Sometimes I wonder if everything we do in our modern world makes us intrinsically less human, distilling passion and instincts into gray suits and briefcases. Are most of the populous really living to the full potential of our race? Where is the action, the desperation of true love, and the intricate sword play in our every day lives?
In ancient Rome, people walked around armed with swords. There was always a potential threat. A word could get you killed if it landed on the wrong ears. Sex was for anyone who had but a need or a whim for release and everyone was doing it openly with everybody else. If the husband didn’t like being cuckolded, he could simply go out and kill the man his wife was sleeping with. No one would begrudge him this satisfaction.
Today, we have the right to bear arms in this country, but the majority of people that I associate with on a daily basis don’t. Some even openly reject that right, supporting many gun control laws that would keep guns out of the hands of most American citizens.
One observation I’ve made is that the interpretation of the right to bear arms has been distorted. It was originally intended to describe the right to form a militia in order to defend our rights. Now people see the right to bear arms as the right to protect themselves with hand-weapons as opposed to the right to defend the belief system upon which our country was founded. People want to be able to carry concealed weapons or keep guns locked in their cars while they’re at work, or even keep rifles in their homes as if they lived in the Old West.
I am aware that my view on gun control is based mostly on my urban upbringing. If New Yorkers were allowed legally to carry concealed weapons, I think all hell would break loose. Even without a law allowing us to carry lethal weapons, there is sometimes a persistent sense of compression in the city, like at any moment something might pop. Objects could be set in motion that could change our circumstances or our lives at any moment. I feel it often when it’s late at night and I’m taking the subway home with only one or two other occupants in my car. I’ve also felt it as a scuffle between a few men catches my eye from across a crowded street. That sense of compression stays in tact because people do whatever they can, for the most part, to keep themselves cool and contained, with a few exceptions.
Most of the time, when we get angry, it festers with no outlet, eating us alive from the inside out. Rather than attack others, we attack ourselves and blame ourselves for not being able to keep things together. Sure, sometimes we’ll talk things out behind closed doors, but very rarely is there the possible threat of one of us killing another.
Be assured that I am talking from the perspective of a young, private school educated, urban woman. I know that crimes of passion happen every day, but they certainly aren’t happening in my every day life or within the circle of people I normally associate with. I’m also not suggesting that we should all be barbarians and begin killing each other every five seconds and gnawing on turkey legs in our spare time.
The word “barbarian” perplexes me. What does it really mean? The vision of Ancient Rome I described earlier certainly had some barbaric elements, but there was a general movement towards an organized government, which, by definition, is not barbarism.
Then again, I think what I admire most about interpretations and historical accounts of ancient Rome are the more impulsive, passionate qualities of the culture. That is what I mean when I say I wonder if we are “distilling” humanity in our modern culture. I think a lot of people have lost touch with what it means to live in a high stakes environment, to feel the life coursing through their veins or to act on their needs with conviction on a daily basis.
I began thinking about all of this a few weeks ago when a friend of mine from Florida mentioned that people there are allowed to shoot trespassers who come onto their property on sight.
“Holy shit!” I exclaimed incredulously, always the articulate blogger. “But you can’t kill them, can you?”
He just laughed at me and shrugged. “Sometimes when you shoot ‘em, you kill ‘em.”
So even though I often wonder where the passion has gone while I’m making my commute to and from work amidst the milling herd, wondering when we all got slipped our daily dose of “soma,” I am also horrified at the opposite end of the spectrum. It just shocks me that in some parts of the country, entering someone’s property is enough to warrant violence without warning and murder without much punishment. There’s just something about that idea that doesn’t sit comfortably in the pit of my stomach.
It gives me this image of an orange farmer screaming, “This. is. FLORIDAAAAA!” while brandishing an AK-47.
When I was a kid, I used to play with flashlight lightsabers and go to the movies with my friends. From what I hear of rural childhoods, “blowin’ shit up” is a regular after-school activity. YouTube is overflowing with videos of kids from throughout the center of this country blowing up whatever they can find in front of a camera. I even stumbled across one video where a few teenagers were wading into the Mississippi River to find tube worm mound colonies, a staple of that particular ecosystem, and setting them on the ground, followed by shooting them to kingdom come with rifles. The had no clue that they were probably destroying the ecology of that part of the riverbed and were more interested in seeing the strange gooey blobs get blown to smithereens. I also got the impression that they wouldn’t have cared much if they did know about their possible eco-footprint.
This sort of dispassionate violence is what frightens me. A majority of our youth is disconnected from the fact that guns are not toys. They are absolutely lethal. The NRA famously insists that “Guns don’t kill people. People kill people.” However, I’m going to have to jump on the band wagon with British comedian and actor Eddie Izzard here and say, “Yes, but the guns certainly help.”
I remember holding a water gun and pointing at my Dad when I was a little girl.
“Bang, bang, Daddy!” I shouted, holding the gun at his face, point blank.
He moved the gun away from his face with the palm of his and looked at me very seriously. “Never point a gun at someone unless you mean to kill them.”
Sure, it was just a water gun, but my father made certain that I knew what that toy represented. He said his father had imparted the same wisdom to him.
Dispassionate people own lethal weapons in states like Texas and Florida and they can use them without much cause or repercussion. I’m perplexed and torn. On the one hand, I think it is our right to protect ourselves and our families and that people, given the proper licencing, should be able to own guns, though I realize it’s still hard to control how many guns get into unqualified hands. Plus, the dramatic part of me wants my life to be an epic and adventurous tale worthy of the Odyssey. On the other hand, I don’t think we should be teaching our children that guns are a worthwhile “pass-time.” Hunting for food when food needs to be hunted is one thing. Blowing up bear bottles and Indiana Jones action figures for no reason is another. Plus, in terms of our humanity, I don’t think we need the danger of weapons or our lives constantly hanging in the balance to spur us into living a fulfilling life.
Violence isn’t the answer, but I think dispassion is an epidemic.
How do you cure dispassion? How do you light the proverbial fire under humanity’s ass?
When Prometheus stole fire from the Zeus on Mount Olympus and brought it to the mortals below, he took a risk. He wagered his life to bring warmth and knowledge to his fellow man. His story isn’t famous today because of violence, but because of his daring and his contribution to mankind. There is also the bit about how he was punished by having his liver be eaten out by vultures only to grow back every day for all of eternity, but that’s beside the point.
Maybe, what we all need to spice up our lives is a little calculated risk taking. Set your sights on something and go for it. Don’t let opportunities pass you by. Listen to that little voice in your head when it tells you to do something. Listening to your instincts is what keeps you from being a sheep in the middle of a herd.
In my last post, I made mention of my support of the Obama Administration. The author of Acre of Independence (http://acreofindependence.com/), regarded as one of the top 100 Libertarian websites and blogs, questioned my assertion of Obama’s progress. When I praised Obama’s work abroad and his success in improving our international reputation, Acre of Independence responded with the following:
What policy area has America’s newly gained prestige you referenced helped us out in? In terms of our major foreign policy challenges (Iran, Iraq, Afghanistan, et al), there has been little shift either way. Much of our activity in Pakistan such as the Drone Attacks on suspected insurgents (as well as in Africa), which have increased in tempo since Obama took office, are likely to push many people into Al Quaeda or affiliated groups, too.
I happened to have lunch today with a friend who just returned from a trip to Egypt with his father. I believe they were abroad for three full weeks. As we ate our Thai food and he showed me pictures of adorable stray cats in a market place and camel rides around the pyramids, he mentioned how positive his reception was in the country. He also shared with me a letter from Alexandra Bonds, a professor of Lighting Design from the University of Oregon who is currently living Cairo. I asked him if I could share the letter here as it is well written and very interesting, as well as giving us here in the United States a sense of how effective our President’s work in foreign policy has been. The letter was prompted by a question about how Obama’s speech on June 4, 2009 had been received.
Yes, Obama scored big in Cairo. The city is basking in an afterglow and aftershock of disbelief. Could an American president really have said all those things? The Egyptian media is uniformly positive, rapturous at times. I watched commentary on Nile TV after the speech. The three women, a professor, politician and journalist were positively moon-eyed. Made me want to hand them a cigarette. Then I turned to Al Jazeera where they were interviewing a senior member of Hamas. With deep reverence, he called it an “I have a dream” speech. Then a former Israeli government official waxed on about it. Today, I read an op-ed in the Al Ahram with the line, “..I wasn’t the only one in the audience with tears in my eyes.” It seems the only really negative reaction is coming from American conservatives, Israeli settlers and the Taliban. You can come to your own conclusions on that one.
The brilliance in the speech was how well it addressed its audience. The tenor, cadence and rhetoric were Arab. He used the word “Palestine”, which no other American president has done. Arabs notice these things. Obama is brilliant at hitting his audience beneath the cortex. He goes for the heart and lymbic system. Arabs, suckers for eloquence, emotion and grandiose praise, wilted like lettuce in the desert sun. Many have criticized the speech on a few strategic or policy issues, but the criticisms are transparently tepid. “But, he understands us and honors our culture,” is the subtext. Saeb Arakat, a Palestinian spokesperson who has frequently shows up on American news programs over the last decade, said “Since 1698 (then referenced some incident between the Ottomans and some European power) this is the first time a western leader has (then something about respecting the culture)” 1689. These guys keep track.
And, on the street it’s the same. My landlord, clutching his chest, said, “This man Obama has a great heart!” My doctor (whom I saw on Thur PM for a vaccination), having just returned from Cairo University where he watched the speech, was so excited he couldn’t contain himself. He rattled on from English to French, brandishing a needled syringe about with expressive but scary flare. “This man is a genius!” And, these two guys are Christians. You should hear the Muslims, may peace be upon them (like my Obama technique?)
My response has been strange. For the first time, I welcome taxi drivers asking me where I’m from (in the past I cringed and often replied “Canada”). AMERICA I say, knowing I’m going to get the same response: “OBAMA, meya meya (100%) good man”. Thank you, I utter humbly, taking credit for it all. Yes, it’s nice not to be ashamed.
Alexandra Bonds
Professor of Costume Design
Department of Theatre Arts
University of Oregon
In the mid 1990’s, I asked my parents if we could take a trip to Egypt. I had dreams of being an Egyptologist and an Archeologist and I was crazed with what could only be described as “Egyptomania.” I had hieroglyphic kits and my attic was packed with relics and treasures that I had used to build my ancient Egyptian clubhouse/palace where I dined with Rameses II (imagined as Yul Brynner from The Ten Commandments) on a regular basis. My mother and father looked at me sadly and said that Egypt wasn’t a safe place for Americans to visit. Judging by this letter and by the things my friend told me about his journey, we may be a little bit safer as public opinion regarding America and Americans is changing there. Perhaps we will be able to journey to the Middle East to learn more about Muslim culture and engage in a dialogue of learning rather than cave to fear of religious radicals.
I have included youtube videos of the President’s speach in Cairo for your consideration and enjoyment.
It has been a long time since I last felt patriotic. The sound of “Proud to be an American” makes my skin crawl and decidedly ashamed to be an American.
That feeling of my stomach turning is so far from the joy I got from marching in the Memorial Day Parade in Chicago as a child. I would innocently dress up my pink, purple, and white tricycle with red, white, and blue streamers. I remember my mom and dad twisting the small silver wires to make a white dove with real feathers bought from some arts and craft store roost beneath my seat. It was truly a glorious vehicle to behold.
We would march, ride, rollerblade, and walk through the city with drums rat-a-tat-tatting all the way the way to the park. They thundered so loudly in your heart and when you closed your mouth, you could feel the sonic vibrations in your teeth. Additionally, I remember these colorful packs of jelly candies that they gave out every year when we got to our final destination in the park. They did acrobatics and someone important gave a speech. That was always the boring bit as a child, but I was way too busy eating my jelly candy and giggling with my friends from the neighborhood to care much.
I also have fond memories of going to Connecticut in the summertime to celebrate 4th of July with my father’s side of the family. Our current patriarch, my dad’s oldest brother Jack, invited every member of our clan to his house for the weekend and we would set up a volley ball net and I would swing on the swing that hung from the massive branch of the giant oak tree out front. There was also a fish pond in the backyard and a big log that I would climb across and pretend that it was the gateway to another world. We would cook burgers and laugh and when the evening settled down, we would all watch a classic movie like Sunset Boulevard or Psycho. It was a time to feel the love of family and reunite and refresh. It almost felt like New Year’s Eve in the sense that I sort of measured my childhood years by the arrival of the 4th of July.
As I grew older, these small acts of patriotism faded. I grew out of my tricycle. The Connecticut house burned down. I began going to summer camp in North Carolina and I simply began to loath family dinner parties and the baggage of having that one evening to give people information and updates on my life by which they could measure my progress from the previous Thanksgiving or whenever we had spoken last. I enjoyed seeing people of course, but I always felt tremendous pressure. As an actress, I wanted to make my parents proud of what I was doing or I wanted to be seen as successful in an industry that is “hard” if not impossible.
My innocent idolatry of the red, white, and blue became like some distant memory.
The closest I came to patriotism was watching Independence Day when Bill Pullman gave the big speech before the epic battle with the Alien race that wants to take over Earth.
In that movie as a whole and especially during that speech, there is a collective sense of community and duty in the face of death. It connects American independence with the rest of the globe. I think I was attracted to it because as I was growing up, I really felt like America was an island. I was very blessed to be able to travel around the world to Italy, France, the United Kingdom, Ecuador, Turkey, and Greece. I was exposed to other views of America from outside of our borders. I remember that I was roaming the streets of Paris as a child and looking into the glass window of a Patisserie. The owner of the shop rushed out and ushered me away to my American parents who were just down the block finishing their French morning coffee and croissants. The shopowner was not happy to have some American child poking around his window and pushed me towards my father before stomping back up the street and into his store.
When I was doing a theater exchange with some students from England, they were very welcoming but wouldn’t stop pestering us about how in God’s green earth President George Bush had been re-elected. I had to remind them that none of us, who were in our junior and senior years of high school, were old enough to vote. However, nothing I said could assail them. They wanted to know how our country could have been so dumb.
As a liberally minded young American, I became increasingly upset at many of the topics brought into the spotlight during the Bush Administration. In my mind, so many of them were connected to religion. Many of the protests against gay marriage focused on the fact that the Bible “tells us” that marriage is specifically for a man and a woman. Whatever happened to the separation of church and state? Why should the Christian God dictate what our citizens of varying religions should do? So many Bible Thumpers were in arms over A Woman’s Right to choose. I agree that this is a sensative subject, but I just don’t think that anyone should be able to dictate what I can and can’t do with my body. The rate of teen pregnancy is increasing in our country and more and more and our young men and women are starting families before they are ready. On top of this, the administration wanted to stop stem cell research, research that could help to find a cure any number of diseases that our world faces. In a way, stem cell research gives new life to these “pre” humans by using them to advance our knowledge and understanding of the human body and the development of new medicines and treatments to help us thrive and save lives.
After 9/11, I was devastated just like everyone else. It was just such a horrible tragedy. I could try to quantify my emotions and the events that followed it, but that is not really the subject of this article. However I will say that somewhere inside of myself, there was a tug on the string of my patriotism. I think it would have blossomed if I hadn’t been overwhelmed by the mass marketing of everything blindly patriotic that poured from middle America. Perhaps I shouldn’t have looked down on it all, but honestly, as I said at the outset of this peice, the song “Proud to be An American” makes my stomach turn because it is so mind-numbingly broad. Words like freedom and liberty are so much a part of our collective conciousness that they begin to loose meaning with every use. I think we take them for granted as does that song. It employs almost every one and manages to fill up verses and choruses while actually not saying much of anything at all. America as a whole became so inarticulate after 9/11 that I became desensitized to the American flag. It was on bookbags, pins, T-shirts, miniflags, keychains- EVERYWHERE. The flag itself became a pop sensation. No wonder no one took us seriously. No one takes Britney Spears seriously.
Near the end of Sherman Edwards and Peter Stone’s musical, 1776, John Addams wonders on the eve of the signing of the Declaration of Independence if anyone sees America the way he does. I am including the lyrics here for anyone who has not seen the show. I am including the sequence here for your viewing pleasure.
I began to feel a bit like Addams in this number. “Is Anybody There? Does Anybody Care? Does Anyboy See What I See?” I saw the lifeblood of true America dying a little each day. I saw our liberties being questioned and taken from us one by one.
This year, everything changed for me. Barack Obama was elected our 44th President of the United States of America. As a Chicagoan, I knew he was the man for the job almost immediately after I heard he was running. I knew it would be a hard road, but for the first time in a long time, I hung on to a hope for this country. I invested in current events and our national progress. Instead of writing off this war as an egregious nightmare created by the Bush Administration, I saw a man capable of ending our part in the turmoil and I what’s more, I listened and I felt connected to those lost, and those still fighting.
I know that in recent articles I have been disparaging about the spirit I sometimes feel while living in New York City. However, I haven’t mentioned that the true strength of our community sometimes shines so brightly that I am left gaping in awe. I have felt it several times, but I will tell you that on Election Night 2008, New York City came alive. Cars zipped through Bushwick in Brooklyn with loudspeakers chanting Obama’s name. People smiled at each other in the East Village and waved American flags not because thats what they were obligated to do to support our country but because they were moved to raise our country’s iconic colors. In Time’s Square, the lights shown with hope and triumph, and not with amusement park neon.
In his iconic speech from Election night 2008, Barck Obama reminded me that we are not a collection of red and blue states, but that we are forevermore the United States. I realize that I am capable of prejudice, that in this post I have called middle America uncultured, and called recent national patriotism into question. I have pointed many fingers. I know have a lot to learn and I am not saying that I don’t believe it can come from being exposed to opinions from other parts of our great Nation. But today.
Today we stand United. Today, I am proud to be an American. Today somebody is there. Today is our Independence Day.
Before you Bible thumpers get too excited, let me preface this with the fact that this is not a religious blog, nor is it a religious moment in a religious post. In fact, this is the antichrist of blogs. Well, maybe that’s pushing it, but let me tell you something. The devil is real, ladies and gentlemen.
Now when I say devil, I’m not talking of a red guy with a pointy tail, or an animated Satan in love with Saddam Hussein. No, my comrades, I am speaking of our modern opportunities for addiction. Honestly. Every time I turn around I hear someone saying, “You know what I’m obsessed with now?” Even I must admit that I have a moderately addictive personality. Ok… I may have an EXTREMELY addictive personality.
These days, addiction can sneak up on you. It’s that Starbucks coffee you think you need before class or that last high score you need in Tetris before you get back to writing your final English Paper. It’s facebook and myspace. It’s Ben and Jerry’s Fossil Fuel Ice Cream (Can you really blame me?).
Granted, some addictions are more serious than others. There are the old classics; sex, drugs, and booze. They’re still around.
I happen to be obsessed with Star Wars. I always have been. I think it probably creaped out the rest of my freshman class in high school. Han Solo is a hottie. You know it. I know it. Actually, I think my additional obsession with musical theater didn’t help too much in the popularity department either.
For the last 2 and a half years I’ve played World of Warcraft. Now, if that isn’t an addiction, I don’t know what is. I have levelled away HOURS of my life on that game. I have three level 80’s and I raid with my guild three nights a week. Its like having a part time job that I don’t get paid for. Does this make me sexy? No. The only person WoW makes sexy is Felicia Day. No. World of Warcraft makes me quite decidedly UNSEXY, nay, quirky at best.
I’m amazed at how easy it is to get addicted to games on my phone. The Sims 3 is one of my most recent iPhone love affairs. I loved fishing and selling my wares at the market so I could build my magnificent Sim House and get my Sim married off to whichever loser Sim lived in the house next door. I loved making them have sweet sweaty Woohoo on my hard earned Bohemian bed. After I got bored of repairing refrigerators and filling the empty parts of my Sim Mansion with potted plants, we broke up. I rebounded with Archers, a free iPhone app where you use your finger to aim an arrow at an opponent at a distance which is operated by your phone or in my case, my father. The first one to kill the other player wins. Suffice to say, it got dull fast.
Today, I welcomed the Devil into my home again, and by “home” I mean iPhone (which in itself, is another addiction). I signed up for Twitter. I have 5 followers, all of which are probably selling something. Lets not fool ourselves. They are all selling stuff. I thought Twitter would be some horrible thing that lonely people use to stay connected. Then I realized: I’m just a lonely person who wants to stay connected, plus following Dane Cook provides me with brief comedic respites and frankly, what’s not to love about that?
It is actually kind of fun to read about what your favorite actor’s, writers, and singer’s are up to in an average day. It got me thinking. With all of these little addictions that take us away from being face to face with one another in any sort of recognizable form of social interaction, Twitter is this odd cry for help. People need to feel connected in an increasingly digital world. That’s what their little video on the website says. I mean, sure, there is such a thing as threat level STALKER, but its kind of fun to take stock of what I’m doing during the day or post that my boss is making me prune her cactus with my bare hands (NOT AN ODD SEXUAL REFERENCE, I SWEAR) or reassure renowned award winning novelist Neil Gaimon that its OK for him to want to buy a particularly nice table.
But when it comes down to it, why don’t I just go knock on my neighbor’s door and ask to borrow a cup of sugar and then invite him over for some tea? Is it time we rest our eyes from the glow of the computer monitor or iPhone? Everything that seems fun these days is a trap. Holy shit. We’re living in a booby trapped virtual playground.
That said, if you want to know what goes on inside my crazy head during the day, you can follow me on Twitter. @annrichmond
Or, if you are boycotting Tweets in general, stay tuned to this blog.
