Conformity Sucks: The Difference Between The Rebel and the Fonz

Rebel is such a vague word, and on a college campus there are several variations. There is the pothead hippy rebel, the bohemian intellectual rebel, and the wild and crazy punk. Some of you probably resent how I just simplified everyone who acts differently into three broad categories. I could have done that to invoke anger, or to make you think about the way you judge. But that would be a stinking lie. The fact is that these 9 second interactions are all we have, and everyone judges. It is human; a basic thought process known as generalization that allows our minds to multitask and excel in more advanced functions. However, generalizations can hold us back.

Avante garde stuff is interesting to me, as well as surreal movies, anything apocalypse related and less specifically, science fiction. I enjoy riding my skateboard. Not because its “cool,” but because it makes me happy. As Willie Nelson said in Half Baked, “Its not the thing to do, because it’s the thing to do…it’s the thing to do, because it gets ya high, ya dig?” Except that I don’t even drink, much less use marijuana, and while I like intricate and sometimes bizarre art, I’m really tired of the word “trippy.” I love metal, not because I want to let the world know how much it sucks – I just like the power and speed. The disjointed yet technical musicianship is like energy-drunk Bach in a torture chamber.

Sometimes people talk to me like they think I’m going to criticize them. Just because I have particular tastes does not mean I think mine are better than yours. Maybe I should work on my facial expressions, because I do not want to convey this message. I may joke around, but as long as I think you have good intentions, I’m incredibly accepting, laid back, and friendly. I don’t like being pidgeon holed as the hotheaded petty-rule-breaker, or the cold atheist or the bleeding liberal, and I don’t adhere to vague statements such as fuck the system. I think I’m opposite of what most people assume I am: even though I don’t have much of these qualities, I value patience, discipline, and humility.

Someone who likes loud music, and looks a certain way, or will get in your face is not a rebel. A rebel doesn’t have a self-glorifying smile that screams they are cooler than everyone else. Rebellion is an internal thought process, and a true rebel does not necessarily act rebelliously. I think that rebellious actions are more often the result of angsty teenagers and repressed adults who are angry at the world. They are trying to prove something, so they conform to society’s definition of what it is to be a rebel. A rebel is someone who goes against social norms, and that can be me sometimes, but that is not normally how I act because I don’t like drawing too much attention to myself and I don’t like making waves. I try to be mellow, and while I am trying to establish myself as an individual, I am experiencing some difficulties. I have a hard time being myself in large groups of people because they make me anxious, and I do care about what people say and think about me, and I’m horrified of being humiliated in public. Other than that, I’m just trying to be the death metal loving nerd I am without isolating others for not being the exact same. I try to keep my attitude in check, and hang out with honest and friendly people.

When people stereotype me, I understand where they are coming from, for assuming that I hate their music or their beliefs, but I have found through experience that most judgmental people just don't understand you and/or they are projecting qualities of themselves. They are either insecure about their beliefs and interests or they really dislike my beliefs and interests, and so they treat me the way they're afraid of being treated. Or more often, they have the same Bob Marley tshirt I do and they smoke pot, so they think I do as well. When you make general statements about how metal takes no talent, or that so and so doesn’t look like a skateboarder, it just shows to me how uncultured and naïve you are.

Ye Olde Trailer Park by Candlelight Tour

As I stepped over the huge boxes and half-assembled displays this past week in one of the local retail giants, I grumbled that the holiday season is upon us. No, I am not Scrooge when it comes to the festive time of year. I just can’t believe that it is not even Halloween and already the stores are covered in plastic snow and red felt. I was still mulling over Christmas-in-September commercialism when I noticed an information flyer for an annual event in our area. It gave me an idea and set me on a mission.

Our city has a great annual holiday fundraiser. The "Olde Wilmington by Candlelight Tour" is an event where the homeowners in the downtown district decorate their homes in beautiful Christmas style. Pricey tickets are sold to the "common folk" which provide access to these stately manors to see all the things that anyone with less than a six figure income could never afford. One owner interviewed said his wife spent hundreds of hours and thousands of dollars decorating for this "worthy" event. The money raised is then donated to some needy charity. In truth it probably goes to building a park in the historic district for the rich and wealthy doggies to relieve themselves.

This flyer got me thinking, why don't they ever do something like this in the real neighborhoods in town? I know plenty of the middle class that put on a beautiful spread for the holidays. In fact, as I was thinking, I came across the perfect idea for this Christmas. Someone should organize the "Ye Olde Trailer Park by Candlelight Tour." Think about it, the idea has real potential! It could be a combined effort; open to both single and doublewides! No use getting snobby and excluding anyone on width size.

It would be a real boom for the economically challenged community. The holiday cheer would be abundant. I am not sure there are enough gaudy lighted plastic yard Santas in Wal-Mart to cover this project. This venture would give home to any number of lighted sleighs, elves, candy canes and stockings. Multi-colored blinking Christmas lights are suited for this task as they would wrap nicely around the cinderblocks that hold up the singlewides. They could be put to equally good use on the redwood decks of the doublewides. The blow up pools that still standing from summer should have the perfect amount of green slime water to freeze and make for a nice "neighborhood ice skating scene" complemented nicely with some guy ice fishing with his trusty six pack of Bud Light next to him. Every window (that isn't covered with cardboard) can have one of those plastic electric candles in them. (*Note: remind people to make sure they aren't too close to the synthetic curtains, they get fairly hot, don't want anyone's trailer going up in flames due to this fundraiser). Of course, every yard would have to have one of those blue metal imitation Christmas trees. I always get a chuckle out of the boxes they are packed in. They say "imitation" tree on them No! I thought there was a metal forest out there facing extinction, what a relief to not have to worry about that!

Of course, the important thing would be the money raised and putting it to good use. Each year a different individual or family would be selected to receive the funds raised. It would go to help with a need they have. Bubba down the street could use his money to finally buy tires for the old Ford that has been up on blocks for the last three years (nicely decorated this Christmas in keeping with the tour, in coordinating colored lights). Erma Jane could use it to finish the addition that has been half built and covered with plastic since the tornado come through five years ago (everyone knows she spent the FEMA money on Tupperware but no one faults her for that, considering all she lost). Dudley and MaryElizabeth could finally buy the kids a stroller instead of hauling all six of them around in a grocery cart they stole from the Piggly Wiggly a couple years ago.

I took the flyer down and tucked in my purse. Forget the "Olde Historic District Tour,” I am off to work on this project, I am sure it will be much more fulfilling. I will have to work on some of the details though. Most of the Christmas decorations usually don’t get taken down in the trailer park until Easter – perhaps I should figure a way to just make it a year-long project. Anyone interested in a ticket?

Miss Marlow and Milo

Word count: zero. Now five. Six. The blank page. I prefer the full page. But only after I fill it – my way. If I can imagine the specifics, if I can see the page in my head and the story pieced together perfectly like some bestselling Grisham or Sparks I don’t find much use in transcribing it. Because that’s all it would be – a transcription, a copy, a clone of something that already exists in my mind. I would be old Miss Marlow, the bee-hived court reporter from Gray County, Texas, sitting in her cushioned chair, just taking it all in and typing it out: a morning of opening statements and witnesses, then lunch eating powdered donuts in the smoky break room on the stained beige phone with the twisted cord, talking with her miserable daughter who hates the bureaucracy of Medicare but doesn’t know the word bureaucracy, babies crying in the distance. Back from lunch, more witnesses, then cross examination – day after day, all the dried up and crackling legal proceedings taken down, unedited, faithfully, word for word for word, blah, blah, blah.

The unexplored strings of words and phrases are worth waiting for. They brush off bold and italics. They impassion. They shimmy down my arm in a picket line, demanding their chance on the page. Maybe together they’ll form something new, something that would have been long since aborted in my mind – like the retrospection of Joseph Guillotin, decapitating words like these with the official blade of the French revolution.

The predetermined ending will sprain a story’s soul. I don’t want to be little Milo in the hedge maze, working his way towards the center. He moves from one passage to the next. There is a right way and a wrong way, but he doesn’t know it. He thinks he is free to choose, with his pockets full of little green army men, but the design is set. The shrubbery is stubborn and thick. There is only one way. He wanders in circle after circle, meeting each dead end with increasing frustration, swinging at the shrubs with fury. Little Milo begins to hate the maze. He no longer cares about reaching the center. He throws himself on the ground, pounding his fists in the dirt, his inner animal growling, tears streaking mud down his cheeks. I don’t want to be little Milo in the hedge maze, working my way toward the center, the ending, the reward. I’d rather burn it all down. I’d rather the center of the maze boil blue with heat. I’d shovel away all the ashes and cover the ground with mounds of salt – nothing will ever grow again. No center, no maze, no story, no ending.

Marriage 2.0

I'm sitting here looking at the tossed around remnants of a tuxedo. Last night I was standing at the front of a church watching my best friend get married. For the past two weeks I have watched the pressure and drama build up as we tried to get everything set up. As I have watched all of this true reality build around me, I have learned a lot of things. I have learned from this experience that I don't want to put that much pressure on myself, or any other person for that matter. I watched my best friend cry Friday afternoon because they couldn't find enough chairs to put out at the reception. It's a definite social commentary when you have to put that much effort into something that is so simple.

When you think about the 'exactness' of what a wedding is, and how beautiful the act of getting married is, we almost make the act of getting married quite jaded. I think that we as a society have taken the ceremony away from what it actually means. Marriage (if you believe in the Judeo-Christian God and the book in which he is described in) is the oldest institution in our history. God joined Adam and Eve after their creation. It is described as a holy and pure thing that we have tainted by making it into something that it isn't.

Marriage has delved away from the Godly institution that it originally was, and has gone nose deep into the hierarchical realm of "showing off." We look at it as a status symbol. A woman looks down at her left ring finger only to find that her diamond did not cost as much as her best friend's thus causing frustration in a happy relationship. I know that this does not happen all of the time, but I'm sure that it happens every now and then. Women watch videos of other people's weddings to find out what aspects that they loved, and what aspects that they want to improve on.

Nick's new wife had to have a violinist play at her wedding because she heard someone talk about it and knew how fantastic everyone would think it was. I know that most little girls sit around dreaming about their wedding days and when it comes to fruition they cannot stand something going a little bit wrong. But I just think that we as a society are putting too much pressure upon ourselves to do something that is a simple yet beautiful act of love between two people.

I know that I couldn't imagine having a wedding at a justice of the peace's office even though I would be just as married as anyone else. When you think of a marriage in this day and age, you think of the giant ceremony. You don't think of a quiet ceremony where everything comes together perfectly because we put too much pressure on what really is an American tradition of showing off.

How Hollywood can do Penance

American cinema has become victim of its own power. It has not yet learned to exercise power over itself especially in self discipline. Hollywood has stopped taking risks and is now at a point where it is slowly dying. The market has been oversaturated with films reliant on adaptations from television shows, comic books and other films from decades before. The problem is having too much investment in the bottom line which is money.

I am here to give Hollywood some suggestions to do penance and save itself from downfall. First the budgets are too large for films. There is really no justification for a film to cost $100 million when you don’t see it on screen. Instead of making films that average $80-100 million in budget they should cap the cost at $20 million a film. In this strategy they can make more artistic risks giving the director more control of his vision. Just in case the film flops it won’t tank a studio like the film Heaven’s Gate did.

Films should be longer as well. Why make a film that is 90-120 minutes when you only scratch the surface of a subject that needs more depth? A good range for a film would be three to six hours. This includes back-story, character development and watching those characters adapt to their environment, and more inward probing of the character’s soul and their place in the world. If you watch the films Heat, La Dolce Vita, and The Thin Red Line they all accomplish this and they all have remarkable cinematography. The cinematography advances the narrative because it is a character in itself.

Another thing about Hollywood with the exception to independent film is its aversion to more sexual energy on screen. When you watch a movie by Wong Kar-Wai such as In the Mood for Love there is more sexual intimacy going on between the glances of his two leads than what a 30 second shot of foreplay on screen can do in other films. The reason is because it is not rushed and not perverse. In the Mood for Love captures this intimacy between the characters with the slow motion shots, down tempo music and longing both characters have for one another. It is believable.

There should be no more World War II films or political films dealing with the Iraq War. When over 60% of people oppose the Iraq War, an anti-war film isn’t that controversial, brave or relevant. Everyone dislikes something about it and it doesn’t hit hard like it did three years ago. World War II films have been overplayed as well. Hollywood pretends to honor veterans with a slew of World War II films but instead they are actually making an action film with Germany in the background. They should instead have more war films about World War I or the American Revolutionary War. We either need more real wars or fewer films about war. Pick one.

Lastly salaries should be capped. No actor should be making $20 million a movie. A film itself should have a budget of $20 million. There should also be more location shooting and less shooting inside a studio which produces a stale, cold and artificial look. Computer Generated Imagery must be reduced to the point of it not being used or only used to create an impossible shot. Special effects used to special when they weren’t used every five minutes. Whole films have been shot in front of green screen and backgrounds have been generated off of a laptop. It is distracting and takes away from the realism of a film. I don’t go see films to escape; I go to probe deeper in the world.

Mr. Cuervo, I Presume?

I met my newest friend at the beginning of the summer. I had seen him around at the bars before, but always declined an introduction. His name was Jose' and upon our first meeting, I felt an instant connection that has grown into a beautiful relationship that has picked me up, let me down, and filled my heart and head with songs that only I know the words to.

It all started on a balmy June evening. It was my half-way graduation party and the crew was headed to my favorite rodeo bar to wrangle some cowboys and tackle the bull. That night, I nervously accepted the introduction to Jose'. His soothing warmness filled me with happiness and love, and he convinced me to get on that bar and shake it. That night, we really connected. Between the bull rides and the line dancing, Jose' and I met four or five more times, and each time I fell more and more in love with him.

Jose' and I continued our relationship well past that first introduction. He often brought his friends to the party to make things easier on those rough nights. We called them our "training wheels", and they really supported our relationship and helped us make the most of the strong bond that was forming. Our weekend nights became regular date nights and when my friends and I got together we all knew that the party didn't start until Jose' got there. He was a regular fixture at my house, sitting on my kitchen table as we laughed and told stories of our past adventures with him.

Throughout the summer, we hung out on a weekly basis, and I really got to know Jose' on a very personal level. We always had such a fun, unpredictable time together. I could always count on a laugh when he was with me. One of my fondest memories this summer was the time he convinced me to take a leisurely swim in the fountain on 5th Street, cowboy boots and all.

While Jose' was always up for a good time, he also taught me a lot about myself. I learned my strengths and mostly weaknesses as a karaoke singer. I learned that I can do a mean Elaine dance from Seinfeld. I learned that cracks in the sidewalk frequently come out of nowhere. And most importantly, I learned when to throw in the towel. He saw me at my strongest and also my most vulnerable. But, like any relationship, we've had our ups and downs. Our last time hanging out left me with a bitter taste in my mouth and a sprained hand and ankle. It was a rough night and Jose' filled me up with artificial strength, and in the end, he really let me down. Most often, when he disagreed with me, I found it hard to look at him the next day. But, our love has been strong, and we've always manage to make amends before the week is over.

Now, with school and work taking up the majority of my time, Jose' and I do not meet as much as we'd like. I miss him those lonely nights and whisper empty promises of the weekend to come. With my busy schedule these days, I hope Jose' and I will tough it out and remain lifelong friends and continue our steady relationship full of warmth and love.

Learning from Mistakes

I believe in learning from mistakes. Everyone makes mistakes. It’s how you respond and change that really matters.

There is no doubt in my mind that karma exists. I can’t explain how I know; it’s really just a gut feeling. I know it exists because it kicked my ass. I used to brag about my abilities as a drunk driver. I would claim that it was not as big a deal as everyone made it out to be. You just had to know your limits. Then karma showed me just how big it was.

At my friend’s high school graduation party (she’s a year younger than I am) I got blackout drunk. I was making an ass out of myself as usual. The crowd cheered me on as I shotgunned beers. I hopped on the karaoke mic and made a speech. People loved the show. When her mom saw the spectacle she made me give her my keys. I told her that I didn’t drive to the party and that I was getting a ride home with someone else.

An hour later I told everyone I was leaving. I stood up and everyone tried to talk me out of it. I said I was fine and that I could drive. When they still wouldn’t let me drive I bolted out of the basement and ran to my car. With everyone chasing after me I hopped in the driver’s seat and started the car. Before my friends could reach the car it sped off into the night.

I never made it home that night. My memory of the drive is hazy but, I do remember a few details. I remember taking my cell phone out of my pocket. I remember looking for a cd. I remember cutting the wheel hard and I remember being upside down at one point. The seatbelt caught the weight of my body as gravity pulled me down. The windshield cracked and the crack spread in all directions. The scar on my neck just recently healed.

The next thing I remember is waking up the following afternoon. Except for a few bruises, I was fine. My car wasn’t. My friends filled me in on the missing details. Before I got out of the neighborhood I flipped my car. The hill I rolled down was steep. The roll must have taken a good amount of time. My friends found me passed out behind the wheel. When they got me out I was speaking gibberish and stumbling. I tried to walk up the hill but fell flat on my face. My friends were so disgusted with me that they let me lay there for a while. When they finally picked me up I had grass stuck to my face. I looked pathetic.

I made a mistake. I admit it. I paid for it. I lost a car, my parents’ trust, and the rest of my summer, but a gained a valuable lesson. Since that night I haven’t driven drunk once. I wish I never had to begin with. I’m just thankful that my irresponsibility didn’t cost someone else their life.

Unexpected Knowledge

I believe in picking yourself back up again. I grew up being shy and feeling out of place. I always only had one or two friends at a time and didn’t like change. I can remember trying to make new friends in high school or the beginning of college and never got anything out of it. People wouldn’t try to get together or call just to chat. This past year, I studied abroad in London, England. It was different, exiting, and new. I knew that I had to do something different or I’d never change from the person I was. I wanted to be someone better, someone that could walk up to strangers, introduce myself and make friends for life. It took me a lot longer during my year abroad to step outside my bubble than most people. I was placed in on-campus housing with only international students. There wasn’t a lounge, a cafeteria, or places to hangout on campus, so I felt cut off from people around me.

I made friends with a small group of international students, but my goal was to befriend English students. No matter how hard I tried, it just didn’t seem to happen. The only social interaction around was the nightlife and I wasn’t good at branching outside my group. One night in late November when I had recently come to terms that I might not come back to England after my Christmas break, I met an English boy. For once, I exchanged numbers and he kept in touch. He ended up being my boyfriend we’re still together.

Though him, I was able to open up to other people in a different country, which made making friends back home much more easy. Within days, I had met four of his friends. By the end of the next week, I had made over 15 new friends. Just by meeting them, I earned the privilege of being invited to events on the weekend and lunches after class. I couldn’t believe that it was so simple, all I had to do was introduce myself and people paid attention. Meeting a friend of a friend wasn’t something that became a forgotten trend; it was something more personal than that. I started to understand the English culture more and through that, used my new knowledge to gain relationships that will last a lifetime. The most important aspect that has developed from my experience is being back home after my yearlong absence.

I thought it would be very hard to get back with friends I hadn’t spoken to but once a month, make new friends, and get involved with my community again. But because I developed a new belief, it had helped me in ways I could not ever see myself doing. I’ve never made an effort to befriend neighbors, talks to people at bars, or be more open minded. Now I know many of my neighbors since I’ve returned from England, which I never thought I would be able to do. I ask people around me when going out to play pool with me when I don’t know them. By opening up to people and letting them feel at ease, it’s become so easy just laugh and have fun. This is what is necessary to keep good company that lasts. It just comes to me so easily now. Being in a country where I didn’t know anyone was the wakeup call I needed to get myself out of my shell and out into the world.

Good, Bad, but never Indifferent

From the moment we open our eyes every morning we start making choices. Most of these choices are quite simple. What will I have for breakfast? What will I wear today? The choices we make are often second nature, habit even. Decisions are life's steering wheel. With every decision we make we customize our life's path, much like those choose your own adventure books I loved so much in grade school. Fortunately we really can choose our own adventure, our fate isn’t predetermined. Not in the United States anyway.

With such power over our lives why should we ever feel indifferent? That question may sound trivial when applied to life’s more simple dilemmas but the same logic applies across the board. I believe in believing in something; having an opinion, a preference, a passion for choice A or B. For me, deciding what to eat everyday is a passionate decision. So is what kind of gas I put in my car, what kind of toothpaste I use, where I buy my groceries, what kind of sheets I put on my bed, who I want to call my president. Perhaps I take it too far at times and over thinking everything can lead to indecision. But I truly believe in believing in something, insignificant or critical.

Somewhere along the way indifference has become commonplace and even fashionable, especially in my generation. "I don’t care" is thrown around more than ever. After all, it's cool not to care. I believe that we all really do care. Believing in something is revealing, but exposing yourself to ridicule comes with the territory. Its all worth it no doubt. Crash Davis knew what he believed. "The soul. The small of a woman's back. The hanging curveball. High fiber. Good scotch. That the novels of Susan Sontag are self-indulgent, overrated crap. Opening your presents Christmas morning rather than Christmas eve..." Me? I believe in the full windsor, the 65 Mustang, tube amps, the 30-minute sitcom, the golden rule. I believe in brevity, dark socks, natural selection, the 89' orioles, the traditional Irish wake, minimalism, Picassos bull, two buck chuck, the beauty of slow motion, transcendental meditation, Hemingway’s 5 rules, the Wizard of Oz, Andy Kaufman, and most shades of blue. I believe in everything I do. These choices wont necessarily change the world but they can certainly change yours.

What a gift it is to be able to believe in something, anything. Its fitting that that very gift was given by those whom so strongly believed in something. I plan to exploit my power to choose to the fullest. At least then I can say that my life is what I made it, I held the steering wheel.