Writing

Why? I feel a burning need to put thought into being, even if it's just pixels on a screen. I'm listening to Bloc Party and I'm burning up with the need to put my heart under a microscope and describe every gleaming facet and dark, bloody nook. I'm on fire, did you know I'm on fire?

Now the music's stopped, and the desire vanishes. Why? What makes me think I can do this better than anyone of the million other people? Writers are useless. You write. My parents write. Scientists write. And they do much more. Do I posses some hidden talent obscure myself and others. No. I don't.

Stop. I can't keep thinking this.

Turned Bloc Party on again, I can feel the desire flowing back into my veins. Left, right, left, right, left, right. It's a drug. I need a drug. Stop rereading, just write. right. Here's the climax, but I know after this -. It happened. It was too quick for me. Now, emptiness. Loneliness. And a fuzzy ringing in my ears.

One more time. I just need it one more time. Just to listen, just one more time.

"Wanna Join Our Bike Gang?"

So I was biking back from a hanging out with some friends in another dorm at about 12:15 this night, when I ran into Morgan and Dan, who, as the title implied, asked me to join their bike gang. After leading them on little chase I obliged, all the while keeping my identity secret with the Animal mask I brought with me. We biked across the river and into downtown, where we met Lea, who was also biking. When we asked if she would like to join our bike gang, she told us to follow her. We went back across the river, and down the road to the roundabout, where we made a left turn for about 10 minutes, before following further to her own backyard. There, we parked our bikes and I finally revealed my true face. We went inside her neighbor's (and friend's) house, and met him as well as another guy who had gone to a Bourgeois party, and was dressed to the nines. My new friends and I smoked a bit of something (no comment as to what it was) and it was revealed that our host is actually the founder and head cook of a great restaurant here in Missoula. He offered to cook for us, and as the briquettes were warming we helped to pick some of his asian plums growing in his front yard (we had a few too - delicious). Lea showed us her grape vines and 7 chickens, and then we warmed ourselves around the coals as the cowboy ribeye steaks sizzled next to the Zucchini. Our host the chef called some friends (I think it was about 2:00 am by then) and they arrived just as he was mixing the steak slices and zucchini into an excellently seasoned dish. My two biker gang compadres and I stood around the table in his studio home and enjoyed one of the best meals with some of the kindest people I have met. None of this had been prompted by us. We had been invited inside, invited to cook for, and invited to share in the warmth of genuine friendship. Whatever happens in the next four years, and beyond that, I know that I will not forget this night. The people, the places, the tastes, the faces are all seared into my memory just as the warm coals seared those steaks. Those delicious, delicious steaks. It's 4:09 AM right now, and things are looking bright. Goodnight.

technology and Public Debate: A response to Christopher Lasch's The Lost Art of Argument

I wrote this essay as a response to Christopher Lasch's book Revolt of the Elites, specifically chapter nine, The Lost Art of Argument ( http://tinyurl.com/25vqnu9 ). Originally, the essay was meant to respond to the impact of technology on public discourse but I expanded it to a perhaps pompous level that includes discussion of democracy and other high-minded principles. We'll see what grade I get for it. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When Lasch wrote his Revolt of the Elites in 1996 he probably didn't foresee the meteorical rise of the internet or the political success of the Tea Party. He never expected that the word forum, derived from the greek term for a social meeting place, would come to be recognized as meaning a shady corner of the web where the anonymous could bicker endlessly. Lasch's hopes have come true, only they've arisen as his nightmares: The internet has created an arena for debate so fierce that the viewers no longer care to act on the outcomes, but rather only sit and watch the neverending battle. Barack Obama has refused to appear on Fox News, not, as Lasch had hoped, to “recover [his] self-respect by challenging the media's status as arbiters of public discussion,” but because he is afraid to enter into the deliberately and openly partisan world that Lasch so desperately wants to return.

Lasch's ideas are noble and altruistic. He imagines a world where the public is still interested in public debate and where are a partisan is willing to subscribe to the newspapers and journals of his rivals, to get the other point of view rather than to mock. Unfortunately, our civilization has moved on. Gone is the “shining city on a hill” idealism that many have tried to resurrect (including Reagan himself). Lasch is recalling an America that had saved itself from destruction and risen from the ashes to defeat a 500 year empire in a seemingly altruistic move to help our Cuban neighbors, an America that would go on to single-handedly save Europe from its own imperialistic tendencies. Americans then were interested in directing the course of their nation. There was a vigor and love of discourse then that had fueled everything from muckraking to the creation of the National Parks that is gone and will not return.

Much of that has to do with how busy our world now is. When you can instantly see the reports of “18 Killed in Baghdad Bombing” going to your local city council meeting to talk about plans for a new dog park seems a bit self-absorbed. Why watch the presidential debates when you can watch the football game in HD? No one subscribes to two newspapers today. They either get the Wall Street Journal or the New York Times. Simply put, the supply of intellectually consumable content in our society far outstrips the demand, and we're finally seeing the effects.

In order to return to “15,000” strong crowds attending political debates, we would first need to shut down most of the entertainment industry. The simple fact is that when Lincoln and Douglas rolled into town, there was nothing else to do but attend the debates. They served as both rich demonstrations of the power of a democratic society and as entertainment (if in a snooty, high minded sort of way, similar to attending the full performance of Wagner's ring cycle). Without either of those factors, they wouldn't have worked, or at least wouldn't have been as notable.

So, what then is the solution? The current path seems to indicate a trend towards the “ignorance is bliss” school of thought, and since Lasch wrote his book 14 years ago, we've probably progressed further towards that point then he would like. It would be so nice to forget our cares and let an oligarchy of experts lead us. Of course, such a path could only lead to the destruction of democracy, either in de facto terms caused by the apathy of the public (the fact that the Tea Party is winning primaries seems to indicate this is already happening) or by a gradual legal disintegration of our civil and democratic liberties brought about by our leaders who know better than us.

The alternative is this: Cherish and protect the bastions of true journalism that we have left (I would mention PBS, the Economist, and the BBC, but I'm biased), foster a sense of appreciation for knowledge about the world in the school system by making a current events class mandatory in Junior high and high school (hopefully with good teachers so you don't make children hate such knowledge), and stop worrying about the people who aren’t participating. Of course, you'll still create an elite by doing this, but an elite made up of members of the public with dissenting opinions is better than seven or eight elites sitting around a table making every decision.

None of this, of course, guarantees liberty and justice for all. The role of public discourse, of grand debates and partisan newspapers that Lasch wants isn't coming back. Instead, it will consist of the well-informed making informative blog posts, Facebook comments that engender a true discussion rather than bickering, and most importantly, people realizing that they aren't too busy for politics today. In the end we can only hope that you'll Tivo the big game rather than watch it live so you can learn about your country's position in the world, that you'll decide to attend that city council meeting even though the weight of the world seems to already rest on your shoulders. In the end, we can only hope that ourselves and those around us have enough of a stake in our political system to desire to protect and shape it for the better.

Dream # Four

Scorpions. three of them. One of them was no bigger than a bottle cap, but faster than a human. It would scurry straight at me, and I would just barely sidestep it every time. A second was normal in size and speed, the least of my worries. I would be so preoccupied with the other two that this one frequently disappeared from my sight, reappearing in the periphery of my vision after I had evaded the other two. The last was a true menace, no longer than the other two but with an incredibly exaggerated stinger and front claws. It was always hanging from the ceiling in an attempt to drop down on my neck. Other people would enter the room, unaware of the scorpions. I would warn them just in time, and they would disappear, leaving me alone in the room. I was trapped with three scorpions, and there was no way out.

Been having quite a few odd dreams lately, including one where I was drunk (which I've never been) but none of them were so vivid as this. I wrote the summary hours after I woke up, long after most details would have faded for a different dream. Guessing the genesis of this one was the scorpion I found right next to my bedroom door a month ago, plus the baby scorpion next to my bedpost I thought was a piece of fuzz (it wasn't) that stung me when I was eight.

I Found It

Everything's in its place. In less than 36 hours, I've made innumerable new friends, went to two different concerts (one in a secret venue the record store owner had to draw me a map to), played six games of pool, three of table tennis, climbed a hill at 2 o'clock in the morning and went spelunking right afterwards. I know this isn't what college "is," but that doesn't matter to me. These past few days have been a mix of euphoria and exhaustion, but mainly the former. Everything is going perfectly. Now, I just need to trade roommates. Kidding, I think. He's just a very stern guy, who doesn't listen to much more than hip-hop and say more than "fuck." We'll see how that goes. I don't want to have a reason to stay in my dorm anyways. What I've been doing is much better.

Dream # Three

I read something the other day as I slept. Then I came back and read it again. It had changed. And there were little coincidences that shocked me, told me the words were talking about me. I knew they weren't, but I also knew they were. It was one of the strongest emotions I had felt in a dream. And all I wanted to do was approach the writer. But I couldn't. There was something preventing me. Then a Radiohead song started playing. It was all quite strange.

Dream # Two

The world was ending. Something cataclysmic had happened, and now it was too cold to grow the crops needed to support modern society. I had met a girl from real life (who I had and to some degree still have a rediculous crush on) and we were slowly starving/freezing to death. Finally, we realized that the only option for survival was to move south. We eventually reached a structure populated by a few hundered people, many of whom I recognized. Over the weeks, the girl and I were seperated as we assumed our new roles in this commune, until one day I decided that I desperately needed to ask the girl to marry me (my sleeping mind doesn't make very rational choices) under the assumption that we wouldn't be around much longer anyways. I went to the leader of the colony to find where she was living in the building (and here's where the dream becomes nightmare). He told me that she had hung herself several weeks ago, on April 4th. Apparently, she had learned that her parents died trying to reach the colony. I went to her room, and saw the rope hanging from the ceiling,. the most horrific part of the dream, however, was that I never actually saw her body, and as I woke up I was running frantically throughout the building attempting to find her, not sure if she was truly dead.

Perhaps the most strange aspect of this whole story is how I was woken up. It was a jehovah's witness saleswoman knocking on my door.

My dog has Cancer

When you approach from further away

she looks... swollen... overfed... pregnant

but then you start to notice the signs

the spine set apart from the body

the angle she holds her head,

it suggests resignation... defeat.

You come closer still and

she lays down on the tile

trying to keep her failing body cool

The tumors press hard against her lungs

and with each breath her ribs must stretch

far beyond their original design

They look almost like gills

And I fantasize that she has

become a fish ready to find water

but that's a silly thought.

You feel her frame and notice

how her cells are eating what food remains

trying to replenish the blood leaking from her spleen

those little nubs on her ankle

are little more then empty sacks now

a further reminder of how far she has fallen

she used to be so fast-

and now she can't even manage

to walk, at least without panting

when that happens, she looks happy.

She is five years old

and this cancer is as random

as the force that gave her life

that little mutation that killed her

no different then the ones that birthed her

a chaotic sequence of tragic events.

something for the GWJers

This picture describes what it can be like playing LoL with a certain someone. There are positive and negative attributes here.

The American Meat Eater

Over the last 200 years or so, roughly since the beginning of the Industrial Revolution, a curious transition has occurred. The majority of western nations' populations have shifted from being producers to consumers. Along the way, we have lost our utilitarian value. We are no longer necessary for civilization, just people who buy and sell the (mostly unnecessary) items that others create. To subvert a common aphorism, Humanity is expanding to meet the needs of the expanding Humanity.

All this extra baggage has precipitated a change in the way basic necessities are created for distribution to the teeming masses. The assembly line method of production established by Henry Ford for automobiles has spread to all aspects of modern life; everybody wants everything faster, cheaper, and better. In his essay Power Steer, for the New York Times, Michael Pollan explores this method applied to animals, specifically Black Angus cattle. “I started my tour at the feed mill, the yard's thundering hub, where three meals a day for 37,000 animals are designed and mixed by computer. A million pounds of feed passes through the mill each day. Every hour of every day, a tractor-trailer pulls up to disgorge another 25 tons of corn.” He goes on to explain how the rendered pieces of other animals are used to deliver even more protein to the creatures: “F.D.A. rules still permit feedlots to feed nonruminant animal protein to cows. (Feather meal is an accepted cattle feed, as are pig and fish protein and chicken manure.)” The Indians would be proud.

So why do all these unappetizing details matter? Because they are the natural products of the state we have placed ourselves into. According to a study conducted by the American Institute for Caner Research, 72 percent of Americans have meals centered around “animal fats” while only “27 percent were eating the recommended proportion of plant food to animal food.” Put simply, we're addicted to steak. This addiction is fueling a drastic decrease in the quality of the meat.

The problem is that nothing is likely to change. The last successful blow in favor of food quality was Upton Sinclair's The Jungle, a book that was written a century ago and led to the creation of the same FDA which now allows the feeding of chicken manure to cattle. Likely the last time you heard of something regarding these issues was a publicity stunt by PETA, a group which is constantly lambasted for its own arrogance and self righteous quasi-militant mannerisms. Radical extremists (to borrow perhaps a tad boldly from the “War on Terror” word bank) such as these won't force a change on an issue so closely tied to everyday life such as this. And the natural state of the everyday liver seems to be apathy. We won't change things because we don't want our comfortable surroundings to change. Even though familiarity breeds contempt, fear of the unknown is a much more powerful motivator. Take, for instance, myself. After reading Power Steer I sat at the dinner table for a meal of roast beef, while reciting the new facts I had learned about cattle production to my parents. We joked and my mother contested the new found information with what might have been utilitarian philosophy, but we continued eating.

This apathy is exactly what David Foster Wallace describes in Consider the Lobster.

The more important point here, though, is that the whole animal-cruelty and eating issue is not just complex, it’s also uncomfortable. It is, at any rate, uncomfortable for me, and for just about everyone I know who enjoys a variety of foods and yet does not want to see herself as cruel or unfeeling. As far as I can tell, my own main way of dealing with this conflict has been to avoid thinking about the whole unpleasant thing. (62)

At this point the issue begins to blend between food quality and animal rights. Regardless, a lack of interest in dealing with either problem becomes apparent. Wallace has hit the nail on the head with Consider the Lobster. We don’t want to think about what we’re eating, and so we will continue to objectify, obfuscate, and ignore the problems served alongside our dinner until something quite dire happens.

The cost of change in the food industry will be a mass epidemic, or revelations about animal treatment so shocking and undeniable that those who don’t become vegans will at least raise their own meals, or a number of other foreseeable yet unlikely scenarios.

Individually, my position (and yours) on this issue is meaningless. The stalemate between slaughterhouse corporations and animal rights activists will continue, and neither side will gain meaningful ground in this battle. It’s going to take a true groundswell of support from a majority of the population, and those waves are difficult to predict.