At long last, I have finished Part 2 of Beatlemania. Hope you enjoy it!
1968’s The Beatles (aka The White Album) was the beginning of the end for The Beatles. Whether the appearance of she-devil Yoko Ono was wholly or partly responsible for the discord is open to debate, but my impression is that she was most certainly a monkey wrench in the gears of a previously well-oiled machine. Regardless of the cause of the contentiousness, the studio sessions for The White Album featured a wealth of disagreements, with John and Paul occasionally in different studios recording different songs. Ringo even quit the band for a short period of time before being convinced to come back. The divisiveness of The Beatles at this time is starkly apparent on the double album, which contains a bizarre (yet great) selection of songs.
It’s tough to pare this lot down, but I’ll do my best. I’ll start with George Harrison’s "Piggies", because, as I’ve already mentioned, I love the sound of the harpsichord, I dig the stringed instruments, and get a kick out of the pig sound effects (what can I say? I’m easily amused). "Sexy Sadie" is another great track I just love to sing along to (even those high notes that I can’t hit). Another fun sing-a-long track is "Ob-La-Di, Ob-La-Da"; a great song to wail in the shower, I’d say. And speaking of wailing, the simplistic yet highly amusing "Why Don’t We Do It In the Road?" features some excellent wailing by Paul. Love this song, and not just because it was inspired by two monkeys in India going at it (but it helps). "Happiness Is a Warm Gun" is supposedly Paul’s favorite song on The White Album, and it’s certainly in my top five. It’s structurally complex, lyrically interesting, and, in the end, just plain fun. "I’m So Tired" may just be my favorite song on the album. While the song isn’t about depression, it certainly strikes a chord in me. I can relate very much with the overriding sentiment of the song (“I’d give you everything I’ve got for a little peace of mind”), and I love the emotion John puts into his vocals (especially around :38-:45).
The White Album is truly great, and there is a wealth of excellent songs that I didn’t mention. If you’re not familiar with it, I highly suggest giving it a listen. And even if you do know it, I suggest revisiting it occasionally. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve gone back to it and thought, “How did I miss this song?!”
Yellow Submarine, released in 1969, is an unusual album. Only half of the twelve songs on the album are performed by the Beatles, and of those six, two were previously released on other albums (“Yellow Submarine” on Revolver and “All You Need Is Love” on Magical Mystery Tour). The other six tracks are symphonic tracks from the film Yellow Submarine. I enjoy a good orchestral piece, but I’m not overly impressed by the offerings on this album, and of the four new tracks only "All Together Now" and "Hey Bulldog" (the best new song on the album, in my opinion) regularly make it onto my playlists. If the Beatles made a forgettable album, this one is it.
1969’s second release, Abbey Road, on the other hand, is chock full of goodness. Actually recorded after the majority of Let It Be (the last studio album released by the band), this album represents their final attempt to put their differences aside and “go out on a high note.” I don’t think it’s a coincidence that many of the songs on the album have a wistful feeling to them.
Nevertheless, the album starts off with a bang. The first song, "Come Together" is not only a classic, but also seems to act as encouragement for the band, as if they’re telling each other, “This is the last time, so let’s do this right.” The second track, "Something", is, in my humble opinion, one of the greatest love songs ever written. Too bad Yoko’s in the video. But on a happier note, "Octopus’s Garden", where my blog gets its name, is on the album. It’s a fun bit of nonsense, and probably my favorite Ringo track (not that there are a lot to choose from). And speaking of fun bits of nonsense, you can’t go wrong with the short tale of "Mean Mr. Mustard". An interesting bit of trivia regarding the song "Because": it features the chords of Beethoven’s “Moonlight Sonata” played backwards. While it’s hard to pick a favorite off the album, "Oh! Darling" may just be it. I recall listening to it repeatedly when I first discovered it, and it doesn’t hurt that it has one of my favorite things in it: Paul screaming his head off. Just a great track.
The final studio album released by the Beatles was 1970’s Let It Be. A documentary of the same name was filmed during the album’s recording sessions. The film ends with the infamous impromptu rooftop concert held on top of Apple’s building (the record company, not the makers of iPods), which was eventually broken up by the police. Apparently London’s business district found the Beatle’s last live performance distracting.
In honor of their last live performance, I thought I’d share the songs they played on that rooftop in London (although the links I provide will be to the album versions). They started off with a couple goes at what was, at the time, meant to be the title track of the album, "Get Back", which was also the last song they played that day. In fact, John’s comment at the end of the recording, “I’d like to say ‘thank you’ on behalf of the group and ourselves and I hope we passed the audition,” was taken from the rooftop recordings and spliced onto the end of the album version. The next song, "Don’t Let Me Down", was recorded during the Get Back (Let It Be) sessions, but ended up being dropped from the album (it appears later on the Past Masters album). I can’t imagine why it wasn’t included, as the raw emotion in John’s vocals makes it one of my favorite Beatles songs. "I’ve Got a Feeling", an amalgam of two different songs (one by Paul, the other by John), was the next song played, and in this case the recording from the rooftop performance actually made it onto the album. On the heels of “I’ve Got a Feeling” came "One After 909", a song that wouldn’t sound out of place on an early Beatles album. This is another track taken straight from their rooftop performance (John’s “Danny Boy” ending being a goofy ad-lib). The last unique song played that day was another of my multitude of favorites, "Dig a Pony". Again, the album version and the rooftop version are one and the same. That “Hold it!” yelled at the beginning is Ringo asking everyone to wait, as he had a cigarette in hand at the time. I can’t say why, but the inclusion of that moment on the album just makes my day. After “Dig a Pony,” they played “I’ve Got a Feeling” again, followed by another performance of “Don’t Let Me Down.” As I said earlier, they finished with “Get Back,” and yes, John, I’m pretty sure you passed the audition.
1988 saw the release of the Past Masters album, 33 tracks on two CDs that included all the bits and bobs that hadn’t made it onto the previously listed albums. Perhaps “bits and bobs” is a deceptive choice of words, since the album contains such seminal Beatles songs as "From Me To You", "She Loves You", "I Want To Hold Your Hand", and "I Feel Fine". And that’s just Disc 1!
The second disc is full of Beatles classics as well. You can never go wrong with "Hey Jude", and if you can hear “na na na na-na na na” without singing along then you, my friend, have a soul as black as the night. The disc also contains 1965’s lighthearted "Day Tripper", a tongue-in-cheek ditty about half-assed hippies, and "We Can Work It Out", which was originally released on the same single. Another song close to my heart is "Paperback Writer", mostly because it’s a fun song, but also because I wouldn’t mind being a paperback writer myself. You're probably unfamiliar with the song unless you’re a big fan, but I’ve grown quite attached to Harrison’s "Old Brown Shoe". I just wish the audio was better; it definitely sounds like an old "Brown Shoe." Despite Satan’s minion, Yoko, being a prominent feature of the song, I can’t help but enjoy "The Ballad of John & Yoko". If only Mark David Chapman’s aim had been off.
The three Anthology albums were released in late 1995 and early 1996. Not for the casual fan, the albums contain a wealth of alternate versions, demos, live performances, and the like. For Beatlemaniacs, it’s a fascinating look at the creative process of the Beatles. There are recordings of rehearsals where it’s obvious that the lyrics were yet to be finalized (I just hate it when doctors smink of gin), takes featuring false starts, and even a take completely derailed by a giggle fit (I have a feeling all were not sober at the time). And remember “Old Brown Shoe” and it’s bad audio? Oddly, the demo sounds quite a bit better.
In 2006, Cirque du Soleil began their show Love, based upon the music of the Beatles. To the extreme pleasure of this Beatles fan, they tapped George Martin and his son Giles to remix a wonderful selection of the Beatles catalogue. The hard work of the Martins (and George’s intimate familiarity with the music) produced a work of sheer genius.
This album introduced me to a song I had previously overlooked: "Lady Madonna". I fell in love immediately, and, while biased by hearing this version first, I feel that it’s an improvement over the original. I wish I could present "Lucy In the Sky With Diamonds" and "Octopus’s Garden" as a single piece, because the way they are tied together by the string portion of “Good Night” is absolutely beautiful. Instead, try queuing them both up and starting “Octopus’s Garden” as soon as “Lucy” is done; you’ll get the general idea. For those of you who think “Hey Jude” is too long (and I won’t blame you if you do), give this version a try. Not only is it significantly shorter, but it’s also got a sweet bass line added in for most of the last minute. The bass line actually appears ever so faintly in the last six seconds or so of the original, but bringing it to the fore makes for quite an improvement (as does dropping everything but the vocals and percussion prior to the bass line’s appearance). As mush as I love the revamped “Hey Jude,” I think the new "Strawberry Fields Forever" is the pinnacle of the album (Strawberry Peak?). The original is surely a classic, but I’m batshit crazy for the way the last two minutes or so of this song turned out, seamlessly integrating parts of “Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band,” “In My Life,” “Penny Lane,” “Piggies” (did I mention that I love the harpsichord?), and, most notably, the “Hey-la” section of “Hello, Goodbye.” This, my friends, is a work of art.
And so we end Beatlemania on as high a note as I can think of. I hope I was able to shed some light on an unfamiliar song or two. I think the Beatles are the high water mark of music, a brilliant mixture of the profound and the profane, the ordinary and the sublime. And as I said before, I dare you to find another band who evolved so much in so little time, and who has inspired so many, both musicians and laymen alike.
Now will someone please perform the ritual that sends Yoko back to her place among the nine circles of Hell?
*I should note that I have once again leaned on Wiki for many of the facts used in Beatlemania. All opinions are my own.
Showing posts with label Essential Reading. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Essential Reading. Show all posts
Tuesday, May 11, 2010
Monday, April 5, 2010
Musicopia: Beatlemania, Part 1
By now you’ve surely noticed that I enjoy a wide variety of music. If I had to pick a favorite musical genre, it would probably be hip-hop, followed by good ol’ rock and roll. My favorite musical act, however, is without question The Beatles.
People often say that you’re a Beatles person or an Elvis person, or, perhaps, a Rolling Stones lover. With all due respect to Elvis and the Stones, there is absolutely no twentieth century musical group or individual more important or influential than The Beatles. Pick a music artist these days and I guarantee that one of their influences is The Beatles (and if they aren’t, then someone directly influenced by them is).
Whether you enjoy their music or not, there is no denying their influence on music in the Western world and beyond, and I dare you to find another group or artist who evolved as drastically as they did over their seven years of recording. They began as a pop-rock group who essentially conformed to the conventions of their predecessors, but before long they were blazing their own trail, experimenting with feedback, sound effects, and unconventional instruments such as the sitar. And, amazingly, their experimentation and growth did nothing to hinder their popularity. If anything, it enhanced it, setting them apart from the wealth of exceptional acts that surfaced in what I consider to be music’s Golden Age, the 60s.
This is why I can’t just stick The Beatles in with the rest of the B’s. My love of their music requires that I give them special attention, for they deserve to be elevated above all. And so I give you a Musicopia special edition: Beatlemania. In Beatlemania I will explore each of the albums within The Beatles canon, consisting of their twelve UK albums, the US version of Magical Mystery Tour, and the Past Masters albums, as well as a smattering of tracks from the Anthology series and the (relatively) newly released Love, which was created for the Cirque du Soleil show of the same name. If you’re a Beatles fan already, then you surely won’t mind being reminded of why you love them. If you’re unfamiliar with their work, then I urge you to take this opportunity to explore it. I doubt you’ll be disappointed.
P.S. Damn you, Yoko!!!!
The Beatles’ first major album was Please Please Me, released in 1963. I used to consider much of their early work to be inferior simply because it was (at the time) fairly standard rock, rather than the barrier dismantling work that they did in their later years. Thankfully I’ve seen the error of my ways, for their early work, while not unconventional, is nonetheless excellent rock and roll, and still has all the Beatles charm that one finds in their later work. The album’s first track, "I Saw Her Standing There", is classic Beatles—up-tempo, cheerful, and about the ladies. Other great tracks, like "Love Me Do" and the title track will surely ring bells with most people. But songs such as "Misery" and "Chains" may be new to the casual fan. And c’mon, without this album’s last track (among my all-time favorites) we wouldn’t have one of my favorite moments in movie history, the fabled Ferris Bueller parade scene.
1963 also saw the release of their second album, With The Beatles. I must admit that I find this to be a weaker album than their first. Of the original songs that they composed for the album, "All My Loving" is easily the best, followed by "Hold Me Tight" and "Don’t Bother Me". But other than “All My Loving” I think the strongest tracks on the album are the covers of Chuck Berry's "Roll Over Beethoven" (which features some great guitar playing by George), and The Marvelette's "Please Mister Postman".
Two albums were released in 1964 as well. The first was A Hard Day’s Night, the soundtrack to their first movie, and the first Beatles album comprised entirely of original material. The album’s title track and "Can’t Buy Me Love" are among The Beatles’ best early work (“Can’t Buy Me Love” being one of my favorite Beatles songs). The rest of the album is solid as well. Even the songs that don’t regularly make it onto my playlists compel me to break into song when I listen to them (to the utter dismay of those around me). Among my favorite tracks on the album are "I Should Have Known Better", "Tell Me Why", and "Any Time At All". Great songs all.
The second album released in ’64 was Beatles For Sale, and (I’m sensing a pattern here) I feel it is weaker when compared to A Hard Day’s Night. But we’re talking about The Beatles here, so “weaker” is a relative term. The album contains another of my favorites, "Eight Days a Week" (I seem to have a lot of favorites, don’t I?). As with most of their early albums, there are a number of cover songs included, such as the Carl Perkins song "Honey Don’t", and another Chuck Berry cover, "Rock & Roll Music", featuring a great example of John’s vocal chops. Other than “Eight Days a Week,” my favorite original works on the album are "What You’re Doing" and "No Reply", which I’m especially fond of (especially the bit from about 1:03 to 1:32).
Another year, another movie. Their second movie, Help!, was released in 1965, and the soundtrack is once again solid as a rock. There are only two cover songs on this album, with the best easily being Ringo’s rendition of "Act Naturally". Love that song (and Ringo’s gotta get the spotlight every now and then!). But I’ve gotta tell ya, this album kicks some serious ass. The title track is one of their greatest songs, certainly among their early work. I can’t begin to describe the über-awesomeness of the song. But it doesn’t stop there! With tracks like "You’re Going to Lose That Girl", "Ticket To Ride" (with a wonderfully silly video; lo siento para los subtitulados en español), "It’s Only Love", and one of Paul’s most famous and beloved songs, "Yesterday", this is surely their best album thus far.
The Beatles’ sixth album, Rubber Soul, is where they started off into territory heretofore unknown to rock bands. Remember that roommate I had back in college (mentioned in the last installment of Musicopia)? Well, this is his favorite Beatles album (or it was back then), and understandably so. This album, also released in ‘65, represents a sea change in the work of The Beatles, both musically ("Norwegian Wood (This Bird Has Flown)" features George’s first use of the sitar in a recording, and "In My Life" features a piano solo that sounds very much like a harpsichord) and lyrically (as John’s philosophical and self-deprecating lyrics in "Nowhere Man" demonstrate). This album is so good I want to post every song, but through a superhuman demonstration of willpower I’m going to mention only three more songs: "You Won’t See Me" (because I like Paul’s voice and the ooooo la-la-la’s), "Girl" (a favorite which I’m embarrassed to say had escaped my notice until I watched Across the Universe), and "I’m Looking Through You" (just because).
If Rubber Soul was the beginning of their trip into the wild musical unknown, then Revolver sees them setting up shop there with the intent of staying for the long haul. While consistently overplayed, "Yellow Submarine" is probably the most sonically complex Beatles song yet (with the possible exception of "Tomorrow Never Knows"), with a wealth of sound effects and vocal silliness that sets it apart from the rest of their work thus far. "Love You To" is classic George, prominently featuring the sitar and other Indian instruments. Their sound continues to fill out on this album (released in 1966), with brass instruments prominently featured on "Got To Get You Into My Life", and some great piano playing by George Martin (“the fifth Beatle”) on "Good Day Sunshine". The album also contains the most depressing song in the universe, "Eleanor Rigby", so there’s that. But seriously, this is probably in my top three favorite Beatles albums, and I left a bumload of good songs out, so go get it. Get it now!
The Beatles’ next album, 1967’s Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band, is where it all began for me. I was visiting my mom at work and one of her co-workers had the album on cassette. I can’t remember whether he was listening to it and I asked to borrow it, or if the guy just knew it would blow my mind and offered it to me, but blow my young teenage mind it did. I’d heard "Lucy In the Sky With Diamonds" before, of course, but the album in its entirety was unlike anything I’d ever experienced before. I listened to it. Again. And again. And again. Thus began my Beatlemania.
Paring the album down to a handful of songs is like asking me to club a truckload of doe-eyed baby seals, but do it I must. The title track must get mention due to both its greatness and the way in which it sets the tone for the rest of the album. I must also mention "Fixing a Hole" because I overlooked its greatness for too long, and because I love the harpsichord. "Being For the Benefit of Mr. Kite!" also deserves mention simply for its sheer zany awesomeness. In my book, any song mentioning a waltzing horse is a good one. "When I’m Sixty-Four" is one of my favorites on the album. It’s sweetly sentimental, and I love the clarinets. As odd as it may sound, "Lovely Rita" may be my favorite song on the album. This is Paul at his whimsical best. I love the fact that he asks Rita out, then lets her pay the tab for dinner. For some reason that just cracks me up.
As with Revolver, there are so many great songs on this album that I was unable to mention them all. I urge you to get the album. I don’t care what you do in order to procure a copy. Rape. Pillage. Plunder. Do whatever it takes (ok, maybe not rape); just get this album! If you don’t enjoy it, then I’m sorry, I’m going to find you and jam an ice pick in your ears. Not enough to kill you, mind you; just enough to irrevocably deafen you. If you don’t like the album then aural pleasure is obviously beyond you and your ears are wasted on you anyway.
That's all for now, cats and kittens. Part 2 will be out as soon as I manage to finish it, which might be as late as next week, since I tend to get distracted and listen to some of the songs multiple times, thus ensuring that this takes much longer than it needs to. But The Beatles are worth the wait.
People often say that you’re a Beatles person or an Elvis person, or, perhaps, a Rolling Stones lover. With all due respect to Elvis and the Stones, there is absolutely no twentieth century musical group or individual more important or influential than The Beatles. Pick a music artist these days and I guarantee that one of their influences is The Beatles (and if they aren’t, then someone directly influenced by them is).
Whether you enjoy their music or not, there is no denying their influence on music in the Western world and beyond, and I dare you to find another group or artist who evolved as drastically as they did over their seven years of recording. They began as a pop-rock group who essentially conformed to the conventions of their predecessors, but before long they were blazing their own trail, experimenting with feedback, sound effects, and unconventional instruments such as the sitar. And, amazingly, their experimentation and growth did nothing to hinder their popularity. If anything, it enhanced it, setting them apart from the wealth of exceptional acts that surfaced in what I consider to be music’s Golden Age, the 60s.
This is why I can’t just stick The Beatles in with the rest of the B’s. My love of their music requires that I give them special attention, for they deserve to be elevated above all. And so I give you a Musicopia special edition: Beatlemania. In Beatlemania I will explore each of the albums within The Beatles canon, consisting of their twelve UK albums, the US version of Magical Mystery Tour, and the Past Masters albums, as well as a smattering of tracks from the Anthology series and the (relatively) newly released Love, which was created for the Cirque du Soleil show of the same name. If you’re a Beatles fan already, then you surely won’t mind being reminded of why you love them. If you’re unfamiliar with their work, then I urge you to take this opportunity to explore it. I doubt you’ll be disappointed.
P.S. Damn you, Yoko!!!!
The Beatles’ first major album was Please Please Me, released in 1963. I used to consider much of their early work to be inferior simply because it was (at the time) fairly standard rock, rather than the barrier dismantling work that they did in their later years. Thankfully I’ve seen the error of my ways, for their early work, while not unconventional, is nonetheless excellent rock and roll, and still has all the Beatles charm that one finds in their later work. The album’s first track, "I Saw Her Standing There", is classic Beatles—up-tempo, cheerful, and about the ladies. Other great tracks, like "Love Me Do" and the title track will surely ring bells with most people. But songs such as "Misery" and "Chains" may be new to the casual fan. And c’mon, without this album’s last track (among my all-time favorites) we wouldn’t have one of my favorite moments in movie history, the fabled Ferris Bueller parade scene.
1963 also saw the release of their second album, With The Beatles. I must admit that I find this to be a weaker album than their first. Of the original songs that they composed for the album, "All My Loving" is easily the best, followed by "Hold Me Tight" and "Don’t Bother Me". But other than “All My Loving” I think the strongest tracks on the album are the covers of Chuck Berry's "Roll Over Beethoven" (which features some great guitar playing by George), and The Marvelette's "Please Mister Postman".
Two albums were released in 1964 as well. The first was A Hard Day’s Night, the soundtrack to their first movie, and the first Beatles album comprised entirely of original material. The album’s title track and "Can’t Buy Me Love" are among The Beatles’ best early work (“Can’t Buy Me Love” being one of my favorite Beatles songs). The rest of the album is solid as well. Even the songs that don’t regularly make it onto my playlists compel me to break into song when I listen to them (to the utter dismay of those around me). Among my favorite tracks on the album are "I Should Have Known Better", "Tell Me Why", and "Any Time At All". Great songs all.
The second album released in ’64 was Beatles For Sale, and (I’m sensing a pattern here) I feel it is weaker when compared to A Hard Day’s Night. But we’re talking about The Beatles here, so “weaker” is a relative term. The album contains another of my favorites, "Eight Days a Week" (I seem to have a lot of favorites, don’t I?). As with most of their early albums, there are a number of cover songs included, such as the Carl Perkins song "Honey Don’t", and another Chuck Berry cover, "Rock & Roll Music", featuring a great example of John’s vocal chops. Other than “Eight Days a Week,” my favorite original works on the album are "What You’re Doing" and "No Reply", which I’m especially fond of (especially the bit from about 1:03 to 1:32).
Another year, another movie. Their second movie, Help!, was released in 1965, and the soundtrack is once again solid as a rock. There are only two cover songs on this album, with the best easily being Ringo’s rendition of "Act Naturally". Love that song (and Ringo’s gotta get the spotlight every now and then!). But I’ve gotta tell ya, this album kicks some serious ass. The title track is one of their greatest songs, certainly among their early work. I can’t begin to describe the über-awesomeness of the song. But it doesn’t stop there! With tracks like "You’re Going to Lose That Girl", "Ticket To Ride" (with a wonderfully silly video; lo siento para los subtitulados en español), "It’s Only Love", and one of Paul’s most famous and beloved songs, "Yesterday", this is surely their best album thus far.
The Beatles’ sixth album, Rubber Soul, is where they started off into territory heretofore unknown to rock bands. Remember that roommate I had back in college (mentioned in the last installment of Musicopia)? Well, this is his favorite Beatles album (or it was back then), and understandably so. This album, also released in ‘65, represents a sea change in the work of The Beatles, both musically ("Norwegian Wood (This Bird Has Flown)" features George’s first use of the sitar in a recording, and "In My Life" features a piano solo that sounds very much like a harpsichord) and lyrically (as John’s philosophical and self-deprecating lyrics in "Nowhere Man" demonstrate). This album is so good I want to post every song, but through a superhuman demonstration of willpower I’m going to mention only three more songs: "You Won’t See Me" (because I like Paul’s voice and the ooooo la-la-la’s), "Girl" (a favorite which I’m embarrassed to say had escaped my notice until I watched Across the Universe), and "I’m Looking Through You" (just because).
If Rubber Soul was the beginning of their trip into the wild musical unknown, then Revolver sees them setting up shop there with the intent of staying for the long haul. While consistently overplayed, "Yellow Submarine" is probably the most sonically complex Beatles song yet (with the possible exception of "Tomorrow Never Knows"), with a wealth of sound effects and vocal silliness that sets it apart from the rest of their work thus far. "Love You To" is classic George, prominently featuring the sitar and other Indian instruments. Their sound continues to fill out on this album (released in 1966), with brass instruments prominently featured on "Got To Get You Into My Life", and some great piano playing by George Martin (“the fifth Beatle”) on "Good Day Sunshine". The album also contains the most depressing song in the universe, "Eleanor Rigby", so there’s that. But seriously, this is probably in my top three favorite Beatles albums, and I left a bumload of good songs out, so go get it. Get it now!
The Beatles’ next album, 1967’s Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band, is where it all began for me. I was visiting my mom at work and one of her co-workers had the album on cassette. I can’t remember whether he was listening to it and I asked to borrow it, or if the guy just knew it would blow my mind and offered it to me, but blow my young teenage mind it did. I’d heard "Lucy In the Sky With Diamonds" before, of course, but the album in its entirety was unlike anything I’d ever experienced before. I listened to it. Again. And again. And again. Thus began my Beatlemania.
Paring the album down to a handful of songs is like asking me to club a truckload of doe-eyed baby seals, but do it I must. The title track must get mention due to both its greatness and the way in which it sets the tone for the rest of the album. I must also mention "Fixing a Hole" because I overlooked its greatness for too long, and because I love the harpsichord. "Being For the Benefit of Mr. Kite!" also deserves mention simply for its sheer zany awesomeness. In my book, any song mentioning a waltzing horse is a good one. "When I’m Sixty-Four" is one of my favorites on the album. It’s sweetly sentimental, and I love the clarinets. As odd as it may sound, "Lovely Rita" may be my favorite song on the album. This is Paul at his whimsical best. I love the fact that he asks Rita out, then lets her pay the tab for dinner. For some reason that just cracks me up.
As with Revolver, there are so many great songs on this album that I was unable to mention them all. I urge you to get the album. I don’t care what you do in order to procure a copy. Rape. Pillage. Plunder. Do whatever it takes (ok, maybe not rape); just get this album! If you don’t enjoy it, then I’m sorry, I’m going to find you and jam an ice pick in your ears. Not enough to kill you, mind you; just enough to irrevocably deafen you. If you don’t like the album then aural pleasure is obviously beyond you and your ears are wasted on you anyway.
That's all for now, cats and kittens. Part 2 will be out as soon as I manage to finish it, which might be as late as next week, since I tend to get distracted and listen to some of the songs multiple times, thus ensuring that this takes much longer than it needs to. But The Beatles are worth the wait.
Wednesday, February 24, 2010
Why God Hates Gay Marriage
Most of you have read this already, but I'll be damned if it ain't one of my favorite bits that I've written. Originally released on May 2, 2009.
We all know that gay marriage is an abomination that will forever sully the sacred institution of marriage, destroy society, and upset the natural balance and order of our Lord God’s universe. The signs are already there for all to see: this new swine flu—excuse me, the H1N1 flu—is a pestilence sent by God to show his disapproval of Iowa; Satan’s minions are hard at work off the coast of Somalia; and Paul Blart: Mall Cop was actually the number one movie in America for that short, dark time in our lives not so long ago.
We all know that gay marriage is an abomination that will forever sully the sacred institution of marriage, destroy society, and upset the natural balance and order of our Lord God’s universe. The signs are already there for all to see: this new swine flu—excuse me, the H1N1 flu—is a pestilence sent by God to show his disapproval of Iowa; Satan’s minions are hard at work off the coast of Somalia; and Paul Blart: Mall Cop was actually the number one movie in America for that short, dark time in our lives not so long ago.
“But J,” you ask, “how do we know God hates gays?”
Well, friend, the answer is simple: it’s in the Bible. The Bible gives us a very clear answer to this question. If you read Leviticus, you shall know our kind and gentle God for the gay-hating deity that he is. Leviticus 18:22 says, “Thou shalt not lie with mankind, as with womankind: it is an abomination.” Clearly, God hates gays. If you need more proof, look no further than Lev. 20:13, which states, “If a man lie with mankind, as he lie with a woman, both of them have committed an abomination: they shall surely be put to death.” This is a clear indictment of homosexuality, and even suggests you go out and bash some homos (bring the kids; it’s fun for the whole family). So as you can see, God hates gays with a passion pure and true.
“But J, doesn’t Jesus say that we should all love one another? Didn’t he tell us to ‘judge not, lest ye be judged’”?
I’m glad you brought that up, friend. You see, sometimes it can be hard to tell what God hates, especially with Jesus’ message of love and understanding mucking things up. First of all, God knew that the Bible was a really, really long book, and that most people wouldn’t have the time or twelfth grade reading level necessary to read it all. That’s why he put the really important parts like Leviticus in the front. So when in doubt, ignore Jesus’ hippy rantings in favor of the Old Testament’s more wrathful take on things.
Second, most people have an incomplete Bible. Most Bibles completely omit the Gospel of Cletus, the thirteenth apostle. Cletus was once an attendant at a Roman bath, until Jesus showed him how totally gay it is to stand around helping naked men all day. As a result, Cletus quit his gay job in order to follow another man around the Holy Land. The Gospel of Cletus shows Jesus’ true feelings about homosexuality, which the other homo-loving apostles left out. Cletus 13:34-37 clearly states, “A new commandment I give unto you, that ye love one another; as I have loved you, that ye also love one another. By this shall all men know that ye are my disciples, if ye have love one to another. Excepting, of course, those damn queers. Oh, and brown people. God, I hate brown people. I guess what I’m trying to say is that ye should love those people which ye hold dear, and feel free to hate everyone else. I mean, c’mon. How hard would it be to actually love everyone? That’d be, like, impossible.” As you can see, a complete Bible shows us the way our good Lord really feels about all manner of things.
“Thank you, J, for showing me the light. I now understand why I should hate gays. But did God say anything about gay marriage? Would it really be so bad if gays were granted the rights they so desperately seek?”
A fine question, my good friend. No, God doesn’t say anything about gay marriage explicitly, but it’s easy to read between the lines. Marriage is a sacred institution, meant to be shared between a man and a woman. We heterosexuals treat marriage’s sanctity with the proper amount of respect. Elizabeth Taylor is a shining example of this. She loves and respects the institution of marriage so much that she’s been married eight times! If gays were allowed to marry, they would desecrate the institution with their flirty eyes, pouty lips, and hard washboard abs. How could a man resist the urge to cheat or divorce when constantly faced with the firm yet supple man-ass that surrounds him at gay clubs, restaurants, and libraries? It’s impossible, and God knows it. Thus, he hates gay marriage. And as for wanting to be able to visit each other in the hospital, inherit each other’s belongings, and get tax breaks . . .what do gays think they are? Human?
I’m glad we had this talk, friends. I hope that I have cleared up any doubts that you may have had regarding the evil nature of gayness and gay marriage. Never forget that it is a pestilence that will spread throughout the land, infecting us all with good fashion sense, the desire to go to the gym, and a love of show tunes. Now if you’ll excuse me, the Lord has just commanded me to go take a cold shower.
Monday, February 1, 2010
Hunting For Meaning (AKA Can't Buy Me Love)
I awoke yesterday feeling rather “blah.” Not depressed, just bored and unmotivated. As much as I loathe my job, I often find that I’m unsure of what to do with my free time. Sometimes I play video games, but the ol’ 360 has been overheating, so I figured I’d give it a rest. I love to read, but I’m currently slogging through a book on Tolkien, and the prose is as dense as if Tolkien himself had written it; I just wasn’t up for it today.
So, as I often do, I began to think about food. I love food, and, while I am a maddeningly picky eater, I can generally find enjoyment in food when my enjoyment of other things has waned. Thus I began to think about the gyros and cinnamon rolls that are available at a mall 30 minutes away. It was tempting to make the trip, despite the fact that I have a hard time justifying a 30-minute drive just to get some food. As a further justification, I thought about getting a David Foster Wallace book while I was there, ignoring the fact that the Borders probably wouldn’t have it.
I was just getting myself psyched up to go when a thought occurred to me: buying things makes me feel good and, I assume, has a similar effect on others. I began to wonder why this was. Perhaps, I thought, the act of buying things commandeered a vestigial drive to hunt. Perhaps my act of “hunting” out a book provided satisfaction to that primal part of me that would have been satisfied by bringing down a deer.
It then occurred to me that I had read something similar to this a month or three ago. A scientist had said that gender differences in shopping behavior reflected gender roles from when humans were primarily hunter-gatherers. Thus, a man’s desire to shop quickly, to swoop into a store in Navy SEAL-like fashion and then leave in a similarly no-nonsense manner, was due to a genetic proclivity to hunt in the same way. Conversely, a woman’s desire to dawdle, to carefully inspect each item, and to look for just the right things in a number of places (as opposed to just one), was due to the care necessitated by the act of gathering (for it is necessary to know what is ripe, what is poisonous, etc. before bringing it home to eat).
Upon remembering the article, I was first and foremost dismayed. Any of you who know me are probably aware that I have a fantastic memory for certain things, but an abysmal memory for others. I started to wonder how often “my” good ideas were something I ingested and forgot, and then came bubbling back up into consciousness. A disturbing thought, since I do my best to live an honest life. I would hate to steal someone else’s ideas, regardless of the fact that I’d be unaware of it.
I quickly shunted that thought aside (that way lies madness), and focused instead on money. Why is it so important to people? It seems to me that spending money is somehow just the filling of a void. Like a gambler who gets a rush from winning, we get a rush out of spending money, out of procuring things that we feel we need or want. But there’s nothing inherently necessary about money in a survival sense. True, we in the developed world need money to buy food and pay bills, but, in the grand scheme of things, money is valueless. It is only worth what we think it’s worth.
So what’s the deal? What void is spending money, an inherently worthless act, filling? Again, I thought of the hunter-gatherer issue. Is it really that simple? Are we spending money simply to satiate a largely obsolete behavioral drive? And if so, why are so many of us miserable?
I’m starting to think that this is exactly what is going on. I think that we’ve taken the necessity of hunting (or living off the land in all manner of ways) and distorted that drive, in a Freudian manner, into something else: a desire for things. I think the reason many of us are miserable is because we’ve lost all sight of what is truly important in life, something that living off the land reminds us of.
Think about it. When one lives in a hunter-gatherer society, what is important? Your priority is, first and foremost, the survival of yourself and the ones you love. In order to survive you need very specific things. You need water, food, and the shelter from the elements provided by clothing and a home. That’s about it. Even medicine, generally in the form of plant matter, is a luxury (but even that is about survival).
If you live this kind of life, you live on the razor’s edge of survival. There are times when food is plentiful, but waste is unacceptable even then, for there will certainly be times when food is scarce. Thus you learn the value of moderation. You learn to value your life and family, for hard times might literally mean the death of yourself or the ones you love. Not only that, but killing an animal for food gives one an intimate understanding of life and death. Therefore, living the life of a hunter-gatherer can be said to give one a very harsh but realistic perspective regarding what is important: life and family.
Much of today’s world has no such equivalent. We don’t experience that razor’s edge. We live in luxury. We have water piped into our homes, and thus have no need to walk to the river to fill gourds; we have vast buildings filled with foodstuffs, so we need not spend days in the wild hunting. We have our problems, but in comparison they are petty and insignificant.
And yet we still have these drives, that need to procure that allowed us to reach today’s more luxurious reality. But these needs have been distorted into a mockery of their former selves. When an American says they “need” something, ninety-nine times out of a hundred they mean that they simply want it. In a very real sense, our actions have been robbed of their importance by our society’s excesses. Yes, we need to work to buy food, but the work in and of itself is generally valueless. Our actions don’t lead directly to our survival; they lead to money, which in turn leads to survival. That one extra step robs us of something important, and it’s a lack that many of us feel, even if we fail to understand it.
So what do we do? We distract ourselves. Think about what you spend your money on. I don’t know about you, but my main expenses are food, gasoline, bills of all sorts, and entertainment. I’m practically dirt poor, but I still find money every month for high-speed Internet access, cable TV (although I don’t pay much; I bribed the cable guy $50 to keep off most of the filters, so I get pretty much all the non-premium channels for about $15 a month), and the odd book or DVD. I believe entertainment has become something of a necessity for us because it distracts us from the meaninglessness of our lives.
Unfortunately, there are those out there who are very much aware of our “need” for entertainment, even if they are unaware of its origin (and I doubt they care). All they need to know is that money can be made when people are unhappy. This is something that has been building for centuries (Got the gout? Try Johnson’s Revolutionary Snake Oil Elixir! Guaranteed to cure a number of maladies and miseries!), but manipulating the misery of the masses was turned into an artform in the 20th century.
While I don’t know the exact origins of psychological manipulation in advertising, I’m sure that the budding discipline of psychology had much to do with the efficaciousness of 20th century ads. It’s likely that many who studied the subject failed to find a job in private practice or academia (or got kicked out, as John B. Watson did), and turned to advertising instead, for understanding human behavior makes it much easier to manipulate. Regardless, advertisers most certainly began using data from the psychological field to sell their products. In other words, they preyed upon our desires and insecurities to make a buck.
I find this behavior repulsive, but it’s a fact of life. Think about the Saturday morning cartoons that my generation loved so dearly. Yes, we were treated to hours of cartoons that we loved, but we were also subjected to hours of advertising as well. Hell, some cartoons were literally created as vehicles to sell toys. We were watching 22-minute commercials, interrupted by commercials! If you believe that this does not have a profound effect on a young child’s mindset, then I admire your naïveté or devotion to self-delusion.
In a very real sense, the term “TV programming” is a literal term. Advertisers are smart enough to know that if you manipulate someone while they’re young, they cease to question that manipulation, or even believe that they’re being manipulated in the first place. They simply take for granted that they need all that “stuff” out there.
Please don’t misunderstand: I’m not some conspiracy theorist who believes there’s some cabal of rich men manipulating every aspect of the world to work in their favor. I do, however, believe that this world is full of greedy people who would step over the bodies of the ones they love if it was profitable enough. Does a little psychological manipulation matter to someone who is willing to allow his factory to pollute local drinking water? Not when there’s profit in it.
And that’s what it’s all about: profit. Instead of survival, our society’s greatest "need" has become money, to the extent that there are thousands, if not millions, of companies out there who are seeking profit to the detriment of everyone else. Deforestation? How else do we find the land to maximize our soybean farming? Pollution? Increases our profit margins! Devastation of world fish populations? Who cares how many fish there are in the sea, as long as they end up on someone’s plate? We’ve become a society of pimps and whores, which is pretty ironic considering that prostitution is illegal.
But whether we are the pimp or the whore, the oppressor or the oppressed, our actions are motivated by that void, that sense of ennui. It’s such a pervasive part of our lives that many of us don’t even recognize its existence. We just heap money and things into it, hoping to feel better for a little while. Just like a drug addict. And I’m honestly unsure what’s worse: the fact that so many of us feel the same way but haven’t acknowledged it (let alone found a solution), or the fact that there are people who have realized it and decided to make a profit off of it, and thus exacerbated the situation
Regardless, our civilization is buckling under the weight of its own excess. We’re ancient Rome, just waiting for some “barbarians” to come along and exploit our weaknesses. Or perhaps the greedy are the barbarians, and we’re in the process of dying. I can’t help but think we’ve already gone too far. But who can say? Not I. I just hope that if and when we fall, those who pick up the pieces (if any exist to do so) learn from our mistakes. I hope they learn that divorcing oneself from reality to such an extent that money becomes their god and goal is a mistake that will always lead to disaster.
Some of us may be miserable at times. We may feel frustrated by and out of touch with the society that we live in, but at least we’ve realized that money can’t buy us love. Or happiness. Or wisdom.
But it sure does buy a wealth of distractions, doesn’t it?
So, as I often do, I began to think about food. I love food, and, while I am a maddeningly picky eater, I can generally find enjoyment in food when my enjoyment of other things has waned. Thus I began to think about the gyros and cinnamon rolls that are available at a mall 30 minutes away. It was tempting to make the trip, despite the fact that I have a hard time justifying a 30-minute drive just to get some food. As a further justification, I thought about getting a David Foster Wallace book while I was there, ignoring the fact that the Borders probably wouldn’t have it.
I was just getting myself psyched up to go when a thought occurred to me: buying things makes me feel good and, I assume, has a similar effect on others. I began to wonder why this was. Perhaps, I thought, the act of buying things commandeered a vestigial drive to hunt. Perhaps my act of “hunting” out a book provided satisfaction to that primal part of me that would have been satisfied by bringing down a deer.
It then occurred to me that I had read something similar to this a month or three ago. A scientist had said that gender differences in shopping behavior reflected gender roles from when humans were primarily hunter-gatherers. Thus, a man’s desire to shop quickly, to swoop into a store in Navy SEAL-like fashion and then leave in a similarly no-nonsense manner, was due to a genetic proclivity to hunt in the same way. Conversely, a woman’s desire to dawdle, to carefully inspect each item, and to look for just the right things in a number of places (as opposed to just one), was due to the care necessitated by the act of gathering (for it is necessary to know what is ripe, what is poisonous, etc. before bringing it home to eat).
Upon remembering the article, I was first and foremost dismayed. Any of you who know me are probably aware that I have a fantastic memory for certain things, but an abysmal memory for others. I started to wonder how often “my” good ideas were something I ingested and forgot, and then came bubbling back up into consciousness. A disturbing thought, since I do my best to live an honest life. I would hate to steal someone else’s ideas, regardless of the fact that I’d be unaware of it.
I quickly shunted that thought aside (that way lies madness), and focused instead on money. Why is it so important to people? It seems to me that spending money is somehow just the filling of a void. Like a gambler who gets a rush from winning, we get a rush out of spending money, out of procuring things that we feel we need or want. But there’s nothing inherently necessary about money in a survival sense. True, we in the developed world need money to buy food and pay bills, but, in the grand scheme of things, money is valueless. It is only worth what we think it’s worth.
So what’s the deal? What void is spending money, an inherently worthless act, filling? Again, I thought of the hunter-gatherer issue. Is it really that simple? Are we spending money simply to satiate a largely obsolete behavioral drive? And if so, why are so many of us miserable?
I’m starting to think that this is exactly what is going on. I think that we’ve taken the necessity of hunting (or living off the land in all manner of ways) and distorted that drive, in a Freudian manner, into something else: a desire for things. I think the reason many of us are miserable is because we’ve lost all sight of what is truly important in life, something that living off the land reminds us of.
Think about it. When one lives in a hunter-gatherer society, what is important? Your priority is, first and foremost, the survival of yourself and the ones you love. In order to survive you need very specific things. You need water, food, and the shelter from the elements provided by clothing and a home. That’s about it. Even medicine, generally in the form of plant matter, is a luxury (but even that is about survival).
If you live this kind of life, you live on the razor’s edge of survival. There are times when food is plentiful, but waste is unacceptable even then, for there will certainly be times when food is scarce. Thus you learn the value of moderation. You learn to value your life and family, for hard times might literally mean the death of yourself or the ones you love. Not only that, but killing an animal for food gives one an intimate understanding of life and death. Therefore, living the life of a hunter-gatherer can be said to give one a very harsh but realistic perspective regarding what is important: life and family.
Much of today’s world has no such equivalent. We don’t experience that razor’s edge. We live in luxury. We have water piped into our homes, and thus have no need to walk to the river to fill gourds; we have vast buildings filled with foodstuffs, so we need not spend days in the wild hunting. We have our problems, but in comparison they are petty and insignificant.
And yet we still have these drives, that need to procure that allowed us to reach today’s more luxurious reality. But these needs have been distorted into a mockery of their former selves. When an American says they “need” something, ninety-nine times out of a hundred they mean that they simply want it. In a very real sense, our actions have been robbed of their importance by our society’s excesses. Yes, we need to work to buy food, but the work in and of itself is generally valueless. Our actions don’t lead directly to our survival; they lead to money, which in turn leads to survival. That one extra step robs us of something important, and it’s a lack that many of us feel, even if we fail to understand it.
So what do we do? We distract ourselves. Think about what you spend your money on. I don’t know about you, but my main expenses are food, gasoline, bills of all sorts, and entertainment. I’m practically dirt poor, but I still find money every month for high-speed Internet access, cable TV (although I don’t pay much; I bribed the cable guy $50 to keep off most of the filters, so I get pretty much all the non-premium channels for about $15 a month), and the odd book or DVD. I believe entertainment has become something of a necessity for us because it distracts us from the meaninglessness of our lives.
Unfortunately, there are those out there who are very much aware of our “need” for entertainment, even if they are unaware of its origin (and I doubt they care). All they need to know is that money can be made when people are unhappy. This is something that has been building for centuries (Got the gout? Try Johnson’s Revolutionary Snake Oil Elixir! Guaranteed to cure a number of maladies and miseries!), but manipulating the misery of the masses was turned into an artform in the 20th century.
While I don’t know the exact origins of psychological manipulation in advertising, I’m sure that the budding discipline of psychology had much to do with the efficaciousness of 20th century ads. It’s likely that many who studied the subject failed to find a job in private practice or academia (or got kicked out, as John B. Watson did), and turned to advertising instead, for understanding human behavior makes it much easier to manipulate. Regardless, advertisers most certainly began using data from the psychological field to sell their products. In other words, they preyed upon our desires and insecurities to make a buck.
I find this behavior repulsive, but it’s a fact of life. Think about the Saturday morning cartoons that my generation loved so dearly. Yes, we were treated to hours of cartoons that we loved, but we were also subjected to hours of advertising as well. Hell, some cartoons were literally created as vehicles to sell toys. We were watching 22-minute commercials, interrupted by commercials! If you believe that this does not have a profound effect on a young child’s mindset, then I admire your naïveté or devotion to self-delusion.
In a very real sense, the term “TV programming” is a literal term. Advertisers are smart enough to know that if you manipulate someone while they’re young, they cease to question that manipulation, or even believe that they’re being manipulated in the first place. They simply take for granted that they need all that “stuff” out there.
Please don’t misunderstand: I’m not some conspiracy theorist who believes there’s some cabal of rich men manipulating every aspect of the world to work in their favor. I do, however, believe that this world is full of greedy people who would step over the bodies of the ones they love if it was profitable enough. Does a little psychological manipulation matter to someone who is willing to allow his factory to pollute local drinking water? Not when there’s profit in it.
And that’s what it’s all about: profit. Instead of survival, our society’s greatest "need" has become money, to the extent that there are thousands, if not millions, of companies out there who are seeking profit to the detriment of everyone else. Deforestation? How else do we find the land to maximize our soybean farming? Pollution? Increases our profit margins! Devastation of world fish populations? Who cares how many fish there are in the sea, as long as they end up on someone’s plate? We’ve become a society of pimps and whores, which is pretty ironic considering that prostitution is illegal.
But whether we are the pimp or the whore, the oppressor or the oppressed, our actions are motivated by that void, that sense of ennui. It’s such a pervasive part of our lives that many of us don’t even recognize its existence. We just heap money and things into it, hoping to feel better for a little while. Just like a drug addict. And I’m honestly unsure what’s worse: the fact that so many of us feel the same way but haven’t acknowledged it (let alone found a solution), or the fact that there are people who have realized it and decided to make a profit off of it, and thus exacerbated the situation
Regardless, our civilization is buckling under the weight of its own excess. We’re ancient Rome, just waiting for some “barbarians” to come along and exploit our weaknesses. Or perhaps the greedy are the barbarians, and we’re in the process of dying. I can’t help but think we’ve already gone too far. But who can say? Not I. I just hope that if and when we fall, those who pick up the pieces (if any exist to do so) learn from our mistakes. I hope they learn that divorcing oneself from reality to such an extent that money becomes their god and goal is a mistake that will always lead to disaster.
Some of us may be miserable at times. We may feel frustrated by and out of touch with the society that we live in, but at least we’ve realized that money can’t buy us love. Or happiness. Or wisdom.
But it sure does buy a wealth of distractions, doesn’t it?
Friday, January 29, 2010
A Nation of Cowards?
In honor of the unjustified hoopla surrounding Chris Matthews' innocent comment, I give you an old blog on a similar theme, originally released on February 18th, 2009.
Eric Holder, our nation’s first black Attorney General, has called us out. In a speech given to Justice Department employees, he has stated that, in matters of race, we are “essentially a nation of cowards,” and that we should start discussing these matters, however difficult, more openly and honestly. Well! To quote Yosemite Sam, “Thems fightin’ words!”
I’m not saying I disagree. I agree completely. But, whether you think I’m tactless for saying it or not, it’s a lot easier for a black man to make that statement than it is for a white man. You see, if an African American wants to talk about race, he can just talk about his personal experiences with racism, oppression and the like; he’s bound to have some. But white people have no real experience in this area. We would be speaking from an inherently unknowledgeable position, which means we’re more likely to make a misstep. And a misstep for a caucasian on this subject could mean the loss of a job or a friend. Thus, even those of us who consider ourselves relatively enlightened on the subject of race tend to avoid it like the plague.
But screw it. There’s something that I’ve been meaning to write about for a while now, and this provides the perfect opportunity. I may offend some people, but please understand that no offense is meant. I’m simply calling it like I see it.
I want to talk about the word “nigger.” Personally, I hate it. Off the top of my head, I can’t think of another word in the English language that I find more vile and offensive, and I’m white, so I understand how it must make an African American feel. But that’s what confuses me. If blacks find it so offensive, why the hell do they use it so often?
I understand that blacks pretty much never say “nigger.” That word is left to toothless Klan members and non-blacks that really, really want to piss off an African American. Instead, blacks use the variation, “nigga.” It might seem like a small difference, but it’s always been an important distinction to me.
I know that some people are of the opinion that using the word lessens its power, but I don’t buy it. A white guy won’t get his ass kicked any less for using the term in front of a black guy, and the black man won’t be any less offended, no matter how much he might use it himself.
If there’s going to be a distinction between “nigger” and “nigga” among blacks, then I believe that “nigga” should be fair for all to use. It’s all a matter of the intent, and the intent is usually plain as day. For example, I love hip-hop music, which is replete with the use of “nigga.” Hell, in his song “Put It Down,” Redman ends almost every line with “nigga.” If I were singing along with the song it’d be pretty damn obvious that I meant no offense, but I’d still get a serious beat down if I got caught doing so. That’s crap.
I hate double standards, and this is a big one in our culture. The black people in the audience might be rolling their eyes, thinking “Poor little cracker. A double standard that goes our way for once.” I understand how one might be inclined to feel this way. But, as the cliché goes, two wrongs don’t make a right. I hate all double standards, whether they are detrimental or favorable to me, because they are inherently wrong. End of story.
To put it bluntly, I think African Americans have a choice to make. They should either be a little more understanding when us honkies use the less offensive variation (I promise that there are plenty of us capable of making the distinction), or they should stop using the word themselves. If blacks really want “nigger” to go away, then they need to stop peppering their speech with “nigga.”
The use of the word, even a variation, perpetuates it because, whether you like it or not, black culture is increasingly American culture. White kids grow up listening to hip-hop and R&B, watching Friday and How High, dating blacks, and saying “Nigga, please!” when someone says something outrageous. They hear “nigga” on a daily basis, and many fail to understand that “nigga” coming from the mouth of a white kid still feels like “nigger” to an African American.
(I can personally attest to this. I’m from a small town in the mountains where there are essentially zero African Americans. I went away to college and one day found myself in a room with a bunch of more savvy city kids, including a black guy. I can’t remember what the exact circumstances were, but I ended up innocently quoting a line from Pulp Fiction that applied to the current situation: “Chill them niggas out.” Crickets, man. I didn’t get my ass handed to me, prob’ly on account o’ my country ways, but it was the first and last time I said “nigga” in front of a black guy.)
Another key to getting rid of this word is to ignore it. Remember what your parents used to say when your little brother was bugging you? “Just ignore him. He’ll get tired of it and move on to something else.” If you want “nigger” to go away, then stop reacting to it. I realize that this is easier said than done, but if the ignorant morons who use it see that it no longer has the desired effect, they’ll stop using it. It might take a while, but it will happen.
Richard Pryor, upon his return from a trip to Africa, stated how wonderful it was when he realized that there were no niggers there. Obviously, this doesn’t mean that there weren’t black people in Africa; he simply meant that since no one said “nigger,” there weren’t any. He said that this had inspired him to never use the word again, and he encouraged everyone else to do the same. As you can tell, the majority decided not to take him up on the offer. Perhaps it’s time we reexamined it.
Do I think that's actually going to happen? Nigga, please!
Eric Holder, our nation’s first black Attorney General, has called us out. In a speech given to Justice Department employees, he has stated that, in matters of race, we are “essentially a nation of cowards,” and that we should start discussing these matters, however difficult, more openly and honestly. Well! To quote Yosemite Sam, “Thems fightin’ words!”
I’m not saying I disagree. I agree completely. But, whether you think I’m tactless for saying it or not, it’s a lot easier for a black man to make that statement than it is for a white man. You see, if an African American wants to talk about race, he can just talk about his personal experiences with racism, oppression and the like; he’s bound to have some. But white people have no real experience in this area. We would be speaking from an inherently unknowledgeable position, which means we’re more likely to make a misstep. And a misstep for a caucasian on this subject could mean the loss of a job or a friend. Thus, even those of us who consider ourselves relatively enlightened on the subject of race tend to avoid it like the plague.
But screw it. There’s something that I’ve been meaning to write about for a while now, and this provides the perfect opportunity. I may offend some people, but please understand that no offense is meant. I’m simply calling it like I see it.
I want to talk about the word “nigger.” Personally, I hate it. Off the top of my head, I can’t think of another word in the English language that I find more vile and offensive, and I’m white, so I understand how it must make an African American feel. But that’s what confuses me. If blacks find it so offensive, why the hell do they use it so often?
I understand that blacks pretty much never say “nigger.” That word is left to toothless Klan members and non-blacks that really, really want to piss off an African American. Instead, blacks use the variation, “nigga.” It might seem like a small difference, but it’s always been an important distinction to me.
I know that some people are of the opinion that using the word lessens its power, but I don’t buy it. A white guy won’t get his ass kicked any less for using the term in front of a black guy, and the black man won’t be any less offended, no matter how much he might use it himself.
If there’s going to be a distinction between “nigger” and “nigga” among blacks, then I believe that “nigga” should be fair for all to use. It’s all a matter of the intent, and the intent is usually plain as day. For example, I love hip-hop music, which is replete with the use of “nigga.” Hell, in his song “Put It Down,” Redman ends almost every line with “nigga.” If I were singing along with the song it’d be pretty damn obvious that I meant no offense, but I’d still get a serious beat down if I got caught doing so. That’s crap.
I hate double standards, and this is a big one in our culture. The black people in the audience might be rolling their eyes, thinking “Poor little cracker. A double standard that goes our way for once.” I understand how one might be inclined to feel this way. But, as the cliché goes, two wrongs don’t make a right. I hate all double standards, whether they are detrimental or favorable to me, because they are inherently wrong. End of story.
To put it bluntly, I think African Americans have a choice to make. They should either be a little more understanding when us honkies use the less offensive variation (I promise that there are plenty of us capable of making the distinction), or they should stop using the word themselves. If blacks really want “nigger” to go away, then they need to stop peppering their speech with “nigga.”
The use of the word, even a variation, perpetuates it because, whether you like it or not, black culture is increasingly American culture. White kids grow up listening to hip-hop and R&B, watching Friday and How High, dating blacks, and saying “Nigga, please!” when someone says something outrageous. They hear “nigga” on a daily basis, and many fail to understand that “nigga” coming from the mouth of a white kid still feels like “nigger” to an African American.
(I can personally attest to this. I’m from a small town in the mountains where there are essentially zero African Americans. I went away to college and one day found myself in a room with a bunch of more savvy city kids, including a black guy. I can’t remember what the exact circumstances were, but I ended up innocently quoting a line from Pulp Fiction that applied to the current situation: “Chill them niggas out.” Crickets, man. I didn’t get my ass handed to me, prob’ly on account o’ my country ways, but it was the first and last time I said “nigga” in front of a black guy.)
Another key to getting rid of this word is to ignore it. Remember what your parents used to say when your little brother was bugging you? “Just ignore him. He’ll get tired of it and move on to something else.” If you want “nigger” to go away, then stop reacting to it. I realize that this is easier said than done, but if the ignorant morons who use it see that it no longer has the desired effect, they’ll stop using it. It might take a while, but it will happen.
Richard Pryor, upon his return from a trip to Africa, stated how wonderful it was when he realized that there were no niggers there. Obviously, this doesn’t mean that there weren’t black people in Africa; he simply meant that since no one said “nigger,” there weren’t any. He said that this had inspired him to never use the word again, and he encouraged everyone else to do the same. As you can tell, the majority decided not to take him up on the offer. Perhaps it’s time we reexamined it.
Do I think that's actually going to happen? Nigga, please!
Sunday, January 24, 2010
The Buddhist: The Simple Life
This is a slightly modified version of a blog originally released on August 30th, 2008.
I was channel surfing before bed tonight when I happened upon a show called "Amazing Log Homes." Sounds a little silly, I know, but it fascinated me.
For one thing, it was on HGTV, a channel I rarely pay attention to. After all, I don't own a home (let alone a garden) and won't be able to afford one any time soon (if at all).
To put it another way, I don't fall into the demographic that typically watches this network. If you know anything about TV, you probably know that you'll see different commercials depending on what type of show you're watching, what time of day it is, and what network it's on. The commercials I saw while watching this show were not the ones I was used to watching, but they described a life I was very familiar with.
Much of my childhood was spent in a relatively small town in the foothills of the Sierra Nevadas. Small towns attract a certain kind of person, especially towns in the mountains. The people are more open, probably because privacy is in shorter supply than it is in a large city. They're also simpler, not in terms of intellect but rather in terms of their expectations and desires.
These are white people generally (at least in my hometown), some of which are a bit . . .earthy, shall we say? These are folks who use words like "folks," who go to church, and believe that men should be the providers and women should be the homemakers. These people buy American, listen to country music, and furnish their homes with animal heads. And the commercials reflected that.
The show reflected it as well. Notice that the title of the show is not "Amazing Log Houses." That's not by mistake. These were homes in the truest sense of the word. Many of these buildings were massive, built to house not simply a nuclear family, but multiple generations of family. They were built to last, homes to be passed from generation to generation (one owner said his home was built to last 500 years). Despite their size, most of the homes failed to evoke a feeling of excess or frivolity. They were akin to the American West version of a castle, or the long houses of certain Native American tribes.
By this I mean that the size of the homes was not a reflection of the owner's ostentatious ways, but of the home's place at the center of life for the family. Like the aforementioned long houses, these homes were built to provide shelter from the elements, a place to prepare and cook food, and living areas where the kids and older members of the family can spend their time.
It's true that your average Joe would never be able to afford this kind of home (one house was completely self-sustained, running off of solar and wind power; that's no cheap feat). But rich or not, it takes a certain kind of mindset to find these kinds of places attractive, not only in terms of décor (how much wood paneling can you stand?), but, more importantly, in terms of the very concept of the multi-generation home.
I speak of "these people" as if I am an outsider, but this is simply out of habit. After a long stint as an anthropology major, I can't help but fall into "objective observer" mode, an outsider studying an American subculture. I hope it doesn't come off as condescending, because, while I may not be a full member of the subculture (once a flat-lander, always a flat-lander), I share many of their ideals.
I'm perfectly comfortable with being in a relationship in which I am either on equal or lesser financial footing than my girlfriend, but there's always a small part of me that would prefer to be the breadwinner. I appreciate the solitude of nature and the simple pleasures of falling asleep to the chirping of crickets and waking up to the cries of jays. And I can definitely understand the appeal of living with family.
Before my family moved into the foothills, we largely lived with my grandparents. Looking back, I can see how this was probably not the most ideal situation for my parents, at least by today's societal standards. On the TV show "Everybody Loves Raymond," Ray and Debra had probably forgotten the meaning of privacy, and their parents lived across the street. Imagine living with your parents. Kiss your "us time" goodbye! And while you're tossin' stuff out, you can ditch your "me time" as well.
But to my brother and me it just felt natural (my sister was too young to remember it, I believe). If Mom and Dad weren't home, then certainly Grandma and Grandpa would be. My grandparents were able to fill in the "gaps" in parenting that my parents left. It's not that my parents were bad at parenting. In all truth, I couldn't have asked for a better pair. I just mean that my grandparents were more experienced (raising six kids will do that to you).
Regardless, I think knowing that someone will always be there for you (whether it's a parent, grandparent, aunt or uncle) gives you a sense of security and stability. As anyone who's taken a child development class will tell you, those are two extremely important factors in a child's maturation. It's probably why I turned out as confident as I am, despite the fact that I'm a total geek. Whether this is true or not, I think living in a multi-generation home felt so natural because it is natural. The human race has lived in such a way for most of its existence. Much of Asia, Latin America, and Africa are still living in this manner.
For many of us living in the US and Europe, the thought of giving up so much privacy is an uncomfortable notion. It's only natural in individualistic societies in which the nuclear family (or at least a broken form of it) has become the standard. Living on our own affords us a sense of accomplishment, I suppose, and allows us to say, "See? I can do it. I'm my own person."
But is that really necessary? Look at the state of things. People seem to simultaneously have too much free time to focus on themselves (because they're on their own) and not enough time to relax and spend time with their kids (because of the realities of today's economic climate). As a result we have a multitude of broken families with children who simply don't receive the love and care that they need.
Perhaps it's time to rethink things. While I believe that individualism is not inherently bad, I also think that it can (and often does) get out of hand. Take a look at the people in the cars around you next time you're caught in traffic. Odds are pretty good that they look at least a little pissed (even the one in the rear-view mirror). Wouldn't they be happier if they had a large and loving family to go home to? Wouldn't they be a little less self-absorbed if they were constantly reminded that the universe did not revolve around them, even if it meant sacrificing a little privacy?
Can the majority of the world be wrong? Why not take a good look at what they've got going for them? Sure, they can learn a lot from us, especially in terms of the technological leaps we've made. But as we leapt forward we left some things behind: our families, and the satisfaction of having a true home.
I was channel surfing before bed tonight when I happened upon a show called "Amazing Log Homes." Sounds a little silly, I know, but it fascinated me.
For one thing, it was on HGTV, a channel I rarely pay attention to. After all, I don't own a home (let alone a garden) and won't be able to afford one any time soon (if at all).
To put it another way, I don't fall into the demographic that typically watches this network. If you know anything about TV, you probably know that you'll see different commercials depending on what type of show you're watching, what time of day it is, and what network it's on. The commercials I saw while watching this show were not the ones I was used to watching, but they described a life I was very familiar with.
Much of my childhood was spent in a relatively small town in the foothills of the Sierra Nevadas. Small towns attract a certain kind of person, especially towns in the mountains. The people are more open, probably because privacy is in shorter supply than it is in a large city. They're also simpler, not in terms of intellect but rather in terms of their expectations and desires.
These are white people generally (at least in my hometown), some of which are a bit . . .earthy, shall we say? These are folks who use words like "folks," who go to church, and believe that men should be the providers and women should be the homemakers. These people buy American, listen to country music, and furnish their homes with animal heads. And the commercials reflected that.
The show reflected it as well. Notice that the title of the show is not "Amazing Log Houses." That's not by mistake. These were homes in the truest sense of the word. Many of these buildings were massive, built to house not simply a nuclear family, but multiple generations of family. They were built to last, homes to be passed from generation to generation (one owner said his home was built to last 500 years). Despite their size, most of the homes failed to evoke a feeling of excess or frivolity. They were akin to the American West version of a castle, or the long houses of certain Native American tribes.
By this I mean that the size of the homes was not a reflection of the owner's ostentatious ways, but of the home's place at the center of life for the family. Like the aforementioned long houses, these homes were built to provide shelter from the elements, a place to prepare and cook food, and living areas where the kids and older members of the family can spend their time.
It's true that your average Joe would never be able to afford this kind of home (one house was completely self-sustained, running off of solar and wind power; that's no cheap feat). But rich or not, it takes a certain kind of mindset to find these kinds of places attractive, not only in terms of décor (how much wood paneling can you stand?), but, more importantly, in terms of the very concept of the multi-generation home.
I speak of "these people" as if I am an outsider, but this is simply out of habit. After a long stint as an anthropology major, I can't help but fall into "objective observer" mode, an outsider studying an American subculture. I hope it doesn't come off as condescending, because, while I may not be a full member of the subculture (once a flat-lander, always a flat-lander), I share many of their ideals.
I'm perfectly comfortable with being in a relationship in which I am either on equal or lesser financial footing than my girlfriend, but there's always a small part of me that would prefer to be the breadwinner. I appreciate the solitude of nature and the simple pleasures of falling asleep to the chirping of crickets and waking up to the cries of jays. And I can definitely understand the appeal of living with family.
Before my family moved into the foothills, we largely lived with my grandparents. Looking back, I can see how this was probably not the most ideal situation for my parents, at least by today's societal standards. On the TV show "Everybody Loves Raymond," Ray and Debra had probably forgotten the meaning of privacy, and their parents lived across the street. Imagine living with your parents. Kiss your "us time" goodbye! And while you're tossin' stuff out, you can ditch your "me time" as well.
But to my brother and me it just felt natural (my sister was too young to remember it, I believe). If Mom and Dad weren't home, then certainly Grandma and Grandpa would be. My grandparents were able to fill in the "gaps" in parenting that my parents left. It's not that my parents were bad at parenting. In all truth, I couldn't have asked for a better pair. I just mean that my grandparents were more experienced (raising six kids will do that to you).
Regardless, I think knowing that someone will always be there for you (whether it's a parent, grandparent, aunt or uncle) gives you a sense of security and stability. As anyone who's taken a child development class will tell you, those are two extremely important factors in a child's maturation. It's probably why I turned out as confident as I am, despite the fact that I'm a total geek. Whether this is true or not, I think living in a multi-generation home felt so natural because it is natural. The human race has lived in such a way for most of its existence. Much of Asia, Latin America, and Africa are still living in this manner.
For many of us living in the US and Europe, the thought of giving up so much privacy is an uncomfortable notion. It's only natural in individualistic societies in which the nuclear family (or at least a broken form of it) has become the standard. Living on our own affords us a sense of accomplishment, I suppose, and allows us to say, "See? I can do it. I'm my own person."
But is that really necessary? Look at the state of things. People seem to simultaneously have too much free time to focus on themselves (because they're on their own) and not enough time to relax and spend time with their kids (because of the realities of today's economic climate). As a result we have a multitude of broken families with children who simply don't receive the love and care that they need.
Perhaps it's time to rethink things. While I believe that individualism is not inherently bad, I also think that it can (and often does) get out of hand. Take a look at the people in the cars around you next time you're caught in traffic. Odds are pretty good that they look at least a little pissed (even the one in the rear-view mirror). Wouldn't they be happier if they had a large and loving family to go home to? Wouldn't they be a little less self-absorbed if they were constantly reminded that the universe did not revolve around them, even if it meant sacrificing a little privacy?
Can the majority of the world be wrong? Why not take a good look at what they've got going for them? Sure, they can learn a lot from us, especially in terms of the technological leaps we've made. But as we leapt forward we left some things behind: our families, and the satisfaction of having a true home.
Saturday, January 2, 2010
Introducing The Buddhist & The Bastard
Polymathic J: The Octopus’s Garden will often feature blogs written from the perspective of either the Buddhist or the Bastard. While that little “About Me” box to the right explains things a bit, I thought formal introductions might not go amiss. Guys, say hi to everyone.
The Bastard: Seriously? This is the best idea you could come up with today? It’s moronic. First of all, I’m not a little monkey here to amuse people. Second, how cheesy is this shit?
The Buddhist: I don’t know…doesn’t seem so bad to me. And cheesy or not, why can’t “cheesy” and “bad” be mutually exclusive? We like plenty of cheesy movies. And, come to think of it, why is “cheesy” a colloquialism for bad, anyway? Cheese is quite tasty. We’ve got at least three different kinds in the fridge at this very moment.
The Bastard: Jesus, here we go. Please, expound upon the subject of cheese for us. I’m sure the masses will find a cheese lecture to be utterly stimulating.
The Buddhist: No need to get snippy. I was just thinking out loud. Although I must admit to wishing we had some Piave Vecchio. That Pecorino Romano isn’t as good as I’d hoped. Goes quite well with Wheat Thins, though…
The Bastard: Yeah, that Piave is good…dammit, why the hell are we talking about cheese?!
The Buddhist: Well, what would you like to talk about?
The Bastard: How about we talk about how batshit this is? He’s like a ventriloquist with no dummies.
Polymathic J: Hey, leave me out of this. I just wanted to introduce you to everyone. Besides, everyone who knows me is already well aware of the fact that I’ve got a screw loose.
The Bastard: Just one? I’m not the one having a conversation with myself.
The Buddhist: Aren’t you?
The Bastard: No, I—well, kinda. This hurts my brain.
Polymathic J: Ok, I’ll make it easy on you. Why don’t you simply explain a little bit about how you view the world? Buddhist, why don’t you go first?
The Buddhist: Hmmmm, ok. Well, I believe that people are inherently good, but are capable of getting so lost or damaged that they do bad things.
Polymathic J: Care to elaborate?
The Buddhist: Well, imagine that every person is a glass lantern. Everyone has a light within them that shines through the glass.
Polymathic J: I’m with you so far…
The Buddhist: The light never goes out so long as the person lives, but our experiences and the way we live our lives can cause the glass to get dirty. Abuse, addictions, mental disorders…all these things muck up the glass, making the light harder to see. I’m sure there are people out there with glass so dark you might find it hard to believe there’s a light contained within. But it’s there.
The Bastard: Bullshit. What about someone like Hitler?
The Buddhist: I’ve seen footage of Hitler in his last days, and there is a pronounced tremor in his arm. It seems to be indicative of Parkinson’s disease. And I’ve heard that some of Hitler’s early writings suggest that he may have gotten syphilis at some point. Syphilis has been known to cause serious mental abnormalities, and having one’s body fail oneself when the brain has already experienced great insult is bound to leave one with anger issues.
The Bastard: So you think Hitler killed over six million Jews because he was upset that he had Parkinson’s and some skank gave him VD?
The Buddhist: No, I’m simply saying that those may have been contributing factors. I’ve also heard that his personal physician got him hooked on daily injections of amphetamines and other goodies. High doses of amphetamines are known to cause psychosis. One or more of these issues may have exacerbated pre-existing problems derived from genetic or environmental factors. This does not excuse his actions, of course. I merely seek to offer possible (partial) explanations for what he did. Don’t forget that he was once an artist. He wanted to be a painter, but either didn’t have the natural gift or the tenacity to excel at it. Regardless, that speaks of a certain sensitivity that most people would not believe that he possessed. How horrible would it be if Hitler was a good man driven mad by disappointment and exposure to a lowly bacterium? That would be a tragedy to make even Sophocles weep.
The Bastard: Wow, dude. You’re not gonna make many friends defending Hitler.
The Buddhist: I simply seek to point out that we cannot know everything about a man. Is it not insane to desire the death of an entire race of people? If you believe it is, and if you believe that an insane man is not responsible for his actions (as I do), then should that man not be viewed with pity, rather than hatred?
Polymathic J: I am totally going to get hate mail for this.
The Buddhist: That may be, but I refuse to silence myself simply because my views defy convention. If anything, that’s all the more reason to share them. There is enough hate in this world. Perhaps it would be a better place if we attempted to understand what is unknown to us, especially when what is unknown makes us uncomfortable. His actions were obviously repellant and misguided, but hating him does nothing to change what he did.
Polymathic J: Ooookay. We better move on before the death threats start. Bastard?
The Bastard: Isn’t my name self-explanatory? I’m a jerk. I think people are selfish, self-absorbed pieces of crap. Give your average human a choice between helping themselves and helping someone else, and they’re going to help themselves 99.9% of the time.
The Buddhist: Do you include yourself in that?
The Bastard: Of course. I may be a bastard, but I’m an honest bastard. I find it hard to see why I should help someone when they wouldn’t even consider helping me. You gotta look out for Numero Uno. No one else will. Don’t forget that I’m a delivery driver. I rely on the kindness of strangers for a living, and it’s a poor living indeed.
The Buddhist: But what if the people you deliver to can’t afford to tip you well? Shouldn’t you consider their situation, rather than just your own?
The Bastard: I could say the same thing about them. If they don’t have the money to tip, then they should come to the store and pick up their pizzas themselves. Instead, they do what’s convenient for them, and say “Screw that guy bringing the pizza. He should get a better job.” That’s humanity in a nutshell: “Screw him; his problems are his fault, so why should I help?”
The Buddhist: I must admit that that attitude is disturbingly prevalent in today’s society.
The Bastard: You’re damn right it is. So why should I be kind, if it’s just going to lead to people taking advantage of me?
The Buddhist: Well, you’ve got one thing that many people do not have: an awareness of the problem. How can one fix a problem when one is unaware of it? Perhaps you should lead by example. Perhaps your kindness could illuminate the issue for others by providing a contrast to the norm. Perhaps you should listen to Gandhi’s words: “Be the change you want to see in the world.”
The Bastard: Fuck that. That’s your job.
The Buddhist: Touché.
Polymathic J: I think that’ll do for now. Say goodbye, guys.
The Buddhist & The Bastard: “Goodbye, guys.”
The Bastard: Seriously? This is the best idea you could come up with today? It’s moronic. First of all, I’m not a little monkey here to amuse people. Second, how cheesy is this shit?
The Buddhist: I don’t know…doesn’t seem so bad to me. And cheesy or not, why can’t “cheesy” and “bad” be mutually exclusive? We like plenty of cheesy movies. And, come to think of it, why is “cheesy” a colloquialism for bad, anyway? Cheese is quite tasty. We’ve got at least three different kinds in the fridge at this very moment.
The Bastard: Jesus, here we go. Please, expound upon the subject of cheese for us. I’m sure the masses will find a cheese lecture to be utterly stimulating.
The Buddhist: No need to get snippy. I was just thinking out loud. Although I must admit to wishing we had some Piave Vecchio. That Pecorino Romano isn’t as good as I’d hoped. Goes quite well with Wheat Thins, though…
The Bastard: Yeah, that Piave is good…dammit, why the hell are we talking about cheese?!
The Buddhist: Well, what would you like to talk about?
The Bastard: How about we talk about how batshit this is? He’s like a ventriloquist with no dummies.
Polymathic J: Hey, leave me out of this. I just wanted to introduce you to everyone. Besides, everyone who knows me is already well aware of the fact that I’ve got a screw loose.
The Bastard: Just one? I’m not the one having a conversation with myself.
The Buddhist: Aren’t you?
The Bastard: No, I—well, kinda. This hurts my brain.
Polymathic J: Ok, I’ll make it easy on you. Why don’t you simply explain a little bit about how you view the world? Buddhist, why don’t you go first?
The Buddhist: Hmmmm, ok. Well, I believe that people are inherently good, but are capable of getting so lost or damaged that they do bad things.
Polymathic J: Care to elaborate?
The Buddhist: Well, imagine that every person is a glass lantern. Everyone has a light within them that shines through the glass.
Polymathic J: I’m with you so far…
The Buddhist: The light never goes out so long as the person lives, but our experiences and the way we live our lives can cause the glass to get dirty. Abuse, addictions, mental disorders…all these things muck up the glass, making the light harder to see. I’m sure there are people out there with glass so dark you might find it hard to believe there’s a light contained within. But it’s there.
The Bastard: Bullshit. What about someone like Hitler?
The Buddhist: I’ve seen footage of Hitler in his last days, and there is a pronounced tremor in his arm. It seems to be indicative of Parkinson’s disease. And I’ve heard that some of Hitler’s early writings suggest that he may have gotten syphilis at some point. Syphilis has been known to cause serious mental abnormalities, and having one’s body fail oneself when the brain has already experienced great insult is bound to leave one with anger issues.
The Bastard: So you think Hitler killed over six million Jews because he was upset that he had Parkinson’s and some skank gave him VD?
The Buddhist: No, I’m simply saying that those may have been contributing factors. I’ve also heard that his personal physician got him hooked on daily injections of amphetamines and other goodies. High doses of amphetamines are known to cause psychosis. One or more of these issues may have exacerbated pre-existing problems derived from genetic or environmental factors. This does not excuse his actions, of course. I merely seek to offer possible (partial) explanations for what he did. Don’t forget that he was once an artist. He wanted to be a painter, but either didn’t have the natural gift or the tenacity to excel at it. Regardless, that speaks of a certain sensitivity that most people would not believe that he possessed. How horrible would it be if Hitler was a good man driven mad by disappointment and exposure to a lowly bacterium? That would be a tragedy to make even Sophocles weep.
The Bastard: Wow, dude. You’re not gonna make many friends defending Hitler.
The Buddhist: I simply seek to point out that we cannot know everything about a man. Is it not insane to desire the death of an entire race of people? If you believe it is, and if you believe that an insane man is not responsible for his actions (as I do), then should that man not be viewed with pity, rather than hatred?
Polymathic J: I am totally going to get hate mail for this.
The Buddhist: That may be, but I refuse to silence myself simply because my views defy convention. If anything, that’s all the more reason to share them. There is enough hate in this world. Perhaps it would be a better place if we attempted to understand what is unknown to us, especially when what is unknown makes us uncomfortable. His actions were obviously repellant and misguided, but hating him does nothing to change what he did.
Polymathic J: Ooookay. We better move on before the death threats start. Bastard?
The Bastard: Isn’t my name self-explanatory? I’m a jerk. I think people are selfish, self-absorbed pieces of crap. Give your average human a choice between helping themselves and helping someone else, and they’re going to help themselves 99.9% of the time.
The Buddhist: Do you include yourself in that?
The Bastard: Of course. I may be a bastard, but I’m an honest bastard. I find it hard to see why I should help someone when they wouldn’t even consider helping me. You gotta look out for Numero Uno. No one else will. Don’t forget that I’m a delivery driver. I rely on the kindness of strangers for a living, and it’s a poor living indeed.
The Buddhist: But what if the people you deliver to can’t afford to tip you well? Shouldn’t you consider their situation, rather than just your own?
The Bastard: I could say the same thing about them. If they don’t have the money to tip, then they should come to the store and pick up their pizzas themselves. Instead, they do what’s convenient for them, and say “Screw that guy bringing the pizza. He should get a better job.” That’s humanity in a nutshell: “Screw him; his problems are his fault, so why should I help?”
The Buddhist: I must admit that that attitude is disturbingly prevalent in today’s society.
The Bastard: You’re damn right it is. So why should I be kind, if it’s just going to lead to people taking advantage of me?
The Buddhist: Well, you’ve got one thing that many people do not have: an awareness of the problem. How can one fix a problem when one is unaware of it? Perhaps you should lead by example. Perhaps your kindness could illuminate the issue for others by providing a contrast to the norm. Perhaps you should listen to Gandhi’s words: “Be the change you want to see in the world.”
The Bastard: Fuck that. That’s your job.
The Buddhist: Touché.
Polymathic J: I think that’ll do for now. Say goodbye, guys.
The Buddhist & The Bastard: “Goodbye, guys.”
Monday, December 28, 2009
Welcome!
Welcome to The Octopus's Garden, my first blog truly meant for public consumption. I've been blogging off and on for about a year and a half, and I've grown rather fond of it. I love to learn, and I love to share my knowledge, and blogging is a great way to do both.
How do I learn by blogging? Well, I learn to hone my writing skills, but the best part of blogging is getting comments and opinions from the people who read what I write. Whether they agree or disagree with me, I often find the perspectives of others to be interesting and enlightening. To be honest, the disagreements are often more interesting than anything else (as long as things stay civil, of course).
So that's why I'm truly here: to interact with you. I hope to make you laugh, to make you cry, to make you think, and I hope that you will do the same for me. Regardless of what I say, you can count on one thing: honesty (sometimes brutal, cringe-inducing honesty). I will do my best to never shock or offend simply for the sake of it, but you may experience both emotions at some point. If you do, explore what I've said and think about it; in most instances, making you think is probably the point.
So that's the schpeel. I'll do my best to post often, but this is not meant to be a daily blog. I simply write when I have something to say. In all likelihood, I'll be filling things out with older blogs as well. I hope you enjoy them, and I hope to hear your thoughts as well.
How do I learn by blogging? Well, I learn to hone my writing skills, but the best part of blogging is getting comments and opinions from the people who read what I write. Whether they agree or disagree with me, I often find the perspectives of others to be interesting and enlightening. To be honest, the disagreements are often more interesting than anything else (as long as things stay civil, of course).
So that's why I'm truly here: to interact with you. I hope to make you laugh, to make you cry, to make you think, and I hope that you will do the same for me. Regardless of what I say, you can count on one thing: honesty (sometimes brutal, cringe-inducing honesty). I will do my best to never shock or offend simply for the sake of it, but you may experience both emotions at some point. If you do, explore what I've said and think about it; in most instances, making you think is probably the point.
So that's the schpeel. I'll do my best to post often, but this is not meant to be a daily blog. I simply write when I have something to say. In all likelihood, I'll be filling things out with older blogs as well. I hope you enjoy them, and I hope to hear your thoughts as well.
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