Friday, February 27th, 2015

     When I opened this post on Friday, February 27th, I didn't know what kind of day it would turn out to be. I wasn't aware that, on a day now marked in infamy, a man infinitely important in my life would pass away. If I did, I don't know if I would've even gotten out of bed.
    It is often, in the face of a loss of human life, that those left behind think not of the passed, but of the effect the passing will have on themselves. Some might say that this is a selfish, and self-centered behavior, while others may argue that it is simply the human mind dealing with a stark reminder of its mortality. I must both concede with and stand against these claims, because while they are unarguably accurate, they are also something else: ignorant of the human thinking the thoughts. We think of the effect of a death on ourselves because that is all that we know to compare it to. In the face of inevitable death and the grand finality of existence, what else can we do but introspectively evaluate our lives? I have had the horrendous fortune of realizing this through repeating the funeral-going process, and while I would trade this wisdom or knowledge or whatever you may call it for never needing to go to a funeral, all I have is the tidbit: instead of entirely focusing on the fact of death, think towards the personal impact that the deceased had upon your life, and what it is about them that will make you remember them. Death is a bastard, but a fair and honest one, so it's up to us to cheat him. Don't you dare forget the people who you've lost in your life, the funeral's you've attended, the empty chairs or silent rooms left behind, because the moment you let go of those memories, is the moment you let that bastard win.
     That is why I won't spend much time wandering the dizzying thoughts of mortality and death, nor thinking about some selfish thing. No, I'll simply spend my time thinking over the memories that I have of Mr. Tom Oakes, and all the things he taught me, intentionally or otherwise. He was a good and honest man, and though I knew him in so brief a span of time, the things he taught me will last me a lifetime, and maybe more, when I pass down his teachings. I know no one really speaks ill of the dead, but I find myself lacking an ill thing to say. I search my memories for something (not as though I would want to speak ill of him), but I can honestly say that there is nothing I can remember nor conjure of Mr. Oakes that would besmirch his memory.
     Think toward the important people in your life, the ones who have taught you, improved you, or pushed you to be better, and be more aware of them, more grateful of them. And every single day, thank whatever God you believe in (if you're an atheist, thank statistical probability, random assortment, the Big Bang, and evolution) that those people are in your life, because it would be lessened without them.
DFTBA

The Din of Existence

     There is an undeniable feeling of despair that walks hand in hand with the belief that nothing is important. When we succumb, or rather, if we succumb to the riptide of inevitable death and potential insignificance, life seems pointless. But why is it then that we still get up? There is a simple decision that you and I make every morning, and one that most people aren't even awake enough to notice: waking up. Sure, everyone wakes up in the morning, and everyone has been waking up since before the dawn of opposable thumbs (with the exception of the infirm, the bed ridden, and the narcoleptics), but think of it from a different perspective. Think that not getting out of bed is a totally viable and available option in your life, and then realize that you chose to get up every single day of your life (with previous exceptions again considered and excused). I'm not really trying to be super peppy or happy or inspirational, but appreciate that fact. There will be a day when we won't be waking up in the morning, and never will again, and yet we as a species still get up every single day and live the life that happens before our own sleeping morning. For the past few years -and even still today- I've always wondered why people get up and do things when it technically doesn't matter (thank you nihilism), why there's this belief that things have to be done at all, and the answer can go many ways, but the one I find a predisposition towards is that of human stubbornness.
      "Oh! You'll be uncaring and apathetic universe? Well guess what, I'm still going to find meaning in my life anyway, so ha!" Take that stubbornness, and multiply not just be every person that is wake up and doing things everyday, but also all the people who have done things and those who will do things in the future, and that is the definition of the "indomitable human will."    
     It's something that many people talk about and write about and dream about, and it's what makes every person on the planet significant in some way, because by every persons act of living, we scream into the apathetic universe, our voices bellowing into its silence, and while I know that this battle cry of humanity will one day fall to hushed tones then back to silence, I am still proud to know that I have added to the din. Thank you for lending your voices, too.
DFTBA

Why Does Anything Matter?

 "Why does anything matter?" is a question that I find myself struggling with answering, and it's not like I'm going into any massive theological or philosophical tirade to seek the answer. I'm not expecting some grand epiphany to strike me in the brain like a brick through a window, and I'm not hoping even that that will ever happen. In fact, some part of me doesn't want to find some answer to that question for two reasons:
1: There's an immense chance that there is no specific answer to the question of purpose and intent, which means if I never learn that that's true, I can still "pretend" that there is an answer, and therefore a purpose.
2: Even though I'm young and will be infinitely inexperienced to the ways of the universe, I have come to terms with the search for the answer as an important part of life, and that that is a pretty darn good answer to the question.
     For a majority of human history, the purpose of life has been maintaining a caloric intake large enough to sustain life, and produce more life to take the place of your life when you die, as well as a general idea of making the world a better place for that next generation, but what then is the over-arching purpose to that existence? One day, the universe will die, and all of the existence of this universe will one day be no more, and there will no longer be a world left to make better for the next generation, and what then?
     It would be foolish to say that there must be something more to life than just eating and skoodilypooping, but it is despairing to think that that's all there is to life, and this conflict of ideas, this potentially life-shattering train of thought brings into question other things about life, such as love, or sacrifice, or morals. Not to get all nihilistic about it, but could it be possible that none of these things holds any real meaning, because they will one day no longer exist at all, or does the fact that they are finite and mortal in their existence what makes them so profound?
     In the works of J.R.R. Tolkien, Eru (the over-god, for simplicities sake) made both Elves and Men, but he loved Men more, and gave them the gift of short, mortal lives, while the Elves would travel to Valinor (Elf heaven) upon their death, living forever under the stars and moon and sun. To you and I, the gift of mortality and a final death seems like a really cruddy gift, but if you can figure out why it's actually a blessing, then you're really liking outside the box.
DFTBA
JD G.

Wednesday #53 - A Year of Goodbye's

So, 2014 huh? Quite the year, quite the year indeed. And as this year draws to it's inevitable close, I look back on it and I see that it's been a year of goodbyes. I've said goodbye to so many things in across the past 53 Wednesdays, but because you guys don't live my life, let me go back over them:

• I said goodbye to How I Met Your Mother, a show that could always cheer me up whenever I was down. Goodbye HIMYM, and all the laughs you brought me.
• I said goodbye to Marching Band, the backbone of my life for the past 4 years. For all of my high school life, that was the one thing that I could count on being there, but now its gone, and I'll never see it again. All of those memories and friends, the hot summer days and the freezing cold October rains, are gone. Goodbye Marching Band. Thanks to you, I've gone farther than I thought I could.
• I said goodbye to The Hobbit, the story from my childhood. The tale I would remember more than it's name, that I was read to by my father, that was the basis of who I am. This year I had my last look into Peter Jackson's view of Middle-Earth, and I felt such sadness at its passing. Goodbye Bag End, the place where my mind could rest, with the bright yellow door and the shiny brass knob in the middle. 
• I said goodbye to the seniors of last year, and felt as I took on the mantle of senior in my school. Goodbye to old friends moving on, and to days of greatly ill-conceived ideas. 
• I said goodbye to Cheers, and all the friendly faces in that bar. Goodbye 1980s topical references that I only half get. 
• I said goodbye to my first real relationship, but in the end it was going to happen. 

That's really all I'm saying goodbye to, but why focus on only the things that are going away? Why not look towards all the things that will come in the next year. Like the fact that I'll be going to college next year! Or that I've found some really awesome friends to move forward with, and the future looks bright with them! How about the fact that I've still got another indoor season of percussion and a school musical left in my high school career?

That's how life goes. We are always saying goodbye to things, but we're also looking forward to the next thing to come. This leaves us with only a few options really: either we go through life looking back at the things that have ended and never see what's happening, or we keep our heads up and move down the path we walk. Of course, you can't forget to pay heed to the things that you've done or left behind, but you can't let them tie you down.

All of that being said, let's get to my new New Year's resolutions:

• I resolve to go back over this blog and put something up for all the posts that I missed, something I aim to do before January is out (so keep checking back here for those).
• I resolve to start up a podcast where I bring in friends and we examine movies through various critical lenses (which means we watch Disney's Cinderella and determine that it's a warning story to proletariat about not becoming the bourgeois when they revolt.) With any hope, I'll be posting about one or two a month. 
• I resolve to be happier in the coming year, because there were times in this past year when I was way to unhappy.

Well, that's all I've for you guys. It's been great doing this (the times that I did), and I really can't wait till next year. Because, I dunno, I might keep doing this into the new year. probably not once a week, but who knows, maybe this place will turn into Across 53 Thursdays...
Eh, that's something I'll let you guys to figure out next Wednesday...

this poem is an award winning piece that I wrote for a local poetry competition:
Only Sorrow

Death comes not swift to those who wait for him

He waits in the shadows, he waits in the doorway

He waits in every window, and every mirror, and

In every puddle on the street, but he does not stare.

Death sits and waits without hungry eyes

There is no hate in his gaze.

Only sorrow.

But those who wait become impatient for Death.

He will not come with haste, but they wait.

Four cannot leave the Gates at a trumpet’s call,

Just as Death will not come to those who call him.

So they rush out to meet him, eager and glad

But Death looks back without joy

Only sorrow.

And then there are those who send others to Death

They ease the path to his comfortingly cold embrace

And he shepherds these lost souls, but still he waits

For the one who made the flock he saved

And when the wolf shows without the sheep’s skin

Death looks at them without hate.

Only sorrow.

No one sees Death, sadly, till the end

When he knocks, softly, on their door.

But it comes, rap rap rap, coldly welcoming

And we love Death then, but others hate him

Spitting his name with anger and rage, rage and anger

Death sees: he does not mind

Because he knows one day that

We will come with him

Finally taking the path

That leads from

Only sorrow.

…rap…

 

"If you could kick the person in the pants responsible for most of your trouble, you wouldn't sit for a month." - Theodore Roosevelt

Wednesday #48 - Mordor Expense Report

     Here's the question: how much did Mordor have to expense in eyedrops in order to keep the Eye of Sauron under control? Let's look at the math.

     Assuming that Mordor has access to a store in which eyedrops could be purchasable, the average cost for the eyedrops would be about $1 per .5 fl oz bottle, which adds up to about $250 per gallon. Now that we know how much per gallon, we'll need the dosage per day. 

   For eye inflammation (which is the scaled down version of the Eye's condition), the recommended dosage is 3-4 drops. Unfortuanately, the Eye of Sauron isn't the same siza an a normal human eye. It's bigger. A lot bigger. Keeping this in mind, the dosage volume will have to be adjusted. Based off of some rough estimations, the Eye would require about 3-4 gallons of eyedrops for one dosage. In addition to the increased size of the dosage, the frequency of application would have to increase as well, since being on fire is a whole lot worse than inflammtion. This next part is a complete guess, but it would seem like 4-5 doses a day is a solid estimate. Let's crunch the numbers:

        

                 $256 per gallon X 4 gallons per dose X 5 doses per day = $5,120 per day

     

     This comes out to about $1.9 million per fiscal year in eyedrops. Now, to anyone familiar with company expenses, 1.9 million dollars isn't all that much, but consider this: the Eye of Sauron has been in operation for over 300 years. Adding this to the equation, the total cost of eyedrops for all the operating years comes out to more than .5 billion dollars (~$688 million). And in the end, all of thihs was for nothing. 

     Based on a quick Google search, this means the Land of Mordor has to transport 75,000 gold coins each year to a Dollar General so they can buy 1.9 million .5 fl oz bottles of eyedrops. Have fun lugging that around.


There is a place where the sidewalk ends
and before the street begins,
and there the grass grows soft and white,
and there the sun burns crimson bright,
and there the moon-bird rests from his flight
to cool in the peppermint wind.

Let us leave this place where the smoke blows black
and the dark street winds and bends.
Past the pits where the asphalt flowers grow
we shall walk with a walk that is measured and slow
and watch where the chalk-white arrows go
to the place where the sidewalk ends.

Yes we'll walk with a walk that is measured and slow,
and we'll go where the chalk-white arrows go,
for the children, they mark, and the children, they know,
the place where the sidewalk ends. 

~Sheldon Allan Silverstein

"If two wrongs don't make a right, try three." - Laurence J. Peter

Wednesday #46 - Freedom

This is an essay that I wrote for my AP Literature class.

Freedom

            Society lays forth the trappings of Man, expecting him to behave in such a way, talk in such a way, and think in one too. If society were “perfect”, the individual would be eradicated, removed, expunged by the societal pressures of community, coupled with the alienation experienced between person to person. The only escape from the shackles of society is to shed them entirely, break out from the rules that society has placed on individuals, and acquire freedom, the goal of individualism. Peter Weir’s The Truman Show and Albert Camus’ The Stranger both tell of the journey to existentialist freedom, in which the protagonists experience alienation, absurdity, and, ultimately, freedom.

            Up to the inciting incident, both Meursault of The Stranger and Truman of The Truman Show have apparently led “normal” lives, with everything appearing to be as it should. But, this image begins to crumble for Meursault as he observes the aftermath of his mother’s funeral. Following the funeral is Saturday, which Meursault spends at the movies and with a woman and in merriment (unlike the expected mourning), and then spends that Sunday relaxing in his apartment, smoking and eating and people-watching, and he realizes: “nothing in [his] life has changed.”  (30) From what one could be led to believe, the loss of someone like a mother is typically a profound and existence shattering experience, and yet Meursault came out of it without an emotional scratch, creaking open the door of alienation for him. Truman experiences a similar illusion-breaking encounter, involving an earth-bound stage light, which fell from the sky from no apparent source, and this being only the first sign of abnormality. Truman observes distinct irrefutable patterns in the positions of people of his world, notices how his wife seems to be advertising objects to no one, as well as other discrepancies. These altercations in turn cause the cracks that will shatter the existence Truman has grown to accept, much as the calm after his mother’s funeral with debase Meursault’s.

            These cracks, having been already created by the inciting incidents, spreading for there towards a matrix of crevices, weakening either the reality of the world (The Truman Show) or the perception of the world (The Stranger), and in there the act of absurdity occurs. The alienation of the individual climaxes in a blatant and, often, aggressive, action or decision which shatters the previous life the individual lived. For Truman, he experiences absurdity when he randomly runs into a corporate office elevator, and instead of seeing the interior of an elevator, observes several crew members for his life conversion on a deconstructed set. Truman is hustled from the room, but he still cannot deny what he has seen, and it has crumbled his sense of reality. There is no rational way for Truman to explain what he has seen, no way to sweep it away under a rug: it’s stuck there, and it’s going to push him away from everyone. Truman cannot fit what he say into his concept of reality, so instead his concept of reality must be altered, as well as his relations with other people. Meursault brings absurdity onto himself, when he murders the Arab for seemingly no reason at all. He acts irrationally, no provocation or action available to justify his decision, and that is when his world splintered: knocking on the “door of [his] undoing” indeed (76).  Meursault found himself being interrogated, his once-close lover a distant visitor at a cell door, his friends now silent sentinels to his every move; Meursault is, in that instance, alone, his alienation practically complete. All that remains is the last step towards freedom: Death.

            Sounds drastic, yes, but it’s true. The final step towards achieving existentialist freedom is dying. Meursault, faced with the inevitability of his own demise, and the meaninglessness of it, is happy. He welcomes the “indifference” of the world as a “brother”, a companion and friend, brother implying that the kinship he feels towards the world and it’s indifference is that of a familial tie (154). Meursault finds his freedom, because he not only accepts the fact that he is going to die, but he also accepts the fact that the world as a whole will not care if he dies that very day. He is therefore, released from the despair and pain of alienation, because he understands that his inability to connect with anyone else is common, futile, and meaningless; in an essence, not worth the time worrying over being close to people. Truman dies as well, but not in the literal sense of the term, but instead by the massive metaphorical imagery in the final scenes of The Truman Show, when he accepts freedom, and acquires it, because he “dies.” First, the boat Truman rides is called the Santa Maria, or the St. Mary, mother of Jesus, across an ocean (water which, is often used as a symbol for transition) and through a storm, a tempest which alludes to the Great Flood of the Old Testament, when God floods the Earth and kills almost all of life, which represents the act of Truman’s death. He then sails into the sky (well, technically he crashes into it, but it represents ascending into heaven), from which point he appears to be walking across water (alluding to Jesus), where he climbs a set of stairs to a door that leads to the Outside, when Cristoff, the show’s executive producer and creator, speaks to Truman from above (almost as if he were God), and so Truman dies. He realizes that everything that happened in Seahaven was meaningless, the town that hid the truth. He accepts that his life was meaningless, feels it is time to cast of the feeling of alienation, since Truman grew up in a place where everyone knew his name. He is now ready to face the freedom of alienation, where everyone will be experiencing uncertainty and hardships just as he will.

            And so, through the stages of the inciting incident, the act of absurdity and death, both Truman of Peter Weir’s The Truman Show and Meursault of Albert Camus’ The Stranger achieve existentialist freedom from alienation, as they realized that their world was wrong, that absurdity was abound and very real, and finally that it was all meaningless, and in a way obtained enlightenment. Of course, they both died for that enlightenment, so were they only truly happy for those brief moments before death? Or did that happiness carry on elsewhere, passed the indifferent world?

 On A Dream, by John Keats

As Hermes once took to his feathers light,

    When lulled Argus, baffled, swoon’d and slept,

So on a Delphic reed, my idle spright

    So play’d, so charm’d, so conquer’d, so bereft

The dragon-world of all its hundred eyes;

    And seeing it asleep, so fled away,

Not to pure Ida with its snow-cold skies,

    Nor unto Tempe where Jove griev’d that day;

But to that second circle of sad Hell,

    Where in the gust, the whirlwind, and the flaw

Of rain and hail-stones, lovers need not tell

    Their sorrows—pale were the sweet lips I saw,

Pale were the lips I kiss’d, and fair the form

I floated with, about that melancholy storm.

"Don't cry because it's over, smile because it happened."- Dr. Seuss

Work Cited

Camus, Albert, and Matthew Ward. The Stranger. New York: Vintage International, 1989. Print.

Wednesday #44 -Sardonic College Essay

Intellectual Curiosity

"Curiosity killed the cat," A neat little saying, but one which I pay little heed. My intellectual curiosity is sparked from more than one source, and is a driving force in my life. It is sparked by itself almost, simply because I love to learn new things. I have always enjoyed the sensation of learning a new fact or tidbit of information, the feeling of accomplishment when I can answer questions correctly and solve problems well, or that sense of intelligence when I can use sophisticated diction in either my writing, or colloquial speech. The more I learned, the more I could feel this way. Knowledge also provided a sense of security. Fear is a terrible thing, and as a child it definitely had a powerful hold over me and my imagination. I would stay up late night after night, fearful of something that could hurt me out in the dark, but the more and more I learned, the more knowledge I had, the less frightening things were. Before, I would be crippled by ignorance, but with the panacea of knowledge, I was cured. Another spark for my curiosity is my sense of identity. For as long as I have been in school, I have been one of the "smart kids," and I have come to identify myself as such. While yes, this is a label that my peers have given me, I found that I liked it, and what came with it, so I decided to keep it. In order to keep it though, I had to keep getting smarter and cleverer, and so I stayed curious, and I learned. I have also found that curiosity helped me fit in, as a leader and a friend. It is helped me cast aside fear, and so when I stepped up to be a leader, curiosity came to my aid again. Whenever I ventured into something intimidating and unknown, I would just shift that unease into a thirst for knowledge, and that is always helped pull me through, because instead of worrying over how much farther I had to go, I focused on what would be just around the bend. That curious focus helped me find friends as well, because I would ignore my awkwardness, and hide it behind my curiosity, so I could learn about someone, and who they are, instead of thinking about how they might not like me. I believe that it is sparked by the books I have read, as well. I have read of beautiful sunrises and sunsets, happy returns and bittersweet endings, and I want to experience these things for myself. I want to feel what it is like to be undeniably brave, to show up in the knick of time, and that desire has pushed me to learn about the world around in more ways than just through school, but through my life, with every sense I can learn with. The future is waiting for me, and I want to know what it has to hold, so I learn as much as I can to be ready for it. All in all, my intellectual curiosity has been a part of me, something intrinsic to my behavior, just part of my nature. It is who I am, and I would not have it any other way. Somehow, I know that it is going to be the thing that is going to bring me someplace amazing, a place that I can truly call home, a place that is just waiting for me to get there. "Curiosity killed the cat," maybe an old saying that some people may believe, but I know better. Curiosity killed the cat, but it was satisfaction that brought it back.

 Fear Itself Is Undefined
I lay on my bed soaking my pillow with my tears,
I try to remember exactly what it is that I fear.
Is it the passing of time or the love that I lack?
Is it the mistakes that I've made or the fact that I can't bring the past back?
What is it that I'm afraid of?
Why am I so scared?
Is it the people I've hurt or the people that have hurt me?
Am I afraid of everything that I cant seem to see?
Is it the love of a friend, or the loss of my family?
Is it the possibility that my life can end in a tragedy?
What is it that I fear most?
What do my eyes say I'm scared of?
Is it the sun that sets but won't seem to rise?
Is it the hope that I have that always seems to die?
Is it the trust of a person that I cannot begin to grasp?
Is it all the memories of my horrid past?
Is it me?
Can it possibly be that the thing I fear most is the thing I can't be?
The things that I try to understand?
The me that I try to be with when I'm feeling sad?
The person I'm expected to be? Is that what I fear? . . .
I think the thing I fear most . . .is me

By Bianca Flores

"The quieter you become, the more you can hear." -Ram Dass