So, I just now had a pipe dream. Perhaps I can take my future education in sociology and turn it into some sort of shot at stand-up comedy.
I know, I know. It's probably never going to go anywhere, but it's not like it isn't worth the shot. Live by the possibility, not by the probability.
This can be applied to various other aspects of life, and not just doing something that might help you make it big some day. Take your habits, and your hesitance to do things that might be out of your norm, for example.
Just a thought. Nothing really else to go on.
Tuesday, December 27, 2011
Sunday, December 25, 2011
Observations of an Empty Holiday
As of this writing, it is officially Christmas day. The idea of this day being so beloved, to me, is a foreign concept entirely. There are so many traditions for it among the many cultures in the world that embrace it as a holy Christian holiday all have different ways of going about its celebration.
My father remarried a woman of Philipino persuasion. I'm not entirely sure if I spelled that right, but it doesn't matter. When he married her, he did so knowing about her four kids - all of whom I have personally accepted as family - before hand, and still did it.
Sidetrack: Say what you will about that situation, I know from experience what it is to go into that situation, and therefore know what it takes to do it.
This year, I decided to "celebrate," more than anything, finally not having anything to do after having to work long hours for the holiday season, with this extended and accepted family.
Now, I want to make this vehemently clear: I hate the holidays, and the entire holiday season. I have my own views - which I will discuss in a minute - with the very idea of Christmas, and what it has become.
Coming from outside of the usual norm of society in general, and not dealing well with people that, as a general rule, make me very nervous. This is a feeling that can only be achieved by being around family members.
Every Christmas, a huge meal is prepared. When I say huge, we're not exactly talking feast levels, but most certainly huge. There is fellowship, talking, laughing, and true bonding. And eating. Oh, dear God, is there ever eating. Overall, it's a very pleasant experience, and there is photographic evidence of me actually smiling in this situation.
And I'm not even talking one of those faked, forced smiles that you see all too often on Facebook, or in the face of a retail employee as they try and maintain friendly professionalism when either you or another is being a total pain in the ass. You've all seen the look at one point or another. I'm talking about a real, genuine smile.
Despite my anti-social tendencies, I tend to enjoy time around people that I love.
Then - and it always seems entirely too soon - the time comes to open the presents.
Now, I'm not entirely sure what it is, but when this time comes, these family members turn into ravenous dogs, and behave as such. The presents in their eyes must appear as delicious, delicious ham with the way that they begin behaving.
Rather than going into details, I'll leave it to your imagination to run with that analogy.
If nothing else, it's a perfect reminder of what Christmas is really about anymore, and that's the act of receiving more than that of giving. You give better to get better. It's a vicious cycle that does nothing more that I can see than to generate more money out of nowhere for some evil genius of a bastard that I somehow see in a three-piece suit, sitting behind a desk, fingers steeple-formed in front of an old face with a bald head. I'm sure it sounds stupid when you read it, but in my head, it's both terrifying and comical.
This holiday has been a sham since its inception, and while the concept of proper behavior before this holiday to receive reward but also to recognize it and give it in return is awesome as all hell, it hasn't been close to that in I don't even know how long. At least as long as Charlie Brown has been around, so at least as long as 50 years.
Most people don't know that the holiday of Christmas was built around a Pagan holiday, and that it was manipulated into the birthday of Christ so it was easier for the early Vatican to assimilate Pagans into Christianity; in the case of the fundamentalist right-wing cranks, they just simply refuse to accept it.
Seeing as how the biggest premise of this holiday is supposed to be the sense of companionship, family, friends, giving, and so on. Yet, every year, we hear of people going insane and harming others in their rush to get Black Friday deals. I'd like to say that at least no deaths have occurred over such behavior.
No, really. I would love to be able to say that not only without lying, but with a straight face. I can at least change the latter, and am working vigilantly to do so.
This isn't anything like it's supposed to be. It's become about greed. How many people do you know that were worried about Christmas presents for their kids? How many people do you know that complained of worries about their kids "not having enough" for Christmas? I'm sure it's quite a few.
At best, it's become a secular holiday that is rarely celebrated in its true spirit, and even those who do it are doing it under all the wrong reasons because of false belief.
At worst (read: right fucking now) it has become a part of a bigger machine run by conglomerates that have too much power, as far as I'm concerned. Some would say that it's a way for certain industries to quite literally make money, as in make it come from nothing.
No matter which way you looked at it, it makes celebrating this idea for anything other than what it is - a festival to human greed and the American love of over-ingesting anything to the point of excess - then you are doing nothing more than perpetuating the problem and not addressing the real issue, but rather feeding it: why you are such a consumer whore.
I'm not trying to rain on anyone's parade by saying any of this. I'm just kind of sitting here, on the outside of normal society as ever, and writing down what I see. And what I see is that Christmas has fallen a long way from what it used to be, and it's depressing.
As much as I would love to continue this, I find myself falling asleep at this little laptop thingie.
Enjoy your Pagan holiday.
My father remarried a woman of Philipino persuasion. I'm not entirely sure if I spelled that right, but it doesn't matter. When he married her, he did so knowing about her four kids - all of whom I have personally accepted as family - before hand, and still did it.
Sidetrack: Say what you will about that situation, I know from experience what it is to go into that situation, and therefore know what it takes to do it.
This year, I decided to "celebrate," more than anything, finally not having anything to do after having to work long hours for the holiday season, with this extended and accepted family.
Now, I want to make this vehemently clear: I hate the holidays, and the entire holiday season. I have my own views - which I will discuss in a minute - with the very idea of Christmas, and what it has become.
Coming from outside of the usual norm of society in general, and not dealing well with people that, as a general rule, make me very nervous. This is a feeling that can only be achieved by being around family members.
Every Christmas, a huge meal is prepared. When I say huge, we're not exactly talking feast levels, but most certainly huge. There is fellowship, talking, laughing, and true bonding. And eating. Oh, dear God, is there ever eating. Overall, it's a very pleasant experience, and there is photographic evidence of me actually smiling in this situation.
And I'm not even talking one of those faked, forced smiles that you see all too often on Facebook, or in the face of a retail employee as they try and maintain friendly professionalism when either you or another is being a total pain in the ass. You've all seen the look at one point or another. I'm talking about a real, genuine smile.
Despite my anti-social tendencies, I tend to enjoy time around people that I love.
Then - and it always seems entirely too soon - the time comes to open the presents.
Now, I'm not entirely sure what it is, but when this time comes, these family members turn into ravenous dogs, and behave as such. The presents in their eyes must appear as delicious, delicious ham with the way that they begin behaving.
Rather than going into details, I'll leave it to your imagination to run with that analogy.
If nothing else, it's a perfect reminder of what Christmas is really about anymore, and that's the act of receiving more than that of giving. You give better to get better. It's a vicious cycle that does nothing more that I can see than to generate more money out of nowhere for some evil genius of a bastard that I somehow see in a three-piece suit, sitting behind a desk, fingers steeple-formed in front of an old face with a bald head. I'm sure it sounds stupid when you read it, but in my head, it's both terrifying and comical.
This holiday has been a sham since its inception, and while the concept of proper behavior before this holiday to receive reward but also to recognize it and give it in return is awesome as all hell, it hasn't been close to that in I don't even know how long. At least as long as Charlie Brown has been around, so at least as long as 50 years.
Most people don't know that the holiday of Christmas was built around a Pagan holiday, and that it was manipulated into the birthday of Christ so it was easier for the early Vatican to assimilate Pagans into Christianity; in the case of the fundamentalist right-wing cranks, they just simply refuse to accept it.
Seeing as how the biggest premise of this holiday is supposed to be the sense of companionship, family, friends, giving, and so on. Yet, every year, we hear of people going insane and harming others in their rush to get Black Friday deals. I'd like to say that at least no deaths have occurred over such behavior.
No, really. I would love to be able to say that not only without lying, but with a straight face. I can at least change the latter, and am working vigilantly to do so.
This isn't anything like it's supposed to be. It's become about greed. How many people do you know that were worried about Christmas presents for their kids? How many people do you know that complained of worries about their kids "not having enough" for Christmas? I'm sure it's quite a few.
At best, it's become a secular holiday that is rarely celebrated in its true spirit, and even those who do it are doing it under all the wrong reasons because of false belief.
At worst (read: right fucking now) it has become a part of a bigger machine run by conglomerates that have too much power, as far as I'm concerned. Some would say that it's a way for certain industries to quite literally make money, as in make it come from nothing.
No matter which way you looked at it, it makes celebrating this idea for anything other than what it is - a festival to human greed and the American love of over-ingesting anything to the point of excess - then you are doing nothing more than perpetuating the problem and not addressing the real issue, but rather feeding it: why you are such a consumer whore.
I'm not trying to rain on anyone's parade by saying any of this. I'm just kind of sitting here, on the outside of normal society as ever, and writing down what I see. And what I see is that Christmas has fallen a long way from what it used to be, and it's depressing.
As much as I would love to continue this, I find myself falling asleep at this little laptop thingie.
Enjoy your Pagan holiday.
Friday, December 23, 2011
Ventilation and Hubris
Okay, I am seriously feeling the need to explain something to the general public, and I'm fairly certain that you're not going to like it.
I work for a local hobby retailer, and while I love my job, I have to say that there is one phrase that I am getting sick to death of hearing. It's a phrase that every time it's said by some blank-faced, wide-eyed parent that couldn't tell their ass from applesauce, I smile ruefully and proceed to tell them as polite as possible that they are in the wrong store.
"What do you have in here for a 3 year old? They are really advanced."
I cringe even writing it. I can hear it in a multitude of voices within my head, and honestly, it's maddening. I really, really wish people would stop and use some common sense before entering my store. I know we look like a toy store at a glance, but I promise you, we aren't a goddamn toy store. That's another 3 shopping centers south on the Pike.
When one enters my shop, they will find remote control cars going ridiculous speeds out of the box, they will find remote control helicopters and airplanes that are fun and yet difficult to fly. I have model kits of all kinds. And for those, we have all the glues and paints that you use to put them together. We even have trains of all different kinds. Hell, we even have model rockets that go over 1000 feet in the air.
Does any of this strike you as merchandise that was built with a toddler in mind? My store is NOT for your children unless they are ten or above. I carry absolutely nothing age appropriate for children of that age.
Further, I'd love to know what makes you think your child is "advanced." The fact that they can put together Lego kits? That doesn't mean anything, really, other than the fact that they can follow simple directions. That doesn't mean they can fly a $500 helicopter, okay? Your child is probably just as dumb as you are.
I work for a local hobby retailer, and while I love my job, I have to say that there is one phrase that I am getting sick to death of hearing. It's a phrase that every time it's said by some blank-faced, wide-eyed parent that couldn't tell their ass from applesauce, I smile ruefully and proceed to tell them as polite as possible that they are in the wrong store.
"What do you have in here for a 3 year old? They are really advanced."
I cringe even writing it. I can hear it in a multitude of voices within my head, and honestly, it's maddening. I really, really wish people would stop and use some common sense before entering my store. I know we look like a toy store at a glance, but I promise you, we aren't a goddamn toy store. That's another 3 shopping centers south on the Pike.
When one enters my shop, they will find remote control cars going ridiculous speeds out of the box, they will find remote control helicopters and airplanes that are fun and yet difficult to fly. I have model kits of all kinds. And for those, we have all the glues and paints that you use to put them together. We even have trains of all different kinds. Hell, we even have model rockets that go over 1000 feet in the air.
Does any of this strike you as merchandise that was built with a toddler in mind? My store is NOT for your children unless they are ten or above. I carry absolutely nothing age appropriate for children of that age.
Further, I'd love to know what makes you think your child is "advanced." The fact that they can put together Lego kits? That doesn't mean anything, really, other than the fact that they can follow simple directions. That doesn't mean they can fly a $500 helicopter, okay? Your child is probably just as dumb as you are.
Thursday, December 15, 2011
The Basis
Okay. It's time to stop screwing around. I've talked about a lot in this blog, but I really want to start getting down to what really matters. To me, at least.
For the past year or so, I've been stewing on this idea; an idea that I believe can help others. This is why I vowed to start getting more personal, but shortly thereafter realized that I jumped the gun.
I just wasn't ready. I didn't have enough thought really put behind what I want to say, and, more importantly, how I want to say it.
What I really want to start talking about more in-depth is how I see things in this crazy yet wonderful world in which we live. I know it isn't perfect, but I've come to see just how great a place this really is, and I want to share it with you all. The only way I know how to do that is through this blog, really.
I want to begin with a basic concept of I view society, and start breaking it down from there. When I had originally written this out in a rough draft form, it was entirely too long for one post. We're talking about seven times pressing the Page Down button on a WordPad file with 10 point font size.
Talk about your classic case of TL;DR (that's "too long; didn't read" for those that don't know acronyms).
The basic visualization of it all comes down to a series of circles. It starts with concentric circles, a small one in the middle and slowly spreading out, not much unlike ripples in a pond.
The circles represent the different tiers of us as a people, and also places us where we stand consciously. As I continue on with my explanation of my point of view of society, life, love, consciousness, faith, and so on, I'm hoping to help anybody else reading this to figure out where they really stand. You may just find that after looking at things from this perspective, you don't really stand where you think you do.
The center circle represents the people who fit in with other categories in society. We'll talk more about those sub-categories later, but for right now, let's keep things simple by keeping this in the context of broad generalization.
The people in this circle have large groups that they can feel comfortable around, and those people share certain - or even many - points of view with the individual. These people are the ones that, for want of a better term and my own lack of creativity when it comes to nomenclature, I call "Normals."
The next circle out, we have the types of people that I refer to as "Half-Normals," as they aren't quite good enough to be with the other Normals, but they don't share the qualities of the third circle. They are the people that aren't exactly with the Outcasts, either. They are somewhere in-between, and are typically comprised of the youthful.
The next edge of the circle is where I call the "Fringe." This is where people go when they have become Outcasts from the other two circles. These people aren't necessarily bad, though. They just have nowhere else to go.
The next circle out is No Man's Land, because you have to be in a really bad spot to be here. You have basically decided to Hell with anybody and everybody else, you're only going to do your own thing. We have all either been here, or felt like we were there at some point in our lives. The people who are in this Circle either don't care, or don't want to be there to begin with.
Again, that's something else we'll talk more about in a little while.
Beyond No Man's Land is Void. There is literally nothing there, because existence as we know it ceases to be in that area. It is absolute zero, if you will. There is no conscious thought, response to stimuli, no awareness.... nothing. I do not believe it possible to be here without being dead, or having come into existence.
As I said earlier, these are all very, very broad generalizations. I'm not going to go further into it now, as I really want you all to just start getting the basis of the concept down. Start thinking about where you believe you stand with the Circles as I have explained them so far. What kind of self-image do you have, and believe that you portray?
Have you ever even thought about it?
Chances are, you have at one time or another, but I'm willing to bet that it was only fleeting. My thought is that one of the biggest hurdles that we face in society and living better lives all-around is that nobody is really sure of who they are, or what they stand for. They have gut feelings, sure, but in the end, we're all kind of running around, all crazy-like, without a clue as to who we really are, or what we're even doing in life.
I've gotten it figured it out for myself, and I want to help anybody else that I can do the same.
For the past year or so, I've been stewing on this idea; an idea that I believe can help others. This is why I vowed to start getting more personal, but shortly thereafter realized that I jumped the gun.
I just wasn't ready. I didn't have enough thought really put behind what I want to say, and, more importantly, how I want to say it.
What I really want to start talking about more in-depth is how I see things in this crazy yet wonderful world in which we live. I know it isn't perfect, but I've come to see just how great a place this really is, and I want to share it with you all. The only way I know how to do that is through this blog, really.
I want to begin with a basic concept of I view society, and start breaking it down from there. When I had originally written this out in a rough draft form, it was entirely too long for one post. We're talking about seven times pressing the Page Down button on a WordPad file with 10 point font size.
Talk about your classic case of TL;DR (that's "too long; didn't read" for those that don't know acronyms).
The basic visualization of it all comes down to a series of circles. It starts with concentric circles, a small one in the middle and slowly spreading out, not much unlike ripples in a pond.
The circles represent the different tiers of us as a people, and also places us where we stand consciously. As I continue on with my explanation of my point of view of society, life, love, consciousness, faith, and so on, I'm hoping to help anybody else reading this to figure out where they really stand. You may just find that after looking at things from this perspective, you don't really stand where you think you do.
The center circle represents the people who fit in with other categories in society. We'll talk more about those sub-categories later, but for right now, let's keep things simple by keeping this in the context of broad generalization.
The people in this circle have large groups that they can feel comfortable around, and those people share certain - or even many - points of view with the individual. These people are the ones that, for want of a better term and my own lack of creativity when it comes to nomenclature, I call "Normals."
The next circle out, we have the types of people that I refer to as "Half-Normals," as they aren't quite good enough to be with the other Normals, but they don't share the qualities of the third circle. They are the people that aren't exactly with the Outcasts, either. They are somewhere in-between, and are typically comprised of the youthful.
The next edge of the circle is where I call the "Fringe." This is where people go when they have become Outcasts from the other two circles. These people aren't necessarily bad, though. They just have nowhere else to go.
The next circle out is No Man's Land, because you have to be in a really bad spot to be here. You have basically decided to Hell with anybody and everybody else, you're only going to do your own thing. We have all either been here, or felt like we were there at some point in our lives. The people who are in this Circle either don't care, or don't want to be there to begin with.
Again, that's something else we'll talk more about in a little while.
Beyond No Man's Land is Void. There is literally nothing there, because existence as we know it ceases to be in that area. It is absolute zero, if you will. There is no conscious thought, response to stimuli, no awareness.... nothing. I do not believe it possible to be here without being dead, or having come into existence.
As I said earlier, these are all very, very broad generalizations. I'm not going to go further into it now, as I really want you all to just start getting the basis of the concept down. Start thinking about where you believe you stand with the Circles as I have explained them so far. What kind of self-image do you have, and believe that you portray?
Have you ever even thought about it?
Chances are, you have at one time or another, but I'm willing to bet that it was only fleeting. My thought is that one of the biggest hurdles that we face in society and living better lives all-around is that nobody is really sure of who they are, or what they stand for. They have gut feelings, sure, but in the end, we're all kind of running around, all crazy-like, without a clue as to who we really are, or what we're even doing in life.
I've gotten it figured it out for myself, and I want to help anybody else that I can do the same.
Sunday, December 04, 2011
Help Wanted
As I write this, a friend and I have just stumbled across this video. I... am honestly not entirely sure what to make of it.
Nothing long or extensive to say about it yet. Wanted to get some thoughts from any of you.
Nothing long or extensive to say about it yet. Wanted to get some thoughts from any of you.
Saturday, December 03, 2011
(Im)moral Majority
I've been doing a lot of thinking lately. While this isn't exactly unusual, I haven't really been able to write for a while (as I'm sure you've noticed). I guess the last post I made where I let my brain goop fall onto the blog helped out a lot, because I finally have something worth while to talk about.
One of the main things that's been on my mind for the past few weeks is just how many people out there confuse their moral and political stances. Most of the opposition to things like the legalization of marijuana, gay marriage, stem cell research, etc. is always based on a moral ground versus a political one.
This confuses me.
We'll use abortion as an example for the sake of discussion. Personally, I am against abortion. I don't think it's a good option to do, unless we're talking about the most extreme of cases. To me, the product of rape is not a good reason to abort a baby. Now, if the giving of birth would put the mother at risk of death - and we're talking a high risk here - then I'm alright with it. If it's going to be a stillborn, go for it. Anything else? Give it up for adoption. Someone out there is bound to want the baby, even if you don't.
Politically, however, my stance is quite different. I am all for having abortion be legal when it comes to my political stances. I am a huge proponent of individual freedom, and a big part of that is the freedom of choice. Just because I think that the act is morally reprehensible, that doesn't mean that I think our government should be able to infringe on the rights of others to choose. Everybody should have the right to make their own choices, even if we don't necessarily agree with them.
A lot of people talk about America being the land of the free, and wax philosophical about how many rights and liberties we have as a people. More and more, I'm finding that this simply isn't the case. I understand the moral dilemmas that people must be facing when it comes time to vote on what should and should not be illegal, but at the end of the day, is someone else getting an abortion really affecting you personally in any way, shape, or form? No, it isn't, so why should your right to disagree with the decision supersede the right of another to make a choice on their own?
This argument can go deeper than just with abortions or stem cell research, by the way. It can be applied to just about any law out there that is wholly irrational. Case in point, here in the state of Maryland, it is technically illegal to perform or receive oral sex. This is the truth. Don't believe me? Click here for more information on that law, as well as several others that don't make any sense.
Now, I'm not saying that I am for people going around and giving/receiving oral sex all willy-nilly, but at the same time, why is this even on our law books? What catastrophic event could have possibly happened that caused the law makers to sit down and say "Hey, we should outlaw blowjobs!"
All too often, the laws that prohibit us from choosing are coming from the religious Right. While I have my beliefs - many of which I have gone into detail about on this very blog - I don't use those as a basis for my political stances. I am not one to sit there and try to lobby Congress or whatever to pass a law based entirely on what I believe is right and wrong. Instead, I try and remember the very rights that were laid down by the Constitution of the United States.
A lot of people - particularly those heavily involved in the Church - are quick to say that this country was founded on Christian beliefs and values. Alas, this isn't really the case. The country was founded on an idea; the idea that every person is equal in the eyes of God, and that every person should have the freedom to basically do whatever they wanted to do. If that meant worshiping God in their own way, or believing firmly that the Universe was belched out by demon lizards from dimension Z, or even choosing not to believe in a higher power altogether, then so be it. This country was formed with the ideal that we all have the freedom to choose our own path without anybody telling us different.
Where did we go wrong?
I'd love to go more into this, but as I write this entry, I find myself pressed for time. Maybe later, but probably not, as I will have moved past this topic and onto something else that I want to talk about, so I'm going to use what time I have available to continue pressing my point.
I don't think that I can stress enough that just because you feel something is morally wrong, that doesn't mean it should be made illegal. I'm sure that each and every last one of you perform activities that others feel are morally incorrect, be it enjoying a few beers on the weekend, or smoking cigarettes, or lighting off firecrackers in the dead of night, or teaching your children about guns, and so on. If you participate in the listed activities - or even ones that other people have told you about before that they find are not right or they are not comfortable with - then you, too, are at risk of having someone else tell you how to live and what is good for you.
I know the things that are good for me, but not necessarily for other people. There are things out there that I feel are good for others, and strongly feel that they should indulge in more often. Reading, for example. But does that mean that my feelings on the topic are correct? Absolutely not. They are, at the end of the day, simply opinions, and I'm sure we've all heard the comparisons of opinions to a certain part of the anatomy.
Listen: We live in a country where freedom is supposed to be our top priority, and honestly? That sometimes means allowing people to say and do things that we may not agree with. After all, it's their choice to say and do these things, and ours to not participate. That doesn't mean that we need to tell these people what is and isn't right. Let them figure it out!
In the spirit of knowing that no matter what you say, someone somewhere along the line before you said it better, allow me to close with my absolute favorite quote from Voltaire:
"I may not agree with what you say, but I'll fight to the death for your right to say it."
One of the main things that's been on my mind for the past few weeks is just how many people out there confuse their moral and political stances. Most of the opposition to things like the legalization of marijuana, gay marriage, stem cell research, etc. is always based on a moral ground versus a political one.
This confuses me.
We'll use abortion as an example for the sake of discussion. Personally, I am against abortion. I don't think it's a good option to do, unless we're talking about the most extreme of cases. To me, the product of rape is not a good reason to abort a baby. Now, if the giving of birth would put the mother at risk of death - and we're talking a high risk here - then I'm alright with it. If it's going to be a stillborn, go for it. Anything else? Give it up for adoption. Someone out there is bound to want the baby, even if you don't.
Politically, however, my stance is quite different. I am all for having abortion be legal when it comes to my political stances. I am a huge proponent of individual freedom, and a big part of that is the freedom of choice. Just because I think that the act is morally reprehensible, that doesn't mean that I think our government should be able to infringe on the rights of others to choose. Everybody should have the right to make their own choices, even if we don't necessarily agree with them.
A lot of people talk about America being the land of the free, and wax philosophical about how many rights and liberties we have as a people. More and more, I'm finding that this simply isn't the case. I understand the moral dilemmas that people must be facing when it comes time to vote on what should and should not be illegal, but at the end of the day, is someone else getting an abortion really affecting you personally in any way, shape, or form? No, it isn't, so why should your right to disagree with the decision supersede the right of another to make a choice on their own?
This argument can go deeper than just with abortions or stem cell research, by the way. It can be applied to just about any law out there that is wholly irrational. Case in point, here in the state of Maryland, it is technically illegal to perform or receive oral sex. This is the truth. Don't believe me? Click here for more information on that law, as well as several others that don't make any sense.
Now, I'm not saying that I am for people going around and giving/receiving oral sex all willy-nilly, but at the same time, why is this even on our law books? What catastrophic event could have possibly happened that caused the law makers to sit down and say "Hey, we should outlaw blowjobs!"
All too often, the laws that prohibit us from choosing are coming from the religious Right. While I have my beliefs - many of which I have gone into detail about on this very blog - I don't use those as a basis for my political stances. I am not one to sit there and try to lobby Congress or whatever to pass a law based entirely on what I believe is right and wrong. Instead, I try and remember the very rights that were laid down by the Constitution of the United States.
A lot of people - particularly those heavily involved in the Church - are quick to say that this country was founded on Christian beliefs and values. Alas, this isn't really the case. The country was founded on an idea; the idea that every person is equal in the eyes of God, and that every person should have the freedom to basically do whatever they wanted to do. If that meant worshiping God in their own way, or believing firmly that the Universe was belched out by demon lizards from dimension Z, or even choosing not to believe in a higher power altogether, then so be it. This country was formed with the ideal that we all have the freedom to choose our own path without anybody telling us different.
Where did we go wrong?
I'd love to go more into this, but as I write this entry, I find myself pressed for time. Maybe later, but probably not, as I will have moved past this topic and onto something else that I want to talk about, so I'm going to use what time I have available to continue pressing my point.
I don't think that I can stress enough that just because you feel something is morally wrong, that doesn't mean it should be made illegal. I'm sure that each and every last one of you perform activities that others feel are morally incorrect, be it enjoying a few beers on the weekend, or smoking cigarettes, or lighting off firecrackers in the dead of night, or teaching your children about guns, and so on. If you participate in the listed activities - or even ones that other people have told you about before that they find are not right or they are not comfortable with - then you, too, are at risk of having someone else tell you how to live and what is good for you.
I know the things that are good for me, but not necessarily for other people. There are things out there that I feel are good for others, and strongly feel that they should indulge in more often. Reading, for example. But does that mean that my feelings on the topic are correct? Absolutely not. They are, at the end of the day, simply opinions, and I'm sure we've all heard the comparisons of opinions to a certain part of the anatomy.
Listen: We live in a country where freedom is supposed to be our top priority, and honestly? That sometimes means allowing people to say and do things that we may not agree with. After all, it's their choice to say and do these things, and ours to not participate. That doesn't mean that we need to tell these people what is and isn't right. Let them figure it out!
In the spirit of knowing that no matter what you say, someone somewhere along the line before you said it better, allow me to close with my absolute favorite quote from Voltaire:
"I may not agree with what you say, but I'll fight to the death for your right to say it."
Tuesday, November 29, 2011
Brain Vomit
I am sitting here, at my desk, bored out of my goddamn skull. For some people, being bored is an inconvenience. For me, however, it's absolute torture.
You see, I get trapped inside of my head very, very easily. As you all who read this regularly can imagine, being inside my head isn't always very pleasant. At best, it's bothersome, but at its worst - like tonight, for some reason - it's downright frustrating.
I have a good deal of things on my mind. There are events and people from the past that I haven't thought about in years randomly popping into my head. I have things that are presently going on that are eating at me, as my last blog post covered. And, of course, the ever-present concern of the future that all human beings everywhere seem to share.
This, I believe, is what bothers me the most. You see, all I really want is my piece of the American Dream - my slice of the pie - for my future. Alas, I don't really know how to go about doing it. I have very few practical skills, beyond being able to talk and write like I have more than just clay, porn, and flatulence in my head (not exactly true, but I can fake it with the best of them). How, then, does one turn this into something that can be relied on to make money dollars?
I have no friggin' clue. I'm just taking shots in the dark, writing where and when I can, but mostly just doing the same thing as any of you, and that's floundering around the sea of life like a jellyfish, only half-aware of what's really going on around me. But that's okay. I've come to accept it.
While on the subject of jellyfish, I would like to point out that cuttlefish are the coolest sea critters ever.
Moving on....
I've been doing a lot of thinking about my own personal views and philosophies, lately, and have come up with this: absolutely nothing. I only say this because of the fact that what I believe in are things that any man or woman or hermaphrodite or eunuch or whatever can agree with, regardless of creed, race, food preferences, and so on. Things like "Don't be a dick." and "Let it be."
It's a bit more complicated than that, but I've pretty much lost faith that others can follow my thought patterns. This is mostly because I can barely do it myself, so how can I expect others to do it?
My brain moves along at a rapid pace. I know a lot of people claim this, but let me put this into perspective for you. I enjoy the analogy that it's similar to a cheetah running under the influence of no less than one ounce of crystal meth after having chugged a gallon of Red Bull.
For those of you now thinking about it, here is a cheetah, specifically for the enjoyment of your eye-orbs.
Moving on....
I normally don't care at what pace my mind runs at, because I have this awesome ability to ignore it for a while. I can just push everything aside and let my subconscious roam on automatic pilot and things pop up here and there. But then times like these come around and everything that my subconscious mind processed comes up to the surface, allowing me some pleasantries and a lot of horrors.
I think about pleasant things, sometimes, but then there are those times where I just want to stab my brain with a Q-Tip or something, because I'll suddenly think about something horrible that I did to or for someone in the past, and I start to get stuck in some kind of loops with these kinds of memories, which, of course, lead to some pretty gnarly (read: jacked up) thought patterns.
I like to sometimes sit here and analyze what it is that I'm thinking and why I'm thinking that, but tonight, for some reason, I can't do that. Instead, I'm sitting here like a trained monkey, type type typing away on my keyboard in hopes that I can get somewhere constructive.
Clearly, this isn't working out too well, but again.... that's okay.
I sometimes wonder if my snake is secretly planning my murder. I haven't fed her in a while, and she's staring at me from behind the walls of her glass prison, the light of the heat lamp reflecting eerily off her obsidian eyes. Her tongue flickers, and I wince, not helping but to imagine that same tongue flicking at an open wound of some sort.
I really am a screwed-up guy.
You see, I get trapped inside of my head very, very easily. As you all who read this regularly can imagine, being inside my head isn't always very pleasant. At best, it's bothersome, but at its worst - like tonight, for some reason - it's downright frustrating.
I have a good deal of things on my mind. There are events and people from the past that I haven't thought about in years randomly popping into my head. I have things that are presently going on that are eating at me, as my last blog post covered. And, of course, the ever-present concern of the future that all human beings everywhere seem to share.
This, I believe, is what bothers me the most. You see, all I really want is my piece of the American Dream - my slice of the pie - for my future. Alas, I don't really know how to go about doing it. I have very few practical skills, beyond being able to talk and write like I have more than just clay, porn, and flatulence in my head (not exactly true, but I can fake it with the best of them). How, then, does one turn this into something that can be relied on to make money dollars?
I have no friggin' clue. I'm just taking shots in the dark, writing where and when I can, but mostly just doing the same thing as any of you, and that's floundering around the sea of life like a jellyfish, only half-aware of what's really going on around me. But that's okay. I've come to accept it.
While on the subject of jellyfish, I would like to point out that cuttlefish are the coolest sea critters ever.
Moving on....
I've been doing a lot of thinking about my own personal views and philosophies, lately, and have come up with this: absolutely nothing. I only say this because of the fact that what I believe in are things that any man or woman or hermaphrodite or eunuch or whatever can agree with, regardless of creed, race, food preferences, and so on. Things like "Don't be a dick." and "Let it be."
It's a bit more complicated than that, but I've pretty much lost faith that others can follow my thought patterns. This is mostly because I can barely do it myself, so how can I expect others to do it?
My brain moves along at a rapid pace. I know a lot of people claim this, but let me put this into perspective for you. I enjoy the analogy that it's similar to a cheetah running under the influence of no less than one ounce of crystal meth after having chugged a gallon of Red Bull.
For those of you now thinking about it, here is a cheetah, specifically for the enjoyment of your eye-orbs.
Moving on....
I normally don't care at what pace my mind runs at, because I have this awesome ability to ignore it for a while. I can just push everything aside and let my subconscious roam on automatic pilot and things pop up here and there. But then times like these come around and everything that my subconscious mind processed comes up to the surface, allowing me some pleasantries and a lot of horrors.
I think about pleasant things, sometimes, but then there are those times where I just want to stab my brain with a Q-Tip or something, because I'll suddenly think about something horrible that I did to or for someone in the past, and I start to get stuck in some kind of loops with these kinds of memories, which, of course, lead to some pretty gnarly (read: jacked up) thought patterns.
I like to sometimes sit here and analyze what it is that I'm thinking and why I'm thinking that, but tonight, for some reason, I can't do that. Instead, I'm sitting here like a trained monkey, type type typing away on my keyboard in hopes that I can get somewhere constructive.
Clearly, this isn't working out too well, but again.... that's okay.
I sometimes wonder if my snake is secretly planning my murder. I haven't fed her in a while, and she's staring at me from behind the walls of her glass prison, the light of the heat lamp reflecting eerily off her obsidian eyes. Her tongue flickers, and I wince, not helping but to imagine that same tongue flicking at an open wound of some sort.
I really am a screwed-up guy.
Monday, November 07, 2011
Crime and Punishment
I know that this was supposed to be something about racism, but I don't have access to that document. Not having posted anything for a while, I felt that there needed to be something here, so instead, I present to you all my experiences from my adventures in our legal system.
For those of you that don't know, I was pulled over for driving under the influence last year, on the weekend of Thanksgiving. I will not sit here and whine about how I got caught, how the Man is out to get me, etc. The simple fact of the matter is that I did something that I shouldn't have done - regardless of the reasons - and I got caught and had to pay for it. That last bit is both figuratively and literally, mind you.
Anyhow, the point of tonight's entry is just to talk about what all I experienced throughout the entire ordeal.
We'll start with this past Wednesday, which was the day of my arraignment.
I entered the court room at 1:05pm, which was five minutes later than when I was supposed to be there. This turned out to be a non-issue, as my lawyer didn't even come looking for me until around 2:30. During this time, I busied myself with observing the other court-goers that were around me.
It never ceases to amaze me the type of people that are prevalent here in Franklin County, Pennsylvania. There are good people here, to be certain, but for the most part, this place is made up entirely of a very simple people. As I looked around, I saw people that were there for what was quite obviously not their first time, or even their first offense. Indeed, many of them were actually bragging about their current charge, as if it were a point of pride in their life. While I'm not entirely certain if the bravado on display was pure or if it was a coping mechanism, that doesn't change the fact that it's quite disturbing on multiple levels.
After being called by my attorney - the wonderful Mike Carrucoli - and discussing a few things with him, he seemed rather confident that things weren't going to turn out so bad for me. After filling out a few documents and answering a few bizarre questions in the paperwork, we were set to present our case to the judge.
The first judge that I was to appear before was deemed to be a tough sell, and so Mr. Carrucoli had us moved to another judge. A few moments and a humble attitude before his Honor granted me 3 of the 4 initial charges dropped, and I was sentenced to a mandatory "adult time-out as per law," as my esteemed roommate termed it. I was to spend this past weekend in the Franklin County Correctional Facility, slapped on the wrist and chastised; put in the corner to think about what it was that I did.
Upon getting to the jailhouse on Friday, I was booked. The booking process took entirely too long, I feel. I had to sit around in a jumpsuit about 4 sizes too big, wearing ridiculous flip-flops and watching syndicated television on a small CRT monitor that was hanging from a corner. I won't go into the humiliating strip search procedure that I was forced to endure. Believe me, nobody wants to envision my vile turnip of a body in anything but clothing.
After the needlessly long wait, I was led back to the "cell" that was to be my home for the next two days. I say it with quotations because it wasn't so much of a cell as it was a nook that was carved out of the wall, with four "beds" - two on either side. Some asshole with a horrible sense of humor - or a touch of sadism, I'm not entirely certain which - assigned me the top bunk, despite my repeatedly telling them that I have a bad knee. Whoever made this decision, I believe, needs to be shot.
Moving on, I soon fell asleep on what they considered to be the pinnacle of jailhouse comfort: a slab of metal with a large hunk of pleather that had a slight incline at the top that served as a pillow. Being the resourceful rogue that I am, I used the duffel bag that I was given to hold the spare over-sized jumpsuit and undershirt and even uncomfortable tighy-whitey underpants that are standard issue in such places as a pillow in and of itself. Pulling the threadbare woolen blanket around my body, I stretched out as best I could and promptly passed out.
For about five hours.
I was given a rude awakening via a call for the inmates to line up and take medication. As soon as I figured out what was going on, I shrugged, stepped out of line, and went back to bed. Little did I know, in another hour and a half, I was to be awaken again for the morning meal. Now, I'm not entirely certain whose idea it was to wake people up at 6:30 in the goddamn morning to feed them what can only be described as processed slop, but this person, too, needs to be found and shot.
I will take this moment to touch on the "food" that is served in our homes for the criminal-minded. I have never before in my life seen something that looks like food, and has the texture and even smell of it, but has absolutely no flavor whatsoever. I wish that this was an exaggeration. I was assured by one of the guards - oh, excuse me, Correctional Officers - that the food was, indeed, completely balanced nutritionally. This was met with a raised eyebrow and the phrase "I'll take your word for it."
Moving on. As I was eating my first breakfast in the jail, I was recognized by someone that I used to hang out with before I moved away from Pennsylvania. I have always referred to him as "Shakes," seeing as how he has Parkinson's Disease, and that's how I will continue to refer to him now. He informed me that my visit should remain trouble-free, as he started a rumor that I was with the KKK as another inmate commented on how I "looked like a mean one."
Of course, I found this to be absolutely hilarious. We shared the meal, and he helped me fill the remaining time by getting up to his usual antics, some of which involved screwing with another inmate by pretending to be masturbating while occasionally looking behind him and staring at said inmate in a rather creepy manner.
I read a few books from their book racks, including an interesting piece by Orson Scott Card, as well as helping Shakes develop a makeshift war game played with a deck of cards and scraps of paper with crude pictures on them, which we entitled "jailhouse Warhammer."
Despite these various distractions, these were the longest 48 hours I have ever had to endure in my life, and if I never have to repeat something like this ever again for as long as I live, it will be entirely too soon.
I will not go so far as to say that I will stop breaking the law, because that will never happen. I think that the laws that I typically break are stupid, and are completely pointless. I feel that if I want to smoke a joint, that I should have the freedom to do so, seeing as how it's entirely victimless. It's hardly my fault that this country's government is too goddamn stupid to figure out how to tax it. However, I will never again drink and drive, that's for sure.
The grand total of what all this will cost me financially is going to be a little over $2000 dollars when everything is said and done. Again, I know that I have nobody else to blame for this but myself, but holy crap, does this "justice" system ever need to be re-worked, because from where I'm standing, this is less about teaching someone a lesson and more a giant scam to get as much money as they possibly can.
I'm all about having to pay for your mistakes, but when you charge someone to stay in a jail that you sentenced them to (no, really, I had to pay $30 to stay there or be considered an escapee) under threat of further legal ramification, then something is entirely broken.
For those of you that don't know, I was pulled over for driving under the influence last year, on the weekend of Thanksgiving. I will not sit here and whine about how I got caught, how the Man is out to get me, etc. The simple fact of the matter is that I did something that I shouldn't have done - regardless of the reasons - and I got caught and had to pay for it. That last bit is both figuratively and literally, mind you.
Anyhow, the point of tonight's entry is just to talk about what all I experienced throughout the entire ordeal.
We'll start with this past Wednesday, which was the day of my arraignment.
I entered the court room at 1:05pm, which was five minutes later than when I was supposed to be there. This turned out to be a non-issue, as my lawyer didn't even come looking for me until around 2:30. During this time, I busied myself with observing the other court-goers that were around me.
It never ceases to amaze me the type of people that are prevalent here in Franklin County, Pennsylvania. There are good people here, to be certain, but for the most part, this place is made up entirely of a very simple people. As I looked around, I saw people that were there for what was quite obviously not their first time, or even their first offense. Indeed, many of them were actually bragging about their current charge, as if it were a point of pride in their life. While I'm not entirely certain if the bravado on display was pure or if it was a coping mechanism, that doesn't change the fact that it's quite disturbing on multiple levels.
After being called by my attorney - the wonderful Mike Carrucoli - and discussing a few things with him, he seemed rather confident that things weren't going to turn out so bad for me. After filling out a few documents and answering a few bizarre questions in the paperwork, we were set to present our case to the judge.
The first judge that I was to appear before was deemed to be a tough sell, and so Mr. Carrucoli had us moved to another judge. A few moments and a humble attitude before his Honor granted me 3 of the 4 initial charges dropped, and I was sentenced to a mandatory "adult time-out as per law," as my esteemed roommate termed it. I was to spend this past weekend in the Franklin County Correctional Facility, slapped on the wrist and chastised; put in the corner to think about what it was that I did.
Upon getting to the jailhouse on Friday, I was booked. The booking process took entirely too long, I feel. I had to sit around in a jumpsuit about 4 sizes too big, wearing ridiculous flip-flops and watching syndicated television on a small CRT monitor that was hanging from a corner. I won't go into the humiliating strip search procedure that I was forced to endure. Believe me, nobody wants to envision my vile turnip of a body in anything but clothing.
After the needlessly long wait, I was led back to the "cell" that was to be my home for the next two days. I say it with quotations because it wasn't so much of a cell as it was a nook that was carved out of the wall, with four "beds" - two on either side. Some asshole with a horrible sense of humor - or a touch of sadism, I'm not entirely certain which - assigned me the top bunk, despite my repeatedly telling them that I have a bad knee. Whoever made this decision, I believe, needs to be shot.
Moving on, I soon fell asleep on what they considered to be the pinnacle of jailhouse comfort: a slab of metal with a large hunk of pleather that had a slight incline at the top that served as a pillow. Being the resourceful rogue that I am, I used the duffel bag that I was given to hold the spare over-sized jumpsuit and undershirt and even uncomfortable tighy-whitey underpants that are standard issue in such places as a pillow in and of itself. Pulling the threadbare woolen blanket around my body, I stretched out as best I could and promptly passed out.
For about five hours.
I was given a rude awakening via a call for the inmates to line up and take medication. As soon as I figured out what was going on, I shrugged, stepped out of line, and went back to bed. Little did I know, in another hour and a half, I was to be awaken again for the morning meal. Now, I'm not entirely certain whose idea it was to wake people up at 6:30 in the goddamn morning to feed them what can only be described as processed slop, but this person, too, needs to be found and shot.
I will take this moment to touch on the "food" that is served in our homes for the criminal-minded. I have never before in my life seen something that looks like food, and has the texture and even smell of it, but has absolutely no flavor whatsoever. I wish that this was an exaggeration. I was assured by one of the guards - oh, excuse me, Correctional Officers - that the food was, indeed, completely balanced nutritionally. This was met with a raised eyebrow and the phrase "I'll take your word for it."
Moving on. As I was eating my first breakfast in the jail, I was recognized by someone that I used to hang out with before I moved away from Pennsylvania. I have always referred to him as "Shakes," seeing as how he has Parkinson's Disease, and that's how I will continue to refer to him now. He informed me that my visit should remain trouble-free, as he started a rumor that I was with the KKK as another inmate commented on how I "looked like a mean one."
Of course, I found this to be absolutely hilarious. We shared the meal, and he helped me fill the remaining time by getting up to his usual antics, some of which involved screwing with another inmate by pretending to be masturbating while occasionally looking behind him and staring at said inmate in a rather creepy manner.
I read a few books from their book racks, including an interesting piece by Orson Scott Card, as well as helping Shakes develop a makeshift war game played with a deck of cards and scraps of paper with crude pictures on them, which we entitled "jailhouse Warhammer."
Despite these various distractions, these were the longest 48 hours I have ever had to endure in my life, and if I never have to repeat something like this ever again for as long as I live, it will be entirely too soon.
I will not go so far as to say that I will stop breaking the law, because that will never happen. I think that the laws that I typically break are stupid, and are completely pointless. I feel that if I want to smoke a joint, that I should have the freedom to do so, seeing as how it's entirely victimless. It's hardly my fault that this country's government is too goddamn stupid to figure out how to tax it. However, I will never again drink and drive, that's for sure.
The grand total of what all this will cost me financially is going to be a little over $2000 dollars when everything is said and done. Again, I know that I have nobody else to blame for this but myself, but holy crap, does this "justice" system ever need to be re-worked, because from where I'm standing, this is less about teaching someone a lesson and more a giant scam to get as much money as they possibly can.
I'm all about having to pay for your mistakes, but when you charge someone to stay in a jail that you sentenced them to (no, really, I had to pay $30 to stay there or be considered an escapee) under threat of further legal ramification, then something is entirely broken.
Saturday, September 17, 2011
Babble
So, my friend has gone back to school. This is awesome.
He told me about a writing assignment where he has to write about smoking and drinking on campus, and why he would be for or against them. The interesting thing is that he has to advocate for one or the other, and at the same time see where the other side is coming from.
I thought that this was interesting, and was going to partake in the assignment myself, although it was going to be entirely for self-indulgent purposes. While hanging out with another friend this evening, I was inspired to do something better.
I'm going to take the stances a step farther, as I am apt to do with most situations. Instead of doing it for the topic of smoking and drinking on campus, I am going to be comparing the New King James version of the Bible with a Bible that was intended for children, and was published recently.
The reason for this is the fact that the small peoples' version of the Bible is intentionally leaving out a lot - certain key elements of stories - and I personally don't think that this is correct. I am going to compare what is written in one with what is written in the other.
I am going to do this because I need to formulate the opinion of whether I am for or against how they went about doing this. I will be taking Sunday (appropriately) to choose a few books of the Bible and read them side by side to see how they differentiate, if at all, and then I am going to recount my experience to you all.
The entry for that should be done by Monday.
I look forward to the experience.
He told me about a writing assignment where he has to write about smoking and drinking on campus, and why he would be for or against them. The interesting thing is that he has to advocate for one or the other, and at the same time see where the other side is coming from.
I thought that this was interesting, and was going to partake in the assignment myself, although it was going to be entirely for self-indulgent purposes. While hanging out with another friend this evening, I was inspired to do something better.
I'm going to take the stances a step farther, as I am apt to do with most situations. Instead of doing it for the topic of smoking and drinking on campus, I am going to be comparing the New King James version of the Bible with a Bible that was intended for children, and was published recently.
The reason for this is the fact that the small peoples' version of the Bible is intentionally leaving out a lot - certain key elements of stories - and I personally don't think that this is correct. I am going to compare what is written in one with what is written in the other.
I am going to do this because I need to formulate the opinion of whether I am for or against how they went about doing this. I will be taking Sunday (appropriately) to choose a few books of the Bible and read them side by side to see how they differentiate, if at all, and then I am going to recount my experience to you all.
The entry for that should be done by Monday.
I look forward to the experience.
Sunday, September 11, 2011
Why Today Is Now Meaningless
I don't think that I need to sit here and tell you all what day it is. You'd have to be Helen Keller to not know, what with the news, radio, and TV all reminding us that on this day, ten years ago, some religious zealots completely crippled our sense of security as a nation by flying two passenger jets into the World Trade Center.
Ever since that day, our country has been gripped by fear, hatred, misunderstanding, and complete civil unrest. We have stood idly by and allowed the Federal government to step in and give itself powers that it shouldn't have, and take away right that we've had for years and took entirely for granted. And the worst part? We've been encouraging it this entire time.
I'm not going to sit here and talk about the TSA's at the airport, or the phone bugging that was going on in the first year after the event, or even the Patriot Act, which I feel has been turning citizens into suspects ever since that fateful day. The reason I'm not going to talk about these things is that if you're reading this, chances are, you already know. Further, chances are, you don't really care.
And that's what I want to talk about.
Ten years ago, I was sitting in school, taking a test. I was in the tenth grade. The day was going good, and even better, it was almost over for me. About halfway through my class, a girl opened the door to the classroom, told us all to turn on the news, then rushed off on her way to tell all of the other classes on the floor. Like any other human being, we let our curiosity get the best of us, and we turn it on to watch a video loop of the first plane as it slams into the tower. Of course, we all watched on in complete horror as the second plane did the same thing to the remaining one. There was a collective gasp as the towers collapsed.
"What's going on, here?" I remember thinking. Waiting patiently, the news reveals that the perpetrators are none other than zealots of the religious sect Al Qaeda, and that this is an honest-to-goodness act of terrorism. As the story develops, I go from being shocked and afraid to downright mortified.
As the story progresses and two more planes go down (one into the Pentagon, and the other shot down by our Air Force), we begin to find out details. The biggest question we had was "How did they manage to pull this off? What weapons were used?" In the end, we find out that they were using what basically amounted to prison shanks to keep people at bay. Seriously?
You're telling me that 3,000 people had to die that day because absolutely nobody on any of those planes was willing to stand up and bum-rush some asshole with a shiv that he crafted out of a pair of nail clippers and/or disposable razor? Yeah, you may have gotten hurt, but you'd have saved literally thousands of lives in the process. But at the end of it all, every single person on those planes was too pressed about their own self and their own safety to even give their fellow man a second thought.
This attitude has persisted in our society way before, and even after, this fateful day. Many will tell you that ever since that day, ten years ago, there has been no shortage of patriots. Sure, I'll give them that, but these are people who I would call Bandwagon Patriots. They're only being patriotic because it's the trendy thing to do. Where was your sense of patriotism before 3,000 people lost their lives?
Many will claim that it was there, but many and more would be lying. They couldn't have had a sense of patriotism because they never thought about it. And to this day, they still couldn't tell you what it really means to be a patriot, beyond waving the flag and saying "Woohoo!" to those warriors that come back from overseas.
This is not patriotism.
Many people these days cannot even tell you what the flag really means. That flag - the Star-Spangled Banner that we are taught from a very early age to respect - means more than just "freedom." That narrow-minded answer angers me far more than what words can describe. That flag represents blood, sweat, and tears of men who fought and died for our rights; rights that we've been giving away for the past ten years.
Benjamin Franklin once said that "those who would give up essential liberty for a bit of temporary safety deserve neither liberty or safety." I'm sure you've all heard it before, but I want you to stew on that.
Folks, do you know what's going on around you, right now? Go take a walk outside, and I can almost guarantee you will see people everywhere wearing "patriotic" clothing - things that undoubtedly evoke the image of an eagle, or perhaps silhouetted towers against an American flag background. Sure, these images make a heart flutter with pride in our resilience as a nation, but read between the lines.
They have turned 9/11 into a marketing ploy. It's become nothing more than a way to make money, and it's disrespectful to our dead.
A country singer - I forget which one - released an album on this day a few years ago that was supposed to be all about his feelings on the day. The songs were very generic, and sounded all the same. The emotion in his voice was barely registered on the radar, and people still bought it up like it was water after the nuclear apocalypse. He was broke before the album, and now is rich again.
People today will be buying things at discounted prices as various retail outlets have sales in remembrance of the terror attacks that have put us where we are today. I want someone who lost family in the attacks to answer me if they feel their kin would really want them to buy a mattress at 50% off as a way of remembering who they are and what happened to them.
Further, there will invariably be attacks on local Muslims and their mosques. I can't imagine that there won't be today, and if there isn't, I will be shocked. This will happen because we've been taught that it was Muslims who did this to us. Never you mind that it was a zealous sect of them that did this, and not the ones that are repeatedly telling you that theirs is a religion of peace.
"But they were the ones that blew us up!" you might say. Yeah, but again, those were extremists. A large portion of the Muslim faith wants nothing to do with these assholes. Let me ask you this: If you claim yourself a Christian, do you want to be associated with Westboro Baptist Church? It's the same principle here, only far, far worse for them.
Doing these things - wearing clothing to honor blood spilled that you bought with money, holding "commemorative" sales to make a profit, hating on people that have done nothing to you, waving the flag whose meaning you can't even describe beyond "freedom!" and what not.... it's not being patriotic. It's being stupid, narrow-minded, and overall, un-American.
To be patriotic, you have to be willing to stand up and fight and die for the freedoms of your fellow man in this country, with absolutely no exceptions. You have to be willing to hear a guy on a soap box on the street corner, talking about things that make your blood boil, but stopping anybody that would try and stop him from talking. Patriotism is going out and being willing to die for what you believe in, but also for the rights of others to believe what they will, as well, even if you don't necessarily agree with it.
"I may not agree with what you say, but I will gladly fight and die for your right to say it." - Voltaire
Patriotism is something that is shown through more than just wearing red, white, and blue. It's more than fireworks during Independence Day. It's more than knowing that we have a piece of paper called the Constitution. It really boils down to understanding these things, why we do them, and why they're important.
9/11 is no longer important. When something gets turned into a nation-wide marketing scheme and is abused for people to make money, it ceases to hold its relevance in my eyes. I will remember the attacks ten years ago, and I will remember them with a tear in my eye and a frown upon my face, not because I am sad for the people who lost their lives that day, but because I am sad that their memory is now being shamed by us turning this day into what we have.
I am an American. I am a patriot. I no longer give a crap about this day, because it has now become meaningless in our pursuit for the love of money, and public image. We want so badly for everyone else to see us in our colors, showing our American pride, while we continue to let those who want our money more than anything else continue to disrespect our dead civilians and soldiers both.
Of course, this is just my opinion on the matter. I could be wrong.
Ever since that day, our country has been gripped by fear, hatred, misunderstanding, and complete civil unrest. We have stood idly by and allowed the Federal government to step in and give itself powers that it shouldn't have, and take away right that we've had for years and took entirely for granted. And the worst part? We've been encouraging it this entire time.
I'm not going to sit here and talk about the TSA's at the airport, or the phone bugging that was going on in the first year after the event, or even the Patriot Act, which I feel has been turning citizens into suspects ever since that fateful day. The reason I'm not going to talk about these things is that if you're reading this, chances are, you already know. Further, chances are, you don't really care.
And that's what I want to talk about.
Ten years ago, I was sitting in school, taking a test. I was in the tenth grade. The day was going good, and even better, it was almost over for me. About halfway through my class, a girl opened the door to the classroom, told us all to turn on the news, then rushed off on her way to tell all of the other classes on the floor. Like any other human being, we let our curiosity get the best of us, and we turn it on to watch a video loop of the first plane as it slams into the tower. Of course, we all watched on in complete horror as the second plane did the same thing to the remaining one. There was a collective gasp as the towers collapsed.
"What's going on, here?" I remember thinking. Waiting patiently, the news reveals that the perpetrators are none other than zealots of the religious sect Al Qaeda, and that this is an honest-to-goodness act of terrorism. As the story develops, I go from being shocked and afraid to downright mortified.
As the story progresses and two more planes go down (one into the Pentagon, and the other shot down by our Air Force), we begin to find out details. The biggest question we had was "How did they manage to pull this off? What weapons were used?" In the end, we find out that they were using what basically amounted to prison shanks to keep people at bay. Seriously?
You're telling me that 3,000 people had to die that day because absolutely nobody on any of those planes was willing to stand up and bum-rush some asshole with a shiv that he crafted out of a pair of nail clippers and/or disposable razor? Yeah, you may have gotten hurt, but you'd have saved literally thousands of lives in the process. But at the end of it all, every single person on those planes was too pressed about their own self and their own safety to even give their fellow man a second thought.
This attitude has persisted in our society way before, and even after, this fateful day. Many will tell you that ever since that day, ten years ago, there has been no shortage of patriots. Sure, I'll give them that, but these are people who I would call Bandwagon Patriots. They're only being patriotic because it's the trendy thing to do. Where was your sense of patriotism before 3,000 people lost their lives?
Many will claim that it was there, but many and more would be lying. They couldn't have had a sense of patriotism because they never thought about it. And to this day, they still couldn't tell you what it really means to be a patriot, beyond waving the flag and saying "Woohoo!" to those warriors that come back from overseas.
This is not patriotism.
Many people these days cannot even tell you what the flag really means. That flag - the Star-Spangled Banner that we are taught from a very early age to respect - means more than just "freedom." That narrow-minded answer angers me far more than what words can describe. That flag represents blood, sweat, and tears of men who fought and died for our rights; rights that we've been giving away for the past ten years.
Benjamin Franklin once said that "those who would give up essential liberty for a bit of temporary safety deserve neither liberty or safety." I'm sure you've all heard it before, but I want you to stew on that.
Folks, do you know what's going on around you, right now? Go take a walk outside, and I can almost guarantee you will see people everywhere wearing "patriotic" clothing - things that undoubtedly evoke the image of an eagle, or perhaps silhouetted towers against an American flag background. Sure, these images make a heart flutter with pride in our resilience as a nation, but read between the lines.
They have turned 9/11 into a marketing ploy. It's become nothing more than a way to make money, and it's disrespectful to our dead.
A country singer - I forget which one - released an album on this day a few years ago that was supposed to be all about his feelings on the day. The songs were very generic, and sounded all the same. The emotion in his voice was barely registered on the radar, and people still bought it up like it was water after the nuclear apocalypse. He was broke before the album, and now is rich again.
People today will be buying things at discounted prices as various retail outlets have sales in remembrance of the terror attacks that have put us where we are today. I want someone who lost family in the attacks to answer me if they feel their kin would really want them to buy a mattress at 50% off as a way of remembering who they are and what happened to them.
Further, there will invariably be attacks on local Muslims and their mosques. I can't imagine that there won't be today, and if there isn't, I will be shocked. This will happen because we've been taught that it was Muslims who did this to us. Never you mind that it was a zealous sect of them that did this, and not the ones that are repeatedly telling you that theirs is a religion of peace.
"But they were the ones that blew us up!" you might say. Yeah, but again, those were extremists. A large portion of the Muslim faith wants nothing to do with these assholes. Let me ask you this: If you claim yourself a Christian, do you want to be associated with Westboro Baptist Church? It's the same principle here, only far, far worse for them.
Doing these things - wearing clothing to honor blood spilled that you bought with money, holding "commemorative" sales to make a profit, hating on people that have done nothing to you, waving the flag whose meaning you can't even describe beyond "freedom!" and what not.... it's not being patriotic. It's being stupid, narrow-minded, and overall, un-American.
To be patriotic, you have to be willing to stand up and fight and die for the freedoms of your fellow man in this country, with absolutely no exceptions. You have to be willing to hear a guy on a soap box on the street corner, talking about things that make your blood boil, but stopping anybody that would try and stop him from talking. Patriotism is going out and being willing to die for what you believe in, but also for the rights of others to believe what they will, as well, even if you don't necessarily agree with it.
"I may not agree with what you say, but I will gladly fight and die for your right to say it." - Voltaire
Patriotism is something that is shown through more than just wearing red, white, and blue. It's more than fireworks during Independence Day. It's more than knowing that we have a piece of paper called the Constitution. It really boils down to understanding these things, why we do them, and why they're important.
9/11 is no longer important. When something gets turned into a nation-wide marketing scheme and is abused for people to make money, it ceases to hold its relevance in my eyes. I will remember the attacks ten years ago, and I will remember them with a tear in my eye and a frown upon my face, not because I am sad for the people who lost their lives that day, but because I am sad that their memory is now being shamed by us turning this day into what we have.
I am an American. I am a patriot. I no longer give a crap about this day, because it has now become meaningless in our pursuit for the love of money, and public image. We want so badly for everyone else to see us in our colors, showing our American pride, while we continue to let those who want our money more than anything else continue to disrespect our dead civilians and soldiers both.
Of course, this is just my opinion on the matter. I could be wrong.
Thursday, September 01, 2011
You May Not, But I Do
So, a while back, I made a promise to start getting more personal in these blogs. When I first made that statement, I wasn't entirely sure what I meant by that. That post took a lot out of me, both mentally and emotionally, and I had hit a brick wall when it came to following up.
I don't think that I'm going to have that issue anymore.
What I want to talk about tonight is something that I didn't realize was on my mind until having a great conversation with two really good friends - one of which has a blog of his own.
There are many people out there who say that they "don't care." I feel that the term is misused almost every time that it exits someone's mouth-hole. Contextually, anyway. There are four kinds of people who say this phrase: A) They don't understand what it really means; B) Someone who is in complete denial of a situation and wants nothing to do with it; C) Those who are choosing to abstain; and D) Those who really mean it.
In person A, we have the type of person who claims that they don't care about anything at all. Out of the options, these this is the one that I honestly can't stand. Sad thing is, most of us are this person, especially when we're teenagers. This is the type who wants to appear to be cool in the eyes of others, and therefore wants an air of mystery about them, or perhaps they want their opinion to seem superior.
Most of the time, they're just stupid.
These people are lying to themselves, because deep down, they honestly do care. They are the kind of person who seems to have an awful lot of opinions about a world they claim to not give a crap about. They are arrogant, hot-headed, and just all-around neanderthals (as far as this writer is concerned) who don't know what it really means to not care about anything at all.
You people who do this need to wake up. Do you have any idea of the low that you have to be to reach the point of not caring? I've been there - and I'll go more into that later - and it ain't pretty.
With person B, they don't inspire wroth more than they do pity in my eyes. These are the people who, when approached about something about themselves or someone close to them, they make a subconscious choice to just tune it out. You can talk to them about it until you are blue in the face, but it just never sinks in. They tell you that they "don't care," and it's because they're not willing to face whatever it is that you're talking to them about. After all, it's easier feign indifference than it is to admit you're wrong.
People who fall into category C are interesting. These are the kinds of people who make an active choice to not care. They are the kinds of people who won't read the news, for example (one that was presented to me tonight, as a matter of fact), because they don't like the effect that it has on them. They keep up on current events though what people at work or home are talking about, and maybe sneak a peek at headlines while in line at a convenience store.
Then you have the folks in category D. They are few and far between, and there's a reason for that.
To reach this level, you have to have hit such a spot in your life that you are at the absolute rock-bottom. Any lower, and you start getting into Hell itself. At this level, you have ceased to care about anything at all.
At first, it starts with not caring about what's going on around you. The only thing that matters is you. People become nothing more than playthings, and are there only to be used for whatever you can get. When the bridge is burned, who cares? Certainly not you.
Shortly after that, you hit the level where you stop caring about your personal health and hygiene. After all, it doesn't really matter. You're just going to get dirty and die in the end anyway, so what's the point?
Eventually, you get to the point where stop caring about everything entirely, and suddenly the idea of death becomes really appealing. That's.... not a point I ever want to visit again.
As I mentioned before, I was this person at one point in my life. I was addicted to drugs, and making every attempt I could to just absolutely self-destruct. It was not a fun point in my life, and given the chance, I would do it all differently. Every single bit of it.
The people who fall into category A infuriate me so much because they simply do not know what they're talking about, and I hate that they think it's cool. I assure you, folks: it isn't. If you have any bit of empathy whatsoever, you can imagine what it's like to have zero emotion about anything, and realize how scary that really is.
For those of you that don't, just ask someone who does. Maybe they can explain it better than I can.
Most people snap out of their selfishness far before they ever get to that point. They wake up one day and realize what it is that they're doing to themselves, and others. There are people out there who don't, however, and that always ends in complete tragedy.
The point of all of this is that I want a little more thought put behind your words. Think about what you want to say before you say it. Words are powerful, and the effect of them can be awesome, or tragic. Words cut deeper than any knife. They penetrate further than any bullet, and will leave scars worse than the hottest fires.
At the end of the day, we need to learn how to better communicate with each other. We are going around our day-to-day routines, and we mindlessly blurt out powerful phrases like "I don't care," with absolutely no thought as to the meaning behind it.
If you're in category A - and I know for a fact that several of you who will read this are - then you need to just shut up. Stop claiming not to care, when you so obviously do. If you didn't care, then you wouldn't have anything to say about whatever it was that was going on.
If you're in category B, please wake up and realize that people are only talking to you about something for your own good. If you just stop and listen to the things that others have to say about something, you'd be amazed at what you could possibly learn. Don't dismiss something that someone says - especially when it pertains to you - just because you don't want to hear it. Chances are, if you don't want to hear something, it's because you need to hear it.
If you're in category C, then I have no real gripes about you. You just keep on existing. You're at least taking measures to prevent yourself from going off the deep end in life.
I'd say something to category D, but those people wouldn't read this, anyway.
So, the next time that you're about to say that you "don't care," I want you to remember what I've said tonight. I want you to actually think about whatever it is that you supposedly don't care about, and figure out if you really don't care about it, because you simply never know the effect of what your words could have.
If we would all just start saying exactly what we mean to each other, we can start moving forward and making this world a better place. And if not better, at least far more tolerable.
Of course, Dennis Miller said it best: "That's just my opinion. I could be wrong."
I don't think that I'm going to have that issue anymore.
What I want to talk about tonight is something that I didn't realize was on my mind until having a great conversation with two really good friends - one of which has a blog of his own.
There are many people out there who say that they "don't care." I feel that the term is misused almost every time that it exits someone's mouth-hole. Contextually, anyway. There are four kinds of people who say this phrase: A) They don't understand what it really means; B) Someone who is in complete denial of a situation and wants nothing to do with it; C) Those who are choosing to abstain; and D) Those who really mean it.
In person A, we have the type of person who claims that they don't care about anything at all. Out of the options, these this is the one that I honestly can't stand. Sad thing is, most of us are this person, especially when we're teenagers. This is the type who wants to appear to be cool in the eyes of others, and therefore wants an air of mystery about them, or perhaps they want their opinion to seem superior.
Most of the time, they're just stupid.
These people are lying to themselves, because deep down, they honestly do care. They are the kind of person who seems to have an awful lot of opinions about a world they claim to not give a crap about. They are arrogant, hot-headed, and just all-around neanderthals (as far as this writer is concerned) who don't know what it really means to not care about anything at all.
You people who do this need to wake up. Do you have any idea of the low that you have to be to reach the point of not caring? I've been there - and I'll go more into that later - and it ain't pretty.
With person B, they don't inspire wroth more than they do pity in my eyes. These are the people who, when approached about something about themselves or someone close to them, they make a subconscious choice to just tune it out. You can talk to them about it until you are blue in the face, but it just never sinks in. They tell you that they "don't care," and it's because they're not willing to face whatever it is that you're talking to them about. After all, it's easier feign indifference than it is to admit you're wrong.
People who fall into category C are interesting. These are the kinds of people who make an active choice to not care. They are the kinds of people who won't read the news, for example (one that was presented to me tonight, as a matter of fact), because they don't like the effect that it has on them. They keep up on current events though what people at work or home are talking about, and maybe sneak a peek at headlines while in line at a convenience store.
Then you have the folks in category D. They are few and far between, and there's a reason for that.
To reach this level, you have to have hit such a spot in your life that you are at the absolute rock-bottom. Any lower, and you start getting into Hell itself. At this level, you have ceased to care about anything at all.
At first, it starts with not caring about what's going on around you. The only thing that matters is you. People become nothing more than playthings, and are there only to be used for whatever you can get. When the bridge is burned, who cares? Certainly not you.
Shortly after that, you hit the level where you stop caring about your personal health and hygiene. After all, it doesn't really matter. You're just going to get dirty and die in the end anyway, so what's the point?
Eventually, you get to the point where stop caring about everything entirely, and suddenly the idea of death becomes really appealing. That's.... not a point I ever want to visit again.
As I mentioned before, I was this person at one point in my life. I was addicted to drugs, and making every attempt I could to just absolutely self-destruct. It was not a fun point in my life, and given the chance, I would do it all differently. Every single bit of it.
The people who fall into category A infuriate me so much because they simply do not know what they're talking about, and I hate that they think it's cool. I assure you, folks: it isn't. If you have any bit of empathy whatsoever, you can imagine what it's like to have zero emotion about anything, and realize how scary that really is.
For those of you that don't, just ask someone who does. Maybe they can explain it better than I can.
Most people snap out of their selfishness far before they ever get to that point. They wake up one day and realize what it is that they're doing to themselves, and others. There are people out there who don't, however, and that always ends in complete tragedy.
The point of all of this is that I want a little more thought put behind your words. Think about what you want to say before you say it. Words are powerful, and the effect of them can be awesome, or tragic. Words cut deeper than any knife. They penetrate further than any bullet, and will leave scars worse than the hottest fires.
At the end of the day, we need to learn how to better communicate with each other. We are going around our day-to-day routines, and we mindlessly blurt out powerful phrases like "I don't care," with absolutely no thought as to the meaning behind it.
If you're in category A - and I know for a fact that several of you who will read this are - then you need to just shut up. Stop claiming not to care, when you so obviously do. If you didn't care, then you wouldn't have anything to say about whatever it was that was going on.
If you're in category B, please wake up and realize that people are only talking to you about something for your own good. If you just stop and listen to the things that others have to say about something, you'd be amazed at what you could possibly learn. Don't dismiss something that someone says - especially when it pertains to you - just because you don't want to hear it. Chances are, if you don't want to hear something, it's because you need to hear it.
If you're in category C, then I have no real gripes about you. You just keep on existing. You're at least taking measures to prevent yourself from going off the deep end in life.
I'd say something to category D, but those people wouldn't read this, anyway.
So, the next time that you're about to say that you "don't care," I want you to remember what I've said tonight. I want you to actually think about whatever it is that you supposedly don't care about, and figure out if you really don't care about it, because you simply never know the effect of what your words could have.
If we would all just start saying exactly what we mean to each other, we can start moving forward and making this world a better place. And if not better, at least far more tolerable.
Of course, Dennis Miller said it best: "That's just my opinion. I could be wrong."
Sunday, August 21, 2011
A Work Untitled
The following is an excerpt from my current writing project, which, as the blog title implies, has yet to be named. I am just copy-pasting it right from the rough draft text file, an am not editing it at all. Therefore, errors both typographical and grammatical are abound, and not apologized for. Enjoy.
"Kurtis Thompson!"
That was me. Or is me, depending on how you want to look at it. At this juncture, I know that I'm in trouble, but the fact that she only used two of the three names tells me that while she found some mischief of mine, she isn't entirely certain that I was the culprit. Swallowing down a weird feeling that is equal parts fear, pride, and excitement, I take that first disastrous step towards whatever destiny awaits me.
I walk into the living room of our moderate three-bedroom apartment. It's not exactly the nicest thing in the world, but it's far from squallor, too. The walls are a boring shade of white, and despite the many coats of paint, the "artwork" of my younger brother and I from a boring summer afternoon years ago can still be faintly seen. The furniture is old - heirlooms, mostly - but nice and in good taste. The couch is one of the most comfortable one could ever hope to pass out on, and the loveseat is perfect for those long, intimate nights. Both are a brown and gold plaid pattern, and the frames are made from real wood. The smell of them brings one back to simpler times, before the days of cable television and rock & roll music; times I'd prefer to never have lived in. Then my eyes go to the coffee table, where my mother is pointing and glaring.
On top of this thing is the object of her current ire: what I like to call Franken-mugs. These were coffee mugs that were broken during hijinks that probably were better performed outdoors, and yet my younger brother, Scott, and I would throw all caution and rationality to the wind in the name of Boredom - and sometimes even Science - to entertain ourselves while our mother was out at work, trying desperately to earn the meager money-dollars allotted to her by the United States Government that provided our living.
On retrospect, we probably should have been more grateful to her for her efforts, but fuck it. We were kids, and what's more, we were kids without fathers. In a world like this one, that automatically means that you're on your own to figure everything out in life, and to hell with anybody who says otherwise. Anyways, the Franken-mugs were pretty brilliant, I thought. We managed to give a dog head to Elvis' body, and the body of the dog now had an ass where the dog's head should have been. We found these things incredibly amusing, and thought to share with our Mother Dearest, but apparently, we were wrong.
"What the hell is this about!?"
I answer her with a grin and a look of pride. "We broke them while horsing around, and now they're fixed!"
"You call this fixed?" she asked, holding up two of three mugs in her hands, a look of obvious disapproval on her face.
"Well," I answered. "You should have seen them before we put them back together. A million tiny pieces each. We figured you'd be less upset if we tried to be creative in the process of repair."
I never even thought about the answer; the words just came to me as easily as air to a fish underwater. I was proud of myself, confident that even a woman as entirely unreasonable as this one would have to see the merit in at least giving it a half-assed attempt, and even telling her the truth about it! She'd never see that one coming, to be certain.
As it turns out, the gamble was a good one. Despite herself, a grin formed on her face, though obviously fought. She shook her head, and calmly placed the "fixed" mugs down on the coffee table that had seen better years. She shook her head, and a sound came out of her mouth that I hadn't heard for a few months, now: laughter. And, despite my self, I started laughing along with her. For a moment, I let my guard down as my tense muscles started to relax. This was a mistake.
Out of nowhere, one of the mugs comes careening through the air, missing my head by mere millimeters, only to crash against the drywall behind me, shattering once more and leaving quite a nice dent in the plaster. My eyes go wide, and I do the only sensible thing that I can think of: run to my room at the back of the apartment and lock the door. Little good that did me. She was right behind me. For a half-crippled woman with a horrendous back, she sure could move quickly.
Beating against the door, her fury was plainly evident. I lay down on my bed, shutting my eyes really tight, wishing and praying for her to go away. Neither wish nor prayer came true, as I heard her jimmying the lock and allowing herself entrance into my palace - my sanctuary. She completely ignores everything else in the room but me. I can imagine that her wrath has now caused her to have tunnel vision, where I am the only object present in her line of sight.
She grabs me out of bed and throws me to the floor, and while I fight my bladder for control I'm so scared, she is yelling at me about how one of those was a collector's item that isn't even made anymore, and is shaking me. I start laughing uncontrollably at this point, my head bouncing up and down and striking the ground beneath me. It was carpeted, so it didn't really hurt, but all I could do was laugh and laugh. Eventually, she saw the absurdity in the entire situation herself, and started laughing, too. Only this time, it was no ruse. The laughter was genuine.
We shared this moment of the absolutely insane and unstable. We reveled in it. She took me into her arms, then, and hugged me tight, placing a kiss on the top of my head. I hugged her back, still laughing, tears of it now streaming down my face. It was in that moment that I let words pass my lips that have hardly come out since. "I'm sorry, mom."
"It's alright," she cooed. "It's alright.... I shouldn't have gotten that angry about it. We'll fix the wall this weekend."
Smiling to myself, I already started planning out a weekend that didn't involve the fixing of the wall, instead delegating the work to Scott, leaving me to run amok with what few friends I had in those days. I hugged her back, and she excused herself from my room, closing the door, leaving me there in the Sancutary alone once more.
Laying back down on the bed, I pull a magazine from a huge pile that's sitting next to it. There are magazines of all different sorts, here. Magazines about video games, computers, science, science fiction rags, pulp rags. I had magazines about guns and ammunition, engineering, medicine, religion, and even pornography. The rate at which I would read just about anything was monstrous, to say the absolute least.
Back then, everything in the world was absolutely fascinating. Every time I would read something that was non-fiction, there was usually some really interesting event tied to the subject matter. I would sit there and fantasize about being one of these people who did something great for the world, and the thing was well-liked and well-received. The ones that interested me the most, however, were the ones about the people who started from the very bottom of the ladder, and worked themselves up to the top. That's where I wanted to be most of all: at the top. I wanted my piece of the American Dream.
After a while - I'm not entirely sure how long, as I tend to lose all sense of time and responsibility while I'm reading - the phone rings. I let it ring three times before picking it up, rolling my eyes about the inherent laziness of everybody else in the domicile. As it turns out, the phone was for me, anyway. The voice on the other end was my friend and typical partner-in-crime at the time, Walter.
Now, Walter is a bit of a strange guy, yet one of the best people that I've ever met in my life. I met him way back in elementary school. I was well into my second month there, and being a strange child myself - I preferred to do things like watch kickball games to figure out how it all actually worked than I did to actually participating in them. That, or watch anthills, or stare off into space, living out some space fantasy that any could be expected of any six-year-old who, at this time, had been so indoctrinated into Star Wars that his ambition then was to be a Jedi.
Anyway, my friend was a bit of a giant. He stood easily a whole four to five inches above our peers growing up, despite the fact that he was only a year ahead of myself. His bright red hair and intense blue eyes contrasted in a way that made him a bit frightening to others for some reason. His stocky build, due to the fact that he actually did suffer from being "big boned." His bones were twice the density and about 50% larger than others', which made him appear huge and also has thus far prevented his bones from ever breaking. When I learned this, I immediately began teasing him about being a super hero in the making.
"Hey, dude," he says in that tone of voice of his that is somehow both gentle yet deep at the same time. "Ben's been over for a bit, and we're bored. Want to come and hang out?"
A grin started to form across my face. Little did I realize during my altercation with my mother, an easy out for this kind of situation had presented itself. Not only could I now rely on plausible deniability - probably the most wonderful little toy ever created by our law system in this country - to get out of any trouble with her I might get into for the sure-to-be-had antics of the evening, but I could also give her the space she'd need to fully cool down from what I supposed was a bad day at work, on top of her precious mugs being broken.
"Sure. I can make it over. Give me about thirty minutes."
I hang up the phone, and toss the magazine on my mattress. I know it goes on the pile of them next to it, but fuck it. I'll get it later tonight. Right now, there are more important things to do, such as practice my right to the pursuit of happiness. And right now, my happiness requires nothing more than the companionship of two of my fellow travelers on the path to the American Dream. Two brothers in arms, if you will, and we are fighting our way against all odds to go out, be successful against all odds, and be the ones that people talked about later in life. The year is 1998, and we are thirteen- and fourteen-year-old boys, full of hope, promise, hormones, and most importantly of all, a desire to have as much fun as we possibly could before it all came crashing down around us, as it invariably would.
The words of the Bouncing Souls come to mind when I think of our friendship: "He's my friend, he's my alibi. My accessory to the crime." It goes on about a bond that will never die, but that part's bullshit. Always has been, and always will be, thanks to human nature. Anyway, that's what we were to each other. We were hardly ever apart from each other when we could help it, and there most certainly was a bond there, and still is, so we'll see.
I walk out of my Sanctuary, and out to the living room. "Mom," I say, quickly racing for the front door, having learned earlier in life that if I don't give her a chance to actually tell me "no," I can point out that she never really did, and therefore can't be mad at me for doing something that I didn't know I was supposed to do. "I'm going to Walter's house. I'll see you later."
And with that, and a quick twist of the key to lock the door, I'm off on my little adventure.
"Kurtis Thompson!"
That was me. Or is me, depending on how you want to look at it. At this juncture, I know that I'm in trouble, but the fact that she only used two of the three names tells me that while she found some mischief of mine, she isn't entirely certain that I was the culprit. Swallowing down a weird feeling that is equal parts fear, pride, and excitement, I take that first disastrous step towards whatever destiny awaits me.
I walk into the living room of our moderate three-bedroom apartment. It's not exactly the nicest thing in the world, but it's far from squallor, too. The walls are a boring shade of white, and despite the many coats of paint, the "artwork" of my younger brother and I from a boring summer afternoon years ago can still be faintly seen. The furniture is old - heirlooms, mostly - but nice and in good taste. The couch is one of the most comfortable one could ever hope to pass out on, and the loveseat is perfect for those long, intimate nights. Both are a brown and gold plaid pattern, and the frames are made from real wood. The smell of them brings one back to simpler times, before the days of cable television and rock & roll music; times I'd prefer to never have lived in. Then my eyes go to the coffee table, where my mother is pointing and glaring.
On top of this thing is the object of her current ire: what I like to call Franken-mugs. These were coffee mugs that were broken during hijinks that probably were better performed outdoors, and yet my younger brother, Scott, and I would throw all caution and rationality to the wind in the name of Boredom - and sometimes even Science - to entertain ourselves while our mother was out at work, trying desperately to earn the meager money-dollars allotted to her by the United States Government that provided our living.
On retrospect, we probably should have been more grateful to her for her efforts, but fuck it. We were kids, and what's more, we were kids without fathers. In a world like this one, that automatically means that you're on your own to figure everything out in life, and to hell with anybody who says otherwise. Anyways, the Franken-mugs were pretty brilliant, I thought. We managed to give a dog head to Elvis' body, and the body of the dog now had an ass where the dog's head should have been. We found these things incredibly amusing, and thought to share with our Mother Dearest, but apparently, we were wrong.
"What the hell is this about!?"
I answer her with a grin and a look of pride. "We broke them while horsing around, and now they're fixed!"
"You call this fixed?" she asked, holding up two of three mugs in her hands, a look of obvious disapproval on her face.
"Well," I answered. "You should have seen them before we put them back together. A million tiny pieces each. We figured you'd be less upset if we tried to be creative in the process of repair."
I never even thought about the answer; the words just came to me as easily as air to a fish underwater. I was proud of myself, confident that even a woman as entirely unreasonable as this one would have to see the merit in at least giving it a half-assed attempt, and even telling her the truth about it! She'd never see that one coming, to be certain.
As it turns out, the gamble was a good one. Despite herself, a grin formed on her face, though obviously fought. She shook her head, and calmly placed the "fixed" mugs down on the coffee table that had seen better years. She shook her head, and a sound came out of her mouth that I hadn't heard for a few months, now: laughter. And, despite my self, I started laughing along with her. For a moment, I let my guard down as my tense muscles started to relax. This was a mistake.
Out of nowhere, one of the mugs comes careening through the air, missing my head by mere millimeters, only to crash against the drywall behind me, shattering once more and leaving quite a nice dent in the plaster. My eyes go wide, and I do the only sensible thing that I can think of: run to my room at the back of the apartment and lock the door. Little good that did me. She was right behind me. For a half-crippled woman with a horrendous back, she sure could move quickly.
Beating against the door, her fury was plainly evident. I lay down on my bed, shutting my eyes really tight, wishing and praying for her to go away. Neither wish nor prayer came true, as I heard her jimmying the lock and allowing herself entrance into my palace - my sanctuary. She completely ignores everything else in the room but me. I can imagine that her wrath has now caused her to have tunnel vision, where I am the only object present in her line of sight.
She grabs me out of bed and throws me to the floor, and while I fight my bladder for control I'm so scared, she is yelling at me about how one of those was a collector's item that isn't even made anymore, and is shaking me. I start laughing uncontrollably at this point, my head bouncing up and down and striking the ground beneath me. It was carpeted, so it didn't really hurt, but all I could do was laugh and laugh. Eventually, she saw the absurdity in the entire situation herself, and started laughing, too. Only this time, it was no ruse. The laughter was genuine.
We shared this moment of the absolutely insane and unstable. We reveled in it. She took me into her arms, then, and hugged me tight, placing a kiss on the top of my head. I hugged her back, still laughing, tears of it now streaming down my face. It was in that moment that I let words pass my lips that have hardly come out since. "I'm sorry, mom."
"It's alright," she cooed. "It's alright.... I shouldn't have gotten that angry about it. We'll fix the wall this weekend."
Smiling to myself, I already started planning out a weekend that didn't involve the fixing of the wall, instead delegating the work to Scott, leaving me to run amok with what few friends I had in those days. I hugged her back, and she excused herself from my room, closing the door, leaving me there in the Sancutary alone once more.
Laying back down on the bed, I pull a magazine from a huge pile that's sitting next to it. There are magazines of all different sorts, here. Magazines about video games, computers, science, science fiction rags, pulp rags. I had magazines about guns and ammunition, engineering, medicine, religion, and even pornography. The rate at which I would read just about anything was monstrous, to say the absolute least.
Back then, everything in the world was absolutely fascinating. Every time I would read something that was non-fiction, there was usually some really interesting event tied to the subject matter. I would sit there and fantasize about being one of these people who did something great for the world, and the thing was well-liked and well-received. The ones that interested me the most, however, were the ones about the people who started from the very bottom of the ladder, and worked themselves up to the top. That's where I wanted to be most of all: at the top. I wanted my piece of the American Dream.
After a while - I'm not entirely sure how long, as I tend to lose all sense of time and responsibility while I'm reading - the phone rings. I let it ring three times before picking it up, rolling my eyes about the inherent laziness of everybody else in the domicile. As it turns out, the phone was for me, anyway. The voice on the other end was my friend and typical partner-in-crime at the time, Walter.
Now, Walter is a bit of a strange guy, yet one of the best people that I've ever met in my life. I met him way back in elementary school. I was well into my second month there, and being a strange child myself - I preferred to do things like watch kickball games to figure out how it all actually worked than I did to actually participating in them. That, or watch anthills, or stare off into space, living out some space fantasy that any could be expected of any six-year-old who, at this time, had been so indoctrinated into Star Wars that his ambition then was to be a Jedi.
Anyway, my friend was a bit of a giant. He stood easily a whole four to five inches above our peers growing up, despite the fact that he was only a year ahead of myself. His bright red hair and intense blue eyes contrasted in a way that made him a bit frightening to others for some reason. His stocky build, due to the fact that he actually did suffer from being "big boned." His bones were twice the density and about 50% larger than others', which made him appear huge and also has thus far prevented his bones from ever breaking. When I learned this, I immediately began teasing him about being a super hero in the making.
"Hey, dude," he says in that tone of voice of his that is somehow both gentle yet deep at the same time. "Ben's been over for a bit, and we're bored. Want to come and hang out?"
A grin started to form across my face. Little did I realize during my altercation with my mother, an easy out for this kind of situation had presented itself. Not only could I now rely on plausible deniability - probably the most wonderful little toy ever created by our law system in this country - to get out of any trouble with her I might get into for the sure-to-be-had antics of the evening, but I could also give her the space she'd need to fully cool down from what I supposed was a bad day at work, on top of her precious mugs being broken.
"Sure. I can make it over. Give me about thirty minutes."
I hang up the phone, and toss the magazine on my mattress. I know it goes on the pile of them next to it, but fuck it. I'll get it later tonight. Right now, there are more important things to do, such as practice my right to the pursuit of happiness. And right now, my happiness requires nothing more than the companionship of two of my fellow travelers on the path to the American Dream. Two brothers in arms, if you will, and we are fighting our way against all odds to go out, be successful against all odds, and be the ones that people talked about later in life. The year is 1998, and we are thirteen- and fourteen-year-old boys, full of hope, promise, hormones, and most importantly of all, a desire to have as much fun as we possibly could before it all came crashing down around us, as it invariably would.
The words of the Bouncing Souls come to mind when I think of our friendship: "He's my friend, he's my alibi. My accessory to the crime." It goes on about a bond that will never die, but that part's bullshit. Always has been, and always will be, thanks to human nature. Anyway, that's what we were to each other. We were hardly ever apart from each other when we could help it, and there most certainly was a bond there, and still is, so we'll see.
I walk out of my Sanctuary, and out to the living room. "Mom," I say, quickly racing for the front door, having learned earlier in life that if I don't give her a chance to actually tell me "no," I can point out that she never really did, and therefore can't be mad at me for doing something that I didn't know I was supposed to do. "I'm going to Walter's house. I'll see you later."
And with that, and a quick twist of the key to lock the door, I'm off on my little adventure.
Thursday, July 07, 2011
Trials and Tears
So... the media circus that was the Casey Anthony case finally ended with a verdict that, admittedly, is less than pleasing. Of course, this has many people up in arms over the whole thing, swearing up and down that the American justice system is screwed up, things of that nature. While I'm inclined to agree with them to a point, I really don't think that it's fair to blame the justice system.
I really don't think that many people have an actual clear understanding of how our justice system works. Granted, it's not perfect, but there are things in place to prevent somebody from manipulating it too badly. What it really comes down to is that you have to have the better lawyer than the other guy.
And at the end of the day, that's precisely what Casey Anthony had: the better lawyer.
If you all want to blame someone for her being able to just walk away from this, then blame the prosecution. Their case was not as cut-and-dry as they thought, presuming they thought about it all. I'm not entirely convinced that they did, because if they had, then they would have produced far more damning evidence that they did. As it stood, all of their evidence was entirely circumstantial. Any lawyer worth their weight in even piss could tell you that you can't build a successful case entirely on circumstantial evidence.
I'm sure a lot of you are currently thinking "Yeah, but she deserved to burn!" Those of you thinking that are also the ones who are saying that the system is broken and that there is no such thing as justice anymore. I don't think you really know what justice is. I even talked a bit about it last year. Just because it doesn't weigh in your favor doesn't mean that it isn't there.
Guys, sometimes a cigar really is just a cigar.
You can easily sit here and throw stones and rage all you want to about how broken the system is, but it's designed the way it is to give you the chance to defend yourself if you are truly innocent, or to find a lawyer who is as corrupt and without moral scruples as you are if you're guilty.
Assuming that you're innocent of the crime you're accused of perpetrating, would you want to go to jail forever over it?
I do not believe that Casey Anthony is innocent of her accused crime. I do not condone her actions, or the outcome of the entire trial. However, I do have some understanding of how our system works, and it's not that it failed us.... At the end of the day, it was the prosecution for not doing their job properly, and depending entirely too much on human emotion to win the case.
Now, as far as how I feel about it... I don't think that the judge or jury did her any favors by letting her off the hook. After she serves her laughable one year in jail for lying to the police, she'll have to be back in the public. She is going to have to look everyone in the eye from now on, and that gaze back at her - even if she has never met the person - will be full of nothing but the deepest of loathing. She is not going to have a job, and nobody is going to want to be seen with her. As a society, we are going to ostracize her, and cast her out of our good graces.
Imagine: living a life where nobody will talk to you. You have no friends. No family that is willing to lend an ear to listen, a shoulder to cry on. Everywhere you go, you're shunned, and there is nothing that you can do about it.
She may have been found innocent by the court of law, but the rest of us are not so forgiving.
We, the people, will be punishing her in ways that jail never could, and that's via isolation. My theory is that she will eventually go insane, having to live down what she did and then not being able to do anything, really, to take her mind off of it afterward. She will have all that time alone, the weight of it all bearing down upon her day by day, and the loneliness will only make it worse.
For those of you that are still saying that isn't bad enough, then I want you to imagine your life without being able to reach out to anybody. You have nobody and you are utterly alone. It is not something that any one person can live with... not without an exceptional hatred of people.
If there's one good thing that this media circus did, it's that it got everybody to know her face, and I can assure you that society will remember it always.
I really don't think that many people have an actual clear understanding of how our justice system works. Granted, it's not perfect, but there are things in place to prevent somebody from manipulating it too badly. What it really comes down to is that you have to have the better lawyer than the other guy.
And at the end of the day, that's precisely what Casey Anthony had: the better lawyer.
If you all want to blame someone for her being able to just walk away from this, then blame the prosecution. Their case was not as cut-and-dry as they thought, presuming they thought about it all. I'm not entirely convinced that they did, because if they had, then they would have produced far more damning evidence that they did. As it stood, all of their evidence was entirely circumstantial. Any lawyer worth their weight in even piss could tell you that you can't build a successful case entirely on circumstantial evidence.
I'm sure a lot of you are currently thinking "Yeah, but she deserved to burn!" Those of you thinking that are also the ones who are saying that the system is broken and that there is no such thing as justice anymore. I don't think you really know what justice is. I even talked a bit about it last year. Just because it doesn't weigh in your favor doesn't mean that it isn't there.
Guys, sometimes a cigar really is just a cigar.
You can easily sit here and throw stones and rage all you want to about how broken the system is, but it's designed the way it is to give you the chance to defend yourself if you are truly innocent, or to find a lawyer who is as corrupt and without moral scruples as you are if you're guilty.
Assuming that you're innocent of the crime you're accused of perpetrating, would you want to go to jail forever over it?
I do not believe that Casey Anthony is innocent of her accused crime. I do not condone her actions, or the outcome of the entire trial. However, I do have some understanding of how our system works, and it's not that it failed us.... At the end of the day, it was the prosecution for not doing their job properly, and depending entirely too much on human emotion to win the case.
Now, as far as how I feel about it... I don't think that the judge or jury did her any favors by letting her off the hook. After she serves her laughable one year in jail for lying to the police, she'll have to be back in the public. She is going to have to look everyone in the eye from now on, and that gaze back at her - even if she has never met the person - will be full of nothing but the deepest of loathing. She is not going to have a job, and nobody is going to want to be seen with her. As a society, we are going to ostracize her, and cast her out of our good graces.
Imagine: living a life where nobody will talk to you. You have no friends. No family that is willing to lend an ear to listen, a shoulder to cry on. Everywhere you go, you're shunned, and there is nothing that you can do about it.
She may have been found innocent by the court of law, but the rest of us are not so forgiving.
We, the people, will be punishing her in ways that jail never could, and that's via isolation. My theory is that she will eventually go insane, having to live down what she did and then not being able to do anything, really, to take her mind off of it afterward. She will have all that time alone, the weight of it all bearing down upon her day by day, and the loneliness will only make it worse.
For those of you that are still saying that isn't bad enough, then I want you to imagine your life without being able to reach out to anybody. You have nobody and you are utterly alone. It is not something that any one person can live with... not without an exceptional hatred of people.
If there's one good thing that this media circus did, it's that it got everybody to know her face, and I can assure you that society will remember it always.
Friday, May 13, 2011
(in)secure
So, I find myself preparing for a trip out to California. The cause of this little adventure is because I am seeking out a new place to hang my hat in my never-ending search for the blessed Home. The effect, however, is unknown at this time.
I've been discussing this with my friend-neighbor - the flight, mostly - and he made a comment about expecting to be groped by the TSA. This, in turn, lead to the spark that is tonight's discussion.
Some people have cried havoc over the whole being groped by strangers thing. While I admit that it's more than just a little bit creepy, there really are things out there that are far, far worse.
But that's not really what I want to talk about. The last post that I made, I made a promise of getting more personal with you all, and I fully intend on delivering.
One of the biggest things that I was hearing around town when all of this was still the relevant "hot topic" of the news was that people were having a problem with being "felt up" by members of the same gender.
While being groped by a stranger is most certainly an anxiety-raising ordeal, that's not exactly what the people are having a problem with, always. The people who were subjected to horrible things - assuming that their complaints really had any merit - are backed by me 100%. It's the people that are cringing from it from some form of homophobia.
It's not that these people are bad people, really, but they are interesting. They aren't upset at the prospect of being groped by a stranger. If that stranger were a member of the opposite sex for these people, they'd be all about it and probably wouldn't mind so much. Why the double-standard?
The answer is simple: They're insecure.
Every single one of us has insecurities. That's just the way we are as people. The problem is, a lot of us like to pretend that those insecurities don't really exist. We go on and on and on acting like we know who we are and what we are, and the simple truth is, most of us really have no clue who we are.
Oh, you can't tell somebody that, of course. They get angry. And yet, they do absolutely nothing to recognize why the fault was pointed out to begin with. The reason for this is because of self-esteem, but I've already touched on that.
For example: I believe that we, as either a species or a society, I'm not entirely certain, are obsessed with violence. Having been denied our need to kill for our food supply thanks to becoming civilized, we all now have an inner bloodlust that lies just beneath every surface. To deny it is to be foolish, and yet most of us do it anyway.
Those who choose to ignore that part of themselves are not bad people, nor are they stupid. However, there is some part of them that is uncomfortable with the fact that this issue is there, so they try to suppress it. Problem is, this is a powerful thing and it will manifest itself in one fashion or another. When it does, they don't even react to it for what it is, and even subconsciously play it off as genuine concern. Ever hear the saying "it's like looking at a train wreck?"
There's a reason for that.
Using the train wreck analogy, these people will deny that they're looking for violence. Instead, they will use some excuse like "I'm trying to see if everybody's okay!"
Okay, first off, if I'm going to believe that for even a second, I'll need to ignore the fact entirely that if you passed these people on the street, you'd never even give them a second look (an upcoming topic, actually). Then, I have to ask the only question that the situation begs: What, exactly, are you looking for as signs of everyone not being okay?
When this kind of a question is asked in this kind of a situation, something happens within your psyche. You're suddenly called out into the open, and you're not okay with that, because you've been dragged outside of your shell and now have to come face to face with some nasty part of yourself that you don't like, but is always very much there.
You hear all the time while growing up that you're special and unique. While this is not true in most cases, it is true in the sense that quite literally there is nobody else out there that is you. Sure, there are people out there that might share the same personality quirks or sense of humor, or even an overall perspective on life. However, it's not just the positive side of you that makes you who you are - it's the negative, too.
The negative is what most people like to call "human nature." Others call it sin. No matter what nomenclature you choose, it all boils down this: we all have faults. There is no getting around it, and if you're going to start accepting what yours are, you need to start accepting all of them and not just the ones that you are willing to admit to others.
We all have secrets. We all have things about ourselves that we don't want anybody else to know, but then we project those insecurities onto others. We deny that we do or think or feel these things, and therefore are denying ourselves. Our subconscious, being what it is, knows that this isn't right and starts trying to tell your conscious mind what's what. However, we don't listen or we misinterpret what we're really thinking, and that plants the seed of hatred.
Guys... being hateful is a waste of time. Stop hating on those that have done absolutely nothing to you beyond maybe being a little different - be it through creed, sexuality, spirituality, politics, shoes, what that dangly thing in the back of your throat is called - and start focusing on why those things bother you so much. Is it really worth it to hate on someone and rob yourself of an opportunity of a good friendship?
Maybe you are this way, yourself, and don't realize it. That's okay. That doesn't make you a bad person, and I won't judge you. I can only just hope that maybe my words tonight have made a difference.
After all, you can't really say that you're secure with yourself if you haven't accepted yourself.
So, back to the TSA thing. I really am not looking forward to it, but if it happens, I know that they want to be doing it just about as much as I do, and that the less fuss I throw about it, the quicker it goes. At the friend-neighbor's behest, I might even start a conversation with one of them. Why not, after all?
I've been discussing this with my friend-neighbor - the flight, mostly - and he made a comment about expecting to be groped by the TSA. This, in turn, lead to the spark that is tonight's discussion.
Some people have cried havoc over the whole being groped by strangers thing. While I admit that it's more than just a little bit creepy, there really are things out there that are far, far worse.
But that's not really what I want to talk about. The last post that I made, I made a promise of getting more personal with you all, and I fully intend on delivering.
One of the biggest things that I was hearing around town when all of this was still the relevant "hot topic" of the news was that people were having a problem with being "felt up" by members of the same gender.
While being groped by a stranger is most certainly an anxiety-raising ordeal, that's not exactly what the people are having a problem with, always. The people who were subjected to horrible things - assuming that their complaints really had any merit - are backed by me 100%. It's the people that are cringing from it from some form of homophobia.
It's not that these people are bad people, really, but they are interesting. They aren't upset at the prospect of being groped by a stranger. If that stranger were a member of the opposite sex for these people, they'd be all about it and probably wouldn't mind so much. Why the double-standard?
The answer is simple: They're insecure.
Every single one of us has insecurities. That's just the way we are as people. The problem is, a lot of us like to pretend that those insecurities don't really exist. We go on and on and on acting like we know who we are and what we are, and the simple truth is, most of us really have no clue who we are.
Oh, you can't tell somebody that, of course. They get angry. And yet, they do absolutely nothing to recognize why the fault was pointed out to begin with. The reason for this is because of self-esteem, but I've already touched on that.
For example: I believe that we, as either a species or a society, I'm not entirely certain, are obsessed with violence. Having been denied our need to kill for our food supply thanks to becoming civilized, we all now have an inner bloodlust that lies just beneath every surface. To deny it is to be foolish, and yet most of us do it anyway.
Those who choose to ignore that part of themselves are not bad people, nor are they stupid. However, there is some part of them that is uncomfortable with the fact that this issue is there, so they try to suppress it. Problem is, this is a powerful thing and it will manifest itself in one fashion or another. When it does, they don't even react to it for what it is, and even subconsciously play it off as genuine concern. Ever hear the saying "it's like looking at a train wreck?"
There's a reason for that.
Using the train wreck analogy, these people will deny that they're looking for violence. Instead, they will use some excuse like "I'm trying to see if everybody's okay!"
Okay, first off, if I'm going to believe that for even a second, I'll need to ignore the fact entirely that if you passed these people on the street, you'd never even give them a second look (an upcoming topic, actually). Then, I have to ask the only question that the situation begs: What, exactly, are you looking for as signs of everyone not being okay?
When this kind of a question is asked in this kind of a situation, something happens within your psyche. You're suddenly called out into the open, and you're not okay with that, because you've been dragged outside of your shell and now have to come face to face with some nasty part of yourself that you don't like, but is always very much there.
You hear all the time while growing up that you're special and unique. While this is not true in most cases, it is true in the sense that quite literally there is nobody else out there that is you. Sure, there are people out there that might share the same personality quirks or sense of humor, or even an overall perspective on life. However, it's not just the positive side of you that makes you who you are - it's the negative, too.
The negative is what most people like to call "human nature." Others call it sin. No matter what nomenclature you choose, it all boils down this: we all have faults. There is no getting around it, and if you're going to start accepting what yours are, you need to start accepting all of them and not just the ones that you are willing to admit to others.
We all have secrets. We all have things about ourselves that we don't want anybody else to know, but then we project those insecurities onto others. We deny that we do or think or feel these things, and therefore are denying ourselves. Our subconscious, being what it is, knows that this isn't right and starts trying to tell your conscious mind what's what. However, we don't listen or we misinterpret what we're really thinking, and that plants the seed of hatred.
Guys... being hateful is a waste of time. Stop hating on those that have done absolutely nothing to you beyond maybe being a little different - be it through creed, sexuality, spirituality, politics, shoes, what that dangly thing in the back of your throat is called - and start focusing on why those things bother you so much. Is it really worth it to hate on someone and rob yourself of an opportunity of a good friendship?
Maybe you are this way, yourself, and don't realize it. That's okay. That doesn't make you a bad person, and I won't judge you. I can only just hope that maybe my words tonight have made a difference.
After all, you can't really say that you're secure with yourself if you haven't accepted yourself.
So, back to the TSA thing. I really am not looking forward to it, but if it happens, I know that they want to be doing it just about as much as I do, and that the less fuss I throw about it, the quicker it goes. At the friend-neighbor's behest, I might even start a conversation with one of them. Why not, after all?
Thursday, May 05, 2011
Mission Statement
Alright. Enough with the banter. Enough with the politics. Enough with the spirituality. As of this post, Project: Shut Up And Listen has begun.
Over the past few weeks, I have been reclusive and trying to get stories written in a vain attempt to deliver my message and break into the writing world. I have been beating around the bush at what I've been trying to say, and as any proper cynic will tell you "this is wrong."
It's time to stop pulling the punches. It's time to stop babying you. You've seen my more philosophical side, but that's only going to get me so far. The time has come to start getting personal.
Over the course of the next few weeks, anything that I post is going to start getting more and more personal, because that's how my words are going to be the most effective.
In my downtime from the Internet, I have been making efforts to get outside and start interacting with people a little more often. Out in public, I restrain myself from further interaction, because I don't know a damned thing about tact. I have a certain charisma, to be certain, but it's only after you take the time to get past the initial shock of the first hour or so of knowing me. As such, I sit back and just watch people.
People are absolutely fascinating, and yet we take each other for granted. We are so absorbed with ourselves and our self-inflicted ADD (a subject that will be talked about later by a fellow writer on this very blog) that we tend to miss out on making connections with some really awesome people.
These missed connections can result in missing out on some awesome things in your life. Not all of them would be something positive, to be certain, but it's not like Murphy's Law is in effect at any given time. One could use this to start a conversation strand about alternate universes, but I really don't care to talk about that.
What I want to talk about is you, me, and us as a people. I want to talk about our society, what I see that's wrong with it, and what I think can be done to fix it. This is me doing my part.
Whether or not it makes a difference, ultimately, is up to you.
Over the past few weeks, I have been reclusive and trying to get stories written in a vain attempt to deliver my message and break into the writing world. I have been beating around the bush at what I've been trying to say, and as any proper cynic will tell you "this is wrong."
It's time to stop pulling the punches. It's time to stop babying you. You've seen my more philosophical side, but that's only going to get me so far. The time has come to start getting personal.
Over the course of the next few weeks, anything that I post is going to start getting more and more personal, because that's how my words are going to be the most effective.
In my downtime from the Internet, I have been making efforts to get outside and start interacting with people a little more often. Out in public, I restrain myself from further interaction, because I don't know a damned thing about tact. I have a certain charisma, to be certain, but it's only after you take the time to get past the initial shock of the first hour or so of knowing me. As such, I sit back and just watch people.
People are absolutely fascinating, and yet we take each other for granted. We are so absorbed with ourselves and our self-inflicted ADD (a subject that will be talked about later by a fellow writer on this very blog) that we tend to miss out on making connections with some really awesome people.
These missed connections can result in missing out on some awesome things in your life. Not all of them would be something positive, to be certain, but it's not like Murphy's Law is in effect at any given time. One could use this to start a conversation strand about alternate universes, but I really don't care to talk about that.
What I want to talk about is you, me, and us as a people. I want to talk about our society, what I see that's wrong with it, and what I think can be done to fix it. This is me doing my part.
Whether or not it makes a difference, ultimately, is up to you.
Monday, March 28, 2011
223!?
For those of you that are on my Facebook, you've probably noticed that I've been referencing Dr. Seuss a good bit, lately. Mostly, it's because I've been re-visiting his works, and I've got to say that the man is a genius.
"The Cat in the Hat" was a children's book in which Dr. Seuss wrote using a minimal list of only 223 words. He is quoted as saying that it took him nine months to complete due to the difficulty involved with such a small vocabulary. However, "The Cat in the Hat" is now perhaps the most famous children's book ever written, long since eclipsing the benign exploits of Dick and Jane. The brilliance of the book comes directly from how little Dr. Seuss had to work from. A true genius is not the one facing down infinity and plucking down nuggets from its vastness. A true genius is the one who solves every day problems without the every day tools by which they are normally solved.
I bought a programming book. Two of them, actually. It's been a while. In fact, it's been so long, Java has jumped beyond the 5.0 that I bought the book for. I've gotta say, it's getting harder and harder to fake this whole "programmer" thing. Generics. Enums. Autoboxing. Static imports. Annotations. For/in loops. I'm pretty sure that they just make this stuff up as they go.
It's cool stuff, though. It makes Java more abstract and interesting. That C++ stuff is sometimes a load of ugly junk that offends my very soul. Java is beautiful. And nowhere is that more obvious than the scene graph-based Java 3D. Suddenly, 3D starts making sense when you stop talking about vertices and start talking from the top down.
But why bother learning Java 3D? I mean, the closest I've ever come to finishing a game - ever - is a crappy little survival horror Resident Evil clone that I understand the engine of which was written in three days. Total.
I had nothing to do with it, however. I was the sound guy. Why learn a new skill set when I should literally have more than enough skills to already do something unique and interesting?
I mean, if "The Cat in the Hat" can be written in 223 words, I should be able to do something new, original, and exciting with mere text.
At first, you'd write it off as absurd - text games are as old as computers and every programmer from here to eternity starts with text. To think that one could come up with something new and unique after all that is the most supreme form of arrogance!
And yet... we've been writing books for thousands of years, and the "Cat in the Hat" managed to create the perfect first reader - a good story, interesting characters, humor, and all within the limited lexicon of a first-grader.
It can be done.
So, the idea is to limit the vocabulary. Well, at least abstractly. Video games have a vocabulary of gameplay devices which tend to define and sometimes dominate. A genre can sometimes be defined entirely within the limits of a few set conceits. What happens when you take away those conceits?
Can you make an RPG without experience points? Can you make one without money? Can you make an online game without cliques? Can you tell a story without a climax?
If you reduce yourself to 223 words, what book would you write?
The basic issue that I take with RPG's is that you start at level one, and you gradually get more powerful. This conceit merely exists to dole out the content at a measured pace. You can't instantly kill the final boss because you aren't level one hundred yet, and when you are, you don't need to conern yourself with fighting those level one guys that you wasted early on. However, what essentially happens is inflation.
As you become more powerful, so do the enemies. A level seven player versus a level seven enemy is no different than a level twenty player versus a level twenty enemy. Maybe there are a few more tricks, but the relative balance remains the same.
Let's dump that crap. No levels. No accumulated advancement.
Players secretly hate each other. This is because they are fiercely competitive and can only trust a small group of other players - usually their guild or whatever clique they manage to cling on to. The problem with this is that online games tend to become clique versus clique - you are whatever you're grouped with. A common enemy means that you work together. None of this leading you to a secluded area, killing you, and stealing your stuff. You work together towards a common good.
But what of the players, like myself, that choose not to enter into a clique? They are exploited and generally treated like second-class citizens. IF I hear one more person tell me that the only way to enjoy a specific MMORPG is to join a guild, I'm going to have to beat them severely about the head and face. With a rotten trout.
So, let's dump the clique stuff. No guilds. Not even combat parties. We don't need gameplay-enforced trust; without experience points or money, there's nothing left to protect.
Money angers me. People are always so willing to offend to get even the slightest advantage. I've seen people haggling with the Web comic folks at Otakon! Does saving a dollar or two really justify the loss of respect and trust that you receive in return? In Star Wars: Galaxies, someone was trying to sell something and the buyer demanded that they throw in a free gift of significant value to go with it.
I don't trust money. People lose sight of the true goal when the temporary goal of accumulating currency takes over.
Respect? Value? Honor? Trust? Honesty?
It doesn't mean anything when money is on the line, and the irritates me.
Thus, currency has to go. No more screwing over your fellow man for pocket change. The idea of experience points is kind of like a currency you can't lose. You just gain it, and when you hit the mark, something happens. You just keep building and building, always moving forward. You only control the speed.
Even if you dump levels, there's still this innate draw towards experience. Killing needs to get you something. There's nearly no risk, and the best way to excel is simply to sit down and grind over and over again in the best min-max tradition.
Let's dump experience points. Let's see if advancement can't be something a little more significant.
Better yet, to avoid the whole min-max thing, let's see if we can't make advancement unique for each player! You can't min-max something that you can't predict. This whole monster-monster-monster-boss thing gets to me, too. If you can determine where the monsters are and where they re-appear, you just camp spawn points. If you do the same quests, you can tell everyone how to do them. Let's axe all that stuff. Let's make a player in his 90th hour float in the same boat as a player in his 10th minute.
I've systematically removed many of the conceits of most major MMORPGs, like one would do any other termite or roach. I've taken just about everything you expect to be there, and I've punched the delete key. So, now what? We've got to build a game around what we don't have. If you don't have any experience points or money, what's the goal? How do you advance? IF you don't have guilds or combat parties, how will players communicate with each other? When limited to linear text output, how do you convey complex information? Heck, what's the point? Where's the long-term appeal?
I assure you that all this stuff is but one solution to a series of problems. Even if you remove them, that doesn't mean that there aren't other solutions out there. You just gotta think.
"The Cat in the Hat" was a children's book in which Dr. Seuss wrote using a minimal list of only 223 words. He is quoted as saying that it took him nine months to complete due to the difficulty involved with such a small vocabulary. However, "The Cat in the Hat" is now perhaps the most famous children's book ever written, long since eclipsing the benign exploits of Dick and Jane. The brilliance of the book comes directly from how little Dr. Seuss had to work from. A true genius is not the one facing down infinity and plucking down nuggets from its vastness. A true genius is the one who solves every day problems without the every day tools by which they are normally solved.
I bought a programming book. Two of them, actually. It's been a while. In fact, it's been so long, Java has jumped beyond the 5.0 that I bought the book for. I've gotta say, it's getting harder and harder to fake this whole "programmer" thing. Generics. Enums. Autoboxing. Static imports. Annotations. For/in loops. I'm pretty sure that they just make this stuff up as they go.
It's cool stuff, though. It makes Java more abstract and interesting. That C++ stuff is sometimes a load of ugly junk that offends my very soul. Java is beautiful. And nowhere is that more obvious than the scene graph-based Java 3D. Suddenly, 3D starts making sense when you stop talking about vertices and start talking from the top down.
But why bother learning Java 3D? I mean, the closest I've ever come to finishing a game - ever - is a crappy little survival horror Resident Evil clone that I understand the engine of which was written in three days. Total.
I had nothing to do with it, however. I was the sound guy. Why learn a new skill set when I should literally have more than enough skills to already do something unique and interesting?
I mean, if "The Cat in the Hat" can be written in 223 words, I should be able to do something new, original, and exciting with mere text.
At first, you'd write it off as absurd - text games are as old as computers and every programmer from here to eternity starts with text. To think that one could come up with something new and unique after all that is the most supreme form of arrogance!
And yet... we've been writing books for thousands of years, and the "Cat in the Hat" managed to create the perfect first reader - a good story, interesting characters, humor, and all within the limited lexicon of a first-grader.
It can be done.
So, the idea is to limit the vocabulary. Well, at least abstractly. Video games have a vocabulary of gameplay devices which tend to define and sometimes dominate. A genre can sometimes be defined entirely within the limits of a few set conceits. What happens when you take away those conceits?
Can you make an RPG without experience points? Can you make one without money? Can you make an online game without cliques? Can you tell a story without a climax?
If you reduce yourself to 223 words, what book would you write?
The basic issue that I take with RPG's is that you start at level one, and you gradually get more powerful. This conceit merely exists to dole out the content at a measured pace. You can't instantly kill the final boss because you aren't level one hundred yet, and when you are, you don't need to conern yourself with fighting those level one guys that you wasted early on. However, what essentially happens is inflation.
As you become more powerful, so do the enemies. A level seven player versus a level seven enemy is no different than a level twenty player versus a level twenty enemy. Maybe there are a few more tricks, but the relative balance remains the same.
Let's dump that crap. No levels. No accumulated advancement.
Players secretly hate each other. This is because they are fiercely competitive and can only trust a small group of other players - usually their guild or whatever clique they manage to cling on to. The problem with this is that online games tend to become clique versus clique - you are whatever you're grouped with. A common enemy means that you work together. None of this leading you to a secluded area, killing you, and stealing your stuff. You work together towards a common good.
But what of the players, like myself, that choose not to enter into a clique? They are exploited and generally treated like second-class citizens. IF I hear one more person tell me that the only way to enjoy a specific MMORPG is to join a guild, I'm going to have to beat them severely about the head and face. With a rotten trout.
So, let's dump the clique stuff. No guilds. Not even combat parties. We don't need gameplay-enforced trust; without experience points or money, there's nothing left to protect.
Money angers me. People are always so willing to offend to get even the slightest advantage. I've seen people haggling with the Web comic folks at Otakon! Does saving a dollar or two really justify the loss of respect and trust that you receive in return? In Star Wars: Galaxies, someone was trying to sell something and the buyer demanded that they throw in a free gift of significant value to go with it.
I don't trust money. People lose sight of the true goal when the temporary goal of accumulating currency takes over.
Respect? Value? Honor? Trust? Honesty?
It doesn't mean anything when money is on the line, and the irritates me.
Thus, currency has to go. No more screwing over your fellow man for pocket change. The idea of experience points is kind of like a currency you can't lose. You just gain it, and when you hit the mark, something happens. You just keep building and building, always moving forward. You only control the speed.
Even if you dump levels, there's still this innate draw towards experience. Killing needs to get you something. There's nearly no risk, and the best way to excel is simply to sit down and grind over and over again in the best min-max tradition.
Let's dump experience points. Let's see if advancement can't be something a little more significant.
Better yet, to avoid the whole min-max thing, let's see if we can't make advancement unique for each player! You can't min-max something that you can't predict. This whole monster-monster-monster-boss thing gets to me, too. If you can determine where the monsters are and where they re-appear, you just camp spawn points. If you do the same quests, you can tell everyone how to do them. Let's axe all that stuff. Let's make a player in his 90th hour float in the same boat as a player in his 10th minute.
I've systematically removed many of the conceits of most major MMORPGs, like one would do any other termite or roach. I've taken just about everything you expect to be there, and I've punched the delete key. So, now what? We've got to build a game around what we don't have. If you don't have any experience points or money, what's the goal? How do you advance? IF you don't have guilds or combat parties, how will players communicate with each other? When limited to linear text output, how do you convey complex information? Heck, what's the point? Where's the long-term appeal?
I assure you that all this stuff is but one solution to a series of problems. Even if you remove them, that doesn't mean that there aren't other solutions out there. You just gotta think.
Saturday, March 05, 2011
Nothing to See
Well, there was supposed to be something here that would provoke thought, but after stewing in psilocybens and allowing the thought to gestate properly, I've decided to take it in a different direction entirely.
I am going to be presenting this idea across a multitude of sites and even media. I am entitling it "Shut the Fuck Up and Listen."
I'm taking this idea and hopefully turning it into something amazing. I feel really good about this, and am instead going to be taking the time to give it the tender affection that it deserves so that it can come to fruition, and hopefully make a damned difference.
After all.... that's all one can really hope for, right?
I am going to be presenting this idea across a multitude of sites and even media. I am entitling it "Shut the Fuck Up and Listen."
I'm taking this idea and hopefully turning it into something amazing. I feel really good about this, and am instead going to be taking the time to give it the tender affection that it deserves so that it can come to fruition, and hopefully make a damned difference.
After all.... that's all one can really hope for, right?
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