How we see things is crucial.
Over the weekend, I got to spend time with a really old friend of mine that I care about very deeply. She, her brother, and her friend came and surfed my couch, and then I hung out with them at her grandparents house in Virginia where I became the couch surfer. In the usual rounds of catching up and getting to know new friends, she kept wanting to take pictures. I, of course, made fun of her for it and mentioned that I hated being in pictures.
On a side note, I'm not sure why I see a need to make fun of something like taking pictures. I think it's a really great thing. I suppose I just need to find something about everyone that I can tease them about. What that says about me, I'm not sure.
Somewhere along the way, I mentioned that I see everyday life as a story, people as characters, conversations as dialog. I can never really turn that off or step back from viewing the world as it would be written down. I think, perhaps, that's why I read so deeply into everything or see meaning in things that should simply be commonplace. She responded that she saw the world through a camera lens. Everyday events became snapshots, memories were captured in frames.
It got me thinking about the way everyone views the world. I mean this literally - not about our viewpoints or opinions - but on how we mechanically see things. What colors the way we are able to see the world? Is it our art? Or language? Will a painter think of life as a blank canvas the way I see it as a scene from a book? Will a business man see the world as opportunity costs and efficiency scales?
Moving beyond occupation, do our core beliefs structure the world differently for all of us? I imagine that our motives and aspirations can clog up the works.
While living in Los Angeles, I noted that a lot of the people were interested in making connections that would benefit themselves in some way, but the manner in which they went about it was always focused on people. Here in DC, it seems like those niceties are thrown out the window in favor for blatant business card swapping. People meet people to use them for personal gain. Maybe some people in DC view other humans as purely business connections - devoid of any real humanity beyond helping them advance in their careers.
Certainly, there are some men and women out there that see members of the opposite gender as targets instead of people. There are many ways that we flatten the image of a person down to a concept or goal. I'm sure we do the same for most everything in life.
I would say that we need to start seeing people as people - but I'm not even sure what that means exactly.
The only thing I'm capable of doing at this point is questioning how I see the world and why. What mechanical things influence my eyesight, what goals I have that blur my standard vision.
25 March 2008
2008: A New Odyssey
Yesterday a man that was very close to me passed away. So it goes. He was very close to me although I never met him and he never met me. I find that fascinating, although it's nothing really new, that a person that lives across the world can have such an impact on another person without ever speaking to them or seeing them.
Arthur C. Clarke was one of the pioneers of science fiction as we know it. He was a man of endless humanity that had an incredible gift for writing. Most are probably at least familiar with 2001: A Space Odyssey, but he wrote over 30 novels and a large amount of essays concerning mankind and technology. Like any great sci-fi writer, his interest was in people and the things they create. He's also one of the reasons you can talk on a cell phone or watch satellite television. The man was a genius, but he had a great sense of self and of humor. After failing to patent his telecommunications technology, he wrote a short essay entitled, "How I lost a billion dollars in my spare time".
Most people see the entire genre of science fiction as geeky escapism. People that were born too early - people that long for a generation where flying cars and jet packs exist. But at it's core, it's fundamentally philosophical. It asks the key questions about life as we know it now while predicting how life might be as we will know it. If done well, it forces the reader to ask hard questions about his or her life and the way in which they live. It also challenges people to look beyond the ordinary. One of Clarke's famous rules of discovery was, "The only way of discovering the limits of the possible is to venture a little way past them into the impossible."
I think that's an incredible mantra to live by - not just with technology, but with our human spirit, our talents, our love. It challenges us to reach beyond what we are to see what we might become.
On an interesting note, technology proliferation doubles every 11 years or so. Computers are faster, have more memory. To prove how constantly amazing we are, I'll leave you with this developing story: technology now exists that allows for voiceless communication.
At a recent expo, a company called Audeo exhibited a band that is worn around the neck. This band receives the muscular impulses of the vocal box and transmits them through a bluetooth capable cell phone. Thus, the person wearing it doesn't have to speak, they only have to think of what they are going to say and allow the brain to shift their vocal chords - the band creates the sound and sends it to the listener.
The program only knows a few hundred words right now, but that will change. It will progress, and soon, you could be having a conversation with someone on the other side of the world without even speaking. You could ride public transit or be in the car with friends and speak privately to someone else without others hearing your side of the conversation. I'm not sure that it has profound meaning for our society, but it's incredibly cool and could potentially be helpful.
I think Clarke would have been proud.
The future was three years ago.
Arthur C. Clarke was one of the pioneers of science fiction as we know it. He was a man of endless humanity that had an incredible gift for writing. Most are probably at least familiar with 2001: A Space Odyssey, but he wrote over 30 novels and a large amount of essays concerning mankind and technology. Like any great sci-fi writer, his interest was in people and the things they create. He's also one of the reasons you can talk on a cell phone or watch satellite television. The man was a genius, but he had a great sense of self and of humor. After failing to patent his telecommunications technology, he wrote a short essay entitled, "How I lost a billion dollars in my spare time".
Most people see the entire genre of science fiction as geeky escapism. People that were born too early - people that long for a generation where flying cars and jet packs exist. But at it's core, it's fundamentally philosophical. It asks the key questions about life as we know it now while predicting how life might be as we will know it. If done well, it forces the reader to ask hard questions about his or her life and the way in which they live. It also challenges people to look beyond the ordinary. One of Clarke's famous rules of discovery was, "The only way of discovering the limits of the possible is to venture a little way past them into the impossible."
I think that's an incredible mantra to live by - not just with technology, but with our human spirit, our talents, our love. It challenges us to reach beyond what we are to see what we might become.
On an interesting note, technology proliferation doubles every 11 years or so. Computers are faster, have more memory. To prove how constantly amazing we are, I'll leave you with this developing story: technology now exists that allows for voiceless communication.
At a recent expo, a company called Audeo exhibited a band that is worn around the neck. This band receives the muscular impulses of the vocal box and transmits them through a bluetooth capable cell phone. Thus, the person wearing it doesn't have to speak, they only have to think of what they are going to say and allow the brain to shift their vocal chords - the band creates the sound and sends it to the listener.
The program only knows a few hundred words right now, but that will change. It will progress, and soon, you could be having a conversation with someone on the other side of the world without even speaking. You could ride public transit or be in the car with friends and speak privately to someone else without others hearing your side of the conversation. I'm not sure that it has profound meaning for our society, but it's incredibly cool and could potentially be helpful.
I think Clarke would have been proud.
The future was three years ago.
Slacker Hell
The mid-90s was a great era for movies from a slacker generation that wanted to define itself by being as messed up as possible, but still worthy of love. Thus, many of them ended with two or three people huddled together crying, speaking in lilting voices about how they were terrible and vile and different and rebels, but everything was gonna be okay.
This sort of sentiment doesn't really exist in movies that much anymore, although it pops up from time to time in indie films. Of course, the mainstream version of this is the rag-tag bunch of misfits that ends up prevailing against the wealthier, more organized little league team. Proof that individuality is more important than status.
However, I'm starting to wonder if that sort of thing is alright in real life.
From time to time I see situations cropped up where members of my generation throw up their hands and accept that certain things about their lives are messed up. While I understand that outside forces are impossible to control, it seems odd to completely acquiesce when things aren't easy. Let alone to embrace troubles or issues as "being individualistic". You've shaved your head, won't speak to your parents and are thinking about moving in with your 50-year-old manager, but things are okay, because you're an individual. And you can't break the cycle.
Does that mean that we're all damaged goods?
Some of you might not relate to this, but I imagine we've all had things in our lives that profoundly changed us for better or worse - things that galvanized and adulterated us into maturity. Things that were, in the 90s way of putting things, really messed up, man. But from time to time we'll have to question how deeply those events affected us. Let's put me on the couch really quickly.
My brother was diagnosed with a fatal illness when I was 7. From then on, my parents devoted a large amount of time caring for him which left me without a lot of parental attention. I ambled through middle school, becoming suicidal at one point because I had exactly zero friends, failed at mostly everything in my life and was ridiculed openly when I succeeded. I decided to survive because it would have destroyed my family - especially my mother - to add to their plate. In high school, my pendulum swung to the other side, renouncing my religion, experimenting with drugs and acting like a general pompous ass to the opposite gender.During those years I skated, went to punk shows, played in a band and got high a decent bit of the time - I also did this while being an able student, holding down several jobs, acting as Senior Class President and being generally liked by teachers and parents alike. During my senior year, my brother died, and my close friends felt like I never dealt with it directly. These were my formative years.
I agree that there is nothing that bad in my history - especially compared to others' - but even still, I never feel like my life is careening out of control or that I don't have a decent handle with dealing with my past.
A friend of mine told me that she never speaks with her ex-boyfriends. I asked her whether she felt like that was healthy or if they still had an impact on her life because she hadn't reconciled comfortably with them. She didn't really know.
On one hand, the films of the 1990s are rubbish - a group of people that will be cradling each other once a week when the next person's nervous breakdown comes, never really dealing with their issues, always seeking consolation in their uniqueness while masking how alone that makes them.
On the other hand, it makes a strident point - that no matter how low life brings you, you deserve love.
And even though I think we should all be working toward a sense of comfortable normalcy (whatever that may be for each of us), I still see being huddled in a corner, crying, surrounded by our friends as a fundamental right that we can take advantage of from time to time. Just don't be too counter culture about it or it'll end up on film.
This sort of sentiment doesn't really exist in movies that much anymore, although it pops up from time to time in indie films. Of course, the mainstream version of this is the rag-tag bunch of misfits that ends up prevailing against the wealthier, more organized little league team. Proof that individuality is more important than status.
However, I'm starting to wonder if that sort of thing is alright in real life.
From time to time I see situations cropped up where members of my generation throw up their hands and accept that certain things about their lives are messed up. While I understand that outside forces are impossible to control, it seems odd to completely acquiesce when things aren't easy. Let alone to embrace troubles or issues as "being individualistic". You've shaved your head, won't speak to your parents and are thinking about moving in with your 50-year-old manager, but things are okay, because you're an individual. And you can't break the cycle.
Does that mean that we're all damaged goods?
Some of you might not relate to this, but I imagine we've all had things in our lives that profoundly changed us for better or worse - things that galvanized and adulterated us into maturity. Things that were, in the 90s way of putting things, really messed up, man. But from time to time we'll have to question how deeply those events affected us. Let's put me on the couch really quickly.
My brother was diagnosed with a fatal illness when I was 7. From then on, my parents devoted a large amount of time caring for him which left me without a lot of parental attention. I ambled through middle school, becoming suicidal at one point because I had exactly zero friends, failed at mostly everything in my life and was ridiculed openly when I succeeded. I decided to survive because it would have destroyed my family - especially my mother - to add to their plate. In high school, my pendulum swung to the other side, renouncing my religion, experimenting with drugs and acting like a general pompous ass to the opposite gender.During those years I skated, went to punk shows, played in a band and got high a decent bit of the time - I also did this while being an able student, holding down several jobs, acting as Senior Class President and being generally liked by teachers and parents alike. During my senior year, my brother died, and my close friends felt like I never dealt with it directly. These were my formative years.
I agree that there is nothing that bad in my history - especially compared to others' - but even still, I never feel like my life is careening out of control or that I don't have a decent handle with dealing with my past.
A friend of mine told me that she never speaks with her ex-boyfriends. I asked her whether she felt like that was healthy or if they still had an impact on her life because she hadn't reconciled comfortably with them. She didn't really know.
On one hand, the films of the 1990s are rubbish - a group of people that will be cradling each other once a week when the next person's nervous breakdown comes, never really dealing with their issues, always seeking consolation in their uniqueness while masking how alone that makes them.
On the other hand, it makes a strident point - that no matter how low life brings you, you deserve love.
And even though I think we should all be working toward a sense of comfortable normalcy (whatever that may be for each of us), I still see being huddled in a corner, crying, surrounded by our friends as a fundamental right that we can take advantage of from time to time. Just don't be too counter culture about it or it'll end up on film.
And Everything's Gonna Be Alright
When Bob Dylan took the stage for the first time with electric guitars, he was booed. The crowd screamed that he'd abandoned his folk roots. They thought he'd sold out. The same thing happens all over the music business, which seems especially keen on the concept. I've often wondered what makes for the right environment for a large group to so quickly resort to selling out (or believing someone else has). A large amount of money at stake. An amount of fame. Certainly the film industry has these things. Actors, though, don't have something that musicians have - a feel of autonomy, a feel of rebellion. Musicians are individuals trying to tell a story despite a world that wants to be mainstreamed. Actors are part of a vast machine, a network that creates a film to entertain and to return profits. In short, actors can't sell out, because they don't have any credibility to sell. Musicians, for some reason, seem like they do. They come from a garage and struggle desperately to make it to the top - only when they get there, men in suits are trying to change them in order to make more money. And we romanticize this.
The truth is far less admirable.
The idea of selling out focuses on someone with core values that decides to abandon them in hopes of money or fame. Mostly just the money though. It's assumed that someone with a unique voice and message would stifle it in order to fall in line with what works, what's boring and tested, and what makes loads of cash.
That's probably why I've never really believed that it exists.
For me, a person who thinks pragmatically, the concept of selling out seems absurd. It's an arbitrary human construct, usually used by elitists to argue a point that no one really cares about. In order to buy into it, you have to think several things:
1) That making money is a bad thing. Basic economics tells us that making money does not prevent others from having money, it just makes more money. I can see nothing wrong with this.
2) That making money somehow negates artistic intent. This may have stronger merit as an argument if the artist significantly changes himself/herself for the sole purpose of becoming more accessible. However, it's difficult to gauge intentions - with Dylan, he was trying out a new sound, and no one now would call him a sell out.
3) You have to believe that art is not subjective.
3b) Since art is not subjective, you also must believe that what you like is the best.
We're getting into strange territory here, but it's often true that people value something so subjective as factually based. Music is the perhaps the king of all arts with regards to this because it's so easily accessible. Everyone can become an expert on it almost immediately. So people tend to think that their opinion is fact. You will never find more heated arguments about something that can't be proven correct or incorrect as you will when you claim not to like someone's favorite band.
As many times as I've said proudly that The Beatles are the greatest band in history, I know that it's just not even provable. It's subjective. Someone who thinks Bob Dylan or Glen Miller Orchestra or Slipknot is the best band ever has just as much merit to their personal opinion as I do. You can argue who has sold more albums, influenced other bands, who's sold out more shows - all factual, numbers-based things with clear winners - but "the best" is an opinion. And opinions can't be facts.
So why is corporate art not considered true art? Why are artists that seek large amounts of money deemed sell outs? Or artists that give in to a corporate scheme not legitimized?
Because elitists are wrong. To believe that art cannot be profitable or simply beautiful or merely entertaining is to limit art in a way that's unsettling. It also makes me wonder whether elitists aren't selling out - just in a different way. Not to money, but to an image. I have to question whether certain people like certain obscure bands because they make good music or because listening to them provides the listener with a false sense of superiority. Do they listen to the bands because of their art or because another elitist told them that liking them means you have good taste?
All of this to say - selling out is moving into a different world, away from art. It's moving into the realm of ideas. People are talking about those who work with others as selling out. A politician tries to reach across the aisle to work on compromise and she's suddenly a sell out, because someone willing to fix problems and seek a common ground solution isn't fully dedicated to the cause. Giving an inch means your willing to forfeit just a little of your zealotry in order to seek progress. Because sides are so polarized that you only have two options for opinions. Trying to see the other side of an argument is heresy. Trying to work with the enemy is grounds for crucifixion.
And image is more important than practicality.
How you're seen is so much more viable than the things you accomplish. If you're not trying to appear that way all the time, if your focus changes or your goals shift - you're a sell out.
The truth is far less admirable.
The idea of selling out focuses on someone with core values that decides to abandon them in hopes of money or fame. Mostly just the money though. It's assumed that someone with a unique voice and message would stifle it in order to fall in line with what works, what's boring and tested, and what makes loads of cash.
That's probably why I've never really believed that it exists.
For me, a person who thinks pragmatically, the concept of selling out seems absurd. It's an arbitrary human construct, usually used by elitists to argue a point that no one really cares about. In order to buy into it, you have to think several things:
1) That making money is a bad thing. Basic economics tells us that making money does not prevent others from having money, it just makes more money. I can see nothing wrong with this.
2) That making money somehow negates artistic intent. This may have stronger merit as an argument if the artist significantly changes himself/herself for the sole purpose of becoming more accessible. However, it's difficult to gauge intentions - with Dylan, he was trying out a new sound, and no one now would call him a sell out.
3) You have to believe that art is not subjective.
3b) Since art is not subjective, you also must believe that what you like is the best.
We're getting into strange territory here, but it's often true that people value something so subjective as factually based. Music is the perhaps the king of all arts with regards to this because it's so easily accessible. Everyone can become an expert on it almost immediately. So people tend to think that their opinion is fact. You will never find more heated arguments about something that can't be proven correct or incorrect as you will when you claim not to like someone's favorite band.
As many times as I've said proudly that The Beatles are the greatest band in history, I know that it's just not even provable. It's subjective. Someone who thinks Bob Dylan or Glen Miller Orchestra or Slipknot is the best band ever has just as much merit to their personal opinion as I do. You can argue who has sold more albums, influenced other bands, who's sold out more shows - all factual, numbers-based things with clear winners - but "the best" is an opinion. And opinions can't be facts.
So why is corporate art not considered true art? Why are artists that seek large amounts of money deemed sell outs? Or artists that give in to a corporate scheme not legitimized?
Because elitists are wrong. To believe that art cannot be profitable or simply beautiful or merely entertaining is to limit art in a way that's unsettling. It also makes me wonder whether elitists aren't selling out - just in a different way. Not to money, but to an image. I have to question whether certain people like certain obscure bands because they make good music or because listening to them provides the listener with a false sense of superiority. Do they listen to the bands because of their art or because another elitist told them that liking them means you have good taste?
All of this to say - selling out is moving into a different world, away from art. It's moving into the realm of ideas. People are talking about those who work with others as selling out. A politician tries to reach across the aisle to work on compromise and she's suddenly a sell out, because someone willing to fix problems and seek a common ground solution isn't fully dedicated to the cause. Giving an inch means your willing to forfeit just a little of your zealotry in order to seek progress. Because sides are so polarized that you only have two options for opinions. Trying to see the other side of an argument is heresy. Trying to work with the enemy is grounds for crucifixion.
And image is more important than practicality.
How you're seen is so much more viable than the things you accomplish. If you're not trying to appear that way all the time, if your focus changes or your goals shift - you're a sell out.
18 March 2008
Childlike
I think this is going too far.
I couldn't tell you why I'm so opinionated about defining things, but I fear that it's a major liability in our culture. The two-part problem is that we believe we are allowed to define things (including ourselves) and that we clearly do not have the capability to do it accurately.
It's become a cliche for almost any actor in Hollywood or famous entity to talk about defining themselves, wanting to be the sole master of entering their name and status into the cultural dictionary for people to read, but not to interpret. That's fine. I try to be sympathetic toward actors and their concepts - especially after working in production and watching them get treated like puppets.
Unfortunately, I feel like this idea has spread over into the mainstream the same way that "self-esteem" did and it is having a hard time fitting in with what actual reality is like. There is an exactitude to definitions. As flexible as the language is, there are limitations to every word as to what it is and isn't. That's, basically, the entire reason for definitions in the first place - to set boundaries and make communication easier.
So in way, we don't get to define much. I can't approach a tree and decide that it's not a tree. There's a force outside of me that is untouchable, that I can't tamper with. My calling a tree a ferret, does not make it a ferret. It makes me an idiot.
But don't we tend to try to define ourselves on a daily basis? Try to nail down exactly who we are as we project onto other people? I feel like I do from time to time, and I've seen others do it. I imagine it's because it's easier than changing. Twisting a word is easier than twisting yourself.
For example, a friend of mine told me that she enjoys kissing guys and girls but "would never define herself as bisexual". And there the two-part problem lies. My friend thinks she can define herself but doesn't have the capability to do so. My question for her was, "Then what would you call yourself?"
I've often decried the fear of being defined. It is one of my largest fears, the idea that I could be placed inside a box, inside a handy set of words that defines the totality of my being. It's pretty frightening. What if all that you are could be summed up in a sentence? A few words?
This is why I hate moving. It is the worst activity that humans have to undertake. First, there is the physical demand of lifting, carrying and depositing your heavy boxes and furniture into a truck and then repeating the process once you arrive at your new place. Second, you have to inventory your life. You are forced to mentally box yourself up, all that you have, into nice packages. I think we can see how small our lives are when we box everything up and place it in the center of our living room. Staring at your belongings crammed neatly into a rental truck makes you wonder if that's all there is to you, to life. And, damn, it's still so heavy. A burden.
So we avoid defining ourselves clearly. We want to keep it nebulous just in case someone comes close to pinning us down. Especially when it comes down to things that make us ashamed. I drink every night, but I would never define myself as an alcoholic. I'm spiritual, but I wouldn't define myself as religious. I've hurt others, but I would never define myself as a bad person. I kiss girls, but I wouldn't define myself as a lesbian.
Those labels are ready-made. They are outside of us. And, even if we are allowed to define ourselves, it wouldn't be through words, it would be through actions. And others aren't prohibited from weighing in, either.
I tend to think that things are never as complicated as we make them out to be. Relationships are one of those things - and it's become easier to be vague about them. There's strangers, acquaintances, friends, close friends, family, and dating relationships. And the lines aren't all that blurry. If we look up these terms in the dictionary, they don't have a question mark or the phrase 'to be determined' next to them. But we all like to blur the lines. At least I do. Are we dating? Sort of. We're friends, but we like each other. And we go out. But we're not really "dating". It's complicated.
All this talk about words is starting to make me think that they're the ones tripping us up. Instead of worrying so much about what the right definition is for ourselves, for our relationships, we should just focus on what we're doing. And own up to it. There's a certain amount of denial that defining yourself entails - it's a situation where we don't fully embrace who we are. We try to supplant who we are with words, with caveats, with exceptions to the rule. I guess my big question is this:
What's so wrong with embracing who you are?
I mean, I would define myself as someone who has embraced who he is, but it's complicated.
I couldn't tell you why I'm so opinionated about defining things, but I fear that it's a major liability in our culture. The two-part problem is that we believe we are allowed to define things (including ourselves) and that we clearly do not have the capability to do it accurately.
It's become a cliche for almost any actor in Hollywood or famous entity to talk about defining themselves, wanting to be the sole master of entering their name and status into the cultural dictionary for people to read, but not to interpret. That's fine. I try to be sympathetic toward actors and their concepts - especially after working in production and watching them get treated like puppets.
Unfortunately, I feel like this idea has spread over into the mainstream the same way that "self-esteem" did and it is having a hard time fitting in with what actual reality is like. There is an exactitude to definitions. As flexible as the language is, there are limitations to every word as to what it is and isn't. That's, basically, the entire reason for definitions in the first place - to set boundaries and make communication easier.
So in way, we don't get to define much. I can't approach a tree and decide that it's not a tree. There's a force outside of me that is untouchable, that I can't tamper with. My calling a tree a ferret, does not make it a ferret. It makes me an idiot.
But don't we tend to try to define ourselves on a daily basis? Try to nail down exactly who we are as we project onto other people? I feel like I do from time to time, and I've seen others do it. I imagine it's because it's easier than changing. Twisting a word is easier than twisting yourself.
For example, a friend of mine told me that she enjoys kissing guys and girls but "would never define herself as bisexual". And there the two-part problem lies. My friend thinks she can define herself but doesn't have the capability to do so. My question for her was, "Then what would you call yourself?"
I've often decried the fear of being defined. It is one of my largest fears, the idea that I could be placed inside a box, inside a handy set of words that defines the totality of my being. It's pretty frightening. What if all that you are could be summed up in a sentence? A few words?
This is why I hate moving. It is the worst activity that humans have to undertake. First, there is the physical demand of lifting, carrying and depositing your heavy boxes and furniture into a truck and then repeating the process once you arrive at your new place. Second, you have to inventory your life. You are forced to mentally box yourself up, all that you have, into nice packages. I think we can see how small our lives are when we box everything up and place it in the center of our living room. Staring at your belongings crammed neatly into a rental truck makes you wonder if that's all there is to you, to life. And, damn, it's still so heavy. A burden.
So we avoid defining ourselves clearly. We want to keep it nebulous just in case someone comes close to pinning us down. Especially when it comes down to things that make us ashamed. I drink every night, but I would never define myself as an alcoholic. I'm spiritual, but I wouldn't define myself as religious. I've hurt others, but I would never define myself as a bad person. I kiss girls, but I wouldn't define myself as a lesbian.
Those labels are ready-made. They are outside of us. And, even if we are allowed to define ourselves, it wouldn't be through words, it would be through actions. And others aren't prohibited from weighing in, either.
I tend to think that things are never as complicated as we make them out to be. Relationships are one of those things - and it's become easier to be vague about them. There's strangers, acquaintances, friends, close friends, family, and dating relationships. And the lines aren't all that blurry. If we look up these terms in the dictionary, they don't have a question mark or the phrase 'to be determined' next to them. But we all like to blur the lines. At least I do. Are we dating? Sort of. We're friends, but we like each other. And we go out. But we're not really "dating". It's complicated.
All this talk about words is starting to make me think that they're the ones tripping us up. Instead of worrying so much about what the right definition is for ourselves, for our relationships, we should just focus on what we're doing. And own up to it. There's a certain amount of denial that defining yourself entails - it's a situation where we don't fully embrace who we are. We try to supplant who we are with words, with caveats, with exceptions to the rule. I guess my big question is this:
What's so wrong with embracing who you are?
I mean, I would define myself as someone who has embraced who he is, but it's complicated.
Stealing from Klosterman 8
Q:
You begin watching a new television series, and you immediately find yourself strongly relating to one of the supporting characters. You've never before experienced a TV character that seems so similar to yourself; this fictional person dresses, behaves and talks exactly like you. And - slowly, over the course of several episodes - the similarity grows spooky; on two separate occasions, the character recounts personal anecdotes that happened in your real life. The actor portraying this character begins mimicking your mannerisms. In at least three different episodes, the character's dialog quotes things that you have said (verbatim) during casual conversation.
You become convinced that this is neither coincidence nor mental illness: somehow, this character is being actively based on your life. The show's writers generally depict the "you" character in a positive manner, but - as far as you can tell - you don't know anyone involved in the show's production or creation. It's totally inexplicable.
You have two friends who also watch this show. One of them is certain that your theory is correct and that (somehow) the character is, in fact, based on your life. She tells you to get a lawyer. The second friend concedes that many of the similarities are amazing, but that the whole notion is ridiculous, impossible, and egocentric. He tells you to see a therapist.
How do you respond to this situation? Do you do anything?
A:
This happens to me on a daily basis actually, and so far, I haven't done anything about it. I'm not sure why there would be any reason to. I know it would be really freaky, and it might even be mildly concerning, but it's not like bodily harm is going to come to me. I'm not sure how I could even get any money out the situation - maybe I'm reading to realistically into this situation, but how would I prove in a court of law that the character had done things or said things exactly as I already had? Against high-priced copyright attorneys? I don't think so.
Now, it would be over the line if they started predicting the future for the character - moved beyond things that I had done and started doing things that I, then, mimicked in real life. Art imitating life is safe. Life imitating art can be dangerous - especially if the character got some terrible, but hilarious, sit-com disease. I would be concerned that those things would happen.
Instead of seeing differences in actions and character, I would see things to come, and the self-fulfilling prophecy would turn me into that character. A subtle turn. Then, the show might sue me. And I'd lose. Big time. Against high-priced attorneys.
Or what if the character had all of my traits, plus one really annoying one? Like a nasty laugh or the refusal to remove shoes when laying on a couch? Are they trying to tell me something? Seriously, you'd tell me if there was something in my teeth, right?
Now I'm paranoid.
You begin watching a new television series, and you immediately find yourself strongly relating to one of the supporting characters. You've never before experienced a TV character that seems so similar to yourself; this fictional person dresses, behaves and talks exactly like you. And - slowly, over the course of several episodes - the similarity grows spooky; on two separate occasions, the character recounts personal anecdotes that happened in your real life. The actor portraying this character begins mimicking your mannerisms. In at least three different episodes, the character's dialog quotes things that you have said (verbatim) during casual conversation.
You become convinced that this is neither coincidence nor mental illness: somehow, this character is being actively based on your life. The show's writers generally depict the "you" character in a positive manner, but - as far as you can tell - you don't know anyone involved in the show's production or creation. It's totally inexplicable.
You have two friends who also watch this show. One of them is certain that your theory is correct and that (somehow) the character is, in fact, based on your life. She tells you to get a lawyer. The second friend concedes that many of the similarities are amazing, but that the whole notion is ridiculous, impossible, and egocentric. He tells you to see a therapist.
How do you respond to this situation? Do you do anything?
A:
This happens to me on a daily basis actually, and so far, I haven't done anything about it. I'm not sure why there would be any reason to. I know it would be really freaky, and it might even be mildly concerning, but it's not like bodily harm is going to come to me. I'm not sure how I could even get any money out the situation - maybe I'm reading to realistically into this situation, but how would I prove in a court of law that the character had done things or said things exactly as I already had? Against high-priced copyright attorneys? I don't think so.
Now, it would be over the line if they started predicting the future for the character - moved beyond things that I had done and started doing things that I, then, mimicked in real life. Art imitating life is safe. Life imitating art can be dangerous - especially if the character got some terrible, but hilarious, sit-com disease. I would be concerned that those things would happen.
Instead of seeing differences in actions and character, I would see things to come, and the self-fulfilling prophecy would turn me into that character. A subtle turn. Then, the show might sue me. And I'd lose. Big time. Against high-priced attorneys.
Or what if the character had all of my traits, plus one really annoying one? Like a nasty laugh or the refusal to remove shoes when laying on a couch? Are they trying to tell me something? Seriously, you'd tell me if there was something in my teeth, right?
Now I'm paranoid.
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