My friend's friend was looking for a place to advertise his new foreign-language software program. As the owner of a beautiful, well-laid-out, high-traffic blog, I have thus far eschewed commercialism, but I was only too happy to oblige an old friend, and I'll make an exception for an amazing software program. But don't take it from me, here's an honest-to-God testimony:
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http://language101.com/
Saturday, November 27, 2010
Thursday, July 29, 2010
The Apple Trees
The end-of-summer, for us young folk, presages change - the return of school, the loss of a job, changing of friends, movement from place to place. We dread change because we can think of nothing but clinging on to the precious summer days we have made for ourselves, whether we have spent them lounging at the beach, pursuing our hobbies, or taking our first tentative steps into the "real world." Yet we know that the dread of change is always worse than the change itself, and many of us look forward to the resumption of study.
Late July's Weather is a fickle mistress - a natural reflection of the oscillating tides of our minds. Her sweltering days sap our souls, forcing us inside and making us pine for autumn, while her steamy nights warm our hearts. Through the night-steam, life resumes: Lying astride hilltops, moving a friend's furniture, strolling through empty baseball stadiums, or packing the floors of crowded night-clubs, we laugh and accept that change is what we live for, only to toss and turn alone in our soggy beds, cry, and reject the tyranny of change once more. The night air, already crowded with humidity, accepts our sweat and tears as an offering, and should we visit the window, the cloud-laced moon will be there to smile her approval. When the morning comes and we re-visit the window, we see helicopters and airplanes above, cars and people below, and we think to ourselves: No, July Life is not cruel - but it has never seemed so life-like.
Change has rammed our past and future selves together, creating a sudden, spectacular storm.
"The Apple Trees"
For the first time this summer
I cooked your famous
spaghetti sauce
the smell of my lonely apartment
reminded me
of apple trees
and brought back a memory
of you teaching me
how to balance
after Sunday school
under the shade
of apple trees
Last summer, while tasting
roasted marshmallows
my skin shivered
like embers of fire
diving into eyes and
apple trees
I remembered wrestling in the rain
with you, when
the quills of porcupine balls
quickened my heart
and made me cry
under apple trees
Years later,
I twist a stalk of broccoli
on a fork
a few inches in front of my face.
It looks like the original
Apple tree -
and finally, I think of you,
the you that could have been,
and my heart shatters -
But life is a cycle, not a rupture -
I see future summers
blooming among
the apple trees.
Late July's Weather is a fickle mistress - a natural reflection of the oscillating tides of our minds. Her sweltering days sap our souls, forcing us inside and making us pine for autumn, while her steamy nights warm our hearts. Through the night-steam, life resumes: Lying astride hilltops, moving a friend's furniture, strolling through empty baseball stadiums, or packing the floors of crowded night-clubs, we laugh and accept that change is what we live for, only to toss and turn alone in our soggy beds, cry, and reject the tyranny of change once more. The night air, already crowded with humidity, accepts our sweat and tears as an offering, and should we visit the window, the cloud-laced moon will be there to smile her approval. When the morning comes and we re-visit the window, we see helicopters and airplanes above, cars and people below, and we think to ourselves: No, July Life is not cruel - but it has never seemed so life-like.
Change has rammed our past and future selves together, creating a sudden, spectacular storm.
"The Apple Trees"
For the first time this summer
I cooked your famous
spaghetti sauce
the smell of my lonely apartment
reminded me
of apple trees
and brought back a memory
of you teaching me
how to balance
after Sunday school
under the shade
of apple trees
Last summer, while tasting
roasted marshmallows
my skin shivered
like embers of fire
diving into eyes and
apple trees
I remembered wrestling in the rain
with you, when
the quills of porcupine balls
quickened my heart
and made me cry
under apple trees
Years later,
I twist a stalk of broccoli
on a fork
a few inches in front of my face.
It looks like the original
Apple tree -
and finally, I think of you,
the you that could have been,
and my heart shatters -
But life is a cycle, not a rupture -
I see future summers
blooming among
the apple trees.
Tuesday, July 20, 2010
How They Look at Evil
Evil is, to them, at first,
a curiosity,
no more than a tadpole
in a pond, to be stirred,
a girl's dress to raise,
or a pear to be lifted
from a neighbor's yard -
a bit of childish mischief;
an end in itself.
As they mature and
become responsible,
Evil then becomes, to them,
not an end in itself, but a means
to more serious,
consequential,
and good ends:
1. They spray Evil all over their bodies
like cologne
to seduce feeble-minded women
and men, the only kind there are.
2. With Evil in hand they bludgeon
colleagues, subordinates, and peons
to keep them on task long enough
till something is forged out of nothing.
3. The best of them
adopt Evil and raise it
into history or infamy -
erecting slaughter-houses
of the body and mind;
sublime pleasure-domes.
But they are not made evil by Evil.
like truly Great Men,
they dispatch Evil itself, like a weak underling,
when it has outlived its usefulness:
I. When their love-victims are smitten
and hopeless, they morph again,
from playboy into suitable husband,
from seductress into wife.
II. When their employees
are exhausted and
on the verge of mutiny,
they take them to lunch, offer a raise,
or merely stop barking out commands
long enough to listen.
III. The adopted self-righteousness
of dictators, celebrities, and preachers
leads them to greatness;
their exceptionalism
creates meaning in the average man's
sad life.
With evil swirling in their eyes
and bulging in their veins -
life is mastered, conquered, subdued,
won.
Drink the drought!
Join the ranks of
the world's true Wiccans,
the weavers of reality;
masters of nature and man.
a curiosity,
no more than a tadpole
in a pond, to be stirred,
a girl's dress to raise,
or a pear to be lifted
from a neighbor's yard -
a bit of childish mischief;
an end in itself.
As they mature and
become responsible,
Evil then becomes, to them,
not an end in itself, but a means
to more serious,
consequential,
and good ends:
1. They spray Evil all over their bodies
like cologne
to seduce feeble-minded women
and men, the only kind there are.
2. With Evil in hand they bludgeon
colleagues, subordinates, and peons
to keep them on task long enough
till something is forged out of nothing.
3. The best of them
adopt Evil and raise it
into history or infamy -
erecting slaughter-houses
of the body and mind;
sublime pleasure-domes.
But they are not made evil by Evil.
like truly Great Men,
they dispatch Evil itself, like a weak underling,
when it has outlived its usefulness:
I. When their love-victims are smitten
and hopeless, they morph again,
from playboy into suitable husband,
from seductress into wife.
II. When their employees
are exhausted and
on the verge of mutiny,
they take them to lunch, offer a raise,
or merely stop barking out commands
long enough to listen.
III. The adopted self-righteousness
of dictators, celebrities, and preachers
leads them to greatness;
their exceptionalism
creates meaning in the average man's
sad life.
With evil swirling in their eyes
and bulging in their veins -
life is mastered, conquered, subdued,
won.
Drink the drought!
Join the ranks of
the world's true Wiccans,
the weavers of reality;
masters of nature and man.
my heart moves slowly
in rooms my heart moves slowly,
slower than life, faster than death;
it yearns for, and receives,
nothing but stale blood.
inside, the tyranny of an eye
marking time in blinks until
the cold hour of heartbreak
captures another soul
as yourself, ticking,
spinning;
looking? yes.
locking? no!
in forests, too, my heart has moved slowly,
like a mosquito
caught by the autumn breeze,
leg by leg losing its grip
on a precious arm-hair
is it absurd to delight in leaves
while trees are falling?
are we not focused on the slightest movements -
like squirrels!
that is why
with others, my heart remained slow;
faster than sitting, but slower than dance,
when, momentary, hands and eyes lock
and blood moves:
I stopped listening after I heard a rumor that
Poetry wants to marry Dance,
because flowers detest the light of store lamps;
and Music pounds the young Night, every night!
///
deaf man James hears,
gouges out his eyes, and dies -
what is this madness?
and the past is lost!>
I call on you, the undying whale, resurface!
a hook pierces my sluggish heart!
I am dragged through the vast ocean!>
it hurts more than hell
but blood proves
fresh life;
life is now like warm tea,
but memory dies never,
tea turns cold,
and the ocean widens itself!
I freeze
as now
and view
myself, the moon,
again, newness,
Loses another war!
Yet at the south pole,
one beacon of hope remains unlit:
On another July night I will return to the hemisphere I know best
and by my side
she will ask, have we ever budged an inch?
I say an answer will greet your warm hands.>
What is Death but the final movement of Life?
slower than life, faster than death;
it yearns for, and receives,
nothing but stale blood.
inside, the tyranny of an eye
marking time in blinks until
the cold hour of heartbreak
captures another soul
as yourself, ticking,
spinning;
looking? yes.
locking? no!
in forests, too, my heart has moved slowly,
like a mosquito
caught by the autumn breeze,
leg by leg losing its grip
on a precious arm-hair
is it absurd to delight in leaves
while trees are falling?
are we not focused on the slightest movements -
like squirrels!
that is why
with others, my heart remained slow;
faster than sitting, but slower than dance,
when, momentary, hands and eyes lock
and blood moves:
I stopped listening after I heard a rumor that
Poetry wants to marry Dance,
because flowers detest the light of store lamps;
and Music pounds the young Night, every night!
///
deaf man James hears,
gouges out his eyes, and dies -
what is this madness?
and the past is lost!>
I call on you, the undying whale, resurface!
a hook pierces my sluggish heart!
I am dragged through the vast ocean!>
it hurts more than hell
but blood proves
fresh life;
life is now like warm tea,
but memory dies never,
tea turns cold,
and the ocean widens itself!
I freeze
as now
and view
myself, the moon,
again, newness,
Loses another war!
Yet at the south pole,
one beacon of hope remains unlit:
On another July night I will return to the hemisphere I know best
and by my side
she will ask, have we ever budged an inch?
I say an answer will greet your warm hands.>
What is Death but the final movement of Life?
Thursday, June 10, 2010
Through Eyes of Thursday Evening
Through Eyes of Thursday Evening
I.
walking out of a world of words
i let them go
and i let
the wisdom of nights warm air
wrap me
in wordless language
the cicadas are telling me
its a joy to live
and im starting to believe them
because
tonight is simply
beautiful
II.
two girls pass
on the sidewalk
i could have had friend too
i guess
but for now
i have myself
and it all
the stadium
in the sunset
shortly behind
the geometry of telephone poles
sublime shapes
more delicious to the eye
than breasts
remind me of christs sacrifice
and i take heart
III.
im a martian
i don't need a lover
to fall in love
but i wish she were here, so i could linger longer,
maybe mix language
with silence
to make an even more potent cocktail
of evening
IV.
across the street i make brief eye contact
with the streetlight
i stroke the white-washed wall
i pat my friend
the stop sign
on the back
just stopping by to say hi
now passing through
V.
could i fall asleep
right here,
in the middle of the empty road?
a car then passes,
saying no
of course not silly martian
find a room
VI.
before the elevator closed
"In the Shadow of Destruction"
entered my eye
i know not of what madness
they speak
i only pray to God i never see war
VII.
back in my room
a different kind of alone
i let the lines come one by one
and i let them go
I.
walking out of a world of words
i let them go
and i let
the wisdom of nights warm air
wrap me
in wordless language
the cicadas are telling me
its a joy to live
and im starting to believe them
because
tonight is simply
beautiful
II.
two girls pass
on the sidewalk
i could have had friend too
i guess
but for now
i have myself
and it all
the stadium
in the sunset
shortly behind
the geometry of telephone poles
sublime shapes
more delicious to the eye
than breasts
remind me of christs sacrifice
and i take heart
III.
im a martian
i don't need a lover
to fall in love
but i wish she were here, so i could linger longer,
maybe mix language
with silence
to make an even more potent cocktail
of evening
IV.
across the street i make brief eye contact
with the streetlight
i stroke the white-washed wall
i pat my friend
the stop sign
on the back
just stopping by to say hi
now passing through
V.
could i fall asleep
right here,
in the middle of the empty road?
a car then passes,
saying no
of course not silly martian
find a room
VI.
before the elevator closed
"In the Shadow of Destruction"
entered my eye
i know not of what madness
they speak
i only pray to God i never see war
VII.
back in my room
a different kind of alone
i let the lines come one by one
and i let them go
Tuesday, May 18, 2010
right angle poems, vol. 2
you called me up
you ever heard about the ratio
called the struggle? she said to
me as we rode the elevator
up to the party room. then i said
to get drunk
talk with friends after work and
to screw walk with
him back to his apartment
why are you so mean she said thats
not like you
me i said is the truth mean
love has broken all of us
love can float down from the mistletoe but whenever it
has to leave like the carolers before cold shatters the
broken shouts of the homeless you might want to hear:
all together now! lets sing
of christ and let him bring
us joy this year
a strange thought
i had a strange thought today i
think maybe life really is
all its cracked up to be im not
the victim anymore because this
time im not out of time and next time ill try harder
but isnt that
what we all must believe
does the bird fly doesnt
it have to or would it
mean death
you ever heard about the ratio
called the struggle? she said to
me as we rode the elevator
up to the party room. then i said
to get drunk
talk with friends after work and
to screw walk with
him back to his apartment
why are you so mean she said thats
not like you
me i said is the truth mean
love has broken all of us
love can float down from the mistletoe but whenever it
has to leave like the carolers before cold shatters the
broken shouts of the homeless you might want to hear:
all together now! lets sing
of christ and let him bring
us joy this year
a strange thought
i had a strange thought today i
think maybe life really is
all its cracked up to be im not
the victim anymore because this
time im not out of time and next time ill try harder
but isnt that
what we all must believe
does the bird fly doesnt
it have to or would it
mean death
Monday, May 17, 2010
right angle poems
there was something
there on the western horizon
was downtown nashville
something
about the sunset tucked
our bodies into the hotel
bed
that night we rented a movie and
made love through the screen
it was so good but
too long you fell asleep i became
small again
whats that you said
whats gonna happen to me now
that you dont love me i said
you told me id fall in love again and
said dont worry
and then the rain fell
i shivered to my bones and i
did not cry
but then i cried
she looks like an angel it
doesnt mean i am too
love wont connect
me to a star
in my bed alone
in case you ever get to thinking
my love still haunts your
bed and youre not
alone wolf
i got something for you to
think about miss
of course
you dont matter to me
if you can hear me
if i thought i could trust
you i might say
can you come to the moon i
hear crickets outside and
me and a friend almost went
call me gingerbread man
my body crumbles into my
name
these are the times
these summer days
are blessed with rain and
the sun has already fallen many
times.
i run away from my dream,
start to make coffee and
to read old news again, but is there still a
question nobody has asked?
the sun falls on my
heartbeat
of course i would laugh
life in blossom outside:
there on the western horizon
was downtown nashville
something
about the sunset tucked
our bodies into the hotel
bed
that night we rented a movie and
made love through the screen
it was so good but
too long you fell asleep i became
small again
whats that you said
whats gonna happen to me now
that you dont love me i said
you told me id fall in love again and
said dont worry
and then the rain fell
i shivered to my bones and i
did not cry
but then i cried
she looks like an angel it
doesnt mean i am too
love wont connect
me to a star
in my bed alone
in case you ever get to thinking
my love still haunts your
bed and youre not
alone wolf
i got something for you to
think about miss
of course
you dont matter to me
if you can hear me
if i thought i could trust
you i might say
can you come to the moon i
hear crickets outside and
me and a friend almost went
call me gingerbread man
my body crumbles into my
name
these are the times
these summer days
are blessed with rain and
the sun has already fallen many
times.
i run away from my dream,
start to make coffee and
to read old news again, but is there still a
question nobody has asked?
the sun falls on my
heartbeat
of course i would laugh
life in blossom outside:
Monday, May 10, 2010
these flapping leaves
theres nothing about
these flapping leaves
that hasnt been
seen
and nothing about
the crickets chirp
that hasnt been
heard
theres nothing about
this fleeting love
that hasnt been
felt
so i cry
these flapping leaves
that hasnt been
seen
and nothing about
the crickets chirp
that hasnt been
heard
theres nothing about
this fleeting love
that hasnt been
felt
so i cry
Sunday, May 9, 2010
ill be your sunshine on rainy days
its sunny today
but you cant rely
on the weather
and youre in love
now but can you trust
your heart
and let alone
trusting that she
will love you
thats why i got you
an umbrella because
umbrellas dont lie
and even if i die
ill be your sunshine
on rainy days
but you cant rely
on the weather
and youre in love
now but can you trust
your heart
and let alone
trusting that she
will love you
thats why i got you
an umbrella because
umbrellas dont lie
and even if i die
ill be your sunshine
on rainy days
a lil kickball (Neah Bay Story #2)
hi kids do you like kickball!!
cuz im a kickball!! and i can tell you a story better!!
lemme guess!! youre thinking kickballs dont tell stories because they cant!! they just get kicked around and stuff like a ball but youre wrong!! im a specially special kickball like my mommy told me so!!
look at me i even have a mouth and thats because why!!
do you know why yet!! of course you dont silly i havent told you yet!!
its a sad story!! because i was actually kicked into a bramble patch!! deep down in the bramble patch and the indian kids tried to get me!! but their mommys said stop right there young misters thats dangerous!! bramble bushes are bad and and theres even broken beer bottles!! but not anymore the nice people came and cleaned them up!! but wait im going too fast!!
no im not!! thats because im telling you about my mouth!! do you know why!! because its fast and i cant possibly go any faster than it already goes!! its also because i have one extra specially!!
there was a bunch of nice people like i said!! but one of them was the very nicest!! and he came by with a big pair of choppers and he chopped me right out of the root!! wait i forgot to tell you!! there was a root!! a bramble root and it was growing thru my little head!! and it really really hurt i mean they both did but the choppers hurt even more!! but then i got out and i was happy all of a sudden and i said i had a mouth and started speaking!!
thats because im a kickball!! i mean a specially special kickball and not even because my mommy told me so!! its because they call me a plushy kickball because i look like a plushy one because i feel like one!! and thats better and being out there in the rain months and months and months didnt make me stupid and hard it only made me even plushier so it was good after all but it hurt!!
so thats where i came from but where am i going to thats because they did it to me!! they had me like a ball like i was and they threw me around!! thats before they kicked me around like i was supposed to i mean they were supposed to kick me!! and that doesnt hurt i mean it hurts a little but it feels even better!! than all of that!!
isnt it strange i get a kick out of being kicked!! hehehehe!!
so then it started raining but what happened first was they had to make teams because i guess they decided it wasnt worth it to chop thru any more bramble anymore i guess because they were getting tired after all its hard work and it probably hurts them too!! and there i was it was perfect for both of us i mean all of us!! except the indians but they got all killed by the cowboys anyways except like a couple ones theyre here!! and theyre mean!!
but first it started raining i mean even before that it was a game!! i mean it still was a game but it almost wasnt because of the rain!! but i think they were getting used to the rain!! i know i did!!
but they kept kicking me i went in a puddle!! then they i mean one of them i mean the one with the gloves hold on they all had gloves!! let me start over!!
it was an important play!! i mean they all were but this one specially!! and then i went in the puddle and they all groaned!! but then the nicest one picked me up like before!!
and then it felt the best of all!! he squeezed me!! and i squeezed all over!!
and all the water drippy dropped out of me!!
thats because of the gloves!! theyre the best of all!!
the best of all what!! only the best of all stuff ever!! dont you get it!!
i wont tell you anymore unless you already know it!! i cant say it any better!! but at least im trying and you need to try too!!
thats what i really want to say but im not done yet!!
and then they put me back down and kept kicking me like before!! they were laughing and i was laughing with them too because i had a mouth now!!
it was the best and not even the gloves best!! i mean even better than that!! because i mean all of it is everything and everything is always even better!! the whole story i mean but not the part about the root or the choppers!! but i guess it was that way to be the way it was because had to be!! because my mommy said theyd kick me around but always keep rolling and get back up and be a good little bally ball!! thats what i really wanted to say and i guess im done unless you want me to tell you even more!!
wait one more thing!! you do because i have a mouth!!
wait!! i mean you do what i can do and say anything because now i have a mouth and you do too!! i mean i think youve had a mouth always but now you really have a mouth because i told you you do!!
isnt it weird how that works sometimes because sometimes you forget because you dont always use it because you dont always need it or at least because you dont think you need it always but you always need it anyways!!
but im not stupid like you!! i wont ever forget because i never had one until now and im gonna tell the whole wide world about it and everything else too and maybe even other stuff i mean with other people and balls and other stories maybe!!
and hopefully theyll thank me too because they want to kick me thats what i am in my heart not just in my mouth and i mean that a lot!!
cuz im a kickball!! and i can tell you a story better!!
lemme guess!! youre thinking kickballs dont tell stories because they cant!! they just get kicked around and stuff like a ball but youre wrong!! im a specially special kickball like my mommy told me so!!
look at me i even have a mouth and thats because why!!
do you know why yet!! of course you dont silly i havent told you yet!!
its a sad story!! because i was actually kicked into a bramble patch!! deep down in the bramble patch and the indian kids tried to get me!! but their mommys said stop right there young misters thats dangerous!! bramble bushes are bad and and theres even broken beer bottles!! but not anymore the nice people came and cleaned them up!! but wait im going too fast!!
no im not!! thats because im telling you about my mouth!! do you know why!! because its fast and i cant possibly go any faster than it already goes!! its also because i have one extra specially!!
there was a bunch of nice people like i said!! but one of them was the very nicest!! and he came by with a big pair of choppers and he chopped me right out of the root!! wait i forgot to tell you!! there was a root!! a bramble root and it was growing thru my little head!! and it really really hurt i mean they both did but the choppers hurt even more!! but then i got out and i was happy all of a sudden and i said i had a mouth and started speaking!!
thats because im a kickball!! i mean a specially special kickball and not even because my mommy told me so!! its because they call me a plushy kickball because i look like a plushy one because i feel like one!! and thats better and being out there in the rain months and months and months didnt make me stupid and hard it only made me even plushier so it was good after all but it hurt!!
so thats where i came from but where am i going to thats because they did it to me!! they had me like a ball like i was and they threw me around!! thats before they kicked me around like i was supposed to i mean they were supposed to kick me!! and that doesnt hurt i mean it hurts a little but it feels even better!! than all of that!!
isnt it strange i get a kick out of being kicked!! hehehehe!!
so then it started raining but what happened first was they had to make teams because i guess they decided it wasnt worth it to chop thru any more bramble anymore i guess because they were getting tired after all its hard work and it probably hurts them too!! and there i was it was perfect for both of us i mean all of us!! except the indians but they got all killed by the cowboys anyways except like a couple ones theyre here!! and theyre mean!!
but first it started raining i mean even before that it was a game!! i mean it still was a game but it almost wasnt because of the rain!! but i think they were getting used to the rain!! i know i did!!
but they kept kicking me i went in a puddle!! then they i mean one of them i mean the one with the gloves hold on they all had gloves!! let me start over!!
it was an important play!! i mean they all were but this one specially!! and then i went in the puddle and they all groaned!! but then the nicest one picked me up like before!!
and then it felt the best of all!! he squeezed me!! and i squeezed all over!!
and all the water drippy dropped out of me!!
thats because of the gloves!! theyre the best of all!!
the best of all what!! only the best of all stuff ever!! dont you get it!!
i wont tell you anymore unless you already know it!! i cant say it any better!! but at least im trying and you need to try too!!
thats what i really want to say but im not done yet!!
and then they put me back down and kept kicking me like before!! they were laughing and i was laughing with them too because i had a mouth now!!
it was the best and not even the gloves best!! i mean even better than that!! because i mean all of it is everything and everything is always even better!! the whole story i mean but not the part about the root or the choppers!! but i guess it was that way to be the way it was because had to be!! because my mommy said theyd kick me around but always keep rolling and get back up and be a good little bally ball!! thats what i really wanted to say and i guess im done unless you want me to tell you even more!!
wait one more thing!! you do because i have a mouth!!
wait!! i mean you do what i can do and say anything because now i have a mouth and you do too!! i mean i think youve had a mouth always but now you really have a mouth because i told you you do!!
isnt it weird how that works sometimes because sometimes you forget because you dont always use it because you dont always need it or at least because you dont think you need it always but you always need it anyways!!
but im not stupid like you!! i wont ever forget because i never had one until now and im gonna tell the whole wide world about it and everything else too and maybe even other stuff i mean with other people and balls and other stories maybe!!
and hopefully theyll thank me too because they want to kick me thats what i am in my heart not just in my mouth and i mean that a lot!!
Friday, May 7, 2010
A Bridge to Somewhere (Neah Bay Story #1)
They chopped me up. They chopped me up, and they threw me in the lake.
The last thing I remember was the storms. As I recall, Bill Clinton was being inaugurated. They had just started working - and boom, the floods came. Those floods washed a lot of stuff away - not me though. I'm nothing if not tenacious.
But then they swooped in. They chopped me up. And now I'm in the lake.
It started out innocently enough. I thought I was going to be useful one day. Lots of people were going to depend on me, that's what they said. So many people in my life believed in me. I was blessed, really I was. At least, that's what they said.
But then they chopped me up.
It wasn't the end of my life, thank goodness. But it was the end of my useful life.
And now I feel as good as dead.
There's nothing out here. Nothing for me.
That's not fair. There's a lot out here. There's the sky and the birds flying above me, the lake and the fish swimming below me, and on the horizon there's even the trees on the shoreline, barely visible through the mid-morning mist, swaying with the forceful breeze.
It's not so bad, I guess. It could have been worse. It could have been the furnace for me.
But it could have been better. I could have been useful. I could have done my duty.
I could have been famous. But now I'm here.
When they threw me in the lake, I didn't even sink, which was kind of a bummer. I've never gotten to see what it's like down there, with all the fish and - are those shrimp brushing up against me? They're awfully ticklish. Teehee!
No, I didn't sink.
Not yet.
Everything sinks, after all:
1. The tires they dump.
2. The barrels of chemicals (but those float for longer).
3. The fishing nets they cast, scraping the bottom and coming up with all sorts of other interesting things that sank.
4. Sometimes, oil tankers passing through the channel.
5. The body that guy once cast off the pier (but it resurfaced after awhile...)
6. The rocks the children on the shore skip.
They all have one thing in common. They all wind up at the bottom of the lake.
I'm no egotist. I don't think I'm especially special, no, not at all. One day I'll be down there too, and you know what? It might not even be so bad.
Everything sinks that goes upon the lake, except the fishing ships.
I guess that makes me a boat, then?
Like I said, I floated to the surface, but I didn't glide across the water, not like the fishing ships.
I must be a big old stationary boat. I guess I'm rooted in place by an anchor?
I wish they told me these things.
They look at me. Especially the visitors. They sit on the shore, they point, they gasp, and for all I know, they tell each other stories about me. It's unnatural, and I don't like it.
Why must they point and stare? Am I really so different?
The tourists, they have their canoe races in the lake all the time, and they never even stop by to say hi. Why doesn't someone paddle out here and have a conversation with me? Can't they see I'm so lonely out here?
The regulars, the ones who have always been here, they aren't any better. Every day it's the same old routine. They pass me by, in their fishing ships, in search of something to eat, always looking for dinner.
I think it's selfish of them. I never ate a thing, and look at how I turned out!
Erm... nevermind.
I guess I'm not living? Like a rock?
That's wrong. Of course I'm alive. "I think, therefore I am," like that guy said.
Like I said, they chopped me up, but I haven't even died yet. I prefer to think that my life has just begun. Out here in the middle of the lake - it's not the best living situation imaginable, but I imagine it's better than what happened to my other parts. I imagine some of them were thrown in great fires, that's what they do to make more of us. Can you even believe it? They melt us down only to make more of us. It seems cruel, but every one of us has to go some day. Some by fire, others by water, I imagine still others by forces I never could imagine.
Even the fishing ships - I've seen them sink to the bottom. I know one day I will sink. Then I will truly die, but before I drown, at least I will get to see what it's like down there.
I always wanted to see a fish close up. There must be something special about them to make them go out with their big nets looking for them.
I imagine I'll be here a few more decades before I'll be able to see a fish.
But I'm nothing if not patient! After all, I don't have a choice!
I only hope that, as long as I live, I will make the most of it.
That's what I'll do. I'll make the most of it. I'll look east towards the rising sun every morning, I'll smell the salt air every day. I'll enjoy the weather, on the sunny days and on the windy days, as well as the terribly frequent days of rain.
And I'll look to the west in the evening when the sun goes down, and when night falls I will gaze up at the brilliant galaxy of stars, revolving and revolving towards infinity.
They seem awfully smart, but I don't think they understand nature. No, not at all. They're always running around, in their cars and their boats and their canoes, looking for the next thing to grab at. Can't they see everything they need is already right there for them, just waiting on a pair of looking eyes to recognize it?
It's so simple! But they just don't seem to get it.
Me? I don't have to go anywhere, don't have to exert myself. Everything comes to me.
Like the birds. I get a lot of birds as visitors. At least they appreciate me.
Every day, I will count my blessings. I'll be thankful for my spot in the center of the lake - it's great for viewing the people and the cars on the shore, and the ships, and the trees, and the clouds, and it's perfect for the seagulls stopping in for a rest. And, I'm convinced, it's THE best place for viewing the nighttime stars. The very very best.
Right here. It's the only place I need to be, really.
I'll stay here, and I'll be thankful for my place in the universe. That's what I will do.
And who knows, maybe someday, someone will join me.
The last thing I remember was the storms. As I recall, Bill Clinton was being inaugurated. They had just started working - and boom, the floods came. Those floods washed a lot of stuff away - not me though. I'm nothing if not tenacious.
But then they swooped in. They chopped me up. And now I'm in the lake.
It started out innocently enough. I thought I was going to be useful one day. Lots of people were going to depend on me, that's what they said. So many people in my life believed in me. I was blessed, really I was. At least, that's what they said.
But then they chopped me up.
It wasn't the end of my life, thank goodness. But it was the end of my useful life.
And now I feel as good as dead.
There's nothing out here. Nothing for me.
That's not fair. There's a lot out here. There's the sky and the birds flying above me, the lake and the fish swimming below me, and on the horizon there's even the trees on the shoreline, barely visible through the mid-morning mist, swaying with the forceful breeze.
It's not so bad, I guess. It could have been worse. It could have been the furnace for me.
But it could have been better. I could have been useful. I could have done my duty.
I could have been famous. But now I'm here.
When they threw me in the lake, I didn't even sink, which was kind of a bummer. I've never gotten to see what it's like down there, with all the fish and - are those shrimp brushing up against me? They're awfully ticklish. Teehee!
No, I didn't sink.
Not yet.
Everything sinks, after all:
1. The tires they dump.
2. The barrels of chemicals (but those float for longer).
3. The fishing nets they cast, scraping the bottom and coming up with all sorts of other interesting things that sank.
4. Sometimes, oil tankers passing through the channel.
5. The body that guy once cast off the pier (but it resurfaced after awhile...)
6. The rocks the children on the shore skip.
They all have one thing in common. They all wind up at the bottom of the lake.
I'm no egotist. I don't think I'm especially special, no, not at all. One day I'll be down there too, and you know what? It might not even be so bad.
Everything sinks that goes upon the lake, except the fishing ships.
I guess that makes me a boat, then?
Like I said, I floated to the surface, but I didn't glide across the water, not like the fishing ships.
I must be a big old stationary boat. I guess I'm rooted in place by an anchor?
I wish they told me these things.
They look at me. Especially the visitors. They sit on the shore, they point, they gasp, and for all I know, they tell each other stories about me. It's unnatural, and I don't like it.
Why must they point and stare? Am I really so different?
The tourists, they have their canoe races in the lake all the time, and they never even stop by to say hi. Why doesn't someone paddle out here and have a conversation with me? Can't they see I'm so lonely out here?
The regulars, the ones who have always been here, they aren't any better. Every day it's the same old routine. They pass me by, in their fishing ships, in search of something to eat, always looking for dinner.
I think it's selfish of them. I never ate a thing, and look at how I turned out!
Erm... nevermind.
I guess I'm not living? Like a rock?
That's wrong. Of course I'm alive. "I think, therefore I am," like that guy said.
Like I said, they chopped me up, but I haven't even died yet. I prefer to think that my life has just begun. Out here in the middle of the lake - it's not the best living situation imaginable, but I imagine it's better than what happened to my other parts. I imagine some of them were thrown in great fires, that's what they do to make more of us. Can you even believe it? They melt us down only to make more of us. It seems cruel, but every one of us has to go some day. Some by fire, others by water, I imagine still others by forces I never could imagine.
Even the fishing ships - I've seen them sink to the bottom. I know one day I will sink. Then I will truly die, but before I drown, at least I will get to see what it's like down there.
I always wanted to see a fish close up. There must be something special about them to make them go out with their big nets looking for them.
I imagine I'll be here a few more decades before I'll be able to see a fish.
But I'm nothing if not patient! After all, I don't have a choice!
I only hope that, as long as I live, I will make the most of it.
That's what I'll do. I'll make the most of it. I'll look east towards the rising sun every morning, I'll smell the salt air every day. I'll enjoy the weather, on the sunny days and on the windy days, as well as the terribly frequent days of rain.
And I'll look to the west in the evening when the sun goes down, and when night falls I will gaze up at the brilliant galaxy of stars, revolving and revolving towards infinity.
They seem awfully smart, but I don't think they understand nature. No, not at all. They're always running around, in their cars and their boats and their canoes, looking for the next thing to grab at. Can't they see everything they need is already right there for them, just waiting on a pair of looking eyes to recognize it?
It's so simple! But they just don't seem to get it.
Me? I don't have to go anywhere, don't have to exert myself. Everything comes to me.
Like the birds. I get a lot of birds as visitors. At least they appreciate me.
Every day, I will count my blessings. I'll be thankful for my spot in the center of the lake - it's great for viewing the people and the cars on the shore, and the ships, and the trees, and the clouds, and it's perfect for the seagulls stopping in for a rest. And, I'm convinced, it's THE best place for viewing the nighttime stars. The very very best.
Right here. It's the only place I need to be, really.
I'll stay here, and I'll be thankful for my place in the universe. That's what I will do.
And who knows, maybe someday, someone will join me.
Wednesday, May 5, 2010
All Work and No Play?
"[T]he pursuit of the difficult makes men strong."
-Mitt Romney's Father (No Apology, p. 5)
We find pleasure in activities which are just on the verge of the achievable; for all our daily griping about work, we love to be challenged, to 'push the envelope' of our own capabilities.
Nothing has illustrated these truths to me more than my own conduct over the past month. Finals for me are just about over (only one left to go, originally scheduled for today, but pushed back to tomorrow on account of... yes, flooding) but I find that I have not, at least not yet, slipped into a state of summer torpor. On the contrary, I am just as intellectually active as I was before, perhaps even more so. This past month I have read several books in addition to my regular coursework: No Apology: The Case for American Greatness ; The World Turned Inside Out: American Thought and Culture at the End of the 20th Century ; Love, Friendship, and the Self ; The Prince ; The Slave Next Door ; The Hidden Brain ; Pride and Prejudice ; A Passage to India ; Swann's Way ; Pamela ; and The Multiplicities of Internet Addiction (which inspired me to write this little essay).
Each day of the week, I would bring in my reading in to exhibit during my dinners at the International Hall table of McTyeire. I would calmly explain the key findings of the books, and we would have a discussion. While my friends from dinner didn't think anything too out of the ordinary at first, they became gradually more astonished as the month wore on and finals began to dig in their heels. One night I, in typical asshole form, bragged that I "would have gone along with them to get a massage at the campus 'Stress-fest,' but I just wasn't feeling stressed enough" to justify a trip. They wonder how I "do it": make good grades, see all sorts of random campus events, enrich my life with extracurricular reading and writing, and get a healthy amount of sleep each night. Sometimes I wonder, too, with many of my friends working fiendishly at the last minute, pulling all-nighters, and generally falling off the map right right around finals time, at the point when I finally seem to have some free time open up on the schedule. They are "swimming to the wall," as my dad would say. I'm not!
At least, not as far as actual studying goes. Well, this essay partially explains it - here I am, reading and writing in my dorm room on a Friday night, when by all accounts I should be either studying or out getting 'schwasted,' or 'laid,' or any one of a number of culturally enriching, quintessentially collegiate pastimes. But here I am, in my dorm on (now) a Monday night, writing purely for my own enjoyment, and, perhaps, for yours as well, if you are in fact reading (which you must be) and enjoying (perhaps not). Like my friend Clay Scandlyn, I sometimes wonder if I'm not "an old person in a young person's body." I quote our Facebook dialogue:
Clay Scandlyn
definitely knows that I am an old person in a young person's body after today.
Jimmy Ferrell
what happened?
Clay Scandlyn
I went to vote in the Knox County Republican Primary, and I was the only young person there. Also, when Chris Black and I went to the Gubernatorial debate in Dollywood, we were the only young people there besides the staffers.
Jesse Jones
lol Clay that's exactly what i've been thinking this weekend, what with all the drunken revelry around campus surrounding Rites of Spring
Clay Scandlyn
Oh good, I am not the only one surrounded by those people at college (the supposed "institution of learning"). It makes me proud to be an honorary old person. We don't get involved with stuff like that. We just like to sit back in our lawn chairs (or comfy recliners) and talk politics all day. The Glenn Beck quote of "We surround them" is inaccurate.
Jimmy Ferrell
clay one day when ur old ur really gona be sad that u missed out on this kind of stuff
Jesse Jones
Frannie Boyle, editor in chief of the conservative newspaper at Vandy, got quoted on CNN last monday talking about such issues. It had campus in quite a stir. http://www.cnn.com/2010/LIVING/04/19/college.anti.hookup.culture/index.html
Clay Scandlyn
I have never valued it up until now, and I don't see that changing.
Clay Scandlyn
Mr. Jones, that was a very interesting article. I believe that there are very practical components of the Gospel of Jesus Christ and that there are worldly consequences to most sinful acts (even though I also believe that these values should not be forced on the public by government decree). Besides, who wants the diseases? I don't identify at all... See More with the drunken orgies crowd as described by that article, but I am a little scared of the fanatics on the other side. I am in one of the biggest minorities that exist, and I can get really old-fashioned about some of this stuff. There is a reason why I have never had a girlfriend. What attractive girl (or just girl) can relate with my position? I feel out of place at UT, but maybe it is just with the college experience in general.
Clay Scandlyn
...or I should say the smallest minority group. I was born in the wrong generation. It would be worse if I were going to college in the '60s or '70s though. What happened to a time when people were moral, polite, and well-mannered?
Jesse Jones
Meh, I don't think you need to be so pessimistic. There are plenty of girls like you and me who aren't into the party culture (it's the same way at Vandy). They're just not as visible (just like we're not as visible). I've never had a girlfriend either, but I prefer to think that's because I have high standards. Nice guys don't finish last ... See Morewith nice girls! (At least, I hope not.) One day we'll be rewarded for our patience.
by the way, if you're interested, here is a continuation of the discussion in our Friday campus newspaper
Frannie's clarification: http://www.insidevandy.com/drupal/node/14148
A rebuttal from a partier: http://www.insidevandy.com/drupal/node/14145
In our lives, we are all - Jimmy, Clay, myself, you, everyone tagged in this note, and even other people - committed to finding our own pleasure; if not, what would be the point? Clay and I have committed ourselves to a life of comparatively 'unique' and 'enriching' experiences - working on political campaigns with old people, reading and writing for fun - while Jimmy has cast his lot in with the lion's share of our peers, swept up in a mad stampede in search of catharsis, under the roofs of American colleges' modern-day pleasure-domes, the Greek houses.
Though all humans necessarily exercise judgment in their recreational choices. I do not mean to imply that my leisurely pursuits are somehow more 'valuable' or 'noble' from an objective standpoint. Indeed, I can think of at least one example where I most certainly enjoy wasting my time.
Nearly two months after running out of game time, I continue to struggle daily with an impulse to return to a highly 'addicting' online game called World of Warcraft. To do anything in World of Warcraft requires that you spend massive amounts of time slaying dragons, dueling peers, leveling up, seeking better gear, and making money on the auction houses - and it's fun. Too fun. Despite Jane McGonigal's protestations to the contrary, (http://www.ted.com/talks/lang/eng/jane_mcgonigal_gaming_can_make_a_better_world.html), World of Warcraft remains, by and large, a way of escaping from the 'real' world, not a way to engage its challenges head-on or improve oneself. So far I have resisted the impulse to renew my account, which would necessitate that I drop $14.99 per month's worth of game-time, yet I still 'get my fix' by occasionally browsing through an article on the WoW-Wiki as a relatively short and harmless form of procrastination, to which I'm sure all reading this essay can relate (isn't that exactly what you're doing right now?).
This is why a book titled "The Multiplicities of Internet Addiction: the Misrecognition of Leisure and Learning" (by Nicola F. Johnson) jumped out at me as I was browsing through the section of recently added titles at Central Library (I highly recommend this section to all Vandy students - it can be found directly in front of your person when you walk in the library doors, to the left of the main circulation desk. The titles to be found there feature recent scholarship on all subjects, and can cost up to $100, were you to purchase them from Amazon.com!)
The gist of this book is: Unlike a drug addiction, internet use is not, in and of itself, harmful. The internet is a 'space' where many things can happen, e.g. social interaction (with friends and family, or routine correspondence with co-workers), leisure (gaming, music), education, or even crime. It is only when a person's use of the internet interferes with, as opposed to facilitating, his or her life-goals - work, relationships, pleasure - that use becomes "problematic." Even then, the user's (ab)use of the internet may or may not indicate an "addiction." Internet 'addiction' only merits the weighty terminology if a user experiences painful 'withdrawal' symptoms during its absence. If, during a power outage, a heavy internet user doesn't mind busting out a flashlight and doing a bit of novel-reading, then signs are that he or she is not addicted, but merely choosing the internet as a more pleasurable form of entertainment than other options.
I believe that the ultimate goal of life is to find personal satisfaction and that all our actions are, either consciously or subconsciously, driven towards this end. If you share this belief, then you can see that it makes little sense to worry about what you do during your spare time. After all, stress is for work, not for play!
But what if (by fortune) you find a job which you love so much that the boundaries separating work and play seem to erode? (This 'problem' is, I believe, a real opportunity for highly educated individuals like you and me.) In these cases, wouldn't the more crucial distinction in our activities be, not between work and play, but between challenging and non-challenging activities? The categories of challenging and non-challenging correspond to some degree with the notions of active and passive effort. Active effort is, for example, the crush of final exams, what we've just been through (or are going through currently); passive effort is more like reading a book, or watching TV, or listening to a lecture - stimulating, but relaxing. Active effort is the expression, or performance, of your own expertise; passive effort is the accumulation of said expertise. And civil society hangs together precisely because each person knows and expresses a unique type of expertise, exchangeable in the open market through the medium of money.
My majors are English and Asian Studies. I have consciously chosen (or, perhaps, been subconsciously pushed) towards majors which align with my loves of reading and writing. I find my English and Asian Studies classes fascinating, and my professors inspiring. But I these are Liberal Arts majors, which by definition don't prepare you for any specific career, and indeed at times I have been plagued by doubts as to the real-world 'usefulness' of my majors (though, with the economy turning up, I'm not as worried about having to move back in with my parents after graduation).
But then I think about Malcolm Gladwell, and I think there's a lot of truth in his formulation of expertise. In his book "Outliers: The Story of Success," Gladwell presented what he called the "10,000 hour" rule of success. He claimed that 10,000 hours of practice would be necessary to achieve expertise in any given field - he then cites a number of examples of successful individuals, most memorably Bill Gates, who spent thousands of hours during high school programming computers (back when programmers were practically nonexistent). Bill Gates wasn't necessarily a 'genius,' he just happened to be doing the right thing at the right time (and, subsequently, having the wherewithal to capitalize on his built-up knowledge). That's great, but you wonder: how does your average person achieve even a fraction of Bill Gates' success? Well, if you spend 7 hours per day during your college years studying (or reading, or attending class), then that is 365 * 7 * 4 = 10,220 hours. So after spending four years of our prime years and (up to) $200,000, we'll end up being experts in...
What exactly? What do we actually learn in college? To be an expert student in general? To be an expert student in your chosen field? Or something else?
Obviously, everyone learns different things at college, depending on: where you go to school, what classes you take, who you make friends with, and what you do in your spare time. Whatever that knowledge ends up being - after it has been filtered through the fine sieves of memory and stored away for the long-term - it is important that we don't neglect that we learn SOMETHING. Certain subjects naturally kindle your interests more than others, and more than likely one will stand above all others in your regard. This subject will probably seem 'easier' than others, but whether of not this subject comes 'easily' to you is not the point - you still stand to profit from hard work in the area, and you will fall behind if you do not work. And here's the kicker: the subjects which you LIKE, you will naturally work HARDER in. And because our civil society is so blessedly advanced (and, despite the at-times insane political discourse, still remarkably civil), our division of labor is such that we have a place for (in order of decreasing 'usefulness') farmers, and doctors, and lawyers, and engineers, and politicians, and artists, and (Praise the Lord!) teaching and book-writing English majors.
This is not to guarantee that, after you graduate, you will find the perfect job in the area of your passion, but if you look hard, play your cards right - and refuse to do anything you don't enjoy - then chances are you can find something fairly close to what you were imagining. Once again, there seems to be no cause to worry, unless you're dead set upon living in an uncertain future and ignoring your all-too-present circumstances.
So we have options. We can choose to become slaves during our 'free' time - to slaughter the competition, ascend even further up the 'Ziggurat' of human achievement, and perhaps even enter the history books - or we can goof off and be in no danger of unwanted fortune and fame (I'm sure of my choice). But one thing is certain (unless you've been born into wealth): if you don't work hard during your work time, you won't even be able to provide for yourself.
If I were to run for office, I'd probably make my slogan something like "WORK SETS YOU FREE." (jk, that'd be too Nazi-ish). It'd be more like "You get what you work for" - simple, meritocratic, capitalist, free, future-oriented, opportunistic, favoring social mobility, non-judgmental, and true for the most part here in America. As Mitt Romney paraphrased his father during his speech at IMPACT: "Work doesn't make people weaker. Work makes you stronger." While we may not all be bourgeois, all-American Republicans, we shouldn't disparage this formulation of the "Protestant work-ethic" too much. And we also shouldn't fail to appreciate work as a kind of play, or play as a kind of work, that can both enhance our lives and offer us pleasure in our leisure hours. Devoting ourselves fully to work or to play, there is no way we will end up like "Jack, a dull boy."
---
P.S. In my opening and penultimate paragraphs I quoted phrases liberally from Tom Wolfe, possibly the greatest American writer of the later 20th-century (right up there with Rand, Kerouac, Updike). Everyone should read a Tom Wolfe book this summer. See if you can spot the offending phrases. Winner gets a free conversation with yours truly on any subject, as long as it's Tom Wolfe.
-Mitt Romney's Father (No Apology, p. 5)
We find pleasure in activities which are just on the verge of the achievable; for all our daily griping about work, we love to be challenged, to 'push the envelope' of our own capabilities.
Nothing has illustrated these truths to me more than my own conduct over the past month. Finals for me are just about over (only one left to go, originally scheduled for today, but pushed back to tomorrow on account of... yes, flooding) but I find that I have not, at least not yet, slipped into a state of summer torpor. On the contrary, I am just as intellectually active as I was before, perhaps even more so. This past month I have read several books in addition to my regular coursework: No Apology: The Case for American Greatness ; The World Turned Inside Out: American Thought and Culture at the End of the 20th Century ; Love, Friendship, and the Self ; The Prince ; The Slave Next Door ; The Hidden Brain ; Pride and Prejudice ; A Passage to India ; Swann's Way ; Pamela ; and The Multiplicities of Internet Addiction (which inspired me to write this little essay).
Each day of the week, I would bring in my reading in to exhibit during my dinners at the International Hall table of McTyeire. I would calmly explain the key findings of the books, and we would have a discussion. While my friends from dinner didn't think anything too out of the ordinary at first, they became gradually more astonished as the month wore on and finals began to dig in their heels. One night I, in typical asshole form, bragged that I "would have gone along with them to get a massage at the campus 'Stress-fest,' but I just wasn't feeling stressed enough" to justify a trip. They wonder how I "do it": make good grades, see all sorts of random campus events, enrich my life with extracurricular reading and writing, and get a healthy amount of sleep each night. Sometimes I wonder, too, with many of my friends working fiendishly at the last minute, pulling all-nighters, and generally falling off the map right right around finals time, at the point when I finally seem to have some free time open up on the schedule. They are "swimming to the wall," as my dad would say. I'm not!
At least, not as far as actual studying goes. Well, this essay partially explains it - here I am, reading and writing in my dorm room on a Friday night, when by all accounts I should be either studying or out getting 'schwasted,' or 'laid,' or any one of a number of culturally enriching, quintessentially collegiate pastimes. But here I am, in my dorm on (now) a Monday night, writing purely for my own enjoyment, and, perhaps, for yours as well, if you are in fact reading (which you must be) and enjoying (perhaps not). Like my friend Clay Scandlyn, I sometimes wonder if I'm not "an old person in a young person's body." I quote our Facebook dialogue:
Clay Scandlyn
definitely knows that I am an old person in a young person's body after today.
Jimmy Ferrell
what happened?
Clay Scandlyn
I went to vote in the Knox County Republican Primary, and I was the only young person there. Also, when Chris Black and I went to the Gubernatorial debate in Dollywood, we were the only young people there besides the staffers.
Jesse Jones
lol Clay that's exactly what i've been thinking this weekend, what with all the drunken revelry around campus surrounding Rites of Spring
Clay Scandlyn
Oh good, I am not the only one surrounded by those people at college (the supposed "institution of learning"). It makes me proud to be an honorary old person. We don't get involved with stuff like that. We just like to sit back in our lawn chairs (or comfy recliners) and talk politics all day. The Glenn Beck quote of "We surround them" is inaccurate.
Jimmy Ferrell
clay one day when ur old ur really gona be sad that u missed out on this kind of stuff
Jesse Jones
Frannie Boyle, editor in chief of the conservative newspaper at Vandy, got quoted on CNN last monday talking about such issues. It had campus in quite a stir. http://www.cnn.com/2010/LIVING/04/19/college.anti.hookup.culture/index.html
Clay Scandlyn
I have never valued it up until now, and I don't see that changing.
Clay Scandlyn
Mr. Jones, that was a very interesting article. I believe that there are very practical components of the Gospel of Jesus Christ and that there are worldly consequences to most sinful acts (even though I also believe that these values should not be forced on the public by government decree). Besides, who wants the diseases? I don't identify at all... See More with the drunken orgies crowd as described by that article, but I am a little scared of the fanatics on the other side. I am in one of the biggest minorities that exist, and I can get really old-fashioned about some of this stuff. There is a reason why I have never had a girlfriend. What attractive girl (or just girl) can relate with my position? I feel out of place at UT, but maybe it is just with the college experience in general.
Clay Scandlyn
...or I should say the smallest minority group. I was born in the wrong generation. It would be worse if I were going to college in the '60s or '70s though. What happened to a time when people were moral, polite, and well-mannered?
Jesse Jones
Meh, I don't think you need to be so pessimistic. There are plenty of girls like you and me who aren't into the party culture (it's the same way at Vandy). They're just not as visible (just like we're not as visible). I've never had a girlfriend either, but I prefer to think that's because I have high standards. Nice guys don't finish last ... See Morewith nice girls! (At least, I hope not.) One day we'll be rewarded for our patience.
by the way, if you're interested, here is a continuation of the discussion in our Friday campus newspaper
Frannie's clarification: http://www.insidevandy.com/drupal/node/14148
A rebuttal from a partier: http://www.insidevandy.com/drupal/node/14145
In our lives, we are all - Jimmy, Clay, myself, you, everyone tagged in this note, and even other people - committed to finding our own pleasure; if not, what would be the point? Clay and I have committed ourselves to a life of comparatively 'unique' and 'enriching' experiences - working on political campaigns with old people, reading and writing for fun - while Jimmy has cast his lot in with the lion's share of our peers, swept up in a mad stampede in search of catharsis, under the roofs of American colleges' modern-day pleasure-domes, the Greek houses.
Though all humans necessarily exercise judgment in their recreational choices. I do not mean to imply that my leisurely pursuits are somehow more 'valuable' or 'noble' from an objective standpoint. Indeed, I can think of at least one example where I most certainly enjoy wasting my time.
Nearly two months after running out of game time, I continue to struggle daily with an impulse to return to a highly 'addicting' online game called World of Warcraft. To do anything in World of Warcraft requires that you spend massive amounts of time slaying dragons, dueling peers, leveling up, seeking better gear, and making money on the auction houses - and it's fun. Too fun. Despite Jane McGonigal's protestations to the contrary, (http://www.ted.com/talks/lang/eng/jane_mcgonigal_gaming_can_make_a_better_world.html), World of Warcraft remains, by and large, a way of escaping from the 'real' world, not a way to engage its challenges head-on or improve oneself. So far I have resisted the impulse to renew my account, which would necessitate that I drop $14.99 per month's worth of game-time, yet I still 'get my fix' by occasionally browsing through an article on the WoW-Wiki as a relatively short and harmless form of procrastination, to which I'm sure all reading this essay can relate (isn't that exactly what you're doing right now?).
This is why a book titled "The Multiplicities of Internet Addiction: the Misrecognition of Leisure and Learning" (by Nicola F. Johnson) jumped out at me as I was browsing through the section of recently added titles at Central Library (I highly recommend this section to all Vandy students - it can be found directly in front of your person when you walk in the library doors, to the left of the main circulation desk. The titles to be found there feature recent scholarship on all subjects, and can cost up to $100, were you to purchase them from Amazon.com!)
The gist of this book is: Unlike a drug addiction, internet use is not, in and of itself, harmful. The internet is a 'space' where many things can happen, e.g. social interaction (with friends and family, or routine correspondence with co-workers), leisure (gaming, music), education, or even crime. It is only when a person's use of the internet interferes with, as opposed to facilitating, his or her life-goals - work, relationships, pleasure - that use becomes "problematic." Even then, the user's (ab)use of the internet may or may not indicate an "addiction." Internet 'addiction' only merits the weighty terminology if a user experiences painful 'withdrawal' symptoms during its absence. If, during a power outage, a heavy internet user doesn't mind busting out a flashlight and doing a bit of novel-reading, then signs are that he or she is not addicted, but merely choosing the internet as a more pleasurable form of entertainment than other options.
I believe that the ultimate goal of life is to find personal satisfaction and that all our actions are, either consciously or subconsciously, driven towards this end. If you share this belief, then you can see that it makes little sense to worry about what you do during your spare time. After all, stress is for work, not for play!
But what if (by fortune) you find a job which you love so much that the boundaries separating work and play seem to erode? (This 'problem' is, I believe, a real opportunity for highly educated individuals like you and me.) In these cases, wouldn't the more crucial distinction in our activities be, not between work and play, but between challenging and non-challenging activities? The categories of challenging and non-challenging correspond to some degree with the notions of active and passive effort. Active effort is, for example, the crush of final exams, what we've just been through (or are going through currently); passive effort is more like reading a book, or watching TV, or listening to a lecture - stimulating, but relaxing. Active effort is the expression, or performance, of your own expertise; passive effort is the accumulation of said expertise. And civil society hangs together precisely because each person knows and expresses a unique type of expertise, exchangeable in the open market through the medium of money.
My majors are English and Asian Studies. I have consciously chosen (or, perhaps, been subconsciously pushed) towards majors which align with my loves of reading and writing. I find my English and Asian Studies classes fascinating, and my professors inspiring. But I these are Liberal Arts majors, which by definition don't prepare you for any specific career, and indeed at times I have been plagued by doubts as to the real-world 'usefulness' of my majors (though, with the economy turning up, I'm not as worried about having to move back in with my parents after graduation).
But then I think about Malcolm Gladwell, and I think there's a lot of truth in his formulation of expertise. In his book "Outliers: The Story of Success," Gladwell presented what he called the "10,000 hour" rule of success. He claimed that 10,000 hours of practice would be necessary to achieve expertise in any given field - he then cites a number of examples of successful individuals, most memorably Bill Gates, who spent thousands of hours during high school programming computers (back when programmers were practically nonexistent). Bill Gates wasn't necessarily a 'genius,' he just happened to be doing the right thing at the right time (and, subsequently, having the wherewithal to capitalize on his built-up knowledge). That's great, but you wonder: how does your average person achieve even a fraction of Bill Gates' success? Well, if you spend 7 hours per day during your college years studying (or reading, or attending class), then that is 365 * 7 * 4 = 10,220 hours. So after spending four years of our prime years and (up to) $200,000, we'll end up being experts in...
What exactly? What do we actually learn in college? To be an expert student in general? To be an expert student in your chosen field? Or something else?
Obviously, everyone learns different things at college, depending on: where you go to school, what classes you take, who you make friends with, and what you do in your spare time. Whatever that knowledge ends up being - after it has been filtered through the fine sieves of memory and stored away for the long-term - it is important that we don't neglect that we learn SOMETHING. Certain subjects naturally kindle your interests more than others, and more than likely one will stand above all others in your regard. This subject will probably seem 'easier' than others, but whether of not this subject comes 'easily' to you is not the point - you still stand to profit from hard work in the area, and you will fall behind if you do not work. And here's the kicker: the subjects which you LIKE, you will naturally work HARDER in. And because our civil society is so blessedly advanced (and, despite the at-times insane political discourse, still remarkably civil), our division of labor is such that we have a place for (in order of decreasing 'usefulness') farmers, and doctors, and lawyers, and engineers, and politicians, and artists, and (Praise the Lord!) teaching and book-writing English majors.
This is not to guarantee that, after you graduate, you will find the perfect job in the area of your passion, but if you look hard, play your cards right - and refuse to do anything you don't enjoy - then chances are you can find something fairly close to what you were imagining. Once again, there seems to be no cause to worry, unless you're dead set upon living in an uncertain future and ignoring your all-too-present circumstances.
So we have options. We can choose to become slaves during our 'free' time - to slaughter the competition, ascend even further up the 'Ziggurat' of human achievement, and perhaps even enter the history books - or we can goof off and be in no danger of unwanted fortune and fame (I'm sure of my choice). But one thing is certain (unless you've been born into wealth): if you don't work hard during your work time, you won't even be able to provide for yourself.
If I were to run for office, I'd probably make my slogan something like "WORK SETS YOU FREE." (jk, that'd be too Nazi-ish). It'd be more like "You get what you work for" - simple, meritocratic, capitalist, free, future-oriented, opportunistic, favoring social mobility, non-judgmental, and true for the most part here in America. As Mitt Romney paraphrased his father during his speech at IMPACT: "Work doesn't make people weaker. Work makes you stronger." While we may not all be bourgeois, all-American Republicans, we shouldn't disparage this formulation of the "Protestant work-ethic" too much. And we also shouldn't fail to appreciate work as a kind of play, or play as a kind of work, that can both enhance our lives and offer us pleasure in our leisure hours. Devoting ourselves fully to work or to play, there is no way we will end up like "Jack, a dull boy."
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P.S. In my opening and penultimate paragraphs I quoted phrases liberally from Tom Wolfe, possibly the greatest American writer of the later 20th-century (right up there with Rand, Kerouac, Updike). Everyone should read a Tom Wolfe book this summer. See if you can spot the offending phrases. Winner gets a free conversation with yours truly on any subject, as long as it's Tom Wolfe.
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Hey all. My thoughts were getting too much to handle, so I decided to make a blog for them. Stay awhile and enjoy.
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