Another Social Issues paper. This time on the rise of violence in schools.
The Wrath of Modernity:
A Call to Arms Against the Temptation and Misguidance of Modern Society
It can be said that violence in schools has increased overtime, specifically gun-related violence. Of course, a lot can be said about that, as well. Guns, for a period of time, and still to a degree today, are much more accessible and much greater in number. Violence is prevalent in movies, TV shows, and video games, but more importantly, it is fed to us everyday by the media, and we have become jaded to it. Most importantly, when was the last time a 13, 14, 15, 18 year old son was able to honestly confide in his parents? The same question can be posed for daughters, but like the rates of violence associated with them, the results are less staggering. As a society, we are closer to each other than ever before, in terms of both communication and in terms of physical space, but the opposite is true with families. Most families of today are plagued by technology, work and prevailing self-interest, and this is our modern downfall.
It is clear that this issue deals vastly more with the young male population than the female demographic, and why shouldn’t it? Women, more often than not, have multiple persons with whom to confide in, men only rarely do. Men are taught from a young age to show nothing, no pain, no mercy, no emotion and certainly no weakness; for the majority of males, confiding is just that, a sign of weakness. This has always driven a wedge between men and deep connections, but now that the familial unit is suffering a rupture in many cases, this is becoming a malignant problem. If a son had a trouble, his friends could help him. If there was not a friend to turn to, his father could often deal out a sage-like tarot of advice or show him the merits of giving no quarter in the ring, but these rituals, this systemic turning to the father for council is becoming archaic.
Modernity is unleashing its hammer of judgment this tradition, and it is doing so with more prongs than it seems we can combat. Alcoholism is a problem as old as the urban city, but it can be cited that many parents of violent offspring have exhibited such behaviors. Modern society has ruled that any form of vengeance unleashed upon a child is a practice evil enough to warrant a condemnation to Dante’s Inferno, and such a ruling can turn sufferers of these punishments into vindictive, disillusioned and untrusting despots. There are those, though, who suffer invisibly; those whose fate has fallen through the cracks. With the wedge of technology and individual responsibility already driving apart a family, with no friends to turn to and no parents to confide in, a child can be left alone; alone to brood, alone to suffer, alone to conspire against, alone to turn. With no one to attend to a child’s emotional and mental needs, such a vulnerable and malleable mind could conclude that violence is the verdict that must be judged upon the objects of his hate.
This is not always the case. To find violence to be the answer, a particular mixture must occur in the laboratory of mentality. If sadness is the ultimate power, suicide can be what is chosen for one’s course of action; if rebelliousness is what one desires, drugs may be what are turned to; if disillusionment is most prevalent, silent brooding, introspection and poetry could be the result; but if anger, hate and rage are the controlling monarchs, violence can be the ultimatum given.
The answer to why there has been such a drastic increase in school youth violence is not a black and white one. Everything from video games to the media has been singly blamed, but reality is more sobering than such a simple prospect as these. In the end, we are to blame. We will grow up. We will start families. We will have children, and although their ultimate actions are theirs, the parents are the greatest influences on a child’s being. It is the duty of parents to model the proper discourse to their children, or they could fall by the wayside, as many have.
Take all things in moderation. Look out for your fellow man and family. Hold not, a grudge. Talk. Parenting is complicated, and it is surely never perfect, optimal or predictable, but your greatest tool is always sensibility. If you must work until all hours of the night, tell your kids often enough that what your are doing is for the best, that they can talk to you if they really have to, and that they are still important to you. If your days become monotonous or hang heavy with the burden of stagnation, despair or weariness, strengthen your will and do no succumb to the temptation of alcohol or television and technology, for your habits are passed to your children. As excruciatingly difficult as it is for a father and a son, talk to your children. Establish common grounds, elevate beyond small talk and never sever these connections, for they are the most important for a child.
Believe me, I’m 17 and my dad is my best friend.
Resist modernity and think for oneself, or it will destroy us all.
Sunday, December 12, 2010
Sunday, December 5, 2010
Sore Ga Ai Deshou
Our Social Issues class was assigned a three week long "Marraige Project". For this, we had to marry an imaginary person or someone in class. I picked the former. My devious choice: "http://www.kawapaper.com/d/5148-2/Kawapaper_Clannad_0000038_1920x1200.jpg" One portion of it was a (realistic) narrative of your wedding day. On a realism scale of 1 to 10, mine ranks about a 3, but that's not important. Here's what I produced. Note: this happens "in the future" so no one's a high school student here. Other Note: NO EDITING FTW!
Solar beams burned through the windows like the cascades of a waterfall, continuously and powerfully. Today was the day.
Curious, the unfamiliarity, but novelty of my room. The same bed that was my home in high school and over summers, the vibrant sunbeam paint, the various baubles and trinkets decorating my desks, it all seemed so new, yet so comfortably mine. I mused over the drinking bird, the autonomous movement of my gyroscopic toy, the rising and falling of the mysterious goo in my lava lamp, as they all seemed to call to me with rejuvenated voices. Even the sun’s rays cast light of a different hue. But there would be time for existential discussions and monologues with the later.
I slid down the banister with expertise rivaling General Zaroff. If there had been a bronze statue of Aphrodite standing in my father’s house, it surely would have received a playful slap on its backside. My body had become a tempesting mix of anxiety, excitement and jubilation, and the product potion was shaping up to be volatile with gayness.
Breakfast of Champions in a comfy robe fit to be worn by the kings of Babylon. The griddle sizzled and delicious aromas permeated the room in anticipation of an egg sandwich. But such savory scents had not gone unnoticed. From deep within the bowels of the enormous fortress of a home, a beast stirred. I quickly devoured the Breakfast of Champions, more hungry than afraid. Heralded by a kingly fanfare, the neighing of a liege of stallions, the howling and roaring of exotic beasts and a thunderous zephyr fowl enough to curdle the juices on one’s eyeballs, my father entered the kitchen.
“Morning” The Butler family was quite…confident… in their physical demeanor. Legend has it that Morgan I actually dueled Mr. Webster to have the word “self-conscious” removed from their dictionary.
“Dad, put some pants on”
“Someday, prodigal son, you will learn to feel the breeze between your knees”
“You’re naked” I said, plainly.
“The wearing of clothes is a false construct perpetrated by the unfounded society we perceive as a necessity of our modern reality”
“Quit using Nihilism as an excuse not to wear pants”
“You’re lucky I did my laundry last night” He promptly exited the room more cantankerously than Grampa Joad.
The remainder of my morning rituals passed uneventfully, leaving plenty of time for the ridiculousness that would inevitably ensue.
It did not make me wait.
The earth shook and the skies darkened, heralding the entrance of another – my greatest and most powerful enemy. I equipped my saber and took to the out doors. A whirling vortex of fat clouds swirled over my realm, engulfing everything passing its event horizon. From its center, a single figure fell, diving with sword drawn, at me.
“En garde!” Niko lashed out with his blade. I blocked and quickly leapt back as he crashed on to my lawn. A small crater, now bereft of grass and green, formed beneath his feet.
“I am not so helpless” He stood up to his full towering height of 5’ 10’’. I took a quick jab at his sword arm, causing him to recoil, averting my attack. He responded with a volley of blows, advancing aggressively. Tightening my focus, I held my defensive stance.
“But a shield alone cannot defeat a blade” He finished his quote with a clumsy flourish, ending his advance.
“You’d be surprised” Niko recommenced his barrage, precise and probing strikes, testing for an invisible weakness in my defensive cone.
The blows became monotonous, simple movements, badgering me to retaliate, to bring the fight a second side, to show my wrath. He succeeded. I turned my block in to a mocking riposte, easily bypassing his crude defenses, further weakened by his complacency. The tip sliced across his forearm, clearly delineating contract before I retreated back in to a loose stance, ready to meet him should he wish to continue.
“Nice! I’m glad I wasn’t tuxedo clad”
“You’d be paying for it, too”
“Cheap bastard”
“Sticks and stones, doctor. Sticks and stones”
“How about a saber?
“En garde!”
We continued our duel for a period, matches going both ways. The lawn, despite its expanse was occupied heavily by both cars and people, who, over time, began to congregate around us, calmly looking on. It was not difficult, however, to see their agitation. Relatives of my father’s side glared daggers at me, unappreciative of my rambunctious behavior; indifferent of myself, they would say. Uninhibited by their judgments, Niko and I danced our duel about the yard, separating here and there, moving across mediums and obstacles, gleefully enjoying the mutual intensity of the fray, until a third blade entered.
From behind the wall of foliage and vehicles, from beyond the wall of disillusioning spectators, from within the screaming, dark abyss of the street, a beacon of light penetrated the darkened skies in a swirling vortex of righteousness and erupted a shockwave of consecrating holy energy, incinerating evil in its wake of its righteous fire and vindicating the pure with an infusion of atoning, penitent glory. Paladin of the Light, Grand Crusader of the Eternal Verdict, Vindicator of the Argent Crusader and Squire to Lord Grayson Shadowbreaker, Lord Gregor advanced, saber in hand, wings of shining white purity spread, and strong in his conviction.
“Armor clad? This is hardly fair” Niko protested.
“The Battle-plate of the Lightbringer was hard earned in the fires of combat. What have you done to earn such?”
“Oh, I didn’t say I didn’t have any armor, I just said its unfair for you to be the only one” As he finished, Niko was overtaken by a wispy veil of darkness, dissipating to reveal a posh Victorian getup, ornamented by ornate tails, frills and rich hues of red, purple, gold and blue.
“Hardly defensive”
“Nobility finds no need to protect from flaccid strikes”
“Arrogance finds no quarter from the Hammer of Justice”
“And I am finding that I have come drastically under-prepared in the attire department” I interjected.
“Way to ruin the moment”
“Such are my skills” I said as I raised my sword. Even the distant onlookers seemed to temporarily relent, as if expecting greatness.
“Defend yourselves!” Lord Gregor arced his saber at Niko, who easily avoided the ostentatious offense. I lunged, stabbing at the challenger. He parried and retreated. The ebbs and flows of the battle came cyclically, as one would be singled, then another, then the third, and then returning to the first. At points one would falter, the two would strike viciously and advance vigorously, forcing the other to defend wildly until one of the attackers developed duplicitous tendencies. The battle raged like a tempest on the warm seas, several times only narrowly avoiding collateral damage, until our arms grew heavy with strain, our hands drenched in focus and our hearts exhausted by hunger.
The sun reined on high when we retreated to my fortress of bachloritude, the scowling faces long retired, seeing the fruitlessness of their efforts.
“Your eggs are mine” Lord Gregor decreed as he commandeered the entirety of my egg supply.
“Going, no doubt, to a noble cause, oh demigod of justice?” I retorted.
“There exists not, a cause so holy as my stomach!” the idol of righteousness zealously proclaimed.
“Morgan, I’m stealing your hot pockets”
“And I’ll eat what?”
“Photosynthesize some energy”
“As attractive as self-manufactured sugar sounds, I think I’ll go with a sandwich”
We nommed in silence, mine filled with contemplation. Self-reflection and introspection weren’t uncommon – especially under circumstances orbiting emotion – and this moment wasn’t an exception; and yet I found myself unable to truly contemplate my thoughts in a concise manner. A fog had been laid over my perceptions and I found closure, clarity and enlightenment a holy grail.
I couldn’t even accurately pinpoint what was bothering me. I love her. I know I love her. That pure confusion, that sense of concern without reason, is that what they call true anxiety? I had never felt it before. I couldn’t even say that I didn’t like it
“Doctor! We have things to do!” Niko snapped me out of my self-induced trance.
“Well, of course, doctor. How could you have forgotten?”
“I don’t know! It just sort of happened”
“That’s unfortunate”
“Yes”
“Kitty mew!”
“Doctor, there’s no time for that!”
“Mew!”
“Doctor, you’re not a kitty!”
“Mew!”
“Fine! You’re a kitty! But we have to go!”
“Mew!”
With the speed and force of great typhoon, our triad exited my father’s opulent manor, proceeding to stroll coolly to my motor vehicle. Within minutes we were scuttling and dancing about my mother’s yard in a fashion akin to an inebriated crab and a cantankerous Maracas musician, respectively. Lord Gregor opted to look on in amusement and apprehension at our eccentric ritual.
After the entering of my mother and other Olivers, and a sufficient amount of ridiculousness had occurred, we congregated in the driveway – a scene reminiscent of the Joad’s truck-side council. We exchanged salutations before entering in to serious logistical conversation; finalizing taskmastering duties and the itinerary, and exchanging pertinent meteorological information, punctuated by humorous interjections vanguarded by Uncle Ted.
What was setup the day before was minimal. After we separated, we went to work feverishly setting up tables, chairs, lanterns, and various other knick-knacks and trinkets. Periodically our work force was augmented, as Butlers arrived and aided in our campaign.
The carpooling was carefully planned out, allowing many of the cars that would’ve been present to remain behind in my father’s horse pasture (of course, horses hadn’t inhabited the space in years), and cares that were brought had parking spaces offered to them by my mother’s neighbors.
The driveway and courtyard had been converted to a dance floor, with music systems placed on the roof over head. Beside the house, an empty buffet table was prepared to receive food, with tables set up between it and the tree line.
The tables each were given a table cloth of either white or warm purple, a saucer-like bowl with a single blossom floating in water, and a candle surrounded by a purple veil of tissue paper akin to that of a Chinese lantern.
My mother’s yard – bordered by the road, a field, the house and a forest – kept a line of trees and brush between it and the road and field. The expanse, punctuated by the tallest of trees, comfortably fit the rows of chairs and was naturally divided in to sections, making arrangement a simple process.
The Butler and Oliver families were both skilled hosts of grandiose celebrations and rambunctious shindigs, and prided themselves in the simultaneous sophisticated and casual nature of the events.
When our tasks were finished, the sun was greeting the tree line.
“5:30” Lord Gregor said. We were seated at one of the tables. The small-petaled flower listed calmly about the pool, and our eyes followed it intently. Like a curious sprite, it would inspect a shore, then, perhaps, swim about before finding another location of water’s edge. The ceremony was scheduled for 7:00. The work had done well to distract my thoughts, and now I was intent on the floating flower doing the same.
“You should probably take a shower or something, Morgan” I looked up at Niko lazily.
“I suppose that’s a good idea”
“We’ll handle processes out here” Lord Gregor added.
“Thanks” Removing the tuxedo and various other prepared underclothings, I found my way to the communal shower of my mother’s domicile. Without the arbitrary actions of the blossom or the attention demanding labor, I was once again alone with my thoughts and the water, however cleansing it was to my body, couldn’t waver the confusing mental fog that plagued my mind. Whether I was happy or sad, I couldn’t even answer a question as simple as that.
Nearing the end of my Nacireman ritual, I realized the words, the melody I had been singing without even consciously producing it.
“Yasashisa wa tokidoki zankoku dakara. Motomeru hodo kotae wo miushinau” Because kindness can be cruel sometimes. I lose sight of the answer the more I search for it. The words had never meant so much to me before. I majored in Japanese language to decipher the songs I had been listening to since before high school, but never had I truly understood them, not implicitly, not truly.
“Ameagari no machi niji ga mieru nara Ima arukidasou nani ka ga hajimaru.” If you see the rainbow in the town after the rain let’s start walking, something is about to begin. It all fit. Everything had led up to this. My high school obsession, the studies at Madison, the rotations in Japan, the fateful meeting; it had all lead up to this.
“Kimi ga iru kara asu ga aru kara” Because I have you, because I have tomorrow. The words were spilling out, uncontrollable with passion. I wanted so terribly it tore at my very being.
“Hitorikiri ja ikite yukenai kara” Because I can’t live on all alone. She was the answer. The fog, in the blink of an eye, with the note of the song, it vanished and left only her face.
“Konna ni chikaku ni kanjiru” I feel you so close by me. All that was left was absolute conviction. Pure unwavering conviction.
“Sore Ga Ai Deshou” I guess that’s love.
The tux felt quite snazzy and posh. The coat, undershirt and pants were all pure white, with a sky-blue tie and vest. After applying footwear, I ventured out in to the backyard. I clipped a single purple blossom from its stem, taping closed the end with a nip of Scotch (tape, not liquor) and placed the adornment in my breast pocket, securing it with a piece of fabric tape. My mother kept a bed of flowers when it suited her, and she went almost over the top when she heard of our engagement. She had been the queen of budget weddings, and gave me quite a number of pro tips. Tape was my favorite and using only her flowers for the wedding was a close second.
Lord Radi and Lord Gregor came around the yard, now also suit-clad. “No shoulder plates, Lord Gregor?”
“It wouldn’t fit the color scheme, Lord Erikshielder”
“I’m glad you’re so thoughtful”
“I just don’t want to ruin my good clothing, so I decided to put on this shabby stuff” Lord Radi interjected.
“Then I’m glad you’re so selfish”
“Any time”
The minutes passed quickly. Only small things were left to be done, but the way people moved, one would think the meticulous details were of critical importance. It was 6:30, but with nothing to truly do, I poised myself at the head of the aisle, talking casually with Lord Radi, Lord Gregor and the bishop. I threw some change at him and the bishop of Waukesha’s local Church of Latter-day Saints offered to enact the ceremony. It helped that he was the father of two friends I had maintained contact with since high school. Despite his Doctorate in mathematics and engineering, Father Cuzner was a humble man, but was by no means shy. His conversation was as enjoyable as any, and didn’t carry the air of an unapproachable, as many religious leaders do.
At one point, the caravan carrying Tomoyo’s party arrived, unloading their troupe behind the house, outside of my view. I smiled at the thoughts, as the emptied cars took their places on the far property.
Lord Radi attempted a few exceedingly ridiculous distractions I could half make out in my peripheral for to return me to reality, causing both the bishop and Lord Gregor to laugh. I pretended not to notice, and continued to stare off where Tomoyo would have been.
“Oh no! He’s been possessed! We need an exorcism!”
“I don’t do those anymore. Not after the incident…” the bishop’s eyes darkened, as if remembering some terrible horror that occurred.
“I got this” Lord Gregor summoned his hammer in a blinding flash of light. “By the Light! Cleanse this soul!” Lord Gregor went through a small routine of theatrics, dramatically doing nothing. “Darn, and I was so sure that was going to work”
The chairs began filling. Slowly at first, then at a quicker pace as people followed the leader. Nagisa Furukawa, the Fujibayashi twins and Lord Timothy joined our conversational group as well. Soon, though, the language barrier became too much of an inconvenience, as I led a sundering of the group, leaving Gregor, Timothy, Niko and Mr. Cuzner to their own devices, opting to speak with the friends I had cultivated while courting Tomoyo in Japan. The moon peeked over the horizon and the sun was offering only scars of light when we moved in to formation.
From the side, Uncle Ted, a locally renowned piano player, began the ceremonial chorus, dancing his appendages about a portable electric piano my father had purchased a few years ago sounding on the organ setting.
Her father, Sausuke-san, heralded her presence like the creeping dawn heralds the sunrise. Like a beautiful blossom, she stood, moon to her back; an aura of penumbral lunar radiance cast around her like a halo. Her vibrant silvery-gray hair cascaded around her petit frame like gently falling rain about a masterful statue. A small blue flower was held at the corner of her face, clinging near her ear, where it accented the deep ocean blue of her eyes.
Clad in a traditional white kimono adorned with intricate stitchings of cranes and flowers, she floated up the aisle as if the only thing keeping her from ascending infinitely was her father’s hand. After ushering her to the mark, Sakagami-san gave a respectful bow to his daughter and turned to me. I presented him with a deep, grateful bow, to which he returned before taking his place next to his wife.
The bishop cleared his throat softly. “We are gathered here today to celebrate the uniting of this respectable young lady and this rascal, Tomoyo Sakagami and Morgan Butler IV. If they would now present vows.”
My tuxedo should’ve been stained red. My heart full to bursting at that point. I hadn’t been so nervous to speak since my 2010 Acadec speech, and even that couldn’t compare. Composing myself, I offered my hand and locked eyes with her. Everything else was fading away. It didn’t matter. It couldn’t have in that moment. It was like standing in a forest clearing with naught but the shining light of the moon and the rhythmic dancing of fireflies, miles away from the world, miles away from the people, miles away from everything. All who was before me, all who could hear my voice was her.
“I’ve been searching for quite some time
For that special one who would be mine
Long I’ve tread on this road of life
Wondering if I wasn’t doing something right
But then in you came
And with you it all changed
You awoke this heart
Gave me a new start
But now its my turn
I’m going to show you now
I’ve never going to let you go
Forever I’m going to know
Forever between us I will feel that spark
Until the light fades out
Until the room grows dark
Until the moon shines down
Even after the years have painted their scorns on our days
I’ll still see the loving glow on your face
And like every Disney you see
My love for you will still shine free
For you I’d climb a mountain
For you I’d swim the seas
I’m asking you to by soul’s companion
And spend your life with me”
Not once did she allow herself to lose her visual grip, even as her eyes grew lustrous with tears. But at once it was too much. She looked down, closing her eyes tightly, shaking her head and donning an amused smile.
“Looks like we had the same idea” she stated as she returned her gaze to mine.
“Like the sun’s light on the moon, you have shone your light on me
You’ve lit up my life in a darkening sea
I don’t ever want to lose this light
Forever I want it in my life
It not for the sex and its not for the beauty
I never want to lose your unconditional loyalty
Like a light in the night I’ll never waver or doubt
That, to me, you’ll be coming home on an express route
And in return to you I’ll guarantee
Eternal love, support and fidelity
No matter the trial or tribulation
By you, I’ll ardently stand
And with mutual conviction
We’ll conquer all that seeks our end
In to the latter years of our life
As the sun sets forever
Despite life troubles and sadness
We’ll walk in to the horizon together”
I drew the same smile she had before she gave her vow.
“True Companion?” I asked
“No one but Cohn” All we could do was stand and stare at each other. She never ceases to be the person I met all those years ago. Rapier wit, assertive dominance, and a peculiar skill for romance.
“And now for the rings”
My little cousin Carolyn gave Tomoyo her band and Carolyn’s older brother, Brady gave me mine. The two grade-schoolers then ran back to their parents, clearly embarrassed beyond measurement. I was immediately given a highly sassy glare as Tomoyo stuck out her hand, demanding my hand. I raised my hand, preparing to place it on hers when she went to snatch it. I quickly pulled it back, combing my hair with my fingers and giving her look of grave satisfaction. She turned her hand in to a fist and belted a bone busting blow to my bicep and reoffered her palm. I submissively agreed, worrying for my ribs.
Her hands were smooth and soft; gracefully manipulating my fingers in to a deadly finger hold, prepared to sever my hand from my body should I try another one of my little zings. She slid the ring on peacefully, releasing me from her grasp, but I was not going to fall for her plan. I quickly turned my hand over and sojourned her right with mine. She raised her eyebrow mischievously, clearly ready with a backup plan. Again, she manipulated my inarticulate phalanges and instigated a thumb war. I gave a cute sigh, raised my eyebrow and looked at her with stern amusement at her audacity. She returned a victorious smile and allowed me control of her hand. I equipped her with the second half of the gold-woven band.
“Starcaller Tomoyo Sakagami, do you take this man, Moonweaver Morgan Butler IV, to be your husband for better or for worse, in sickness and in health, in good times and in bad, to love and to hold until death do you part?”
“I do”
“Skycaptain Morgan Butler IV, do you take this woman, Dread Falconer Tomoyo Sakagami, to be your wife for better or for worse, in sickness and in health, in good times and in bad, to love and to hold until death do you part?”
“I do”
Father Cuzner closed his book and looked expectantly at the two of us.
“Well, kiss her. What are you waiting for?”
Immediately I pulled the angel in to a deep embrace and pressed my lips on to hers. Only for a few seconds could I hear the applause. A thousand times before I had kissed her, but there was a novel quality of this kiss. Everything felt excitingly new. Special. Pure. The soft arms on my back, her fine hair titillating my forehead and eyelids, her slender form melting in a wonderful mutual embrace, her warm lips on mine. An angel had chosen me.
We parted enough to look at each other and traded warm expressions. Most of the seated attendees no longer were. We turned to face them, never losing the happiness on our faces as cameras flashed and people began to line up to shake hands and congratulate us.
After the swarm of people had passed and were now at work stacking up the chairs near the house to open up space for other activities. The moon now cast its approving gaze upon us from above the trees, joined by multitudes of hanging Maru Ball Japanese lanterns. The night passed quickly and in spurts. The dinner, around 8:00 was casual at best, already having given people the choice of eating at whatever point they chose. Still, we obliged to a dinner of family heads, honoring the tradition as best we could. Various activities occurred about the yard: Uncle Ted continued to play the piano, gladly rehearsing his vast repertoire for all who desired a jolly listen; a tossing of the Frisbee was now underway where the ceremony had taken place; dancing was abound at the front of the house; and Lord Radi was swindling everybody’s money after setting up an impromptu game of Texas Hold Em north east of the Frisbee game.
After the dinner Tomoyo and I changed in to semi-formal wear, prepared for physical activity and potential accidental spills, and proceeded to participate in the festivities. Well, except for Lord Radi’s monopoly on his victim’s wallets. This event was simply spectated.
“You know, we never finished that thumb war” Tomoyo looked my way.
“Promise not to break my finger?” I offered my hand.
“So long as you play fair” We stood up, understanding the severity of the situation. Atop the low-pitched roof of the house, we locked fists and began the ritual.
“1-2-3-4 I declare a thumb war! 5-6-7-8 TASTE THE FLAMES OF SULFURON!” Our declaration was simultaneous and ostentatiously bombastic. Instantly we delved in to the depths of a battle on a scale to rival the invasion of Troy. Though, instead of fighting for a woman, we fought for dominance in the realm of finger-related prowess. As we advanced back and forth, dancing about the roof, we had accumulated a small crowd of onlookers. In the blink of an eye, I was flung, spun and pinned to the ground under her weight. Tomoyo twisted my arm, freezing my thumb in regionalized pain. She immediately seized the opportunity and gripped my thumb like a vice. I leapt to my feet, spinning like a ballroom dancer and freed myself from both traps she had locked me in.
“Not bad, my beloved. But can you handle the LION’S BARRAGE!?” Her visage intensified as she began an intense thumb punches to which I quickly buckled beneath. Before she had even began, I was defeated. “362 of the 1000 attacks – an impressive feat”
“I will beat you one day”
“Not likely. I do have a heritage of powerful thumb warriors”
“But who says you’re immune to seductive tactics”
“I’d say it goes both ways”
Again we were in each others embrace.
“I love you, Tomoyo” Her eyes, blue as the sky, and twinkling with the same nebulous stars of the cosmos looked passionately in to mine. Her silvery gray hair, shining in the light of the moon, falling below her hips, caressed my embracing arms and her head rested beneath my chin.
Like the soft purr of a kitten she whispered, “I love you, too”
Solar beams burned through the windows like the cascades of a waterfall, continuously and powerfully. Today was the day.
Curious, the unfamiliarity, but novelty of my room. The same bed that was my home in high school and over summers, the vibrant sunbeam paint, the various baubles and trinkets decorating my desks, it all seemed so new, yet so comfortably mine. I mused over the drinking bird, the autonomous movement of my gyroscopic toy, the rising and falling of the mysterious goo in my lava lamp, as they all seemed to call to me with rejuvenated voices. Even the sun’s rays cast light of a different hue. But there would be time for existential discussions and monologues with the later.
I slid down the banister with expertise rivaling General Zaroff. If there had been a bronze statue of Aphrodite standing in my father’s house, it surely would have received a playful slap on its backside. My body had become a tempesting mix of anxiety, excitement and jubilation, and the product potion was shaping up to be volatile with gayness.
Breakfast of Champions in a comfy robe fit to be worn by the kings of Babylon. The griddle sizzled and delicious aromas permeated the room in anticipation of an egg sandwich. But such savory scents had not gone unnoticed. From deep within the bowels of the enormous fortress of a home, a beast stirred. I quickly devoured the Breakfast of Champions, more hungry than afraid. Heralded by a kingly fanfare, the neighing of a liege of stallions, the howling and roaring of exotic beasts and a thunderous zephyr fowl enough to curdle the juices on one’s eyeballs, my father entered the kitchen.
“Morning” The Butler family was quite…confident… in their physical demeanor. Legend has it that Morgan I actually dueled Mr. Webster to have the word “self-conscious” removed from their dictionary.
“Dad, put some pants on”
“Someday, prodigal son, you will learn to feel the breeze between your knees”
“You’re naked” I said, plainly.
“The wearing of clothes is a false construct perpetrated by the unfounded society we perceive as a necessity of our modern reality”
“Quit using Nihilism as an excuse not to wear pants”
“You’re lucky I did my laundry last night” He promptly exited the room more cantankerously than Grampa Joad.
The remainder of my morning rituals passed uneventfully, leaving plenty of time for the ridiculousness that would inevitably ensue.
It did not make me wait.
The earth shook and the skies darkened, heralding the entrance of another – my greatest and most powerful enemy. I equipped my saber and took to the out doors. A whirling vortex of fat clouds swirled over my realm, engulfing everything passing its event horizon. From its center, a single figure fell, diving with sword drawn, at me.
“En garde!” Niko lashed out with his blade. I blocked and quickly leapt back as he crashed on to my lawn. A small crater, now bereft of grass and green, formed beneath his feet.
“I am not so helpless” He stood up to his full towering height of 5’ 10’’. I took a quick jab at his sword arm, causing him to recoil, averting my attack. He responded with a volley of blows, advancing aggressively. Tightening my focus, I held my defensive stance.
“But a shield alone cannot defeat a blade” He finished his quote with a clumsy flourish, ending his advance.
“You’d be surprised” Niko recommenced his barrage, precise and probing strikes, testing for an invisible weakness in my defensive cone.
The blows became monotonous, simple movements, badgering me to retaliate, to bring the fight a second side, to show my wrath. He succeeded. I turned my block in to a mocking riposte, easily bypassing his crude defenses, further weakened by his complacency. The tip sliced across his forearm, clearly delineating contract before I retreated back in to a loose stance, ready to meet him should he wish to continue.
“Nice! I’m glad I wasn’t tuxedo clad”
“You’d be paying for it, too”
“Cheap bastard”
“Sticks and stones, doctor. Sticks and stones”
“How about a saber?
“En garde!”
We continued our duel for a period, matches going both ways. The lawn, despite its expanse was occupied heavily by both cars and people, who, over time, began to congregate around us, calmly looking on. It was not difficult, however, to see their agitation. Relatives of my father’s side glared daggers at me, unappreciative of my rambunctious behavior; indifferent of myself, they would say. Uninhibited by their judgments, Niko and I danced our duel about the yard, separating here and there, moving across mediums and obstacles, gleefully enjoying the mutual intensity of the fray, until a third blade entered.
From behind the wall of foliage and vehicles, from beyond the wall of disillusioning spectators, from within the screaming, dark abyss of the street, a beacon of light penetrated the darkened skies in a swirling vortex of righteousness and erupted a shockwave of consecrating holy energy, incinerating evil in its wake of its righteous fire and vindicating the pure with an infusion of atoning, penitent glory. Paladin of the Light, Grand Crusader of the Eternal Verdict, Vindicator of the Argent Crusader and Squire to Lord Grayson Shadowbreaker, Lord Gregor advanced, saber in hand, wings of shining white purity spread, and strong in his conviction.
“Armor clad? This is hardly fair” Niko protested.
“The Battle-plate of the Lightbringer was hard earned in the fires of combat. What have you done to earn such?”
“Oh, I didn’t say I didn’t have any armor, I just said its unfair for you to be the only one” As he finished, Niko was overtaken by a wispy veil of darkness, dissipating to reveal a posh Victorian getup, ornamented by ornate tails, frills and rich hues of red, purple, gold and blue.
“Hardly defensive”
“Nobility finds no need to protect from flaccid strikes”
“Arrogance finds no quarter from the Hammer of Justice”
“And I am finding that I have come drastically under-prepared in the attire department” I interjected.
“Way to ruin the moment”
“Such are my skills” I said as I raised my sword. Even the distant onlookers seemed to temporarily relent, as if expecting greatness.
“Defend yourselves!” Lord Gregor arced his saber at Niko, who easily avoided the ostentatious offense. I lunged, stabbing at the challenger. He parried and retreated. The ebbs and flows of the battle came cyclically, as one would be singled, then another, then the third, and then returning to the first. At points one would falter, the two would strike viciously and advance vigorously, forcing the other to defend wildly until one of the attackers developed duplicitous tendencies. The battle raged like a tempest on the warm seas, several times only narrowly avoiding collateral damage, until our arms grew heavy with strain, our hands drenched in focus and our hearts exhausted by hunger.
The sun reined on high when we retreated to my fortress of bachloritude, the scowling faces long retired, seeing the fruitlessness of their efforts.
“Your eggs are mine” Lord Gregor decreed as he commandeered the entirety of my egg supply.
“Going, no doubt, to a noble cause, oh demigod of justice?” I retorted.
“There exists not, a cause so holy as my stomach!” the idol of righteousness zealously proclaimed.
“Morgan, I’m stealing your hot pockets”
“And I’ll eat what?”
“Photosynthesize some energy”
“As attractive as self-manufactured sugar sounds, I think I’ll go with a sandwich”
We nommed in silence, mine filled with contemplation. Self-reflection and introspection weren’t uncommon – especially under circumstances orbiting emotion – and this moment wasn’t an exception; and yet I found myself unable to truly contemplate my thoughts in a concise manner. A fog had been laid over my perceptions and I found closure, clarity and enlightenment a holy grail.
I couldn’t even accurately pinpoint what was bothering me. I love her. I know I love her. That pure confusion, that sense of concern without reason, is that what they call true anxiety? I had never felt it before. I couldn’t even say that I didn’t like it
“Doctor! We have things to do!” Niko snapped me out of my self-induced trance.
“Well, of course, doctor. How could you have forgotten?”
“I don’t know! It just sort of happened”
“That’s unfortunate”
“Yes”
“Kitty mew!”
“Doctor, there’s no time for that!”
“Mew!”
“Doctor, you’re not a kitty!”
“Mew!”
“Fine! You’re a kitty! But we have to go!”
“Mew!”
With the speed and force of great typhoon, our triad exited my father’s opulent manor, proceeding to stroll coolly to my motor vehicle. Within minutes we were scuttling and dancing about my mother’s yard in a fashion akin to an inebriated crab and a cantankerous Maracas musician, respectively. Lord Gregor opted to look on in amusement and apprehension at our eccentric ritual.
After the entering of my mother and other Olivers, and a sufficient amount of ridiculousness had occurred, we congregated in the driveway – a scene reminiscent of the Joad’s truck-side council. We exchanged salutations before entering in to serious logistical conversation; finalizing taskmastering duties and the itinerary, and exchanging pertinent meteorological information, punctuated by humorous interjections vanguarded by Uncle Ted.
What was setup the day before was minimal. After we separated, we went to work feverishly setting up tables, chairs, lanterns, and various other knick-knacks and trinkets. Periodically our work force was augmented, as Butlers arrived and aided in our campaign.
The carpooling was carefully planned out, allowing many of the cars that would’ve been present to remain behind in my father’s horse pasture (of course, horses hadn’t inhabited the space in years), and cares that were brought had parking spaces offered to them by my mother’s neighbors.
The driveway and courtyard had been converted to a dance floor, with music systems placed on the roof over head. Beside the house, an empty buffet table was prepared to receive food, with tables set up between it and the tree line.
The tables each were given a table cloth of either white or warm purple, a saucer-like bowl with a single blossom floating in water, and a candle surrounded by a purple veil of tissue paper akin to that of a Chinese lantern.
My mother’s yard – bordered by the road, a field, the house and a forest – kept a line of trees and brush between it and the road and field. The expanse, punctuated by the tallest of trees, comfortably fit the rows of chairs and was naturally divided in to sections, making arrangement a simple process.
The Butler and Oliver families were both skilled hosts of grandiose celebrations and rambunctious shindigs, and prided themselves in the simultaneous sophisticated and casual nature of the events.
When our tasks were finished, the sun was greeting the tree line.
“5:30” Lord Gregor said. We were seated at one of the tables. The small-petaled flower listed calmly about the pool, and our eyes followed it intently. Like a curious sprite, it would inspect a shore, then, perhaps, swim about before finding another location of water’s edge. The ceremony was scheduled for 7:00. The work had done well to distract my thoughts, and now I was intent on the floating flower doing the same.
“You should probably take a shower or something, Morgan” I looked up at Niko lazily.
“I suppose that’s a good idea”
“We’ll handle processes out here” Lord Gregor added.
“Thanks” Removing the tuxedo and various other prepared underclothings, I found my way to the communal shower of my mother’s domicile. Without the arbitrary actions of the blossom or the attention demanding labor, I was once again alone with my thoughts and the water, however cleansing it was to my body, couldn’t waver the confusing mental fog that plagued my mind. Whether I was happy or sad, I couldn’t even answer a question as simple as that.
Nearing the end of my Nacireman ritual, I realized the words, the melody I had been singing without even consciously producing it.
“Yasashisa wa tokidoki zankoku dakara. Motomeru hodo kotae wo miushinau” Because kindness can be cruel sometimes. I lose sight of the answer the more I search for it. The words had never meant so much to me before. I majored in Japanese language to decipher the songs I had been listening to since before high school, but never had I truly understood them, not implicitly, not truly.
“Ameagari no machi niji ga mieru nara Ima arukidasou nani ka ga hajimaru.” If you see the rainbow in the town after the rain let’s start walking, something is about to begin. It all fit. Everything had led up to this. My high school obsession, the studies at Madison, the rotations in Japan, the fateful meeting; it had all lead up to this.
“Kimi ga iru kara asu ga aru kara” Because I have you, because I have tomorrow. The words were spilling out, uncontrollable with passion. I wanted so terribly it tore at my very being.
“Hitorikiri ja ikite yukenai kara” Because I can’t live on all alone. She was the answer. The fog, in the blink of an eye, with the note of the song, it vanished and left only her face.
“Konna ni chikaku ni kanjiru” I feel you so close by me. All that was left was absolute conviction. Pure unwavering conviction.
“Sore Ga Ai Deshou” I guess that’s love.
The tux felt quite snazzy and posh. The coat, undershirt and pants were all pure white, with a sky-blue tie and vest. After applying footwear, I ventured out in to the backyard. I clipped a single purple blossom from its stem, taping closed the end with a nip of Scotch (tape, not liquor) and placed the adornment in my breast pocket, securing it with a piece of fabric tape. My mother kept a bed of flowers when it suited her, and she went almost over the top when she heard of our engagement. She had been the queen of budget weddings, and gave me quite a number of pro tips. Tape was my favorite and using only her flowers for the wedding was a close second.
Lord Radi and Lord Gregor came around the yard, now also suit-clad. “No shoulder plates, Lord Gregor?”
“It wouldn’t fit the color scheme, Lord Erikshielder”
“I’m glad you’re so thoughtful”
“I just don’t want to ruin my good clothing, so I decided to put on this shabby stuff” Lord Radi interjected.
“Then I’m glad you’re so selfish”
“Any time”
The minutes passed quickly. Only small things were left to be done, but the way people moved, one would think the meticulous details were of critical importance. It was 6:30, but with nothing to truly do, I poised myself at the head of the aisle, talking casually with Lord Radi, Lord Gregor and the bishop. I threw some change at him and the bishop of Waukesha’s local Church of Latter-day Saints offered to enact the ceremony. It helped that he was the father of two friends I had maintained contact with since high school. Despite his Doctorate in mathematics and engineering, Father Cuzner was a humble man, but was by no means shy. His conversation was as enjoyable as any, and didn’t carry the air of an unapproachable, as many religious leaders do.
At one point, the caravan carrying Tomoyo’s party arrived, unloading their troupe behind the house, outside of my view. I smiled at the thoughts, as the emptied cars took their places on the far property.
Lord Radi attempted a few exceedingly ridiculous distractions I could half make out in my peripheral for to return me to reality, causing both the bishop and Lord Gregor to laugh. I pretended not to notice, and continued to stare off where Tomoyo would have been.
“Oh no! He’s been possessed! We need an exorcism!”
“I don’t do those anymore. Not after the incident…” the bishop’s eyes darkened, as if remembering some terrible horror that occurred.
“I got this” Lord Gregor summoned his hammer in a blinding flash of light. “By the Light! Cleanse this soul!” Lord Gregor went through a small routine of theatrics, dramatically doing nothing. “Darn, and I was so sure that was going to work”
The chairs began filling. Slowly at first, then at a quicker pace as people followed the leader. Nagisa Furukawa, the Fujibayashi twins and Lord Timothy joined our conversational group as well. Soon, though, the language barrier became too much of an inconvenience, as I led a sundering of the group, leaving Gregor, Timothy, Niko and Mr. Cuzner to their own devices, opting to speak with the friends I had cultivated while courting Tomoyo in Japan. The moon peeked over the horizon and the sun was offering only scars of light when we moved in to formation.
From the side, Uncle Ted, a locally renowned piano player, began the ceremonial chorus, dancing his appendages about a portable electric piano my father had purchased a few years ago sounding on the organ setting.
Her father, Sausuke-san, heralded her presence like the creeping dawn heralds the sunrise. Like a beautiful blossom, she stood, moon to her back; an aura of penumbral lunar radiance cast around her like a halo. Her vibrant silvery-gray hair cascaded around her petit frame like gently falling rain about a masterful statue. A small blue flower was held at the corner of her face, clinging near her ear, where it accented the deep ocean blue of her eyes.
Clad in a traditional white kimono adorned with intricate stitchings of cranes and flowers, she floated up the aisle as if the only thing keeping her from ascending infinitely was her father’s hand. After ushering her to the mark, Sakagami-san gave a respectful bow to his daughter and turned to me. I presented him with a deep, grateful bow, to which he returned before taking his place next to his wife.
The bishop cleared his throat softly. “We are gathered here today to celebrate the uniting of this respectable young lady and this rascal, Tomoyo Sakagami and Morgan Butler IV. If they would now present vows.”
My tuxedo should’ve been stained red. My heart full to bursting at that point. I hadn’t been so nervous to speak since my 2010 Acadec speech, and even that couldn’t compare. Composing myself, I offered my hand and locked eyes with her. Everything else was fading away. It didn’t matter. It couldn’t have in that moment. It was like standing in a forest clearing with naught but the shining light of the moon and the rhythmic dancing of fireflies, miles away from the world, miles away from the people, miles away from everything. All who was before me, all who could hear my voice was her.
“I’ve been searching for quite some time
For that special one who would be mine
Long I’ve tread on this road of life
Wondering if I wasn’t doing something right
But then in you came
And with you it all changed
You awoke this heart
Gave me a new start
But now its my turn
I’m going to show you now
I’ve never going to let you go
Forever I’m going to know
Forever between us I will feel that spark
Until the light fades out
Until the room grows dark
Until the moon shines down
Even after the years have painted their scorns on our days
I’ll still see the loving glow on your face
And like every Disney you see
My love for you will still shine free
For you I’d climb a mountain
For you I’d swim the seas
I’m asking you to by soul’s companion
And spend your life with me”
Not once did she allow herself to lose her visual grip, even as her eyes grew lustrous with tears. But at once it was too much. She looked down, closing her eyes tightly, shaking her head and donning an amused smile.
“Looks like we had the same idea” she stated as she returned her gaze to mine.
“Like the sun’s light on the moon, you have shone your light on me
You’ve lit up my life in a darkening sea
I don’t ever want to lose this light
Forever I want it in my life
It not for the sex and its not for the beauty
I never want to lose your unconditional loyalty
Like a light in the night I’ll never waver or doubt
That, to me, you’ll be coming home on an express route
And in return to you I’ll guarantee
Eternal love, support and fidelity
No matter the trial or tribulation
By you, I’ll ardently stand
And with mutual conviction
We’ll conquer all that seeks our end
In to the latter years of our life
As the sun sets forever
Despite life troubles and sadness
We’ll walk in to the horizon together”
I drew the same smile she had before she gave her vow.
“True Companion?” I asked
“No one but Cohn” All we could do was stand and stare at each other. She never ceases to be the person I met all those years ago. Rapier wit, assertive dominance, and a peculiar skill for romance.
“And now for the rings”
My little cousin Carolyn gave Tomoyo her band and Carolyn’s older brother, Brady gave me mine. The two grade-schoolers then ran back to their parents, clearly embarrassed beyond measurement. I was immediately given a highly sassy glare as Tomoyo stuck out her hand, demanding my hand. I raised my hand, preparing to place it on hers when she went to snatch it. I quickly pulled it back, combing my hair with my fingers and giving her look of grave satisfaction. She turned her hand in to a fist and belted a bone busting blow to my bicep and reoffered her palm. I submissively agreed, worrying for my ribs.
Her hands were smooth and soft; gracefully manipulating my fingers in to a deadly finger hold, prepared to sever my hand from my body should I try another one of my little zings. She slid the ring on peacefully, releasing me from her grasp, but I was not going to fall for her plan. I quickly turned my hand over and sojourned her right with mine. She raised her eyebrow mischievously, clearly ready with a backup plan. Again, she manipulated my inarticulate phalanges and instigated a thumb war. I gave a cute sigh, raised my eyebrow and looked at her with stern amusement at her audacity. She returned a victorious smile and allowed me control of her hand. I equipped her with the second half of the gold-woven band.
“Starcaller Tomoyo Sakagami, do you take this man, Moonweaver Morgan Butler IV, to be your husband for better or for worse, in sickness and in health, in good times and in bad, to love and to hold until death do you part?”
“I do”
“Skycaptain Morgan Butler IV, do you take this woman, Dread Falconer Tomoyo Sakagami, to be your wife for better or for worse, in sickness and in health, in good times and in bad, to love and to hold until death do you part?”
“I do”
Father Cuzner closed his book and looked expectantly at the two of us.
“Well, kiss her. What are you waiting for?”
Immediately I pulled the angel in to a deep embrace and pressed my lips on to hers. Only for a few seconds could I hear the applause. A thousand times before I had kissed her, but there was a novel quality of this kiss. Everything felt excitingly new. Special. Pure. The soft arms on my back, her fine hair titillating my forehead and eyelids, her slender form melting in a wonderful mutual embrace, her warm lips on mine. An angel had chosen me.
We parted enough to look at each other and traded warm expressions. Most of the seated attendees no longer were. We turned to face them, never losing the happiness on our faces as cameras flashed and people began to line up to shake hands and congratulate us.
After the swarm of people had passed and were now at work stacking up the chairs near the house to open up space for other activities. The moon now cast its approving gaze upon us from above the trees, joined by multitudes of hanging Maru Ball Japanese lanterns. The night passed quickly and in spurts. The dinner, around 8:00 was casual at best, already having given people the choice of eating at whatever point they chose. Still, we obliged to a dinner of family heads, honoring the tradition as best we could. Various activities occurred about the yard: Uncle Ted continued to play the piano, gladly rehearsing his vast repertoire for all who desired a jolly listen; a tossing of the Frisbee was now underway where the ceremony had taken place; dancing was abound at the front of the house; and Lord Radi was swindling everybody’s money after setting up an impromptu game of Texas Hold Em north east of the Frisbee game.
After the dinner Tomoyo and I changed in to semi-formal wear, prepared for physical activity and potential accidental spills, and proceeded to participate in the festivities. Well, except for Lord Radi’s monopoly on his victim’s wallets. This event was simply spectated.
“You know, we never finished that thumb war” Tomoyo looked my way.
“Promise not to break my finger?” I offered my hand.
“So long as you play fair” We stood up, understanding the severity of the situation. Atop the low-pitched roof of the house, we locked fists and began the ritual.
“1-2-3-4 I declare a thumb war! 5-6-7-8 TASTE THE FLAMES OF SULFURON!” Our declaration was simultaneous and ostentatiously bombastic. Instantly we delved in to the depths of a battle on a scale to rival the invasion of Troy. Though, instead of fighting for a woman, we fought for dominance in the realm of finger-related prowess. As we advanced back and forth, dancing about the roof, we had accumulated a small crowd of onlookers. In the blink of an eye, I was flung, spun and pinned to the ground under her weight. Tomoyo twisted my arm, freezing my thumb in regionalized pain. She immediately seized the opportunity and gripped my thumb like a vice. I leapt to my feet, spinning like a ballroom dancer and freed myself from both traps she had locked me in.
“Not bad, my beloved. But can you handle the LION’S BARRAGE!?” Her visage intensified as she began an intense thumb punches to which I quickly buckled beneath. Before she had even began, I was defeated. “362 of the 1000 attacks – an impressive feat”
“I will beat you one day”
“Not likely. I do have a heritage of powerful thumb warriors”
“But who says you’re immune to seductive tactics”
“I’d say it goes both ways”
Again we were in each others embrace.
“I love you, Tomoyo” Her eyes, blue as the sky, and twinkling with the same nebulous stars of the cosmos looked passionately in to mine. Her silvery gray hair, shining in the light of the moon, falling below her hips, caressed my embracing arms and her head rested beneath my chin.
Like the soft purr of a kitten she whispered, “I love you, too”
Monday, October 11, 2010
LGBTerrific!
Another article interpretation piece. Title reference to Questionablecontent.net (I do not own [I believe its owned by Jeph Jacques]).
Piece regarding: http://www.nytimes.com/2010/08/05/opinion/05thu1.html?ref=constitutional_amendments
A Constitutional Milestone: Its about Gosh-Darn Time
In 2008, Proposition 8 was passed in California. It ruled, with bitter resentment of the homosexual population, that the marital union of gays and lesbians unconstitutional. On August 4th, however, that Proposition was REVOKED. (Take it, fundamentalists.) Vaughn Walker, the perceptive judge who heralded this movement, proclaimed that the Proposition violated the 14th Amendment rights of the ones suffering its tyranny and immediately defenestrated the piece of judicial garbage, ushering in an era of well-deserved equality for gays and lesbians.
The supporters of Proposition 8, if there actually were any (the article seldom, if ever, referenced these individuals), argued that discrimination is permissible if ruled as such by a majority vote. They were being serious, too. This paragraph cannot be extended, as the audacity of the argument is absolutely astounding, and cannot truly be augmented in any way by satirical social commentary.
The side debating for the immediate defenestration of the Proposition called for the eradication of the article, stating that the opposition presented no evidence whatsoever that the matrimony of homosexuals harmed society in any way and that to continue to bar gays and lesbians from the act of marriage is to deny them social equality. The faction continued by presenting evidence showing that homosexual couples are equally effective parents and can provide the same degree of stability to both a child and to the community.
I, Lord Erikshielder, am socially liberal. I could argue for hours on end toward social and educational reform, and the topic of equality for homosexuals is no different, but you will never find me on the side against them. It doesn’t matter your sexual orientation – Homosexual, Bisexual, Transsexual, Metrosexual, or Heterosexual – you are a human (and if you happen to live in America, you are an American), and as an American human you are guaranteed, and if you aren’t then court should be where you are, the right to equality. Period. If we, as a nation, deny equal rights to social groups, we are no better than the most prejudice, ignorant bigots, but if you choose to be morally backwards and elitist, be my guest, but prepare to be annihilated on the debate floor.
Piece regarding: http://www.nytimes.com/2010/08/05/opinion/05thu1.html?ref=constitutional_amendments
A Constitutional Milestone: Its about Gosh-Darn Time
In 2008, Proposition 8 was passed in California. It ruled, with bitter resentment of the homosexual population, that the marital union of gays and lesbians unconstitutional. On August 4th, however, that Proposition was REVOKED. (Take it, fundamentalists.) Vaughn Walker, the perceptive judge who heralded this movement, proclaimed that the Proposition violated the 14th Amendment rights of the ones suffering its tyranny and immediately defenestrated the piece of judicial garbage, ushering in an era of well-deserved equality for gays and lesbians.
The supporters of Proposition 8, if there actually were any (the article seldom, if ever, referenced these individuals), argued that discrimination is permissible if ruled as such by a majority vote. They were being serious, too. This paragraph cannot be extended, as the audacity of the argument is absolutely astounding, and cannot truly be augmented in any way by satirical social commentary.
The side debating for the immediate defenestration of the Proposition called for the eradication of the article, stating that the opposition presented no evidence whatsoever that the matrimony of homosexuals harmed society in any way and that to continue to bar gays and lesbians from the act of marriage is to deny them social equality. The faction continued by presenting evidence showing that homosexual couples are equally effective parents and can provide the same degree of stability to both a child and to the community.
I, Lord Erikshielder, am socially liberal. I could argue for hours on end toward social and educational reform, and the topic of equality for homosexuals is no different, but you will never find me on the side against them. It doesn’t matter your sexual orientation – Homosexual, Bisexual, Transsexual, Metrosexual, or Heterosexual – you are a human (and if you happen to live in America, you are an American), and as an American human you are guaranteed, and if you aren’t then court should be where you are, the right to equality. Period. If we, as a nation, deny equal rights to social groups, we are no better than the most prejudice, ignorant bigots, but if you choose to be morally backwards and elitist, be my guest, but prepare to be annihilated on the debate floor.
How Ubiquitous should Free Speech be?
This short summarization and interpretation was written in regards to the article mentioned below for my Government class.
http://www.nytimes.com/2010/10/10/us/10kansas.html?ref=constitutional_amendments
A Lived Experience: Testing the Limit of Free Speech
In Topeka, Kansas, a man by the name of Fred W. Phelps entertains a constant vigilance for the right of free speech. The method? He pickets, protests, preaches at the funerals of dead soldiers, claiming that their deaths are the wrath of a vengeful god acting upon sinners and evil-doers, and that their deaths label them as such. Starting in 1979 and continuing to today, Mr. Phelps has come under fire from all levels of government for his radical demonstrations, but he’s smashed all of the accusations and attacks with the shield and sword of the first amendment – the right to free speech.
The families of the deceased, of course, think that this guy is a disrespectful lunatic, anarchy-bent heretic, god-obsessed zealot, should be burned at the stake, etc. They would just as soon argue that his exercising of free speech is invading their rights as they would take the breath of life. It can be well expected that a grief-stricken parent would take up arms against those who would rail against their dead family, denouncing their demise as the fury of God, so it is no surprise that Mr. Phelps has come under fire, but his shield has held strong thus far, to the crusader’s discontent.
Mr. Phelps holds to his acts the impregnable barrier of the Bill of Rights. The right to free speech is such a nasty double-edged sword. With his exacting of the first amendment, he has scoffed at all attempts to put him behind bars, but he has also earned the honorary position of most publicly hated man in Topeka and the title “The Most Hated Man in America”. Oh the whips and scorns of expressing your beliefs, so painful.
This is where the debate begins. The crusaders contre to the Phelpses would argue that the first amendment has limits to its credence, arguing against the blatant inflammatory lexicon used by Phelps. Of course, the herald of God’s word would never agree with this. Me, Lord Erikshielder, I am honestly at an ethical crossroads here. I seriously stand for the rights granted by the constitution, and the higher part of the conscious believes that this man should be granted the right to spew every hateful word he wishes at whosever funeral he chooses, but then I envision the bullying that goes on in schools and by parents every day and I cannot – by the word of my moral code – cannot sanction this act. It bears to great a personal conflict to ever say that bullying of any sort can ever be allowed, and this act is no different. Even so, the Bill of Rights still stands a pillar of faux justice against this idealism. The streets just can’t be cleaned up by a rugged man with a gun and a purpose anymore.
“Some times the truest justice is found beyond the courtroom and the clouded eyes of politicians”
http://www.nytimes.com/2010/10/10/us/10kansas.html?ref=constitutional_amendments
A Lived Experience: Testing the Limit of Free Speech
In Topeka, Kansas, a man by the name of Fred W. Phelps entertains a constant vigilance for the right of free speech. The method? He pickets, protests, preaches at the funerals of dead soldiers, claiming that their deaths are the wrath of a vengeful god acting upon sinners and evil-doers, and that their deaths label them as such. Starting in 1979 and continuing to today, Mr. Phelps has come under fire from all levels of government for his radical demonstrations, but he’s smashed all of the accusations and attacks with the shield and sword of the first amendment – the right to free speech.
The families of the deceased, of course, think that this guy is a disrespectful lunatic, anarchy-bent heretic, god-obsessed zealot, should be burned at the stake, etc. They would just as soon argue that his exercising of free speech is invading their rights as they would take the breath of life. It can be well expected that a grief-stricken parent would take up arms against those who would rail against their dead family, denouncing their demise as the fury of God, so it is no surprise that Mr. Phelps has come under fire, but his shield has held strong thus far, to the crusader’s discontent.
Mr. Phelps holds to his acts the impregnable barrier of the Bill of Rights. The right to free speech is such a nasty double-edged sword. With his exacting of the first amendment, he has scoffed at all attempts to put him behind bars, but he has also earned the honorary position of most publicly hated man in Topeka and the title “The Most Hated Man in America”. Oh the whips and scorns of expressing your beliefs, so painful.
This is where the debate begins. The crusaders contre to the Phelpses would argue that the first amendment has limits to its credence, arguing against the blatant inflammatory lexicon used by Phelps. Of course, the herald of God’s word would never agree with this. Me, Lord Erikshielder, I am honestly at an ethical crossroads here. I seriously stand for the rights granted by the constitution, and the higher part of the conscious believes that this man should be granted the right to spew every hateful word he wishes at whosever funeral he chooses, but then I envision the bullying that goes on in schools and by parents every day and I cannot – by the word of my moral code – cannot sanction this act. It bears to great a personal conflict to ever say that bullying of any sort can ever be allowed, and this act is no different. Even so, the Bill of Rights still stands a pillar of faux justice against this idealism. The streets just can’t be cleaned up by a rugged man with a gun and a purpose anymore.
“Some times the truest justice is found beyond the courtroom and the clouded eyes of politicians”
Ace T. Choline: Private Eye
A piece I wrote for AP Psych. Its not literary or anything. I just chose the Film Noir medium because I wanted to experiment. "(Mono)" indicates that Ace is monologuing to himself.
Ace: (mono) It was 1949. Crime roamed the streets of New York like it was the Archduke of Austria. I was young. Had a few cases. Nothing big. The shadows of the city pervaded my office like an iron curtain. I kept two magnums in my desk. One, a gun, and I kept it loaded. The other, bourbon, and it kept me loaded. I punched a few more keys on my typewriter. It had been a long day. A saxophone riff suddenly played. She walked through the door like a tigress walks in to a Burmese Orphanage – strawberry blonde and legs for hours. No dame her age could afford a coat like that, and the kinda makeup she had on gave me a good idea of how she got it. She had bad news written on her like October of ’29.
Sara: are you Ace?
Ace: yeah
Sara: I hear you’re pretty good
Ace: (mono) typical flattery. I could tell she hadn’t played the Femme Fatale role in a while
Sara: I have a job for you
Ace: I’m listening
Sara: my husband was murdered a few days ago. The police found no leads
Ace: (mono) she was like a cat playing with her food. I wasn’t buyin it
Ace: You’re in quite a good mood to have just lost your lover
Sara: I’m a strong woman
Ace: A little heavy on the makeup. Who you lookin good for?
Sara: I don’t sleep much. I need a little helping hand
Ace: you look well for getting no sleep
Sara: I keep a good well-being
Ace: (mono) she leaned in, flaunting what even Mae West would be jealous of. She took a puff of her cigarette. A dark puff, and blew it at me like a politician. It was predatory and corrupt, full of betrayal. She had men under her thumb. I had to be careful. I don’t do well wrapped around fingers
Ace: so Mel is dead?
Sara: how did you know Mel was my husband?
Ace: we were friends. I’d never forget his watch
Ace: (mono) Sara covered up her wrist. She could tell she had been read like a pop-up book on Kama Sutra
Sara: so will you do the job?
Ace: I’ll get to the bottom of this
(mono) the very bottom. I sat back in my chair. The street light below flickered off. My impractically slow ceiling fan spun above me like a tornado, only without the high winds, funnel cloud, devastation and death
Sara: you two were friends?
Ace: yeah, friends like Germany and Russia were friends
Sara: what happened?
Ace: (mono) she was setting me up for something. I was being herded like buffalo to a cliff. I decided to play along
Ace: we were in the watch-making business. I wanted out. That didn’t sit with him. He took our assets to court. And won
Sara: what’d you do?
Ace: I came here. I wanted to rid the street of corruption; corruption like him
G-man: GABA G-man, Federal Bureau of Investigation, Ace T. Choline, you are under arrest for the murder of Mel Tonin
Ace: you framed me!
Sara: like Roger Rabbit
Ace: (mono) A cunning Riposte in our verbal duel. I had been reduced to a Burmese Orphan, and she was the tigress. Like a fish on a hook, I had fallen for the bait; and all the obscure similes and metaphors couldn’t save me now.
Ace: (mono) It was 1949. Crime roamed the streets of New York like it was the Archduke of Austria. I was young. Had a few cases. Nothing big. The shadows of the city pervaded my office like an iron curtain. I kept two magnums in my desk. One, a gun, and I kept it loaded. The other, bourbon, and it kept me loaded. I punched a few more keys on my typewriter. It had been a long day. A saxophone riff suddenly played. She walked through the door like a tigress walks in to a Burmese Orphanage – strawberry blonde and legs for hours. No dame her age could afford a coat like that, and the kinda makeup she had on gave me a good idea of how she got it. She had bad news written on her like October of ’29.
Sara: are you Ace?
Ace: yeah
Sara: I hear you’re pretty good
Ace: (mono) typical flattery. I could tell she hadn’t played the Femme Fatale role in a while
Sara: I have a job for you
Ace: I’m listening
Sara: my husband was murdered a few days ago. The police found no leads
Ace: (mono) she was like a cat playing with her food. I wasn’t buyin it
Ace: You’re in quite a good mood to have just lost your lover
Sara: I’m a strong woman
Ace: A little heavy on the makeup. Who you lookin good for?
Sara: I don’t sleep much. I need a little helping hand
Ace: you look well for getting no sleep
Sara: I keep a good well-being
Ace: (mono) she leaned in, flaunting what even Mae West would be jealous of. She took a puff of her cigarette. A dark puff, and blew it at me like a politician. It was predatory and corrupt, full of betrayal. She had men under her thumb. I had to be careful. I don’t do well wrapped around fingers
Ace: so Mel is dead?
Sara: how did you know Mel was my husband?
Ace: we were friends. I’d never forget his watch
Ace: (mono) Sara covered up her wrist. She could tell she had been read like a pop-up book on Kama Sutra
Sara: so will you do the job?
Ace: I’ll get to the bottom of this
(mono) the very bottom. I sat back in my chair. The street light below flickered off. My impractically slow ceiling fan spun above me like a tornado, only without the high winds, funnel cloud, devastation and death
Sara: you two were friends?
Ace: yeah, friends like Germany and Russia were friends
Sara: what happened?
Ace: (mono) she was setting me up for something. I was being herded like buffalo to a cliff. I decided to play along
Ace: we were in the watch-making business. I wanted out. That didn’t sit with him. He took our assets to court. And won
Sara: what’d you do?
Ace: I came here. I wanted to rid the street of corruption; corruption like him
G-man: GABA G-man, Federal Bureau of Investigation, Ace T. Choline, you are under arrest for the murder of Mel Tonin
Ace: you framed me!
Sara: like Roger Rabbit
Ace: (mono) A cunning Riposte in our verbal duel. I had been reduced to a Burmese Orphan, and she was the tigress. Like a fish on a hook, I had fallen for the bait; and all the obscure similes and metaphors couldn’t save me now.
Tuesday, September 28, 2010
A Bit on Equality
This essay is a little piece I had to write for a Government class. Nothing special, just a particular enjoyment in breaking both party's legs.
Equality - the misguided idea that those of lesser ability and prestige deserve what those of greater worth have - takes on an entertaining, unique perspective in politics. In the blue corner, you have the bleeding hearts, those who would seek to drain their own blood to see the poor man live another day. Honorable and righteous they call themselves, but to coronate the proletariate is hardly an act worthy of such title. In the red corner you have a mafia of white, old men. Demons and scoundrels who would sooner burn holy books than allow any trace of government-sanctioned redistribution of wealth set foot in their domain. The words "greedy vampire" come to mind.
To the champions of the blue team, equality invokes an image where, with the bastion of government vanguarding the crusade, the bring the country's poor and needy back to their feet at a job. Unrealistic Romantics. Such a world ignores a human's basic instinct - self-interest.
To the aristocrats of the red, though, equality see government crushed to a pulp. They see the world through the ruby shades of Herbert Spencer - a savage Darwinian struggle where the strong will rise to power and wealth, their victims are, and deserve, to be left bloodied corpses, and the smart will feast on their remains like vultures. To them, equality is the right to the equality of opportunity. A right which they have not granted, though they would argue otherwise.
But to see either of the extremes as a real solution or option is somewhat ridiculous. To redistribute wealth blindly removes the drive to perform at maximum; it removes the drive for individual achievement. On the other hand, if you choose to allow the maiming of your countrymen by economic titans, and never work to ensure that the disabled and the sick don't fall in to depravity, when you refuse to provide health benefits for your citizens because it wouldn't increase taxes one cent, seems to label you either selfish or intellectually unfortunate. Some people might call you "a dim bulb", "not the sharpest tool in the shed", "sandwich short of a picnic", "slow", etc. To truly achieve a fair degree of equality, our systems need to reformed. We are torn between two opposing forces, and they are tearing our efforts to pieces. We must come to terms with the realities of these social reforms. Welfare serves a purpose, but it is misused and abused and must be made stricter, or we're throwing money away. Universal Health Care must be implemented if we want to revive the economy, because less money out of our pockets is more money to induce business, to say nothing of the relief it takes off of school districts and their stressed budgets. Its just such a shame that sadists and masochists can't meet in the middle for a greater good. It must be the fetishes.
Equality - the misguided idea that those of lesser ability and prestige deserve what those of greater worth have - takes on an entertaining, unique perspective in politics. In the blue corner, you have the bleeding hearts, those who would seek to drain their own blood to see the poor man live another day. Honorable and righteous they call themselves, but to coronate the proletariate is hardly an act worthy of such title. In the red corner you have a mafia of white, old men. Demons and scoundrels who would sooner burn holy books than allow any trace of government-sanctioned redistribution of wealth set foot in their domain. The words "greedy vampire" come to mind.
To the champions of the blue team, equality invokes an image where, with the bastion of government vanguarding the crusade, the bring the country's poor and needy back to their feet at a job. Unrealistic Romantics. Such a world ignores a human's basic instinct - self-interest.
To the aristocrats of the red, though, equality see government crushed to a pulp. They see the world through the ruby shades of Herbert Spencer - a savage Darwinian struggle where the strong will rise to power and wealth, their victims are, and deserve, to be left bloodied corpses, and the smart will feast on their remains like vultures. To them, equality is the right to the equality of opportunity. A right which they have not granted, though they would argue otherwise.
But to see either of the extremes as a real solution or option is somewhat ridiculous. To redistribute wealth blindly removes the drive to perform at maximum; it removes the drive for individual achievement. On the other hand, if you choose to allow the maiming of your countrymen by economic titans, and never work to ensure that the disabled and the sick don't fall in to depravity, when you refuse to provide health benefits for your citizens because it wouldn't increase taxes one cent, seems to label you either selfish or intellectually unfortunate. Some people might call you "a dim bulb", "not the sharpest tool in the shed", "sandwich short of a picnic", "slow", etc. To truly achieve a fair degree of equality, our systems need to reformed. We are torn between two opposing forces, and they are tearing our efforts to pieces. We must come to terms with the realities of these social reforms. Welfare serves a purpose, but it is misused and abused and must be made stricter, or we're throwing money away. Universal Health Care must be implemented if we want to revive the economy, because less money out of our pockets is more money to induce business, to say nothing of the relief it takes off of school districts and their stressed budgets. Its just such a shame that sadists and masochists can't meet in the middle for a greater good. It must be the fetishes.
Sunday, September 26, 2010
A World to Parallel Our Own
This essay, spurned by a discussion I had with a friend, was written purely for enjoyment. I feel this may have affected the quality slightly, but writing for one's self has to begin somewhere.
For better or for worse, change is upon us. Our world is changing faster than ever before, and it is changing in ways that we never even imagined it would have before. In the midst, a microcosmic world – the World of Warcraft – was created, which parallels the global changes, in many ways, of our own world.
In certain aspects, the Earth has remained resilient to change. Tradition and traditional values still hold many in its vice-like grip. Those of the older generation, those often seen in power in the United States, are of that group. In ways, previously discussed, they hold steadfast against the waves of change and reform, believing in the archaic principles of an age past. From their seeds sowed, a new generation was born that is now coming of age, joining society and standing along side them, but perhaps not as equals in capacity. This new generation, especially in the United States, has taken, and continues to take, their lives for granted. They find a false contentment in their false belief of entitlement. They, who have become immeasurably apathetic to their educational and vocational future, believe that they deserve, simply for it, a college education and a well paying job. In this, they have been raised, except for a small fraction, in to ungrateful, immature deadbeats with no appreciation for what they have. The two generations both have their short comings, their rainbow after the storm, and their own personal parallels.
Vanilla WoW was a harsh, elitist world, reminiscent of a Pre-Sherman Anti-Trust Act United States. A select few parties controlled the production of high-level goods, and barriers to entry in to this powerful ring were many and daunting. Even so, this was the Golden Age. During this Darwinian era of struggle and difficulty, the masses of max level characters were given idols. These model players showcased the spoils earned by the combined effort of their guilds, and one could and would look up to these demi-gods in all their rarefied power and glory. During that epoch of greatness, there was not a soul who did not appreciate the time, the effort, the skill and the sheer fantasticality of what these aristocrats of the artificial world had accomplished; and this made them grateful. Those below the titans were able to appreciate what they had, because they knew that it represented a path toward a future along side the champions they bore witness to every day, and it drove them to excel. These idols, and the greatness they represented, drove them become better, both in gear and in skill – a drive and appreciation exclusive to our fathers’ generation.
Then Wrath of the Lich King came; then our generation came. The once pure world of Azeroth was, all at once, inundated by a misguided, unprincipled and ungrateful human river. Completely forsaking the traditional methodologies of their forefather’s, they revolted, reforming the mechanics of the game in to an over-simplified parody of its former glory, and this reformation only furthered their grotesque attitudes. Self-absorbed, and basking in their own false prowess, they demanded, like the immature children they were, power and equipment simply because they believed it entitled to them. Falsely equipped with the power of gods, they were presented with challenges far inferior, in both grandeur and difficulty, to those presented by Vanilla; and, naturally, this inflated their ego only further. Knowing nothing of the heroes and heroines of the past, they proclaimed themselves masters of their domain. Knowing nothing of skill, of grandeur, of the past, they selfishly demanded more and more, and they received. It was in this receiving that they lost appreciation and drive. Everything was handed to them; everything is handed to us. Being the popular image, they all believed they were entitled to the best gear and standing. Being the popular image, we all believe we are entitled to stand at the podium at college and to receive a fat salary. This isn’t so. We have lost our appreciation for the things we have, and we have lost the drive to improve both our education and ourselves.
Our own artificial microcosms speak well beyond their years – they provide a fleshed out future for the masses that have jumped on the apathy bandwagon. With no respect for their elders and superiors, surmounted by the uncurbed attitudes of entitlement, the populace weakens; pride in one’s organization evaporates and mutual bonds diminish. In Warcraft, this is displayed through the steep decline in pride for one’s guild. Guilds have become merely a tool through which to leverage higher standing. They are no longer families who work cooperatively to succeed, and people are no longer proud of them. To see a character with a guild tabard is rarer than the Dodo bird. On Earth, without respect for those of intelligence and for those who are seeking to guide us in to our future – if we choose to value what’s “cool” over what’s actually important for our betterment – we will crash, and we will burn.
Though the generation of old may be at fault to cling to certain traditional principles, it demands respect for what it values. What do we value? Trends? Sex? Drugs? Our microcosms reveal nothing more to add to this list other than power and wealth. What future could these vices possibly bestow upon us? Even if these are shown to be pure speculation, what then? If we really do value our future, are we and will we be willing and able to work for it? From evidence presented by this artificial world, and from accounts of our real world, signs would point to no. Meanwhile, over seas, millions of students and workers are being raised at a level far exceeding us, poised to take our dwindling supply of jobs and futures. It bears asking: have we lost already?
For better or for worse, change is upon us. Our world is changing faster than ever before, and it is changing in ways that we never even imagined it would have before. In the midst, a microcosmic world – the World of Warcraft – was created, which parallels the global changes, in many ways, of our own world.
In certain aspects, the Earth has remained resilient to change. Tradition and traditional values still hold many in its vice-like grip. Those of the older generation, those often seen in power in the United States, are of that group. In ways, previously discussed, they hold steadfast against the waves of change and reform, believing in the archaic principles of an age past. From their seeds sowed, a new generation was born that is now coming of age, joining society and standing along side them, but perhaps not as equals in capacity. This new generation, especially in the United States, has taken, and continues to take, their lives for granted. They find a false contentment in their false belief of entitlement. They, who have become immeasurably apathetic to their educational and vocational future, believe that they deserve, simply for it, a college education and a well paying job. In this, they have been raised, except for a small fraction, in to ungrateful, immature deadbeats with no appreciation for what they have. The two generations both have their short comings, their rainbow after the storm, and their own personal parallels.
Vanilla WoW was a harsh, elitist world, reminiscent of a Pre-Sherman Anti-Trust Act United States. A select few parties controlled the production of high-level goods, and barriers to entry in to this powerful ring were many and daunting. Even so, this was the Golden Age. During this Darwinian era of struggle and difficulty, the masses of max level characters were given idols. These model players showcased the spoils earned by the combined effort of their guilds, and one could and would look up to these demi-gods in all their rarefied power and glory. During that epoch of greatness, there was not a soul who did not appreciate the time, the effort, the skill and the sheer fantasticality of what these aristocrats of the artificial world had accomplished; and this made them grateful. Those below the titans were able to appreciate what they had, because they knew that it represented a path toward a future along side the champions they bore witness to every day, and it drove them to excel. These idols, and the greatness they represented, drove them become better, both in gear and in skill – a drive and appreciation exclusive to our fathers’ generation.
Then Wrath of the Lich King came; then our generation came. The once pure world of Azeroth was, all at once, inundated by a misguided, unprincipled and ungrateful human river. Completely forsaking the traditional methodologies of their forefather’s, they revolted, reforming the mechanics of the game in to an over-simplified parody of its former glory, and this reformation only furthered their grotesque attitudes. Self-absorbed, and basking in their own false prowess, they demanded, like the immature children they were, power and equipment simply because they believed it entitled to them. Falsely equipped with the power of gods, they were presented with challenges far inferior, in both grandeur and difficulty, to those presented by Vanilla; and, naturally, this inflated their ego only further. Knowing nothing of the heroes and heroines of the past, they proclaimed themselves masters of their domain. Knowing nothing of skill, of grandeur, of the past, they selfishly demanded more and more, and they received. It was in this receiving that they lost appreciation and drive. Everything was handed to them; everything is handed to us. Being the popular image, they all believed they were entitled to the best gear and standing. Being the popular image, we all believe we are entitled to stand at the podium at college and to receive a fat salary. This isn’t so. We have lost our appreciation for the things we have, and we have lost the drive to improve both our education and ourselves.
Our own artificial microcosms speak well beyond their years – they provide a fleshed out future for the masses that have jumped on the apathy bandwagon. With no respect for their elders and superiors, surmounted by the uncurbed attitudes of entitlement, the populace weakens; pride in one’s organization evaporates and mutual bonds diminish. In Warcraft, this is displayed through the steep decline in pride for one’s guild. Guilds have become merely a tool through which to leverage higher standing. They are no longer families who work cooperatively to succeed, and people are no longer proud of them. To see a character with a guild tabard is rarer than the Dodo bird. On Earth, without respect for those of intelligence and for those who are seeking to guide us in to our future – if we choose to value what’s “cool” over what’s actually important for our betterment – we will crash, and we will burn.
Though the generation of old may be at fault to cling to certain traditional principles, it demands respect for what it values. What do we value? Trends? Sex? Drugs? Our microcosms reveal nothing more to add to this list other than power and wealth. What future could these vices possibly bestow upon us? Even if these are shown to be pure speculation, what then? If we really do value our future, are we and will we be willing and able to work for it? From evidence presented by this artificial world, and from accounts of our real world, signs would point to no. Meanwhile, over seas, millions of students and workers are being raised at a level far exceeding us, poised to take our dwindling supply of jobs and futures. It bears asking: have we lost already?
Saturday, September 25, 2010
Outsourcing and Globalization
This is an essay I wrote for my Social Issues class. It is meant as a response to Thomas Friedman's documentary "The Other Side of Outsourcing", but I got a little carried away.
On Our Knees
For years the U.S. has lavished in the luxury of a reign on high among the globalized world. We’ve been the vanguard of innovation; we’ve lead the way in to the information age; we’ve given the gift of prosperity through commerce to countless people; and the world has benefited tremendously from it, but now we are made to face the consequences of our actions. Now we are made to, in the eyes of our politicians, Suffer. Through brainwashing of the plebian masses, those too foolish to question their propaganda otherwise, our nation’s misguided sovereign have successfully turned us against the world. In their corrupting addresses to the proletariat, they are quick to denounce the prosperity for all parties brought on by the outsourcing of jobs, ensuring the tenebriation of any information countering their claims after they’ve walked behind the curtain. But they do naught but destroy their own. This nation has fallen; it has buckled under the crushing pressure of a changing world, and now, still under the rule of blind, old fools, it can do nothing but wither and die on its knees. It is until this nation is made to see, is pushed to the brink of utter economic and political failure, it can never prosper the way it once did. The way it still dreams it can.
Ruled by the aged, the nation walks by aged beliefs. It is guided by archaic principles in a world that does not condone such. Constantly, our figureheads champion a false crusade of protectionism – a campaign to save domestic jobs from fleeing overseas. Fools, all of them. It can be heard, the world around, that keeping jobs within our borders, by keeping our citizens employed in jobs that are kept by force and subsidies, that our economy will rise again. Wrong. By human nature, we desire the most for the least; we operate on self-interest. To ensnare vocations being sent overseas, to tie them down here with government charity and regulations, we exacerbate a skewing of basic economic principles, an act that leads only to the drastic weakening of an economy. To compete in the global market, a company must seek out the best work for the most efficient cost, or your population will pay the price. By trapping them within our borders, this process is tampered with, causing prices to, ultimately, rise and consumers to suffer.
Even those free from the misguided ideologies of the generations past have set themselves on a course of degradation and self-destruction; and they did it all by themselves. The youthful populace of today’s America may not suffer the idiosyncrasies of their leaders, but they have done a superb job of stupefying and damning themselves. They, lost in their own laughably simplistic worlds, have rejected education and, though they may not see it through the fog they have lost themselves in, the future that it can bestow upon them. And to speak of those who still exert effort in their continued learning, there are many who lack any semblance of appreciation for what they are being so graciously gifted. In both guilty parties there exists a feeling, a certain belief that these privileges are entitled to them, that college degrees and graduate programs are entitled to them, that a job is entitled to them. They have become so enthralled with themselves that they refuse to learn the languages of those whom, in the future age of commerce, they will be required to interact with; nay, they scorn those who would even suggest learning a language that is not their own. Blinded by pride, they, too, will fall. On the other side of the world, there are children in India and Africa, who have never held a textbook, who are receiving laptops and using them to gain education. Those are the children who will succeed, and they will do so because they truly appreciate and are fully absorbing everything that is being given to them. Those are the children who will, in a globally competitive market, earn the jobs that Americans are complaining, like the asinine fools that they are, about losing. We are so incredibly foolish. We are so misguided. We are sniveling and crying for low prices and the next hot technology, not realizing that overseas workers are the sole reason that prices are low, and that we are no longer the ones producing the technology, and then we have the idiotic, hypocritical gall to bitch and moan about losing our jobs, and we aren’t even putting in the effort to earn them back.
The world is no longer hundreds of countries. It is no longer millions and billions of people of different races. We are one world. We are one race. We have become one market, and we have to open our eyes and see this. Americans are no longer competing against themselves. The world is the battlefield now, and it’s every man for himself, and for our citizens who are too feint hearted to understand this, they will perish. Survival of the Fittest will ensure that. Jobs will move to the place where it will be most profitable for the business, and people must be prepared to follow them. They must be prepared to learn more. They must be prepared to give more. Everything has a cost, and jobs are no exception. Those with experience will often say that the world is harsh, unforgiving, vicious, the world isn’t fair. Progress has given us a mandate: this we must learn again. If we are to survive in our age of exponential expansion, we must be prepared to sacrifice.
With the boundaries of nations broken, with the chains of race shattered, with the chasm of language traversed, our world is evolving. Every day, the global market is getting larger, and every day, the world itself, getting smaller. The rest of the globalized world has realized this. America has not. We have not. Until we shed our erroneous ideologies of protectionism, entitlement and archaism we will never – we can never – advance. We are on our knees on our own faults. Still, we aren’t beyond saving. But if we want to save ourselves, we cannot afford to be proud of the shortcomings we perceive as progress. To rise, we must step in to the future. To rise, we must share ourselves with the world and allow them to share in return. To rise, we must change our rules. To succeed, we must change ourselves.
On Our Knees
For years the U.S. has lavished in the luxury of a reign on high among the globalized world. We’ve been the vanguard of innovation; we’ve lead the way in to the information age; we’ve given the gift of prosperity through commerce to countless people; and the world has benefited tremendously from it, but now we are made to face the consequences of our actions. Now we are made to, in the eyes of our politicians, Suffer. Through brainwashing of the plebian masses, those too foolish to question their propaganda otherwise, our nation’s misguided sovereign have successfully turned us against the world. In their corrupting addresses to the proletariat, they are quick to denounce the prosperity for all parties brought on by the outsourcing of jobs, ensuring the tenebriation of any information countering their claims after they’ve walked behind the curtain. But they do naught but destroy their own. This nation has fallen; it has buckled under the crushing pressure of a changing world, and now, still under the rule of blind, old fools, it can do nothing but wither and die on its knees. It is until this nation is made to see, is pushed to the brink of utter economic and political failure, it can never prosper the way it once did. The way it still dreams it can.
Ruled by the aged, the nation walks by aged beliefs. It is guided by archaic principles in a world that does not condone such. Constantly, our figureheads champion a false crusade of protectionism – a campaign to save domestic jobs from fleeing overseas. Fools, all of them. It can be heard, the world around, that keeping jobs within our borders, by keeping our citizens employed in jobs that are kept by force and subsidies, that our economy will rise again. Wrong. By human nature, we desire the most for the least; we operate on self-interest. To ensnare vocations being sent overseas, to tie them down here with government charity and regulations, we exacerbate a skewing of basic economic principles, an act that leads only to the drastic weakening of an economy. To compete in the global market, a company must seek out the best work for the most efficient cost, or your population will pay the price. By trapping them within our borders, this process is tampered with, causing prices to, ultimately, rise and consumers to suffer.
Even those free from the misguided ideologies of the generations past have set themselves on a course of degradation and self-destruction; and they did it all by themselves. The youthful populace of today’s America may not suffer the idiosyncrasies of their leaders, but they have done a superb job of stupefying and damning themselves. They, lost in their own laughably simplistic worlds, have rejected education and, though they may not see it through the fog they have lost themselves in, the future that it can bestow upon them. And to speak of those who still exert effort in their continued learning, there are many who lack any semblance of appreciation for what they are being so graciously gifted. In both guilty parties there exists a feeling, a certain belief that these privileges are entitled to them, that college degrees and graduate programs are entitled to them, that a job is entitled to them. They have become so enthralled with themselves that they refuse to learn the languages of those whom, in the future age of commerce, they will be required to interact with; nay, they scorn those who would even suggest learning a language that is not their own. Blinded by pride, they, too, will fall. On the other side of the world, there are children in India and Africa, who have never held a textbook, who are receiving laptops and using them to gain education. Those are the children who will succeed, and they will do so because they truly appreciate and are fully absorbing everything that is being given to them. Those are the children who will, in a globally competitive market, earn the jobs that Americans are complaining, like the asinine fools that they are, about losing. We are so incredibly foolish. We are so misguided. We are sniveling and crying for low prices and the next hot technology, not realizing that overseas workers are the sole reason that prices are low, and that we are no longer the ones producing the technology, and then we have the idiotic, hypocritical gall to bitch and moan about losing our jobs, and we aren’t even putting in the effort to earn them back.
The world is no longer hundreds of countries. It is no longer millions and billions of people of different races. We are one world. We are one race. We have become one market, and we have to open our eyes and see this. Americans are no longer competing against themselves. The world is the battlefield now, and it’s every man for himself, and for our citizens who are too feint hearted to understand this, they will perish. Survival of the Fittest will ensure that. Jobs will move to the place where it will be most profitable for the business, and people must be prepared to follow them. They must be prepared to learn more. They must be prepared to give more. Everything has a cost, and jobs are no exception. Those with experience will often say that the world is harsh, unforgiving, vicious, the world isn’t fair. Progress has given us a mandate: this we must learn again. If we are to survive in our age of exponential expansion, we must be prepared to sacrifice.
With the boundaries of nations broken, with the chains of race shattered, with the chasm of language traversed, our world is evolving. Every day, the global market is getting larger, and every day, the world itself, getting smaller. The rest of the globalized world has realized this. America has not. We have not. Until we shed our erroneous ideologies of protectionism, entitlement and archaism we will never – we can never – advance. We are on our knees on our own faults. Still, we aren’t beyond saving. But if we want to save ourselves, we cannot afford to be proud of the shortcomings we perceive as progress. To rise, we must step in to the future. To rise, we must share ourselves with the world and allow them to share in return. To rise, we must change our rules. To succeed, we must change ourselves.
Friday, September 24, 2010
Are the Teens of Today "Doomed"?
This response was written for an assignment in a Social Issues class that I am currently enrolled in.
“Are the teens of today doomed?” A question with a grey area if one has ever existed. The answer isn’t clear-cut; it isn’t even poorly cut, for that matter. There are cases where the only answer to this question is screaming “Duh” directly in one’s face, and there are cases where one could look at the positeur of this enigma and scoff at their audacity for even asking the question in the first place. Then like any other good grey-area-question there are cases where the answer is the universal hand sign for “ehh…kinda”. Of course, exploring just one of these avenues would be incredibly boring.
Destiny. Insert scoff here. Even the notion that it exists is enough to incite a mocking chuckle. Destiny is merely an excuse for those who couldn’t make it work. Yes, there’s a degree of luck, but “destiny”? Psh. To say that teens these days are “doomed” is to say that it is their destiny, which, as I believe, is crap. Teens, and everyone for that matter, at some point in their life, have been presented with the chance and/or chances to make their life good. Maybe those chances were in school. You could’ve done well, gotten good grades, gotten a scholarship and gone to a college. Maybe not a haughty one, but a college, none-the-less. Maybe your chance was doing work; maybe you had a chance to begin a corporate ascent, and break free of your stereotypes. The real point is that everyone either will, has, or has had their chance to make it work, but many lack the foresight and wisdom to seize that chance when its there. This, of course, is no one’s fault but their own, fair or unfair. (Another scoff at fairness)
As numerous as the people are who live unfulfilled lives, there are those who succeed. Talking about them isn’t as interesting, though, due to a lack of chances to scoff at prospects like “destiny” and “fairness”. These people did what we call “work”. They are the ones who, either by force or by choice, they did the necessary “work” to achieve in realms of life. Anyone can be one of these people ("anyone" denoting anyone who doesn’t have a crippling mental disability). All one needs is what is known as “work ethic”. Unfortunately, a very good portion of the teens of today don’t even know what this concept is, let alone possess it. If you see one of them, scoff at them in the name of society; society will appreciate your altruistic deed. One could argue that teens are “doomed” (scoff) because teens don’t have work ethic. Here’s the counter argument: it is almost entirely their fault, not the fault of "destiny". Another argument could attack the opinions stated herein by saying that “ethnicity, lack of school funds and family problems can stop students from achieving success”. This works both ways. Of course this COULD stop a student from succeeding, and even if he DIDN’T have these problems he STILL wouldn’t succeed if he didn’t have work ethic (or care). If a student is really plagued by these problems, it is a responsibility that must be taken up by the student (whoa, that sounds like work) to address the teacher and find out ways that he or she could work around the problems (staying after school, getting extra help, etc [oh man, more WORK {its so hard!}]).
Work; responsibility; work ethic; CARING(!?); all of these thing are parts of a formula. Any student, no matter where they are, no matter what their personal and familial situation, no matter what their ethnicity, CAN succeed and almost certainly WILL succeed if they embody these characteristics and employ these methods. Thousands did it before them. They have NO excuse, especially not DESTINY (SCOFF!!!!), for them not to succeed. They have no one to blame for their choices but themselves.
“Are the teens of today doomed?” A question with a grey area if one has ever existed. The answer isn’t clear-cut; it isn’t even poorly cut, for that matter. There are cases where the only answer to this question is screaming “Duh” directly in one’s face, and there are cases where one could look at the positeur of this enigma and scoff at their audacity for even asking the question in the first place. Then like any other good grey-area-question there are cases where the answer is the universal hand sign for “ehh…kinda”. Of course, exploring just one of these avenues would be incredibly boring.
Destiny. Insert scoff here. Even the notion that it exists is enough to incite a mocking chuckle. Destiny is merely an excuse for those who couldn’t make it work. Yes, there’s a degree of luck, but “destiny”? Psh. To say that teens these days are “doomed” is to say that it is their destiny, which, as I believe, is crap. Teens, and everyone for that matter, at some point in their life, have been presented with the chance and/or chances to make their life good. Maybe those chances were in school. You could’ve done well, gotten good grades, gotten a scholarship and gone to a college. Maybe not a haughty one, but a college, none-the-less. Maybe your chance was doing work; maybe you had a chance to begin a corporate ascent, and break free of your stereotypes. The real point is that everyone either will, has, or has had their chance to make it work, but many lack the foresight and wisdom to seize that chance when its there. This, of course, is no one’s fault but their own, fair or unfair. (Another scoff at fairness)
As numerous as the people are who live unfulfilled lives, there are those who succeed. Talking about them isn’t as interesting, though, due to a lack of chances to scoff at prospects like “destiny” and “fairness”. These people did what we call “work”. They are the ones who, either by force or by choice, they did the necessary “work” to achieve in realms of life. Anyone can be one of these people ("anyone" denoting anyone who doesn’t have a crippling mental disability). All one needs is what is known as “work ethic”. Unfortunately, a very good portion of the teens of today don’t even know what this concept is, let alone possess it. If you see one of them, scoff at them in the name of society; society will appreciate your altruistic deed. One could argue that teens are “doomed” (scoff) because teens don’t have work ethic. Here’s the counter argument: it is almost entirely their fault, not the fault of "destiny". Another argument could attack the opinions stated herein by saying that “ethnicity, lack of school funds and family problems can stop students from achieving success”. This works both ways. Of course this COULD stop a student from succeeding, and even if he DIDN’T have these problems he STILL wouldn’t succeed if he didn’t have work ethic (or care). If a student is really plagued by these problems, it is a responsibility that must be taken up by the student (whoa, that sounds like work) to address the teacher and find out ways that he or she could work around the problems (staying after school, getting extra help, etc [oh man, more WORK {its so hard!}]).
Work; responsibility; work ethic; CARING(!?); all of these thing are parts of a formula. Any student, no matter where they are, no matter what their personal and familial situation, no matter what their ethnicity, CAN succeed and almost certainly WILL succeed if they embody these characteristics and employ these methods. Thousands did it before them. They have NO excuse, especially not DESTINY (SCOFF!!!!), for them not to succeed. They have no one to blame for their choices but themselves.
In the Name of Truth...
It is herein where I will begin to pour my essays, short fiction and the physicalities of my streams of consciousness. Most essays will be opinionated, not necessarily to a side of the political spectrum. Most short fiction will revolve around a theme which I have observed during my various breaks from introspection. I do not know the fate of my work, but here I will place it forth to be scrutinized, argued with and cross-examined by any and all who are willing and able to do so. I am still a student. I do not claim to be right. I am learning. I hope any who read these musings can, as well.
-Lord Erikshielder
-Lord Erikshielder
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