People behave strangely when they suspect everyone is going to die.
When faced with yet another Maybe-Apocalypse, there are a number of ways we can respond.
We can respond with denial. Which is understandable, because, as far as we know, the world has ended zero times so far.
We can respond with practicality, and buy lots of bottled water.
We can respond with humor, and look for the most seamless way to work in a reference to Michael Bay's Armageddon.
Or, we can respond with self-introspective hypothetical questioning. Guess which one I'm about to do! (Hint: This is a blog.)
A commercial for the navy once asked me, "If someone wrote a book about your life, would anyone want to read it?" The answer of course is no. The answer is supposed to be no, so that you realize you should join the navy. Only a minuscule amount of the population will ever be biography worthy. The rest of us, only blogworthy (as you can see, the bar is nice and low).
But the point is this: If this is the final chapter of my life, what the fuck has my story amounted to? In lieu of some underwhelming summation (a staple here at One Seven Billionth), I will instead just list things that have comprised my life.
A respectable academic career that steadily petered out toward unremarkable-ness toward the end. A strong family, if overprotective. A handful of good ideas, unfinished. Stress. Frustration. Very good friends. A rocky pursuit of love, culminating with one good, long, (finite) run at it. Four years of odd jobs, and a current job I like very much. An evolving faith in a distant, quiet God. A modest collection of things to say. People willing to listen.
Maybe that's enough.
Thursday, December 20, 2012
Saturday, November 24, 2012
On Friendship Politics
I've always been of the school of thought that friendship is something easily given. Of course, there are different degrees of "friendship", but at the very least, to treat someone with warmth, civility, respect, and decency is something that should be done freely and generously.
To "unfriend" someone based on perceived allegiances or something that happened between other people is part of what I call "friendship politics". And while I get it, most of it strikes me as petty. It can sound something like this:
"Hey, I'm friends with someone who no longer likes you. We're not cool anymore."
"Hey, you haven't put forth sufficient time and effort in proving your friendship to me. We're not cool anymore."
"Hey, our group of friends split in half due to someone else's dispute, and you chose the wrong side. We're not cool anymore."
You're valuing your own good will as something that must be earned, and conversely, something that can be revoked. It's not knighthood for godssakes, just be a nice person.
In general, I find burning bridges dumb. "Purging" friend lists is dumb. Drawing lines in the sand is dumb. Acquaintances, friends-of-friends, old classmates, you can all call me a friend. I'll call you the same. It doesn't mean we have to take photo booth pictures together, it just means I regard you with friendliness, dammit.
So to anyone who's ever unfriended anyone on my behalf, I appreciate the sentiment, but you haven't done me any favors. I would never ask that of anyone, unless circumstances were extreme. Granted, I suppose I've never been tested. I've never been in a "bad" break up. But as of yet, I take no joy in dissolving friendships.
I take no joy in the sadness of others under the pretense of fairness. That's called vengeance.
And if the word "vengeance" sounds petty and over-dramatic, maybe it's because the concept itself is petty and over-dramatic.
To "unfriend" someone based on perceived allegiances or something that happened between other people is part of what I call "friendship politics". And while I get it, most of it strikes me as petty. It can sound something like this:
"Hey, I'm friends with someone who no longer likes you. We're not cool anymore."
"Hey, you haven't put forth sufficient time and effort in proving your friendship to me. We're not cool anymore."
"Hey, our group of friends split in half due to someone else's dispute, and you chose the wrong side. We're not cool anymore."
You're valuing your own good will as something that must be earned, and conversely, something that can be revoked. It's not knighthood for godssakes, just be a nice person.
So to anyone who's ever unfriended anyone on my behalf, I appreciate the sentiment, but you haven't done me any favors. I would never ask that of anyone, unless circumstances were extreme. Granted, I suppose I've never been tested. I've never been in a "bad" break up. But as of yet, I take no joy in dissolving friendships.
I take no joy in the sadness of others under the pretense of fairness. That's called vengeance.
And if the word "vengeance" sounds petty and over-dramatic, maybe it's because the concept itself is petty and over-dramatic.
Friday, November 23, 2012
On The Meaning Of The Holiday
So one time in Europe, some Christians got super tired of being persecuted by the Slightly Different Christians, so they got in boats and sailed to America. As it turns out, they were pretty bad at finding food and were about to starve but the Native Americans showed up and were like "Here's hella corn" and it turned out okay. So fast forward through the near genocide of said Native Americans and the American Revolution and the Hyphy Movement and eventually you get to present day, where we get work off for Thanksgiving. And I wanted to speak, in my own way, about what the holiday means.
Thanksgiving is a time when we all get to slow down, gather close with family or friends, call to mind the blessings we have, and quit being assholes.
So maybe you don't get work off and you hate your job? Quit being an asshole. You have a job. People are giving you money, and have agreed to do so on a continual basis. Not everyone can say that.
Or maybe you don't have a job, and you're stuck at home doing nothing? Quit being an asshole. You're inside of a home. That is a glorious, baffling status symbol to some people in the world. You are sheltered. The weather can change, and it doesn't effect you. You are nearly invincible to mother nature.
So your family interactions are awkward and strained? Quit being an asshole. You have family that's still alive. Also they like you enough to cook you food, and presumably enough to pretend to like you during the holiday.
So there's a bunch of food and now you have to workout cuz you think your'e fat? Quit being an asshole. There's like a billion people dying of the opposite problem.
Now of course, I'm not saying everyone's an asshole. I but think most of us can be, some times, in some ways, myself included. Not always in action, but in attitude. I'm a lucky bastard in most respects, and to be anything less than grateful makes me a snotty little brat. And yes, kind of an asshole. But on Thanksgiving, I stuff my mouth with food, and I cut that shit out.
This may be an overly glib way of looking at a beautiful thing (but if you haven't noticed, that's kind of my shtick).
Happy Thanksgiving!
Thanksgiving is a time when we all get to slow down, gather close with family or friends, call to mind the blessings we have, and quit being assholes.
So maybe you don't get work off and you hate your job? Quit being an asshole. You have a job. People are giving you money, and have agreed to do so on a continual basis. Not everyone can say that.
Or maybe you don't have a job, and you're stuck at home doing nothing? Quit being an asshole. You're inside of a home. That is a glorious, baffling status symbol to some people in the world. You are sheltered. The weather can change, and it doesn't effect you. You are nearly invincible to mother nature.
So your family interactions are awkward and strained? Quit being an asshole. You have family that's still alive. Also they like you enough to cook you food, and presumably enough to pretend to like you during the holiday.
So there's a bunch of food and now you have to workout cuz you think your'e fat? Quit being an asshole. There's like a billion people dying of the opposite problem.
Now of course, I'm not saying everyone's an asshole. I but think most of us can be, some times, in some ways, myself included. Not always in action, but in attitude. I'm a lucky bastard in most respects, and to be anything less than grateful makes me a snotty little brat. And yes, kind of an asshole. But on Thanksgiving, I stuff my mouth with food, and I cut that shit out.
This may be an overly glib way of looking at a beautiful thing (but if you haven't noticed, that's kind of my shtick).
Happy Thanksgiving!
Friday, October 19, 2012
On Time Travel And Clichés
If you could get in a time machine and visit your past self at any point, what would you tell them?
My previous go-to answer was "Invest in Red Velvet anything." My new answer is something along the lines of "YOU LITTLE SHIT, YOU DON'T EVEN KNOW HOW GOOD YOU HAVE IT."
I'm exaggerating. But the sentiment is, to put it in the most painfully generic cliche, is "You don't know what you've got till it's gone."
But is this even worth saying anymore? Everyone already knows this. We just set it aside in our minds, and get reminded of it now and again, whenever change hurts us.
Maybe a better cliche to use (and a slightly healthier attitude to adopt) is "The grass is always greener..." In just the way I envy the Owen's at different points in history, they might find reason to envy me. There was a point when I was hopelessly frustrated artistically, but incidentally, also happier socially. Unhappy romantically, but satisfied professionally. Etcetera, etcetera. Not saying that any of these are linked, or that the universe works on some cosmic trade-off system. Just that nothing is ever perfect, and nothing is ever hopeless.
Every cloud has a silver lining. And every silver lining has an even thinner lining of shit. Those shit-lining's have trace elements of silver, which are in turn microscopically contaminated with shit, and so on, ad infinitum.
(...When am I gonna stop ending my blog posts with bleak, inconclusive world views? When the world stops being a grey, amorphous haze of silver and shit.)
My previous go-to answer was "Invest in Red Velvet anything." My new answer is something along the lines of "YOU LITTLE SHIT, YOU DON'T EVEN KNOW HOW GOOD YOU HAVE IT."
I'm exaggerating. But the sentiment is, to put it in the most painfully generic cliche, is "You don't know what you've got till it's gone."
But is this even worth saying anymore? Everyone already knows this. We just set it aside in our minds, and get reminded of it now and again, whenever change hurts us.
Maybe a better cliche to use (and a slightly healthier attitude to adopt) is "The grass is always greener..." In just the way I envy the Owen's at different points in history, they might find reason to envy me. There was a point when I was hopelessly frustrated artistically, but incidentally, also happier socially. Unhappy romantically, but satisfied professionally. Etcetera, etcetera. Not saying that any of these are linked, or that the universe works on some cosmic trade-off system. Just that nothing is ever perfect, and nothing is ever hopeless.
Every cloud has a silver lining. And every silver lining has an even thinner lining of shit. Those shit-lining's have trace elements of silver, which are in turn microscopically contaminated with shit, and so on, ad infinitum.
(...When am I gonna stop ending my blog posts with bleak, inconclusive world views? When the world stops being a grey, amorphous haze of silver and shit.)
Tuesday, October 9, 2012
On Surviving Sports Seasons
I should clarify for the sake those who have never met me and have somehow accidentally typed this URL into their browsers... I'm not a sports fan. Sure, I can watch sporting events and get into the spirit if I'm with friends or family, but in general, I never got into them. To use an analogy: Soccer is to Most Americans what Every Sport is to Owen.
But, like a harmless, nerdy Dexter Morgan, I have to find a way to fit in with normal human beings. And every so often, human beings will try to talk to me about sports. Here is the strategy guide I've devised for myself.
1. For those close to you, just be honest.
My friends, family, and coworkers already know my deal. So no worries there. But for everyone else, like acquaintances and strangers trying to make small talk...
2. Don't invite the conversation. If you can help it, just avoid sports. I own exactly one SF Giants shirt (my sister bought it for me). But the only time I DON'T wear it is during baseball season. It's like a signal to the world to quiz me on current events. I don't want to put on a shirt and have to wonder whether I should act excited or disappointed about a game I didn't watch. But, when that conversation is unavoidable...
3. Act upset that you missed the game.Sometimes strangers will ask if I saw the game, and fucking of course I didn't, but rather than kill the small-talk rhythm already set in motion, I say "Nawww, I missed it!" in a tone of voice that says "Darn my luck! Please fill me in on all the exciting details of this, our shared interest." Sports fans like to talk. Sometimes you just gotta let'em talk.
4. Don't joke unless you're ready to argue.
This is the MOST counter-intuitive tip for me. Humor is one of my only tools for engaging people in social settings, especially for breaking the ice in awkward or uncomfortable silence. So during sports-centered gatherings, when I'm at my most awkward and uncomfortable, I am socially unarmed. The reason is this: It's too hard to tell who's a sports fanatic and who's a fucking sports fanatic. Sports has joined politics and religion in the category of things that not everyone can take a joke about.
A few years ago, I once said, half joking, that I'd enjoy seeing the Lakers lose. I was then confronted by a very serious Lakers fan asking for justification. I was caught off guard, because I thought that, in the Bay Area, you don't need a reason to hate the Lakers, it's just understood that they're the villains, like Confederate Soldiers. And beyond that, I just wanted to see the underdog beat the favorite (that's valid, right?), but in that moment, I found myself in a serious argument, hurting someone's feelings about something I really did NOT give a shit about. It's really not AT ALL worth the joke.
Long story short, here I am. The uncomfortable, humorless, enthusiasm-feigning Dexter Morgan of sports. So if you're like me, go forth with this wisdom and quietly blend in.
Go team.
But, like a harmless, nerdy Dexter Morgan, I have to find a way to fit in with normal human beings. And every so often, human beings will try to talk to me about sports. Here is the strategy guide I've devised for myself.
1. For those close to you, just be honest.
My friends, family, and coworkers already know my deal. So no worries there. But for everyone else, like acquaintances and strangers trying to make small talk...
2. Don't invite the conversation. If you can help it, just avoid sports. I own exactly one SF Giants shirt (my sister bought it for me). But the only time I DON'T wear it is during baseball season. It's like a signal to the world to quiz me on current events. I don't want to put on a shirt and have to wonder whether I should act excited or disappointed about a game I didn't watch. But, when that conversation is unavoidable...
3. Act upset that you missed the game.Sometimes strangers will ask if I saw the game, and fucking of course I didn't, but rather than kill the small-talk rhythm already set in motion, I say "Nawww, I missed it!" in a tone of voice that says "Darn my luck! Please fill me in on all the exciting details of this, our shared interest." Sports fans like to talk. Sometimes you just gotta let'em talk.
4. Don't joke unless you're ready to argue.
This is the MOST counter-intuitive tip for me. Humor is one of my only tools for engaging people in social settings, especially for breaking the ice in awkward or uncomfortable silence. So during sports-centered gatherings, when I'm at my most awkward and uncomfortable, I am socially unarmed. The reason is this: It's too hard to tell who's a sports fanatic and who's a fucking sports fanatic. Sports has joined politics and religion in the category of things that not everyone can take a joke about.
A few years ago, I once said, half joking, that I'd enjoy seeing the Lakers lose. I was then confronted by a very serious Lakers fan asking for justification. I was caught off guard, because I thought that, in the Bay Area, you don't need a reason to hate the Lakers, it's just understood that they're the villains, like Confederate Soldiers. And beyond that, I just wanted to see the underdog beat the favorite (that's valid, right?), but in that moment, I found myself in a serious argument, hurting someone's feelings about something I really did NOT give a shit about. It's really not AT ALL worth the joke.
Long story short, here I am. The uncomfortable, humorless, enthusiasm-feigning Dexter Morgan of sports. So if you're like me, go forth with this wisdom and quietly blend in.
Go team.
Friday, October 5, 2012
On Self-Love And Lack Thereof
A weird thing happens when you find yourself more alone than you used to be (Weird phrasing, but deliberate. Shut up and humor me.). You turn a lens on yourself in a way you didn't before. People tell me it's a chance to grow, to figure things out. I hope they're right. Because what the fuck else am I gonna do with my time?
It's a messy process. You start with painful questions, but slowly hone in on the more important, more existential, still-painful questions. "Who is going to love me?" becomes "Why would anyone love me?" becomes "What is there to love about me?", and the distinction between those is important. (Eventually the questions devolve into "Oh God, who AM I?" and "WHY IS ANYTHING?!?!?" but let's get back to the love part.)... Because the progression from love to self-love is a crucial, elusive, and maddening step to take.
Self-love has never come to me easily (or at all), but I recognize, objectively, its importance. That said, I've composed a list of the things about me that one could potentially love.
1.) I'm pretty cool once you get to know me.
S'all I have so far. But it's a positive statement that I can say about myself with sincerity. So I guess it's a start. (Nevermind that it's also the cop-out "compliment" that you can also use to describe any asshole friend that your other friends hate.)
And so I finish the post as I finish many other things in life. Inconclusive and confused. There's not always a pretty line to end with, some neat conclusion in summation of victory or defeat. I'm still working on it. I haven't figured it out. And it's possible that I never will. But I should probably keep trying. Because what the fuck else am I gonna do with my time?
Not everyone is as grim as me. If, perhaps, you would like the uplifting counter to this depressing post, you may enjoy this post by my friend Regina.
It's a messy process. You start with painful questions, but slowly hone in on the more important, more existential, still-painful questions. "Who is going to love me?" becomes "Why would anyone love me?" becomes "What is there to love about me?", and the distinction between those is important. (Eventually the questions devolve into "Oh God, who AM I?" and "WHY IS ANYTHING?!?!?" but let's get back to the love part.)... Because the progression from love to self-love is a crucial, elusive, and maddening step to take.
Self-love has never come to me easily (or at all), but I recognize, objectively, its importance. That said, I've composed a list of the things about me that one could potentially love.
1.) I'm pretty cool once you get to know me.
S'all I have so far. But it's a positive statement that I can say about myself with sincerity. So I guess it's a start. (Nevermind that it's also the cop-out "compliment" that you can also use to describe any asshole friend that your other friends hate.)
And so I finish the post as I finish many other things in life. Inconclusive and confused. There's not always a pretty line to end with, some neat conclusion in summation of victory or defeat. I'm still working on it. I haven't figured it out. And it's possible that I never will. But I should probably keep trying. Because what the fuck else am I gonna do with my time?
Not everyone is as grim as me. If, perhaps, you would like the uplifting counter to this depressing post, you may enjoy this post by my friend Regina.
Wednesday, October 3, 2012
On The Will Of God
My faith has changed. It has wavered, and evolved, and been compromised over and over again. That in itself can constitute an entire post. But for right now, let's talk about what we think God does.
We make a lot of guesses about the will of God, about His plan for us... But really, what if God's plan is to leave us to our own devices? Not to drop us hints, or send us gifts, or impose upon us challenges of strength and character, but to leave us alone? What if His "plan" has always been to make a world of fortune and misfortune occurring in equal randomness?
A lot of people, my mom especially, try to console me about recent events saying that God has a plan, or that everything happens for a reason. But isn't it entirely possible that not every bad thing that happens is lesson or test or challenge from God? And if we accept that, then not every good thing that happens is a gift from Him.
Yes, often times there's a silver lining that's easy to attribute to God. But other times, in the face of misfortune, it's much easier for me to accept that He is simply hands off than to rationalize why He chose to give us a particular tragedy.
It makes for a colder, more distant understanding of God.
But sometimes, for me, it makes more sense.
We make a lot of guesses about the will of God, about His plan for us... But really, what if God's plan is to leave us to our own devices? Not to drop us hints, or send us gifts, or impose upon us challenges of strength and character, but to leave us alone? What if His "plan" has always been to make a world of fortune and misfortune occurring in equal randomness?
A lot of people, my mom especially, try to console me about recent events saying that God has a plan, or that everything happens for a reason. But isn't it entirely possible that not every bad thing that happens is lesson or test or challenge from God? And if we accept that, then not every good thing that happens is a gift from Him.
Yes, often times there's a silver lining that's easy to attribute to God. But other times, in the face of misfortune, it's much easier for me to accept that He is simply hands off than to rationalize why He chose to give us a particular tragedy.
It makes for a colder, more distant understanding of God.
But sometimes, for me, it makes more sense.
Monday, October 1, 2012
On The Rampant Epidemic Of Optimism
It seems like, upon hitting their mid-to-late 20's, all of my friends on facebook decided to be absolutely, unfailingly, and aggravatingly positive.
On one hand, that's great, and I'm very happy for all of you...On the other hand where the fuck is this all coming from?? Did I miss a mass email from God that said the world was now magic?
An entire generation embracing self-love and confidence. It's like the opposite of high school. And it disturbs me. People will post pictures of a frappuccino with the caption "Life is good!"... I mean I get that frappuccino's are delicious, but that doesn't work to nullify the inertia of a universe slanting always toward loss and disorder, am I right guys?? .........guys?
I'm just saying... All I see now on facebook is marathons and babies and crossfit and fashionable cupcakes and Disney's Cars Land and ALWAYS some iteration of "life of good", as if these tokens represented accurate cross-sections of the nature of life.
Maybe it's that pessimism and insecurity don't make for good facebook posts.
Maybe I feel that someone needs to balance the Force.
Maybe I'm just sad that everyone my age has seemed to figure out this happiness thing and I'm left behind. Or maybe I'm just sad that I don't currently have a frappuccino.
And I understand the counter-argument is "Owen, just have a better attitude and be more grateful for shit". But as it turns out, telling someone to be happy has never in history ever made anyone happy.
All I know is, I can't be the only one. Somewhere out there are my fellow closet cynics, wary of Murphy's Law, nodding knowingly as they read this, saying "Yeah, man. Life is kinda crappy sometimes."
This one's for you.
tl;dr Winter is coming.
On one hand, that's great, and I'm very happy for all of you...On the other hand where the fuck is this all coming from?? Did I miss a mass email from God that said the world was now magic?
An entire generation embracing self-love and confidence. It's like the opposite of high school. And it disturbs me. People will post pictures of a frappuccino with the caption "Life is good!"... I mean I get that frappuccino's are delicious, but that doesn't work to nullify the inertia of a universe slanting always toward loss and disorder, am I right guys?? .........guys?
I'm just saying... All I see now on facebook is marathons and babies and crossfit and fashionable cupcakes and Disney's Cars Land and ALWAYS some iteration of "life of good", as if these tokens represented accurate cross-sections of the nature of life.
Maybe it's that pessimism and insecurity don't make for good facebook posts.
Maybe I feel that someone needs to balance the Force.
Maybe I'm just sad that everyone my age has seemed to figure out this happiness thing and I'm left behind. Or maybe I'm just sad that I don't currently have a frappuccino.
And I understand the counter-argument is "Owen, just have a better attitude and be more grateful for shit". But as it turns out, telling someone to be happy has never in history ever made anyone happy.
All I know is, I can't be the only one. Somewhere out there are my fellow closet cynics, wary of Murphy's Law, nodding knowingly as they read this, saying "Yeah, man. Life is kinda crappy sometimes."
This one's for you.
tl;dr Winter is coming.
Friday, September 21, 2012
On Losing Friends and Continental Drift
There are very dramatic ways to lose friends. Messy ways. Slamming doors and shouting insults and throwing brandy glasses into the fireplace.
I don't know anything about that shit. I've never really had a fight or seriously falling out with anyone. My friends are pretty great across the board... Seriously, if you have the link for this blog, chances are I think you're awesome.
But there's a slower, subtler way to lose friends. Or at least, lose touch of friendships. In the way that's gradual, and unintentional, and a result of slow circumstance.
Things change. People move. Lives reshuffle. And it's no one's fault. It's not malicious or deliberate, it's just that people have diverging plans. No one's trajectories are ever parallel, not entirely.
I'm lucky enough that I'm still in touch with most of my closest friends. But people grow up, and "schedules" become a thing, and relationships become things to be checked on occasionally and revisited.
But the trend slants toward chaos. And change. And people move apart without knowing or trying. On a geological scale, the continents are drifting beneath our feet, and things we thought immovable will never be in the place they were the last time we looked.
The end result is that I'm not sure what's constant, or if anything is, really. To say that I'm afraid of change is so trite and unoriginal that it's almost not worth saying. So what's the moral, the conclusion, as if all things should have one?
Hold on, I guess. The earth is working always to reshuffle us. If something or someone is important to you, hold on to them. Or at least cherish that they're there, for however long they are.
That's it.
I don't know anything about that shit. I've never really had a fight or seriously falling out with anyone. My friends are pretty great across the board... Seriously, if you have the link for this blog, chances are I think you're awesome.
But there's a slower, subtler way to lose friends. Or at least, lose touch of friendships. In the way that's gradual, and unintentional, and a result of slow circumstance.
Things change. People move. Lives reshuffle. And it's no one's fault. It's not malicious or deliberate, it's just that people have diverging plans. No one's trajectories are ever parallel, not entirely.
I'm lucky enough that I'm still in touch with most of my closest friends. But people grow up, and "schedules" become a thing, and relationships become things to be checked on occasionally and revisited.
But the trend slants toward chaos. And change. And people move apart without knowing or trying. On a geological scale, the continents are drifting beneath our feet, and things we thought immovable will never be in the place they were the last time we looked.
The end result is that I'm not sure what's constant, or if anything is, really. To say that I'm afraid of change is so trite and unoriginal that it's almost not worth saying. So what's the moral, the conclusion, as if all things should have one?
Hold on, I guess. The earth is working always to reshuffle us. If something or someone is important to you, hold on to them. Or at least cherish that they're there, for however long they are.
That's it.
Friday, September 14, 2012
On Humor, Self-Deprecation, And Why I Do What I Do
I'll never forget a conversation I had with my sister, Izelle, once. We were talking about our styles of humor, and concluded that all her jokes were about her being awesome, and all of my jokes were about me being awful.
That's an exaggeration of course. (Izelle's actually very modest and down to earth, therein lying the humor) But it's fascinating how different I am, humor-wise, in that it's hard for me to speak highly (or at least positively) about myself, even in jest.
I'll skip ahead to a main point of this post: the purpose of humor. Not to say there's only one purpose... But I think that one of the most powerful things comedy does is repackage the horrible and the frightening things in life and make them bearable.
Used outwardly, we can take tragedy and injustice and spin them into satire. But you can also turn the skill inward, and I think that's where my self-deprecation comes from. Yes, it's meant to amuse people, but it's also a way for me to bring my very real fears to the surface.
I, like many people, am afraid that I really am awful. That I'm ugly, or unlovable, or in some way inadequate, and I need an socially acceptable way to talk about it. And so I joke about it. Because really, in an odd, selfish way, I need to voice these insecurities, I need other people to hear them, and I need to be able to dismiss the issues immediately afterward, before things turn grim, or, God forbid, intimate. Humor makes that possible.
But this is not a sad thing. Actually, it's a strangely wonderful thing. In humor, you and I can talk about the things that horrify us, things that depress us, things that threaten us, things that absolutely break our hearts... And then we smile, precisely when we shouldn't.
Few things I've ever done are as profoundly powerful as that.
That's an exaggeration of course. (Izelle's actually very modest and down to earth, therein lying the humor) But it's fascinating how different I am, humor-wise, in that it's hard for me to speak highly (or at least positively) about myself, even in jest.
I'll skip ahead to a main point of this post: the purpose of humor. Not to say there's only one purpose... But I think that one of the most powerful things comedy does is repackage the horrible and the frightening things in life and make them bearable.
Used outwardly, we can take tragedy and injustice and spin them into satire. But you can also turn the skill inward, and I think that's where my self-deprecation comes from. Yes, it's meant to amuse people, but it's also a way for me to bring my very real fears to the surface.
I, like many people, am afraid that I really am awful. That I'm ugly, or unlovable, or in some way inadequate, and I need an socially acceptable way to talk about it. And so I joke about it. Because really, in an odd, selfish way, I need to voice these insecurities, I need other people to hear them, and I need to be able to dismiss the issues immediately afterward, before things turn grim, or, God forbid, intimate. Humor makes that possible.
But this is not a sad thing. Actually, it's a strangely wonderful thing. In humor, you and I can talk about the things that horrify us, things that depress us, things that threaten us, things that absolutely break our hearts... And then we smile, precisely when we shouldn't.
Few things I've ever done are as profoundly powerful as that.
Tuesday, September 11, 2012
On Blogging and the Evils of Emo
There was a time when young people, wracked with angst and unnameable frustration, had no way to verbally outlet their feelings other than venting them, out loud, to a friend, in person.
Thank God such barbarism is behind us.
Then came the Blogging Age, when any twelve year old with an email account could throw a up a weblog and shout from the virtual mountaintops to any schmuck willing to listen.
And shout we did. About anything. And everything. It was self-centered, indulgent, and over-dramatic, but it was also cathartic, and expressive, and everything I needed when I was 16. I continued blogging through my early twenties, but all the while something was shifting.
Emo became a thing. Not "emo" as description of style, or "emo" as a vague off-shooting subset of American indie-rock, but "emo" as a derogatory term for anything emotional.
"Stop being emo," we said to the whiners.
But dammit, we also said it to people who were just hurting, to people who had something legitimate to say. And so we, as a generation, shamed ourselves into shutting up about things that actually mattered to us.
We moved on to the microblogs like Twitter and Facebook statuses, and eventually just throwing pictures at each other with Instagram. Which is fine. I enjoy those, actually.
But somewhere along the way we lost something. I don't think some of us ever got over the idea that "emo" is bad, and that no one wants to hear what we have to say (outside of short, newsfeed-able microbursts of expression).
So I'll say it now, for what little it's worth, for what little it means coming from me:
Emo is okay.
Blogging is okay.
And I'll whine that from the virtual mountaintops to any schmuck willing to listen.
Thank God such barbarism is behind us.
Then came the Blogging Age, when any twelve year old with an email account could throw a up a weblog and shout from the virtual mountaintops to any schmuck willing to listen.
And shout we did. About anything. And everything. It was self-centered, indulgent, and over-dramatic, but it was also cathartic, and expressive, and everything I needed when I was 16. I continued blogging through my early twenties, but all the while something was shifting.
Emo became a thing. Not "emo" as description of style, or "emo" as a vague off-shooting subset of American indie-rock, but "emo" as a derogatory term for anything emotional.
"Stop being emo," we said to the whiners.
But dammit, we also said it to people who were just hurting, to people who had something legitimate to say. And so we, as a generation, shamed ourselves into shutting up about things that actually mattered to us.
We moved on to the microblogs like Twitter and Facebook statuses, and eventually just throwing pictures at each other with Instagram. Which is fine. I enjoy those, actually.
But somewhere along the way we lost something. I don't think some of us ever got over the idea that "emo" is bad, and that no one wants to hear what we have to say (outside of short, newsfeed-able microbursts of expression).
So I'll say it now, for what little it's worth, for what little it means coming from me:
Emo is okay.
Blogging is okay.
And I'll whine that from the virtual mountaintops to any schmuck willing to listen.
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