On Being Thankful for Dungeons at Halloween

When I was a younger person, I had more time for inane conversations about favorite movies, great restaurants, and other personal preferences. I'd stay up on the phone, talking to a girl whose interest in me was already fading, trying to convince her that I was unassailably cool because I was a night owl. In my estimation at the time, that kind of preference was what could accurately predict personal compatibility.

To be sure, those likes and dislikes can tip the scales when one's mind is torn. They're not nearly so important as I once thought, though. I say all this because my daughters are both in that age range now. Technology has provided me with previously unimagined insight into their conversations, as their texts, tweets, and messages bounce around the cloud at home. Checking those communiques are part of my parenting regimen.

Just like when I was young, their conversations are sodden with feelings they're ill-equipped to articulate. Instead of being able to express genuine interest in another person, a complicated dance routine emerges in which superficial flirting or silly non sequiturs become required steps in an elaborate pairing ritual. Wearing the right clothes and knowing the right lingo isn't enough. One has to be fluent in an array of discourses to navigate the shallow, muddy waters of teenage relationships.

In that same effort, I had developed a series of monologues that staked the limits of my particular personality. One of my favorites was a conversation about one's favorite time of day. Like anything created by a human, the monologue was graceless and awkward in its early stages. Periodic refinement and adjustment led to sentences that were loaded with more pathos and innuendo. You probably think I'm crazy, but you're probably guilty of the same thing.

At the core of that shameless performance was a bit of truth. I do have a favorite time of day: It's night. When I was little, I'd lie in bed for hours, staring out my bedroom window at the street light on the corner of Waverly and State. I loved the soft glow of the light and the way that it streamed in through my curtains. I loved lying in bed and listening to the radio, drowning my brain in terrible late 80's pop music until I drifted off. The older I was, the more baroque my thoughts became.

I dreamt up scenarios where I'd win some poor girl's heart or where I'd outsmart some meathead bent on humiliating me. I concocted lushly detailed scenarios in which I was the protagonist in a gritty action film and only my determination and incorruptible sense of ethics would win the day. The more the years passed, the more visceral and vivid these moments became. Somewhere along the way, women and a misguided attempt at fiction writing became involved. Still later, low paying jobs at odd hours of the night forced me to enjoy the still, calm hours to an even greater degree.

Each night's ending has its own unyielding weight, forever flattening out the carelessly unfolded day. The effervescent, insistent demands of our electrical souls soften, resolving themselves to wait for a more opportune moment upon which to seize our attention. Even when awake and ostensibly working, the absence of the garish sun gives liberty to relax one's anxieties.

Light scattered faintly, around corners and through windows, illuminates only because no other lights outshine its subtle, momentary addition. Street lights are a wonderful example of this. In the daytime, they're virtually useless and unhelpful. Yet the sparing amber light guards against the veil of nothingness that makes nighttime mysterious and even terrifying. There's a certain reassuring safety in that cone of light, even if it cannot hold back the dark veil that has descended over everything else.

The moon is an even better example. It glides through the heavens, unnoticed in the day, while casting silver dust in concert with the veil of night. It's light causes what was once dark and uncertain to once again have a detectable form and shape. At the low-paying, overnight job, I spent hours sitting on a massive roof, in the open air, watching the moon slowly sail across the sky. On nights with a full moon, the sight was nothing short of hypnotic. An hour would pass between calls for my presence and in that hour, I'd intimately study the moon's face and be spellbound in awe of its ancient magnificence.

At this time of year, when the night air has a pleasant chill, the gloom of Halloween turns every unattributed footstep into a prelude to a grisly murder. Yet, it is the same night as what appears after sunset in April and its sweet embrace promises the death of one moment in exchange for the birth of another. It is a deal I'm compelled to make by the most irresistible natural forces. More than anything else, the best part of the night is the chance for our minds to discard the burdens of the day.

Of course, not all thoughts should be laid down and forgotten. Important engagements, tender instances of affection, and the collected grains of wisdom that might fall into our laps all need to be stored and retained. Those are the moments that collectively become a life and those are the thoughts that populate the undetectable space in our minds we call a consciousness.

I'm also thankful for the moments that wash away from my present awareness. Human brains absorb an impressive amount of information in a single day. Much of it is petty, instinctual, or ephemeral. If our minds couldn't lay some of it down, we'd careen into insanity in no time at all. I'm given to metaphorical flights of fancy and I'm tempted to think of these thoughts as footprints in the sand as a wave is rolling in, but I know those thoughts don't always disappear.

Deep in the recesses of our consciousness, there is a place to keep these thoughts. Though it isn't something we actively consider, our minds have a deep basement into which these thoughts and experiences are herded. An oubliette awaits, with a secret door and no means of escape, silently receiving the white noise of our already cacophonous days. It's a dungeon of sorts and a place of forgetting or letting go to never see again. It's morbid, dark, and absolutely effective.

I still have a series of personal preferences that differentiate me from all other people, but I no longer trot them out as evidence of my inherent value as a person. My daughters are forming their own monologues, which will be refined and improved until they're finally seen as inferior to the actual business of knowing someone. I still love the night and I'm still thankful for the ability to forget. I know one day I'll wish that wasn't the case. For now, it's a welcome reprieve.

Have a happy Halloween out there! Don't eat unwrapped candy and make time, at the end of the night, to appreciate your mind. Marvel at the fact that it ushers your consciousness into the next day by allowing it to forget, to move forward, and to prepare for another day of collecting thoughts and discarding them once again.

Requiem for a Friend

Each of us inhabit our own small world and all of our worlds are constantly overlapping. It's as much a miracle of metaphysics to walk amongst each other's worlds as it is to lose oneself, at the exclusion of all others, in the solipsistic solitude of one's horizons. I've written about how individuals interact with others more than once and I'm equally guilty of navel gazing reflections doubling as posts. This week's post lies somewhere in between, overlapping common experiences while undoubtedly floating on a stream of contemplation.

It's been a long week, overloaded with pressing responsibilities and unnecessary burdens. I'm glad it's over. Everyone has these sorts of weeks, where a person is always just a step behind or a few paces off the beaten trail. It's comforting, in a way, to know that this week's feelings of sturm und drang aren't unique to me. Someone else will undeservedly inherit the burden that I hope I've successfully cast off.

When in this sort of funk, some people reassure themselves with joyful thoughts of a better tomorrow. Others share saccharine-sweet pictures of otters, koalas, pugs, or other adorable critters. Some settle into the sofa and watch comedies to lighten the mood. In any case, it's the sense of well-being that follows such activities that allows a person to feel better.

At other times, wallowing in the funk isn't as bad as it sounds. When a fog of melancholy descends, erasing perspective and social instinct, lingering in the haze can be beautiful. Aimlessly driving at night, which used to be a favorite activity of mine, became less of a means of transporting myself from point A to B and more of a means of transporting myself from one confused state of mind to another, less worried one.

Being lost in melancholy can, of course, be very destructive. Anyone who has lingered too long can attest to its proclivity to act as a quagmire. Anyone who has lingered there can also tell you that at certain times, one's mind needs to be as lost in heaviness as it can be in the lightness of being alive.

There's no music I know that sounds better in one of these heavy hazes than the music of Elliott Smith. If you're already a fan, you know that his music isn't just good for sadbastard moments, but it does take on an entirely different tone when one's soul is leaden. Other music is too hopeful to allow one to pause and reflect, while some music is too depressing to bear for any appreciable amount of time. More importantly, the intimate, highly personal lyrics and the ethereal nature of his voice lend themselves well to being still and silent in the face of one's own storm.

Today also happens to be the ten year anniversary of his death. I'm not interested in debating the particulars of his passing, as it was a sad event punctuating the struggle-filled life of a person I didn't truly know. What I am interested in thinking about is how, a decade after his death, I'm still so deeply moved by his music. If you haven't listened to any of the links above, click play below and see why I'm making such a fuss about him.

I'm certain that only my closest friends care about why certain musicians or songs resonate so deeply for me and explaining that isn't even the point. Being lost in my own melancholy-fogged world is inscrutable to any other soul, as it should be. But I do have more than a few friends whose appreciation of Elliott Smith converges with mine, often for the same reasons.

You see, it doesn't matter how deeply lost in our own funk we think we might be. Our worlds are always overlapping. It isn't just that by reading this, part of me has spilled over into you. It's that by hearing these songs that have been enjoyed by a million other people before, we realize that we're constantly being filled with the same substances as every other person. The mixtures and blends might vary wildly, but the same streams that poured themselves into you also poured into me and everyone else that you know.

Though the particulars of our own storms and stresses might have never emerged before, there is nothing new under the sun. There is nothing you're burdened by that hasn't been borne by another before you. I say that, not to flatten out the distinctiveness of our experiences, but to put them in concert with one another. Around us, every day, a symphony of diverse emotional states harmonizes into the grand, tragic song of humanity. We do our best to ignore its persistent presence in the air. We feel driven to inflate the importance of our own struggles, above all others, to drown out the sounds of difference drifting through.

Yet, there it is. The songs of a chronically depressed singer/songwriter echo in the ears of a million listeners a decade after his death, reminding us all that we're highly distinct beings, paradoxically constituted by the same fountain of shared experiences. If, during this week, you see the person who has been forced to undeservedly shoulder a heaviness like that which I cast off, lend a hand. Their troubles might not look quite the same as yours, but they're made of the same substances and they'll weigh on your shoulders in due time. Perhaps the same friend you help today will be the friend to put a shoulder under another's burden next week. In time, a shoulder will appear alongside yours, to help bear what burdens you must.

And if you like what you heard above, I promise you won't be disappointed by searching for more of his music.

It's Time to Say Bon Voyage to Columbus Day

In the year 2013, the United States of America will celebrate ten federal holidays. Most of these holidays commemorate an important value or idea, such as paying respect to veterans and fallen soldiers, our nation's independence, or the contributions laborers have made in building our society. You can read my thoughts on Labor Day here. I'm not intentionally trying to establish a series of blog posts motivated by a holiday induced reflection, but an internet meme encountered earlier this week gave me pause to think about the holiday we observe today.

The Oatmeal is a humor site that has given the hoi polloi such memorable articles like How to Use a Semicolon , My Dog, the Paradox, and my personal favorite, 10 Words You Need to Stop Misspelling. Earlier this week, the individuals behind those posts also shared a comical tirade against Christopher Columbus. Feel free to read it if you like, but anyone with more than a passing interest in history probably knows most of what the post contains.

Columbus is presented as a bumbling, greed-fueled, genocidal madman. There's some historical basis for such a claim and the post's point about rejecting Columbus's achievement is insightful, if not a bit too tongue-in-cheek for such a heavy topic. Ultimately, the idea is offered that we shouldn't celebrate Columbus Day if it's to honor the dead mariner.

Growing up, the need for such a holiday was tied to the presentation of Columbus as a courageous hero of human exploration. Even if it's true that intelligent people thought the world was round or that Columbus wasn't the first European to land in the Americas, the boldness of such a gambit evokes thoughts of humanity's propensity to abandon fear in search of answers from the unknown.

Every semester when teaching a certain essay unit, I ask students to describe what exploration means. Some point to Mars and our efforts there as a reasonable definition, while others point to psychonauts exploring the innerspace of human consciousness, where they arrive at new truths and thus see the world anew. Exploration motivates people to seek out new medicine to fight diseases, while also motivating others to break social barriers and unjust laws. Columbus Day could celebrate all of those human characteristics, but it seems like a stretch to say that.

Like it does most things, new knowledge disabused me of lionizing Columbus. Even if we give Columbus credit for the brave journey, there's simply far too much evidence that his ethics were questionable, at best. Even if we somehow discount the evidence against him as the jealousy of rivals, Columbus's arrival heralded a new era of conquest, exploitation, greed, and genocide. European kingdoms became bloated transoceanic empires by gorging themselves on gold, raw materials, and the labor of slaves cruelly ripped from West Africa and the Americas. Columbus's arrival opened the door to a global imbalance of power that still threatens the future of humanity.

Simply put, the effects of Columbus's discovery are too tragic and destructive to warrant celebration. Now, the folks over at The Oatmeal proposed using a contemporary of Columbus as the new central figure of the holiday. While Las Casas is a better figure to promote, I wonder why we need to even elevate a benevolent, White European at all in this context.

The discovery and subjugation of the New World is a chapter in Western Civilization that is an excellent lesson in our industry and cruelty. Neither can be separated from the other and though I'm a fortunate inheritor of certain advantages derived from the settlement of the New World, any holiday that ignores the death and suffering of millions, just to honor their conquerors, seems unworthy of remembrance.

If the holiday is meant to celebrate humanity's burning desire to explore, then why attach it to any one specific individual? Why not attach it to an achievement that hasn't yet been sullied by genocide or cultural extermination? I've wondered this for quite some time and the solution I've come up with, at least for Americans, is extraordinarily obvious.

We should celebrate Lunar Landing Day instead of Columbus Day.

 There's still a few kinks to work out with the memory rhyme.

If Congress ever returns to work, it seems simple enough to promote a bill than swaps one federal holiday for another. Every year in the United States, on July 21st, we could celebrate humanity's first steps onto another celestial body. It possesses all the same characteristics as Columbus's voyage, but to an even greater degree.

The holiday could be used as a celebration of STEM-based subject matter or humanity's ever-widening body of knowledge of the physical universe. Beyond that, it's one American achievement not explicitly tainted by war, suffering, or assassination. It's an achievement that no other nation can claim, so why not celebrate something positive our technology has accomplished?

Even more, Lunar Landing Day celebrates the limitless potential of humanity. Our competitiveness might have driven the moonshot, but the holiday's focus would be on how we can motivate each other to achieve greater things, to believe in a greater future, and to ponder what only a select few humans have been able to behold: that our world is bound together as a whole, not as an assemblage of distinct parts.

 One family photo that wasn't ruined by your obnoxious, blond little brother.

Our fate, as a species, is tied to our understanding of our rarity and diversity. There aren't any other known intelligent civilizations to compare ourselves against. There's only us and we only have this small, water-covered planet to share amongst ourselves.

Petty differences and politically-motivated military conflicts tell a large part of humanity's story to this point, but we're also a species that strives towards greater ideas. We're incredibly slow at enacting such ideas, but our vision of a better, more harmonious world is only limited by the pessimism of those clinging to the power structures of the past. Our imagination and capacity to courageously explore know no boundaries.

Columbus Day is burdened by the effects of the conquest of the New World. It's a holiday whose time has passed and whose namesake is increasingly unworthy of lionization. It's also a holiday that overlooks the suffering of millions to honor the achievements of the few. It's time to celebrate a new holiday.

Lunar Landing Day isn't specifically designed to celebrate Neil Armstrong, NASA, or the American empire. It's designed to celebrate the bravery of human exploration, the courage of seeking knowledge from the unknown, and the grand possibilities that our shared future contains. It's a time to ponder what we're doing to make our world better, more unified, and more aware of our shared destiny.


So today, when someone sarcastically wishes you a happy Columbus Day or lays claim to your coffee in the spirit of Columbus Day, laugh off their bad sense of humor and tell them it's time to stick Columbus Day's flag right up their... Better yet, just tell them that it's time to swap in a new federal holiday.

Maybe next year, on July 21st, we'll be able to look up at the moon on a sultry July evening and see a reminder of humanity's potential, shining down on us and inspiring greatness. Maybe we'll have a few beers and try to fire a bottle rocket at it. Either way, it sounds a hell of a lot better than feigning interest in an unworthy, depressing holiday in the middle of October.

Admitting You Have a Problem Is the First Step

They say it takes all sorts to make a world and surely the vast gamut of human personalities testifies to this. In any given day, you're likely to encounter a dizzying array of different people. Whether its the shy, introverted bookworm in the office next door, the high-spirited pixie who never seems to miss a beat, or the lumbering, moody, malcontented neckbeard in front of you in line, the parade of personalities keeps life varied and interesting. Over time, we come to appreciate the strange mosaic of odd people surrounding us at all times because of the infinite diversity they represent.

With infinite diversity also comes the potential for encounters with personality types that are a bit harder to handle than others. This article, in a semi-serious way, highlights a study that partially explains why certain test subjects expressed dislike for environmentalists and feminists. To be fair, I think the takeaway from that article isn't that environmentalists and feminists are unlikable. The article's primary claim is that people shy away from the politically passionate, regardless of their particular stripe or creed. Most people are simply uncomfortable with aggressive activists for change because of our herd mentality.

There's one personality type we run into far too often that can ruin our day faster than a smug environmentalist or send us off in a huff of offended recognition of misogyny quicker than a feminist: The asshole.

We all know this type of person, but what specifically defines an asshole? Is it the self-assured arrogant opining that marks this nuisance? Is it the crude, often nasty sense of humor rooted in deep self-loathing? Are assholes just myopically-focused on a goal and could care less about who they have to step on to reach that goal? To find out, let's put on our junior investigator fedora and go to Google.

Urban Dictionary defines the term as "your current boss", "someone being arrogant, rude, obnoxious, or just a total dickhead", and "The worst kind of person. You cannot fully construct a meaning that fully encompasses what this vicious insult means. If you're an asshole, you are disgusting, loathsome, vile, distasteful, wrathful, belligerent, agoraphobic, and more. Assholes are human fecal matter. They are the lowest of the low. They transcend all forms of immorality." Nice, enthusiastic start, especially with the thoroughness of the last entry. I'm a big fan of flaunting impressive vocabulary, but there's surely a more stable, sensible definition out there.

There's an oddly instructive song by Denis Leary, detailing a variety of scenarios in which one can observe the asshole in the wild. He points out so many scenarios, actions, and instances that it can be applied to almost anyone. Well, anyone not fondling a saline implant while smoking a cigar. That's crossing into new, uncharted territory. Still, we search on for more elucidation.

Ah, wikipedia, the last desperate bastion of frantic, essay writing college students. To be totally honest, this is as much information as I'd ever need to fully understand the etymology, usage, and contexts of the word. It's truly educational. Be that as it may, wikipedia's definition describes people who are "viewed as stupid, incompetent, unpleasant, or detestable," which seemingly covers the term well enough.

If there's one thing Google does well, it's overload. So, I found myself drowning in a thousand variations on the theme of "asshole." There have been attempts through academic research to quantify and study the traits that seem to typically occur in people we deem to be assholes. Linguist Geoffrey Nunberg even wrote an entire book tracing the origins and the implications of the word itself. It isn't simply a socially constructed pejorative for people we don't like. It's apparently a type and it is one that possesses traits that often lead to success, from certain points of view.

So, how does one know if one is an asshole? Surely, we all want to know, right? It's no fun being the designated arch-asshole of your particular cast of Friends, is it? Surely, knowledge is power and power, in this case, is the opportunity to steer one's ship in a new, less detestable direction. With that in mind, here are several traits that seem to be coterminous with being an asshole. I'll kindly leave Nickelback fans and owners of Hummer H2s off the list.

1. Assholes are terrible listeners and excellent liars.

Is your mind always somewhere else when others are talking to you? Assholes don't mind engaging in conversations, but they aren't really listening. They're simply waiting for their turn to speak, plotting and contemplating their next brilliant or hilarious statement. Assholes are the kind of people that callously minimize your concerns or downplay your perspective in a discussion. They reduce your carefully thought out positions to oversimplified straw-man arguments. They're less concerned with reaching consensus on an issue, focusing instead on how to convince everyone to go along with their own personal wishes. Because of these self-serving, egocentric tendencies, assholes also concoct highly persuasive lies to mask their true intentions or hide their unethical behavior, which leads us to the second trait.

2. Assholes think only of their own happiness.

If there's one seemingly universal characteristic that I encountered in this search, it's this one. Assholes do whatever makes them feel best, all the time, regardless of the consequences. Instead of finishing a project, they nap or fool around with a diversion. When asked to complete a task, they won't unless they see some sort of personal benefit. When given a tremendous head start in life, they fritter it away capriciously. If that weren't enough, assholes seem to acquire a greater number of sexual partners over their lifetime, due to this impulsive, egocentric mentality. There's a sense in which someone with an opportunistic devil may care attitude embodies the id in all of us, which can seem superficially attractive. It's why Lester from American Beauty suddenly became so attractive right before he was killed. Don't be confused, however. An asshole is only concerned about their own feelings and desires. You're a means to an end. The lying and secret-keeping are just part of it. They want what they want and your feelings mean precisely nothing to them.

3. Assholes are convinced of their own rightness and that they're surrounded by morons.

We've all known that person, motivated by narcissism and political hackery, who firmly  and defensively believes that they've stumbled across the precise formula to set this country on the right course. Complicated problems, such as illegal immigration or conflict in the Middle East, can be solved by "building an alligator-filled moat" or "turning Iran into a sheet of glass." Their rants usually begin with "The thing no one understands is..." and they fervently, legitimately believe that their colleagues and peers are incompetent, mentally deficient morons. This point of view of others makes it easy to bully or intellectually bludgeon other human beings, often baselessly, but never without exceptional confidence. Whatever the situation, assholes always know the right course of action and must tell you how you've been doing it wrong all this time. Feminists call this "mansplaining," but it's annoying no matter what appellation it bears.

4. Assholes are relentlessly rude to others, on purpose, often for humor's sake.

There's a big difference between having a few crude laughs or good-natured ribbing with friends and habitually and hurtfully mocking others. Assholes detect another person's greatest weakness, often with astounding rapidity and accuracy, only to exploit it for laughs. They make fun of everyone they know, even their best friends and significant others, if only to trigger a few laughs over lunch with a different friend. Assholes aren't just sarcastic. They're serially and sociopathically sarcastic. Internet trolls, the Westboro Baptist Church, and the cast of Jackass all fit right in with this trait.

5. Assholes usually have a long list of enemies and a small circle of friends.

Assholes have a body count. By that, I don't literally mean they kill folks. Instead, there's a long line of people who have had enough of the asshole or who have been royally and exquisitely screwed over by the asshole. Assholes have exes that absolutely hate them and assholes tend to categorically hate their own exes. Because of these tendencies, assholes don't fare well in maintaining friendships. Whether it's impulsive, self-gratifying behavior that wrecks a relationship or just too  much thinly veiled verbal abuse, assholes are simply people that aren't well-liked.

So, what do you do if these traits apply to you? Admitting you have a problem is the first step. Most assholes would rather drown in a sea of cognitive dissonance rather than face up to the problem, so knowing you're an asshole is half the battle. Now, I could drone on into boredom, reciting self-help manuals and pithy internet aphorisms about being more sensitive to others.

I'm not going to do that. Not yet anyway. Consider yourself lucky. For now.

What I'm stuck on is how many of those actually apply to me. You see, the genesis of this particular post was that both my spouse and one of my best friends declared last week to me that I can be a real asshole. I laughed it off at first, but my omphaloskeptical self continued coming back to the question of whether I'm really an asshole or not.

In a last ditch effort to rescue my self-worth from the sulfurous fires of assholery, I stumbled upon a silly internet quiz.You can click Here to take a self-test to determine just how much of an asshole you might be. I'm not going to vouch for the scientific metrics used to build the test, but the questions generally seem designed to force you to choose between a two very clear options. Your experience with the test might vary.

I scored a "14", which means I'm a "borderline certified asshole." So that's it. Time to wear the scarlet letter.

I'm an asshole.

I'm a terrible listener, at times. I can be very good at fibbing and misleading folks. I have an impulsive streak that motivates me to stupid things like blog at 2:00 a.m. when I should be sleeping or working. My Facebook timeline, especially right now in the midst of the government shutdown, does inspire a sense of intellectual superiority over a particular meme slinging sector of friends. I'm famously, frequently rude for humor's sake, even if I'm the only guy in the room laughing. This might even be the most clear, compelling evidence. Ask any of my dear friends who tolerate me and they'll all attest to being deeply offended by my humor at some point or another. Ask former friends as well. There's certainly a long line of ex-girlfriends, lost friends, and family members that just don't engage with me anymore, for whatever reason.

But once again, it suddenly occurs to me that many of us are guilty of the same transgressions. We've all paid less than our best attention, told a lie, and taken advantage of another while not caring about the consequences. There's not one of us that doesn't feel superior to a particular group of people and we all have a list, some longer than others, of people who don't desire contact with us in the future.

Sure, admitting you have a problem is the first step, but perhaps maybe the second and only other step is to strive to be a little less of an asshole every day. Be a better listener or be less dishonest. Think of the happiness of others once in a while, instead of your own or try to imagine that you're not categorically better than everyone else. Perhaps find a way to tell your closest friends how much you appreciate their tolerance and maybe, just maybe, try to reel back in that sarcasm-soaked zinger you've been perfecting since last Thursday.

Nope. Too far. One day at a time. My daughters are only going to live with me for just a few more years. I can't miss this golden opportunity to lovingly mock their use of the word "SWAGGGG!" in polite conversation. I am what I am. I'm an asshole.

Have a great week out there!