands asked us perplexedly, "You don't have a GPS?" Of course I was slightly irked at the surprise in her voice and the assumption that everyone has a GPS and that we were somehow culturally anomalous because we don't, but I let it slide. Then, the lady behind us went "Ah, MapQuest," and that's what really got me, because the intonation was such that she was basically saying "Ah, you poor unfortunate soul, I'm sorry to hear you're so technologically behind the times. May God have mercy on your soul." Hold the phone... are you actually lamenting the fact that we would have to resort to a convention such as MapQuest in lieu of a GPS system? I'm sorry, but the last time I checked, MapQuest itself is a pretty amazing technology. Think about it: you type in your start point and your intended destination, and it charts your course for you. All you have to do is follow the directions it lays out right there, plain as day. It blew my mind when I first learned about it in Computer Tech in the Fall of 2000. Sure, it would be great if I had a GPS and could just tell it to hold my hand all the way to Hoffman's Playland (which was where I was going, for the record), but since I don't, I guess I'll have to just go blow the dust off the ol' keyboard, get on the Internet, and manually plug my coordinates into MapQuest like they did in the olden times. Man, I can't even begin to imagine what it was like when people actually had to read maps for themselves... what a chore. Life in the Stone Age of the 20th Century must have been unbearable.
I don't know if you've ever heard of a band called 3OH!3, but their song "Don't Trust Me" is getting a fair amount of airplay on the radio right now. Interestingly enough, when I first heard it, I wasn't a fan, but I recall the words from the chorus of "Dead On Arrival," an old school Fall Out Boy classic: "The songs you grow to like never stick at first." How very true. At first I didn't like the song, I found it to be rather obnoxious, but it grew on me after I listened to it a few times, and now I love it. You ought to listen to it, and even if you don't like it initially, give it another shot. Who knows, it might turn out to be your favorite song.
Cough cough. Sorry, I almost choked on a bit of metaphor there.
Yesterday, I was at the park (and when I say "park" I mean the Little League park, for future reference), and I was on the 4:00 duty shift, as I will be every Saturday for the rest of the season. I had just finished selling 50-50 tickets and I was quite thirsty. Now, they charge $1.50 for a 20 ounce bottle of Coke at the concession stand, and anyone who knows me knows I am exceptionally frugal and would normally never pay such an exorbitant price for that quantity of liquid. But I thought about it, and the more I considered my options, the more appealing that Coke sounded, until I basically had to have one. I mean come on, their new slogan is "Open Happiness," and I felt like I could use some happiness. So I went down to the stand, slapped a dollar fifty down on the counter just like that guy in the commercial they show all the time at the dollar theater, and got myself a Coke. In so doing, I demonstrated a lesson I learned from that British guy in Confessions of a Shopaholic: there is a difference between cost and worth (okay, I've always known this, but since I saw that movie I keep finding ways for myself to apply it in my life). Sure, I think $1.50 is too much to charge for a 20 ounce bottle of soda, but at that point, I didn't care, I wanted that Coke, dangit. Plus, it never hurts to support the league. I headed upstairs to the announcing booth, cracked that puppy open, and let me tell you, that was the best tasting Coke I've ever had.
Well, it is now time for me to hang up my blogging hat for the time being, but hopefully I'll be able to make the digital rounds more often in the near future. Until then, keep the milk out of your shoes, kids. I've had milk spilled once in each of my shoes on separate occasions in the last week, and it is not a pleasant experience.
Tuesday, April 28, 2009
Great Cosmic Mouse Trap
Today I find myself sitting in the courtyard at a table by the flagpole, which itself is situated on the island that we use for the jail whenever we play Jailbreak. It's so beautiful outside I decided I'd sit here for a while, and having no other reason to perpetuate my stay, creation of a blog post seemed a viable option. I don't have much to say today, but it's been far too long since I posted a blog (nearly three weeks now), and I find the lack of other bloggery in this circle slightly less than satisfying, so I figured I might as well at least attempt to end the drought.
Lacking the meal swipes to go to the Rot for dinner (I have already used seven this week and need the other three for the forthcoming meals), I opted to go to the Hangar and pick up some Pizza Hut after our last Media Theory class of the semester, which is why I'm in the courtyard at this particular moment. There's basically no one else here; it was a little more populated when I first got my food, but in the last half hour pretty much everyone has cleared out. Man it's nice out... I've spent a good deal of time outside the last few days as a result, and a lot of that time has been spent wandering aimlessly around campus. I do enjoy walking very much, and with weather this good, I can't pass up the opportunity. Who knows when it's gonna rain again? And when it rains around here, it doesn't stop for days.
It is April 28th, and we are now two years removed from the glorious excursion that took place on the occasion we have dubbed "My Chemical Romance Day." Two years ago right now, myself, Andrew Clark, Ryan Trammell and his brother Kent, and Aaron Goslar were all awaiting the arrival of Muse on the stage at William and Mary, and while their show was certainly excellent, I had a feeling that the best was yet to come, and I was not wrong. My Chemical Romance blew me away, and to this day that has been one of the most exciting and entertaining experiences of my life.
My Pepsi and personal pan cheese pizza are now gone, leaving only the breadsticks and sauce that I am saving for when I get hungry after hall meeting. This will be the "white glove" hall meeting, the last of the year, where we are told (some of us for the 5th time now) the standards to which our rooms must be clean before we leave for the year. I can't believe the year is almost over. I remember the day we had our white glove hall meeting four years ago... a bunch of us went to East Campus to film ourselves doing stupid things on my video camera (a common pastime in those days), and then during our last prayer group, Phil John threw my Yankee hat out the window. Now I live on East Campus. My, how times have changed. Yet in some ways, they haven't. The mouse trap I refer to in the title is a fine example of this. "The best laid plans of mice and men..." As good as we think our ideas are, we're all gonna get caught in God's mouse trap sooner or later. This remains a constant, and it sure is funny. Funnier still is the fact that we never learn. The question is: is that cheese really worth it? If it is, maybe we won't have to skirt a trap to get to it.
Lacking the meal swipes to go to the Rot for dinner (I have already used seven this week and need the other three for the forthcoming meals), I opted to go to the Hangar and pick up some Pizza Hut after our last Media Theory class of the semester, which is why I'm in the courtyard at this particular moment. There's basically no one else here; it was a little more populated when I first got my food, but in the last half hour pretty much everyone has cleared out. Man it's nice out... I've spent a good deal of time outside the last few days as a result, and a lot of that time has been spent wandering aimlessly around campus. I do enjoy walking very much, and with weather this good, I can't pass up the opportunity. Who knows when it's gonna rain again? And when it rains around here, it doesn't stop for days.
It is April 28th, and we are now two years removed from the glorious excursion that took place on the occasion we have dubbed "My Chemical Romance Day." Two years ago right now, myself, Andrew Clark, Ryan Trammell and his brother Kent, and Aaron Goslar were all awaiting the arrival of Muse on the stage at William and Mary, and while their show was certainly excellent, I had a feeling that the best was yet to come, and I was not wrong. My Chemical Romance blew me away, and to this day that has been one of the most exciting and entertaining experiences of my life.
My Pepsi and personal pan cheese pizza are now gone, leaving only the breadsticks and sauce that I am saving for when I get hungry after hall meeting. This will be the "white glove" hall meeting, the last of the year, where we are told (some of us for the 5th time now) the standards to which our rooms must be clean before we leave for the year. I can't believe the year is almost over. I remember the day we had our white glove hall meeting four years ago... a bunch of us went to East Campus to film ourselves doing stupid things on my video camera (a common pastime in those days), and then during our last prayer group, Phil John threw my Yankee hat out the window. Now I live on East Campus. My, how times have changed. Yet in some ways, they haven't. The mouse trap I refer to in the title is a fine example of this. "The best laid plans of mice and men..." As good as we think our ideas are, we're all gonna get caught in God's mouse trap sooner or later. This remains a constant, and it sure is funny. Funnier still is the fact that we never learn. The question is: is that cheese really worth it? If it is, maybe we won't have to skirt a trap to get to it.
Wednesday, April 8, 2009
See You In The Funny Papers
I'll start off by mentioning that this post was inspired by an exchange that occurred after convocation on Monday. I, after getting a typical answer to a typical question, decided that, instead of responding like I typically would, I would just let it go and stop trying to knock sense into people, because all it does is make me frustrated when they don't listen. Not long after (in fact, as I was walking up the stairs to leave the Vines Center), it struck me that by not attempting to promote what I believed to be right, instead of influencing other people for the better, I was, in my estimation, myself being influenced for the worse. My efforts up to this point had come and gone without effect, and I realized this. But then I realized on the way out of the Vines Center that not only had all my efforts been in vain, but I had finally been made to shut up. Effectively, I had lost, and with the realization that I would not be able make any kind of impact, I had lost for good.
But was I really the one who lost?
I pondered this as I sat in the 11:25 large lecture section of Coms 101, and when I heard Dr. Mullen say to the class in an example he was using to illustrate a point, "I appreciate the fact that you were brave enough to stand up for what you believe is right," I started tinkering with the idea a little more. Maybe I shouldn't view so many things in life as a battle, maybe my aggressive side and my desire for victory distorts things to beyond a reasonable point. But if you look at everything as though it were a fight, a struggle between the way things are and the way they should be, then maybe you have a better chance of actually making things the way they should be. Plus, it makes life seem a lot less meaningless and a lot more epic.
But then I think of the futility espoused in the fight itself. Just because it's something worth fighting for doesn't mean you can necessarily make a real difference. You can try and try to explain things to people, and sometimes it just won't get through, and that's just a minor, reasonably inconsequential example of the overarching point. When you reach that stage, maybe it is best to just give up, because your efforts are being wasted anyway. The world is a terrible place, and in the end, try as we might, there's really nothing any of us can do to make it any better. Maybe it's best to do what we can, what is necessary, let everyone else hang themselves, and grin and bear it.
If everyone would get over that one sex scene that has essentially branded Watchmen as Evil: The Movie among the Christian crowd, maybe people could realize that not only is Watchmen very deep on a literary and artistic level, but there is also a lot of wisdom to be found within the book (and movie, since the movie was an impeccably faithful adaptation). The two mindsets I described in the previous paragraphs encapsulate bits of the worldviews of Rorschach and The Comedian, respectively. This is something I wonder about frequently, and I can't decide which one is right. Rorschach, though only one man, did everything he could to protect the innocent and impose justice upon wrongdoers; it was essentially his sole purpose in life. I have great respect for him, even though he was a fictional character, because he stuck with his principles until the very end, and did not compromise, "even in the face of Armageddon." Edward Blake, The Comedian, on the other hand, didn't have such a strictly defined view of the way things should be. He was the ultimate realist; he saw things as they are, irreparably terrible, and acted accordingly. He did what was necessary to get whatever job that was at hand done, regardless of the consequences, because ultimately, the world was still the same messed up place it was before, and nothing he could do would change that fact. He saw humanity's savage nature, and knew that any attempt to fix it was just a joke.
As a brief aside, I've heard criticism of The Comedian's character, saying he was a jerk and that he was "not funny." Very true, he did some awful things, but that's part of what makes his character so interesting. His very existence was a play on what it is to be a hero, because he committed some despicable deeds while still being a "good guy." And true, he was not funny, but that's the point. He wasn't The Joker. The point was that he understood the great cosmic joke, he was in on it, he got why everything we do is so funny, and remembering this actually puts a smile on my face even when things seem awful. To an outsider, the futility of many of our daily endeavors would seem hilarious. Consider this: many of the funniest movies involve what we would consider, were we going through them, terrible hardships, or at the very least major inconveniences. Take a movie like National Lampoon's Vacation. It's so funny because it's not happening to us. Edward Blake grasped this, and decided he'd rather be in on the gag: "Once you figure out what a joke everything is, being The Comedian's the only thing makes sense." It helps put things in perspective.
I wish I were more like Rorschach, but in truth, I think I'm more like The Comedian, and on even more levels than I can address here. But even Rorschach, the most morally convicted and honorable character, who was completely right throughout the entirety of the story, acknowledged that The Comedian saw things the right way:
We do what we have to do. Others bury their heads between the swollen teats of indulgence and gratification, piglets squirming beneath a sow for shelter... but there is no shelter... and the future is bearing down like an express train. Blake understood. Treated it like a joke, but he understood. He saw the cracks in society, saw the little men in masks trying to hold it together... he saw the true face of the twentieth century and chose to become a reflection, a parody of it. No one else saw the joke. That's why he was lonely.
The issue I addressed at the beginning is of little importance, and in truth, was actually of little consequence, but the basic principle remains the same. I know I'm not the only one out there dealing with this kind of thing, whether to fight for what you believe in or just laugh it off and let people screw themselves over, reassured by the fact that you were actually right. Personally, I think the latter option is more practical, not because I've been defeated, but because I've realized the futility of the struggle in the face of an unfixable circumstance, and indeed, even its inherent humor.
And the punchline to the joke is asking, 'Someone save us.'
-My Chemical Romance
But was I really the one who lost?
I pondered this as I sat in the 11:25 large lecture section of Coms 101, and when I heard Dr. Mullen say to the class in an example he was using to illustrate a point, "I appreciate the fact that you were brave enough to stand up for what you believe is right," I started tinkering with the idea a little more. Maybe I shouldn't view so many things in life as a battle, maybe my aggressive side and my desire for victory distorts things to beyond a reasonable point. But if you look at everything as though it were a fight, a struggle between the way things are and the way they should be, then maybe you have a better chance of actually making things the way they should be. Plus, it makes life seem a lot less meaningless and a lot more epic.
But then I think of the futility espoused in the fight itself. Just because it's something worth fighting for doesn't mean you can necessarily make a real difference. You can try and try to explain things to people, and sometimes it just won't get through, and that's just a minor, reasonably inconsequential example of the overarching point. When you reach that stage, maybe it is best to just give up, because your efforts are being wasted anyway. The world is a terrible place, and in the end, try as we might, there's really nothing any of us can do to make it any better. Maybe it's best to do what we can, what is necessary, let everyone else hang themselves, and grin and bear it.
If everyone would get over that one sex scene that has essentially branded Watchmen as Evil: The Movie among the Christian crowd, maybe people could realize that not only is Watchmen very deep on a literary and artistic level, but there is also a lot of wisdom to be found within the book (and movie, since the movie was an impeccably faithful adaptation). The two mindsets I described in the previous paragraphs encapsulate bits of the worldviews of Rorschach and The Comedian, respectively. This is something I wonder about frequently, and I can't decide which one is right. Rorschach, though only one man, did everything he could to protect the innocent and impose justice upon wrongdoers; it was essentially his sole purpose in life. I have great respect for him, even though he was a fictional character, because he stuck with his principles until the very end, and did not compromise, "even in the face of Armageddon." Edward Blake, The Comedian, on the other hand, didn't have such a strictly defined view of the way things should be. He was the ultimate realist; he saw things as they are, irreparably terrible, and acted accordingly. He did what was necessary to get whatever job that was at hand done, regardless of the consequences, because ultimately, the world was still the same messed up place it was before, and nothing he could do would change that fact. He saw humanity's savage nature, and knew that any attempt to fix it was just a joke.
As a brief aside, I've heard criticism of The Comedian's character, saying he was a jerk and that he was "not funny." Very true, he did some awful things, but that's part of what makes his character so interesting. His very existence was a play on what it is to be a hero, because he committed some despicable deeds while still being a "good guy." And true, he was not funny, but that's the point. He wasn't The Joker. The point was that he understood the great cosmic joke, he was in on it, he got why everything we do is so funny, and remembering this actually puts a smile on my face even when things seem awful. To an outsider, the futility of many of our daily endeavors would seem hilarious. Consider this: many of the funniest movies involve what we would consider, were we going through them, terrible hardships, or at the very least major inconveniences. Take a movie like National Lampoon's Vacation. It's so funny because it's not happening to us. Edward Blake grasped this, and decided he'd rather be in on the gag: "Once you figure out what a joke everything is, being The Comedian's the only thing makes sense." It helps put things in perspective.
I wish I were more like Rorschach, but in truth, I think I'm more like The Comedian, and on even more levels than I can address here. But even Rorschach, the most morally convicted and honorable character, who was completely right throughout the entirety of the story, acknowledged that The Comedian saw things the right way:
We do what we have to do. Others bury their heads between the swollen teats of indulgence and gratification, piglets squirming beneath a sow for shelter... but there is no shelter... and the future is bearing down like an express train. Blake understood. Treated it like a joke, but he understood. He saw the cracks in society, saw the little men in masks trying to hold it together... he saw the true face of the twentieth century and chose to become a reflection, a parody of it. No one else saw the joke. That's why he was lonely.
The issue I addressed at the beginning is of little importance, and in truth, was actually of little consequence, but the basic principle remains the same. I know I'm not the only one out there dealing with this kind of thing, whether to fight for what you believe in or just laugh it off and let people screw themselves over, reassured by the fact that you were actually right. Personally, I think the latter option is more practical, not because I've been defeated, but because I've realized the futility of the struggle in the face of an unfixable circumstance, and indeed, even its inherent humor.
And the punchline to the joke is asking, 'Someone save us.'
-My Chemical Romance
Wednesday, April 1, 2009
To Stare Or Wash Away The Blood
I trust that most of my readers are familiar with the parable of the Good Samaritan (Luke 10:30-37). If you're not, to recap... well, I'll just transcribe it for you right here, I'm sure Jesus told it better than I ever could:
30Jesus replied and said, "A man was going down from Jerusalem to Jericho, and fell among robbers, and they stripped him and beat him, and went away leaving him half dead. 31"And by chance a priest was going down on that road, and when he saw him, he passed by on the other side.32"Likewise a Levite also, when he came to the place and saw him, passed by on the other side.33"But a Samaritan, who was on a journey, came upon him; and when he saw him, he felt compassion,34and came to him and bandaged up his wounds, pouring oil and wine on them; and he put him on his own beast, and brought him to an inn and took care of him. 35"On the next day he took out two denarii and gave them to the innkeeper and said, 'Take care of him; and whatever more you spend, when I return I will repay you.'36"Which of these three do you think proved to be a neighbor to the man who fell into the robbers' hands?"37And he said, "The one who showed mercy toward him." Then Jesus said to him, "Go and do the same (NASB)."
Now, then, picture this: a man is similarly beaten and left for dead on the side of a road. Someone walking down the road takes note of this man, and looks at the him, obviously in need of help. This person passing by approaches the man and says to him "It looks like you've been hurt... but just because you've had one bad experience doesn't mean we're all like that."
And then they keep right on walking.
I don't think there are any good Samaritans in this world... and if there are, they certainly aren't female.
30Jesus replied and said, "A man was going down from Jerusalem to Jericho, and fell among robbers, and they stripped him and beat him, and went away leaving him half dead. 31"And by chance a priest was going down on that road, and when he saw him, he passed by on the other side.32"Likewise a Levite also, when he came to the place and saw him, passed by on the other side.33"But a Samaritan, who was on a journey, came upon him; and when he saw him, he felt compassion,34and came to him and bandaged up his wounds, pouring oil and wine on them; and he put him on his own beast, and brought him to an inn and took care of him. 35"On the next day he took out two denarii and gave them to the innkeeper and said, 'Take care of him; and whatever more you spend, when I return I will repay you.'36"Which of these three do you think proved to be a neighbor to the man who fell into the robbers' hands?"37And he said, "The one who showed mercy toward him." Then Jesus said to him, "Go and do the same (NASB)."
Now, then, picture this: a man is similarly beaten and left for dead on the side of a road. Someone walking down the road takes note of this man, and looks at the him, obviously in need of help. This person passing by approaches the man and says to him "It looks like you've been hurt... but just because you've had one bad experience doesn't mean we're all like that."
And then they keep right on walking.
I don't think there are any good Samaritans in this world... and if there are, they certainly aren't female.
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