The Invention of the Wheel

Sometimes I feel like a monkey staring at a wheel. I keep scratching at my head and thumbing my chin, my face angled in curiosity. Some moments I reach out with my small trembling hands and I touch it. Nothing. So I keep at it. I keep touching and pushing, harder and harder, until finally it moves. It rolls casually away, slows and stops. I sit there for a moment, still scratching and thumbing, while my hands moves unwantingly forward to push it again.
Of course, it's only natural to be like this. To be like me. To be like you. We arn't much different then each other. We really aren't too much different than a monkey, or even a platypus. Deep down, so far down beneath your skin and blood, there's a place where you are totally indiscernible, where you are nothing but an organic calculation, an elemental orchestra of biological dissonance that plays so quietly no one can hear it's beauty.
Regardless, the notes play on, the symbols crash, and something holds the swaying staff in an attempt to control it. Of these ballads, there are few. They are practiced and memorized but prone to miscalculated inspiration. But no matter, their objective accuracy does not stop ticking of the metronome; it plays on.
I have been taught in the discipline of science. It has told me that I am a machine. My organs are no different in comparison to a Grandfather clock. Gears and a pendulum. Spurred by some understood first momentum.
But others have told me I feel. I live. I have a soul. A mind that is boundless. A spirit within me that separates me from the world.
I have thought of this. Why can't the two exist in harmonic tension? But more importantly, why must it be so microscopic? What of the world? What of the universe?
What if the universe had a soul? A duality of existence unknown to even it. Why must existence be so calculated? So cruel? What if the same internal struggles exist in it. An existence of consciousness.
I am told God is all knowing. He is everything. But if this huge great chain of existence, this elemental orchestra, unifies the universe, wouldn't the struggles of consciousness, of essence, still dominate. The circle of life could simply be revolving by a trembling hand.

Observation

They say you can tell alot about a person by the things they own. So I decided to do a test. I will tell you everything that is in my desk drawers and you, the audience, can make assumptions about my true identity, the real face of the man behind the words.

Let's begin with the top of my desk: Speakers, a portable wireless adapter, notebooks, Slaughter House Five,, one empty can of green tea, one empty bottle of hot sauce, glasses, a sharpie, a guitar tuner, picks, and a microphone.

Top Drawer, Left: Roughly 20 sugar packets, Flintstone vitamins, a highlighter, a sharpie, nail clippers, a pen, and one book of matches.

Middle Drawer, Left: Cat treats, empty soda can, empty flea collar box.

Bottom Left: One disposable camera, empty altoids container, broken ipod.

Top right: Three broken lighters, one box of thumbnails, one chinese food menu, one sticker, emergency debit card.

Middle right: q tips, alan wrench, one heat patch.

Bottom right: nothing.

Middle: Grandmother cards.

So there you have it, my life in drawers. So who am I? Tell me, I need to know.

Movie Reviews for a Movie Buff

So when you are given an assignment to write a 500 word review of any movie you want, well, you are most likely to pick a movie you love. A film that for some reason you connect with. Whether this is "Casablanca" or "Bring it On!... again..." it doesn't matter, you love this movie. Most movies, like books, don't work on simply one plain. They are by nature multidimensional. So how do you condense your favorite movies into small summaries and simple theme suggestions? It's hard. I could write a five-page paper on a movie I truly love. Just like I could write an intense paper on a book I love. They are one in the same.

So I tip my hat to you movie reviewers. Your job is tougher than most people think. 500 words is not a lot but when it's all you have you've got to use it.

Jon LaDuca: Making A Mess All Over The City

I know this kid Jon LaDuca. I regret it.

Thanksgiving: Pilgrims, Indians, and Turkey

Pilgrims: We have come to ravish your country of and natural resources, destroy your culture, infect you with disease, and the few that survive, well, we'll give land that vultures won't even poop on. Sound good?
Native Americans: kjdsfv kljdnfjsh kjcnvkljsn (translated: hello white men, we have no idea what you are saying.)
Pilgrims: Alright, I'm going to take that as a "do what you want! Your skin color must mean that you know what is better for me my people!" and let me tell you, I agree. Now lets eat!
Turkey: Gobble! Gobble! (translated: please don't eat me!)
Pilgrims: Let's eat that turkey!

And that folks is the birth of Thanksgiving. A day of football, beer, turkey, stuffing, gravy, more gravy, corn, and oh yeah, and being thankful for your family.

But what happens when you don't spend this day with your family? Well, it's different.

I lost my wallet the day before Thanksgiving eve. I had no money, no license, and most importantly, no lucky 2 dollar bill. I was distraught to say the least. I haven't seen my family in months and now this could become even longer tenure. And it did. I was stuck in Philadelphia.

It was then I reluctantly called my girlfriend and coaxed her to give me a ride back to New Jersey so I could attend my cousin's wedding. There was one catch: I had to spend the holiday with her family.

Now, I am not one who fears meeting new people. In fact, it is one of my strengths. I for some reason have the ability to meet someone, learn their name, and make some sort of personable impression like, "hey he's a nice guy," or the opposite, "that kid thinks he's some sort of rock star." Besides the fact that I will be a rock star I like to believe that often most people like me. I wasn't worried about her family liking me. That was a task. A task I knew I could accomplish. And I did.

As I left the house, my stomach full, I had a sense for Thanksgiving that I never had before. My holiday wasn't much different than theirs. It was really similar. Except at this one I didn't have to play guitar for my relatives, who pretend to listen while they stuff their faces with cheesecake. Oh they are so supportive.

Anyway, the natives were tricked and killed and as a result, we celebrate. Oh America, we love our history. Only most Americans don't know anything.

Weddings

The day after Thanksgiving my cousin had her wedding. It was a small wedding but it was nice.

During the mass something bad happened. Someone's cell phone went off. Everyone in the church looked at the criminal. A stealer of precious memories. A terrible, terrible, person. Oh yes, I forgot to mention; it was the groom's mother.

How inconsiderate do you have to be to not turn off your phone during your very own son's wedding? I don't know, either. I imagine it was very inconsiderate, especially since she didn't really approve of the marriage in the first place... to my cousin and her boyfriend of eight years. Woman, get over yourself.

I hope I never become this desperate for attention. To ruin someone's wedding (especially your son) all because you didn't think of turning it off.

My cousin paid for her wedding, she is the bread winner, which cost over $10,000 and that she paid for herself (with no help of her new mother-in-law). The reception was great, we had alot of fun. But I know that stupid cell phone ring will keep ringing in her mind. "Oh, my wedding, it was great... well, except for..."

Bowling

So yesterday, I went bowling. And I went did it for charity! Yay! Ofcouse, I don't really know what charity but I imagine it's a good one like, The Coalition to Save People That Bite Their Fingernails (because that's gross), which is also known as TCTSPTBTF(btg).

Anyway, the alley offered a special at their snack bar: 1$ Hot Dogs. Wow, I thought to myself, what a deal. So I purchased one and began my attempt at bowling.

Well, let's not talk about how well I did... mainly because my main goal was to see how fast I could hurl the ball down the lane. I embarrassingly only bowled a 95. But I did roll that ball at 16.62 MPH. Yeah, I'm good.

So, on my way home I felt my stomach grumble. It was nothing, I assured myself it was my body's rejection of my pathetic performance amongst the balding and fat bowling elites, League Bowlers.

But upon my arrival home, my previous assurances were wrong, very wrong. I got out of the car and decided that for a few moments I wanted to put myself i the shoes of a bulimic model. Yes, I vomited. I vomited viciously and abundantly. And I swore a complete and undying hatred for that bowling alley and that hot dog.

But in the end I guess I got what I paid for. I tasted two meals. One covered in mustard. The other in stomach acid.

Urban Acrheology

I recently attended a lecture by Dr. Rebbeca Yamin. Her presentation dealt mainly with the historical excavations in my favorite city, Philadelphia.

"It's like I'm playing in the sandbox," said Yamin as she attempted to explain her job in the dark auditorium filled with student and faculty on lookers alike. But she isn't exactly playing with sand. No, in reality she's dealing with dirt, rock, and human feces, which Yamin playfully refers to as "goo."

The lecture begins the process, the meticulous removal of the aforementioned, layer by layer, inch by inch. As she moved from slide to slide it was apparent that Yamin loved every second of it.
"What are you doing now?" asked a student in the back of the crowd.
It was then, if even for a second, you could see some gleam of eye, some reluctance to answer that only foreshadowed her answer. She's not working in the field currently.

Though I found her presentation compelling, despite her reliance on dishes, it was that moment I found inspiring. I mean, this woman loves her job, "I can't believe they pay me."

But why shouldn't she? She's dealing with important things. She's taking pieces of the past and making them come alive. A dish isn't just a dish. It's a pathway to a person. To a life. No, let me correct myself, to a whole lot of lives. This is history of the undocumented. A Romantic approach to the past. A way imagining our forefathers' generation that isn't based on written document, per say, but rather through the incorporation of the human soul.

"You'd be surprised about what you own says about you," states Yasmin, though taken with a fine grain of salt, and it is true. The market place,and it's spectrum of goods, itself is open and what you choose to buy might not define your life but it can allot an insight to your society, your world.

At times she read her narratives aloud to the crowd. But she wasn't trying to define the well known historical figures of our nation. Instead she writes and learns about the common man: the barber, the priest, the accountant. Instead of focusing on dominant views generally analyzed by dominant political authors she explores the depths of the working class; what did these beliefs, such as federalism and abolitionism, mean to the average man-- history's unsung heroes -- and how did it effect their lives both socially and economically.

These are important ideas. An individual can define history but only if you let them. Archeologists and historians like Yamin are something that the field of history needs. The public needs a perspective with people they can relate to. Kids need to learn about how the political ideals of a time can affect the society of the common man just as much as they need to learn of History's prominent figures. These are the real movers, these are the people who fuel the engine, who pump the blood into the heart of change. They just aren't the face.

No Shave November

November is upon us. This can only mean one thing; Throw away your razors and prepare a month of facial untidiness.

I don't know why but I'm participating in No Shave November and now two into the months, well, I'm rather hairy. The problem is I don't grow my facial hair particularly well and I look like a delinquent.

How people begin to react is different. Some say that I look different. Most say I look terrible. And the select few say it looks good. Needless to say, all of these people are participating in the event.

But I will bear on regardless of my appearance. I stand for a meaning! I'm just not certain what it is. I think, maybe, it's a celebration of unruliness in a world of the clean shaven.

My Mom is happy I would even try. My Dad thinks I look terrible.

"Now I know a disease that these Doctors can’t treat.
You contract on the day you accept all you see
a mirror and a mirror is all it can be. A reflection of something we’re missing.
And language just happened, it was never planned,
and it’s inadequate to describe where I am
in the room of my house where the light has never been
waiting for this day to end.
And these clocks keep unwinding and completely ignore
everything that we hate or adore.
Once the page of a calendar is turned it’s no more.
So tell me then, what was it for? Oh tell me, what was it for?"
"A Scale, A Mirror and those Indifferent Clocks" - Bright Eyes

I have asked before what it means to be free, what does it mean to have progressed, and do we have control? And I have concluded, based on my own rhetoric and rationalities, that we are victims to chaos, to time, to fate. But I am not a pessimist just a realist. It's nice to know I'm not alone.

Yet again, Conor Oberst has written a song that encapsulates similar themes. In this song you can almost taste his pain, a struggle derived from knowledge. Scales, clocks, calenders, all arbitrary attempts to understand the world. To explain the unexplainable. Only to come to the realization that you can't understand the world like that because your life becomes, "a reflection of something we're missing."

But again, Oberst points out that you can not just be happy with an unexamined life, "you contract [the 'disease'] on the day you except all you see" and yet again, we come back to the idea of progress. It's a personal voyage not based on empirical rationality but rather an inward struggle over personal ideals. You can change your mind not the world.

I will expand on this in later posts, in the mean time, throw out your calender but remember my birthday.

Super Mario World: Better than Tetris

I have a friend who is almost certain Tetris is better than Super Mario World. He is wrong. SOO WRONG!!!! He tries to associate Tetris with his philosophy on life stating that, "In Tetris, like life, all that you know is what happened in the past, what piece you currently have, and what piece is next."

So my friend is basing his life on a video game and I, Shawn Holton, have come to debunk his beliefs and destroy his hopes and dreams. So let us begin with making some new philosophical movements based on popular video games.

1. The Game: Halo 3
The New Philosophy: Mastercheifianism
Layman's Terms: Kill Little Kids via the internet
The Beliefs: "Mastercheifianism" believes rather strongly that the world is an epic battle between, well just about everyone. Taking the teachings of Hobbes, the natural state of man is WAR, however, we shouldn't try and fight these innate impulses. No instead we should kill everything that moves, as long as its designated a different color than your own. Actually, now that I think of it the "Mastercheifianism" movement is heavily based on racial bias: kill someone who's a different color than you or be killed by them. This is a terrible new movement which is growing in the minds of our country's youth and I blame it on Halo 3.

2. The Game: Tetris
The New Philosophy: Blockism
Layman's Term: Try and destroy geometric figures.
The Beliefs: Many "Blockists" try to associate their lives with pieces. I don't get it. They would like to think that they can learn from their mistakes and put their lives together like pieces of a puzzle but really their only goal is to eliminate geometrical shapes and get high scores. However, blockism, in its most simplistic form isn't too bad if you are spatially talented but its transition into practical application. Many people go crazy after adopting these doctrines. Example:
these are adamant Blockists. Do you see their craziness?

3. The Game: Super Mario World
The Philosophy: BowserKinappedThePrincess...Againism
Layman's Terms: You are a fat Italian Plumber with a mustache and for some reason your girlfriend keeps getting abducted by some crazy Dinosaur for like the 4th time since you met her. Oh yeah and your brother the janitor is there to help.
The Beliefs: I'll get around to this.

How my writing has changed...

It hasn't really. My writing changes depending on what I am currently reading; Which is terrible when you are reading those elaborate authors who feel as if their writing is much more advance simply because they have the ability to construct sentences fraught with inflated diction and awesome when you read Hemingway because he is all business and for some odd reason you feel as if you should be drinking.

Lately Ive been reading Dilbert, which might explain a lot.

The Process of Writing or the Lack Thereof

The writing process for a profile piece...

Step One! Have something YOU want to write about.
Step Two! Write about it!

Honestly, that's it. Good Luck, have fun, and always make sure you tie your shoes.

But seriously, what more is there than knowing your topic and executing it? If you want to write a profile about someone, just do it. Get what you need to know. I can't give you a step-by-step process because than you won't be writing an article or a "piece" but rather a formula. Do you want your writing to be so mechanical? You do? Oh wow.. I didn't think you'd say yes. Well, that's nice. I guess journalism is quite similar. I mean it all shares the same objective, force people to learn about someone you find interesting!

Actually I made another step...

Step Three! Force people to learn!

Cause and Effect

Recently I read a wonderful blog by my friend Jacob. It's called "Into the great wide open" which is cool cause its the name of a Tom Petty song/cd. Anyhows, I literally stumbled upon it and I read.

He complained about his roommate and his sloppiness. You know what Jake!!!!??!?!?! Some people just can not be clean no matter how hard they try. And you are just sitting around typing about his GENETIC disorder. That's terrible. Where is our culture going when people think they can blog freely about other people's tidiness problems? It simply gives me the shivers.

No but seriously folks, Jake's problem isn't some sort of joke. So stop laughing! He lives in an extremely hostile environment. Here he is, being himself, and all these clothes are just bombarding the room. Hey Jake, did you every think that the couches were cold and wanted some extra linens? Ugh, where is this country going if our furniture has no right to wear clothing? Are we simply uncivilized now a days? Next thing you know there is going to be a furniture revolution and we will have no where to sit or even sleep! But I guess you would like that, wouldn't you Jacob? I tell you folks, if he's not for furniture he's against it.

Blogs Want You! Join the task force!

Hey! You! Start blogging about your ideals!!!!!!!

Blogs are funny. There are sooooooo many blogs that one would have to sift through in order to find anything, and i mean anything, of substance, at least consistently. Oh how I wish Plato had a blog. Oh My Dear Plato, why do you not blog?

Well if Plato had a blog he would probably be all like, "My Blog is what I recall my blog being!" And everyone would be all like, "Woah. That made no sense."

Foolish cretins. Why do you speak of Plato and his illustrious blogging? Feel pity for him because his mentor has died by his own hand!

But If Plato had a blog I guess I would read it. Or I would reach deep inside my psyche and remember it from my former life. Yeah that sounds better.

But no, Blogs can be important. I like mine. It allows me to type freely and if someone stumbles on it and decided to read, that's cool.

I read this book Enders Game over the summer and this little girl and boy changed the world through blogs. It was actually pretty cool. So I guess any blog could change the world if you really wanted to.

Actually blogs are quite useful. My one friend got a job from a magazine to review new heavy metal albums because he posted them on the internet. That's nice. My other friend found this girl's blog that he knew. Now he knows her opinions and he can lay down a little game. Perhaps he will reveal his softer side. Ha. If he only read Plato's blog he'd know all about her already.

Rip Van Wrinkle: Social Revolution versus Personnal Revolution

Recently I have read a very famous short story called "Rip Van Wrinkle" by Washington Irving. It's a very tall tale of a man who falls asleep for twenty years and when he awakes finds he has missed the American Revolution. Yes, he becomes a "free man" which doesn't mean anything to him.

Rip wakes up in a world of social revolution but has not undergone any "revolution" himself. He remains unhindered. He remains the same. But the question is, is that good? Rip doesn't seem to care very much since he no longer has any real worldly responsibilities. No more nagging wife. No more children. He has nothing and is content. He's still asleep or has been his whole life.

Though Rip's contentment is alluring I do not believe this is Irving's intention. Rip is contrasting by the dwarf-like men that he meets in the woods before his long nap. They are solemn little men yet they play a game. As if they are sentenced to a life of unhappiness and their torture is a life of games. They have no responsibilities. They are sleeping yet they are so tired. So tired of their nothingness.

Meanwhile the men of the village are different. They become politicians in a sense, they become citizens of a democracy. They have their own ideas, their own morals, new responsibilities. They seem quite content. They are not merely living a life. They are living their lives. They are free men.

So what? Big deal right? Everyone is happy at the end. Isn't that important? Yes, it is, but what is Irving's message? It's rather ambiguous, perhaps not upon the first reading but definitely after contemplation. While Rip remains static the other characters do not. Some, as a result, die. Others live and live well. They have engaged their responsibilities. They have challenged the task at hand. What is better? Well like I said it remains unknown. They are all "free men" but in different ways

"If you hate the taste of wine
Why do you drink it till you're blind?
And if you swear that there's no truth and who cares
How come you say it like you're right?
Why are you scared to dream of God
When it's salvation that you want?
You see stars that clear have been dead for years
But the idea just lives on...
In our wheels that roll around
As we move over the ground
And all day it seems we've been in between
A past and future town
We are nowhere and it's now"
-Bright Eyes "We Are Nowhere And It's Now"

Conor Oberst is a personal hero of mine. He is a singer-songwriter for numerous bands which include Bright Eyes, Conor Oberst and the Mystic River Band, and most recently (and most awesomely) Monsters of Folk. His voice isn't particuarly good, at all, instead even his most uplifting songs, of love, redemption, and personal and wordly accpetance, convey some sort underlying saddness. Some sort of pain. But maybe you need to suffer to evolve (but I'm sure I will be discussing that in the future; 'no happy woman ever writes'- Ruth Hall by Fanny Fern). Anyway, I digress. With that out of the way let us get back to our discussion. Rather, my discussion; because no one reads my blog.

This song poses a very funny idea: an atheist or possibly anarachist trying to make others believe of their system or their 'order'. It's funny because it's hypocritical, I appologized if it seems like I didn't think you understood the pun because it is rather pretentious of me to do so. Still, I digress.

Is this not true? I know alot of people who fall under some sort of atheistic religion and many of them are rather outspoken in their beliefs. But it seems that goes against what they are preaching. In the Bible someone of religious importance once said that the man who prays to himself, quiet and alone, is morally stronger than one who screams his prays for others to be heard. It's as if they want justifacation of their faiths. And now that I think of it, this applies to all religions. Anyway, back to the song.

This girl he speaks of, she is stuck. She's looking for a reason, a chance to explain, something to make life worth the work, a meaning. But she falls short. It seems as if she's settling for a nothingness but knows that she's settled. This causes her to repress her feelings, to drink, to dream of salvation. We are nowhere and it's now.

Wow. What an image you know? I think its such a pungeant idea. It's moving. It truly is.

The funny part is that many people won't listen to him because his voice really isn't good, at all. Oh, what they are missing. Or should I say, 'who cares if their missing it'.

One More Creamer

"Her face seemed ancient now. Jaded by the sands of time, standing alone in the desert like Sphinx, she represented what was and now will never be."
"You know, you are quite literate when you try," said the doctor, closing his news paper.
"I have never dared to try my friend, not since then. Not since her."
They both sat down again and beckoned the waitress for a refill.
"This woman you speak of, you knew her well?"
"Well enough to know I'll never really know a woman."
They both laughed while the young waitress poured their coffees.
"One more cream please miss? Thanks."
"Well, I've never heard of anyone being described as monument before. You had to of known her well enough."
"I suppose."
"And what of this new girl I've seen you with? Another monument?
"Perhaps. There has to be more sweat and blood, but yes, she has the framework for something like the Colosseum I guess."
"The Colosseum eh? Well when is the Fall of Rome?"
"Honestly, you probably know better than I do."

"People Watching"

A common belief about women is that they have a lot of shoes. Shoes they may wear once and then never again. But don't we all wear shoes? Don't we all at least find ourselves thinking of wearing different shoes. Following a different path. Living a different a life. Being someone else, if only for a moment.

I have find myself doing this constantly. Just thinking of being someone else. Living their routine or lack thereof. Tying the dirty laces of their shoes. I imagine their minds, their thoughts. I wonder what the wonder about. What intrigues them, motivates them, haunts them. What skeletons do have on hangers in their closets. What crosses do they carry. And most importantly, what gives them hope. What they want their life to aspire to.

I carry on these imaginations randomly. A simple scar or tattoo or hat is enough to build a life, enough to fabricate a stranger's past. I write their fictional stories. And I think about the characters. I become the narrator of translation of a mix of dream, fascination, curiosity, and amusement. Some people become exemplars while others lie in the numerous shades of gray.

And I think of their motives. Their plan. Their mission. I wonder what life means to them because it helps me find my own answer, or at least come closer to one.

I think some may call this 'people watching'. But I don't know if it's quite the same as that. The point is not to judge or mock but to recognize certain values people have and wonder what compels them to do believe them. Why will someone smile at a stranger? Why will someone sit in the park all day just to watch the birds? What do they see? What beauty have they found? What pain have they felt? What causes that smile? What allows that contentment?

Of course, these are fabricated tales. The process is just working backwards to the beginning to find some unlearned life lesson that you, the author, have created. Then you think, "Hey I wonder who's writing my story, my alternative life, my lesson."

Gatsby's Green Light. What does it mean?

So many times I just want to write. I just want to sit down at a computer and type. Type anything really. Type something. But it seems that any sort of substantial inspiration about anything comes at times when you can't write it down. You can't let your ideas flow. And what is left? Only the small and cluttered remnants of a pulse of inspiration that has come and gone with no intentions of ever returning. You're left with a puzzle, a damn confusing puzzle.
Soon you forget why you found that house so interesting. You can no longer ration the beauty you once saw in a squirrel rummaging through garbage or that certain awe you felt about seeing a green color in a window at night. You felt something new in the shade of the light. Something different. So where does this appreciation, this universal connection, you have felt go?
Has the concept of wonder left us? In our day to day lives we become jaded to the simple joys of the world. And maybe those moments of purity, of admiration, of beauty are just small rays of innocence and naivety that shine through our walls of mundane acceptance.
I've noticed that the people who do notice the beauty of the everyday are scene as 'eccentric' possibly a little crazy or this new fashionable term 'hipster', which I think is a mix between being a hippie, educated, vegetarian, and probably poor. But what's that about? So many of my collegiate friends look upon this subculture mockingly. But who can really judge? Who decided the way to live an American life. Some become happy about a paycheck or a bigger house or a boat with a terrible name. And some find their happiness in being happy about living, at being content. Some want to live in a world away from the chaos and desires of wants. They desire nothing really. Just some piece of mind. Because we all know, we can never have the whole pie.

Lyrics

There's a skinny dog in a dirty parking lot.
And he doesn't bite, but he begs.
And he knows what's true so if you are, he'll follow you
if you're headed home all the way.
So we let him finish every dinner plate,
and we watched his tail saying "thanks, thanks, thanks."
And we tried to name him, but he ran away
once he knew his freedom was at stake.
It's the same old shit, so it's how you deal with it.
it's the glove that fits that you wear.
So when the wind blows strong, I put a few more layers on,
and I tell myself I don't care.
I might make a phone call to a better man.
To ask the questions that I have.
Like how did I get started? And where's it gonna end?
why should I treat a traitor like a friend?
-Bright Eyes "Stray Dog Freedom"

I really enjoy this song. At least the lyrics.
Freedom is a weird thing. It's a cool concept, I suppose. In a world of chance no one can be truly free because nothing is in control.
But it's odd how strongly people desire personal independence or at least the concept that they are in the driver seat, that they are in control, that they have the road map to the soul. Maybe it's a healthy thing, that is, to believe in tomorrow, to believe in the past, to believe that you are free to do anything. It's an empowering feeling, to think you know. Maybe it's more satisfying to think you know one thing: yourself. Perhaps your only true freedom is to think and to wonder and to not have a care, but just to know yourself. There is nothing that can stop that. There is no way of anything stopping you think or the way in which you do. That is your only true freedom I suppose. Though, people can impose.
There is a balance between the body and the soul somewhere, maybe. But if you fall victim to chance and die tomorrow, do you not want to die in a good mood? Maybe freedom isn't about accomplishments in the social world, or any actions for that matter. Maybe freedom is about letting your mind wander into the depths of your soul, into the stars of your dreams, into anything and everything.
Maybe it's about not being a slave, but that's not what I mean. A slave and a king have the very same freedom of thought. It's important thing to remember.

Of course maybe the point of this is a simple lesson: If you find a stray dog don't name it.

Progress

Is there really such a thing as progress? Sure there are advancements in science, technology, medicine, etc. But do these things really change the world for the better? Can you change the world for the better? Can the world be changed at all? Who defines what better is? Who can truly define progress?
If the universe was created by chaos won't it some day return? Is progress even a rational concept in regards to the universe? What is progress?
If I were Socrates I would ask someone, so I did. Wikipedia defines it as, "In history, progress is the idea of an advance that occurs within the limits of mankind's collective morality and knowledge of its respective environment." (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Progress_(history)). And I know people say that Wikipedia is not a good source, but as Socrates would say; no one knows anything, "I know I am intelligent because I know that I know nothing." Basically, no one is a good source.
So what does it mean when people speak of progress? Social progress? What does that even mean? That certain morals are endorsed? Who decides what morals are right? What is right? What is wrong? No one knows these answers, though they may believe they do, yet we strive for this idea of progression. This notion that we can make the world a better place, whatever that means.
Look at our nation, we find ourselves in war in order to spread democracy. Who are we to say that's progress? Seems quite hypocritical because a lot of people are dying... for an idea. Progress? I think not.
Am I preaching anarchy? Let's return the world to is natural state, back to chaos, back to a time that has not been tainted by civilization, back to a time where all humans had was nothing. Nothing but themselves. No, I'm not preaching anarchy. I'm not preaching anything. I don't know anything. You don't know anything. Yet, we pretend to. We pretend that we know what we are doing. That we are making progress. But can we? Are we? On any macroscopic scale can we achieve progress, some sort of sustainable order? Is that done by instillation of culture, value systems, social classes, etc? And is that possible to achieve with so many different cultures, with so many different people, with so much chaos?
Progress on any scale seems to be unattainable simply because we are victims of chance, victims of fate, victims to disorder and entropy.
So what is the purpose of life? Some people say they have that answer and some say they do not and most seem not to care but are simply there for the ride. Well, maybe that's all it is, a journey back to chaos. Back to elements.
If we can have no control of the universe than what can we control? If as Socrates says, "The unexamined life is not worth living" than maybe that can be our answer. To strive for self-dependence, self-worth, self-contentment, to just live with ourselves and be happy. Maybe life is to be happy. Perhaps the only real progress that can be made is in within ourselves. Epicurus writes, "It is folly for a man to pray to the gods for that which he has the power to obtain by himself. "
So we march on in a crazy world with the wind at our backs, our faces, our cheeks, blowing its breath anywhere at any time and all the time. Many strive for progress. But you can wonder what that's really all about, is it really about anything? Or is simply competition for resources, for power, for nothing? Maybe progress is only as real as we make it. In that case, make your progress internal. Make happiness. Make wonder. Make ideas. Make progress.

"Everyone now knows how to find the meaning of life within himself.

But mankind wasn't always so lucky. Less than a century ago men and women did not have easy access to the puzzle boxes within them.

They could not name even one of the fifty-three portals to the soul.

Gimcrack religions were big business.

Mankind, ignorant of the truths that lie within every human being, looked outward -- pushed ever outward. What mankind hoped to learn in its outward push was who was actually in charge of all creation, and what all creation was all about.

Mankind flung its advance agents ever outward, ever outward. Eventually it flung them out into space, into the colorless, tasteless, weightless sea of outwardness without end.

It flung them like stones.

These unhappy agents found what had already been found in abundance on Earth -- a nightmare of meaninglessness without end. The bounties of space, of infinite outwardness, were three: empty heroics, low comedy, and pointless death.

Outwardness lost, at last, its imagined attractions.

Only inwardness remained to be explored.

Only the human soul remained terra incognita.

This was the beginning of goodness and wisdom.

What were people like in olden times, with their souls as yet unexplored?"

-Kurt Vonnegut, The Sirens of Titans

Questions and Inquiries

So recently my neighbor decided to purchase a wind chime. A very large wind chime in fact. The thick brass bars cling and clang and produce a deep clutter of sounds when the winds blow. Normally I enjoy the comforting sounds of the earth's breath. However, this wind chime is a nuisance.
I have a cat now, a kitten really, and it loves to walk on my keyboard. The sounds that its paws make as it struts across the keys become a terrible mess of notes, that is unpleasing to the ear to say the least. But it's a cute cat. You can't get annoyed by its naive mischief. No, you really enjoy it. But when that wind chime starts singing; I see no beauty, no charm, not one faint breath of enjoyment or appreciation. I hate it.
The worst part is that my neighbor has positioned it right outside my window and I hear its constant whining throughout my day.
So what do I do? Surely my neighbor has some sort of affection for his annoying lawn toy. Can I tell him to remove it? Or simply move it? And what of those repercussions? Would he get offended? Or would he tell me that my band is a nuisance that he puts up with it?
Well, I guess in some sort of way I'm being selfish. I do make a lot of noise myself. So who am I to complain? I suppose I'll just have to get used to that cringe, when a hard wind blows.

I Got the Cafeteria Blues

So, you come to college and buy a meal plan and life is good, there are bagels and pizzas and mashed potatoes everywhere. But soon you realize that you just need some diversity in your diet. Something new besides the same pizza, the same sandwiches, the same dinner specials. I feel your pain and I might be able to help.
It's easy to order food online now especially with such sites as CampusFood.com. But c'mon, we are college kids, we are poor, we can't always afford their delivery fees plus the delivery tip. A five dollar sandwich can soon turn into a nine or ten dollar endeavor. So instead try a few local places that are cheap, fast, and close to campus.
An obvious first recommendation would be "Linda's Cart" a great lunch truck located outside Rosenburger. Linda is great and so is her reasonably priced food. The only downside is that she gets alot of business and you may encounter a line. Is it worth it? Yes, her breakfast is cheap and delicious.
Another place near campus is "New China Gourmet" located a block up from Glasser Hall. The food is cheap but for chinese food its not bad but not the greatest. If your craving chinese food, this might be your place.
Ofcourse there is Five Star Deli, also known as Park's, depending on who you speak to. Its located on chester between Osol Hall and the PTC. They make decent deli sandwiches and good breakfast. It's also a small gorcery store, so if you need milk or sugar they can help you out.
For pizza "The Best House Pizzaria" located at 43rd and Baltimore is a good choice. They have a great deal; two slices of pizza and a small beverage for four dollars.
If you cross the street you can grab an overpriced coffee at "The Green Line Cafe" but be prepared to be mobbed by bearded psedo-intellectual hipsters reading books such as, The Reason Why Meat Will End The World, Tofu Rules.
If you're in the mood for a walk, to 47th and Kingsessing, the "Salt and Pepper Deli" is a good choice for cheap specials. They have a cheeseburger special for three dollars that's well worth the trip.
And lastly, my favorite place, is "Lee's Deli" which is located on 47th and Baltimore. The food is cheap, good, and Mr. Lee is a great guy. I recommend the Broccoli/Spinach Cheese steak, its delicious. Also his breakfast specials are fantastic.
So get out of Wilson and go explore the cheap local food places of West Philadelphia. Believe me, you'll be happy you did.

Thinking of a DVD? Maybe I Can Help

"The Mist" (aka Stephan King's The Mist) has hit the DVD shelves; but is it worth a buy or simply a rental?
The movie is a stereotypical monster flick (which is a breath of fresh air in the midst of all the 3D gore-tastical murder movies released lately) where people trapped in a grocery store are terrorized by -- you guessed it, a mist. The characters are flat and seem only to be there as means of obvious plot devices. The CGI is OK at best but fortunately not abused. So what makes this worthy of a buy or even a rental? Well, there are a few things.
What I particularly enjoyed about the movie was the balance of turmoil it depicts. The chaos of the mist soon becomes as menacing and dangerous as the rising tension inside the store amongst the refugees.
Inside the store is a group of citizens that would depict a stereotypical small vacation town: beer drinking mechanics, nerdy store clerks, loudmouth religous activists, school teachers, moms, dads, children, and the occasional vacationers who are artists and lawyers. As the myriad of these cardboard characters begin to deal with the situation the struggle for power and control, you realize that this movie is not about the creepy crawlers outside the store. No, it's tale about humans: the power of religion, the struggle for life, and the notion that cronyism is a far too powerful force.
"The Mist" wasn't terrible. Part of me enjoyed it for the return of outlandish monster movies. Another part for a horror movie trying to use human friction to create tension instead of a deranged knife-weilding maniac. It's a movie for you if want a little more out of a horror movie than cheap thrills. What would you do if you thought that you could live or die at any moment? Plan an escape? Drink? Pray? "The Mist" asks you that question.

2.75/5

Story Ideas

Who would I have dinner with? Good question. I mean, throughout history there has been numerous influential people that have changed the face of human history. But why would I want to have dinner with Napoleon? I don't speak French plus I don't have high chairs. If I invited Gandhi would he even eat? What about Caligula? Would he invite a horse to dinner? I mean what if I also invited Kobayashi, I'm sure he's hungry enough to eat that very same horse.

No, I would not invite any of these historic people. I'm not multilingual or very well cultured and I have no idea what would I serve to meet the needs of their vastly diversified dietary habits.

However, I do have some people in mind: Bob Dylan, Neil Young, Warren Zevon, my Grandparents, Jerry Garcia, and maybe some supermodel (let's say Morgan Freeman).

I'm sure dinner would be awkward. But I know one thing quite well, I would invite Jesus so he can provide us with free wine.