I veiwed a documentary yesterday called Taxi Cab to the Dark Side. It was about the Bush administration's policy of torture for the "suspected terrorists" captured in Iraq and Afghanistan. My Dad had talked me into going and before I figured I was in for just another two hours of reporting about the fucking moronic president who is George W. Bush and his minions. In most ways this movie was just another Bush attack, but for some reason it touched a nerve and now I'm pissed. Not necesarily pissed about the content in the movie, basically the military is holding 83,000 men from Iraq and Afghanistan in prisons around the world, and none have been brought to trial. It is estimated that only 1 percent of them are actually terrorists. They are subjected to daily interogations and torturing. If you're saying, "Well we're the U.S., there's no way we can torture!" Well see the movie. Trust me, we torture. (Still showing at Green Hills).
So the movie made me angry, but as the day progressed, I began to get more angry not just at this administration, but at the entire state of our nation in general. Why aren't people freaking out about this kind of stuff???!!!! The Bush adminstration is filled with men who if the rule of law was actually applied to, they would be impeached and jailed easily. Going one step further, with the torture issue, the U.N. should put them on trial as War Criminals. Because by all definitions, that is exactly what they are. Criminals. For the past seven years, these evil men have hijacked this nation from the history that once made it so great. The Greatest Democracy in the world has now given rise to the most powerful despot in the world. George Bush has no checks on him. The laws that were supposed to govern him have been completely thrown out the window. The constitution means nothing to him. Warrantless wire tapping of American Citizens, torturing of foreigners, and the suspension of the most basic right to a fair trial, and the right to know what you are being accused of. Gone. They are all gone, and yet we deserve it. The fact that this country is in the shitter and will remain there for decades is entirely our own fault.
The public of this country is gone. They are simply out to lunch. We have become a nation of blind consumerism and poisonous religious faith. That is what America is. Jesus and Wal-Mart. People simply don't care. Our democracy is being eroded, our country is going down in flames, and no one seems to care. In Europe they would have been rioting on the streets 7 years ago. Hell, this man was not even elected!! The other guy got more votes!!! I just now realized how outragous that actually is, and yet there was no outrage. The American people have to wake up and salvage what is left.
When I was venting my concerns to a good freind last night, she tells me, "Its cute that you care so much, Eric!" It's cute that I care!?!? Why must it be such a rare thing for someone to actually give a shit about their country and not the next thing I'm going to buy or the next sunday sermon at church? Religion is great for people to have, but it does nothing positive for a secular democracy. I am tired of feeling like an outsider and an abnormal person simply because I care. We should all care. We should all be rioting in the streets over this bullshit. I am so sick of it all. I'm sick of the ignorance. I'm sick of the stupidity. I believe in the ideals that this nation was founded on to the very core. But I simply cannot say that I believe the herd of blind sheep that the American people have become will open their eyes in time to save those ideals from the evil men who are destroying them more and more every day. Ignorance breeds despotism, and in the end, we'll get what we deserve.
Monday, March 24, 2008
Thursday, March 13, 2008
All Growed Up
I realized today that I don't understand the world of adults. I don't know what it is, but I just don't get them. Perhaps I'm just an exuberant youth brimming with ideas and excited to implement them, but everytime I view an adult I often see stress, little inspiration, and a constant need to play devil's advocate with you. Adults just like to argue it seems, no matter how right they actually think you are. I guess their defense would be that they are "realists", and know the cynical ways of the world, and don't want you to travel down the yellow brick road of fantasy (yes my road is yellow, and brick). Maybe being old only means that you're old enough to know that no matter what you hope for, it's going to be snatched away by the ruthless world in which we live. Life's a bitch, I understand. Mr. Ian Montgomery once told me that anyone who has been kicked around and taken shit for over forty years deserves to act however they please, and everyone else should just deal. I often agree with Ian, but in this case I have to disagree.
Should it not be that having taken a bunch of garbage that the world has thrown at you only strenghtens your resolve to find a better life and improve your situation? Like really, old guys come into Circuit City everyday, and I approach them with a smile on my face, "How are you doing today sir?" In return I usually get the " I don't need you to sell me anyhing," and angry, "I'm just looking thanks," or the worst: The stare and the look of disbelief that someone as young as me is actually working here, and even worse wants to take their money.
Believe it or not, these occurances can be quite disheartening. But for every three crusty old mean guys I get, there usually seems to be someone who comes along and saves the day before I decide to just completely screw anyone over forty and hide in a corner of the store avoiding people. It usually happens to be some jovial male of about 50 or 60, who approaches me, maybe makes a few jokes, and if I'm lucky actually embraces my youth and asks where I go to school and what I plan to do with my life, because he clearly knows that I'm going to do bigger things than sell PSP's for the rest of my life.
I know the world does terrible things to people, and I know that stress is a constant thing in the adult working world, but I just don't understand how so many adults can be so unhappy. When I hit that age, I hope I can take all the shit the world has thrown at me and just shake it all off. I will walk into that electronics store and shake the young man's hand behind the counter and reaffirm his wavering belief that people actually can be happy in such a seemingly unhappy world.
Should it not be that having taken a bunch of garbage that the world has thrown at you only strenghtens your resolve to find a better life and improve your situation? Like really, old guys come into Circuit City everyday, and I approach them with a smile on my face, "How are you doing today sir?" In return I usually get the " I don't need you to sell me anyhing," and angry, "I'm just looking thanks," or the worst: The stare and the look of disbelief that someone as young as me is actually working here, and even worse wants to take their money.
Believe it or not, these occurances can be quite disheartening. But for every three crusty old mean guys I get, there usually seems to be someone who comes along and saves the day before I decide to just completely screw anyone over forty and hide in a corner of the store avoiding people. It usually happens to be some jovial male of about 50 or 60, who approaches me, maybe makes a few jokes, and if I'm lucky actually embraces my youth and asks where I go to school and what I plan to do with my life, because he clearly knows that I'm going to do bigger things than sell PSP's for the rest of my life.
I know the world does terrible things to people, and I know that stress is a constant thing in the adult working world, but I just don't understand how so many adults can be so unhappy. When I hit that age, I hope I can take all the shit the world has thrown at me and just shake it all off. I will walk into that electronics store and shake the young man's hand behind the counter and reaffirm his wavering belief that people actually can be happy in such a seemingly unhappy world.
Saturday, March 1, 2008
33 Cents
As I was walking to school yesterday from my epic downtown Walgreens journey, I was approached by a homeless man asking for a bit of spare change. My intitial thought was to give the usual "sorry I just spent all my money" on whatever it is I'm holding at the time. But for whatever reason I decided to be honest yesterday. I remembered I had a bit of change in my pocket from the cookies I had just bought (09 bakesale!) and so I gave the guy what I had. He asked me if I could spare a bit more, and knowing that I had a hefty stack of ones in my wallet, I politely told him no, and we said our have a good days and went on our way. So as I walked on to school I had a smile on my face, feeling a bit self-rightous about giving the man probably about 33 cents. A few hours later I began to realize that that 33 cents would get him nowhere. Now I'm sure you're probably saying, "well now Eric, don't feel so bad about not giving the hobo a whole dollar. After all, he's only gonna go out and buy a beer with it." And maybe that's true, but even if it was, so what? I mean, what else would one do in that situation? Wondering aimlessly around a giant slab of concrete with no one to talk to all day must be horrifyingly boring. The problem of homelessness has always bothered me. I always felt a little bit sorry for the guys sleeping on top of grates or under benches when I was younger, but now it really just makes me angry. I think it's a tragedy that so many in the richest nation on earth have nothing. Absolutely nothing. No money, no family, no hope. And meanwhile, their fellow citizens spend money like crazy on luxuries. I absolutely detest those who say that we should basically hold our noses and run away from the poor because they are lazy and thus deserve to be in their condition. "Get a job!" they yell. Well how does the rich guy know how the homeless guy wound up in his state? Maybe he had a job, maybe his family abandoned him. The point is, if someone is in need, how can we as a supposedly "Christian" nation completely give up on the downtrodden. It shouldn't matter how they got in that state. They're in it now, and we're not doing anything. It only shows the hypocrosy of the Christian right, as they so gleefully preach their pro-life fetus saving message and go on morally charged bigotry crusades against gays, but then do nothing to help the poor. If Jesus came back today, would he really say to the church goers of this nation, "Well thanks for completely screwing the poor, because obviously stopping two men from screwing each other was so much more important."? Come on now.
The next time I'm asked for a bit of spare change I think I'm going to reach a bit deeper into those pockets of mine, or maybe even open up that wallet of mine. But if we can ever hope to rid the world of poverty, we must be willing to open up not only our wallets. We must open our hearts to these people who society has so wrongly thrown out and welcome them back into a true state of equality and justice.
The next time I'm asked for a bit of spare change I think I'm going to reach a bit deeper into those pockets of mine, or maybe even open up that wallet of mine. But if we can ever hope to rid the world of poverty, we must be willing to open up not only our wallets. We must open our hearts to these people who society has so wrongly thrown out and welcome them back into a true state of equality and justice.
Tuesday, February 26, 2008
When was the magic of the tree house killed by a muggle?
Written in Ms. Smith's 3rd period. AP LANG!!!
The boldest memories of my elementary school years are of lying in bed with my window open on a breezy summer day, indulging myself in the epic wonder that was The Magic Tree House series. Through these books I was transported back to the farthest reaches of history, but not through the monotonous droning of my Dad’s World War II non fiction and even worse, the horridly simplistic and utterly boring text books at school. For me, a yearning for adventurous reading turned into a passionate love for the past and all of its secrets that it could offer me. Looking back, there was perhaps no series of books (and let me tell you I read tons of them) that had such a great effect on me as The Magic Tree House. The little history that I learned from the novels sparked my curiosity to find out more. By middle school I was tackling more advanced historical fiction that I found in the adult section at Davis-Kidd, and by high school my passion for history had grown into a passion for political history, and thus politics itself. I now wanted to make this my life long goal.
“Journalism!” it dawned on me. Suddenly my passion for reading other people’s words had suddenly become a fiery passion to create words of my own, and bring them to the world as those of the author’s I so viscously devoured had. The point I make here is that my love of the written and read word did not stem from some intense, life changing experience in a classroom straight out of Freedom Writers, or some other inspirational flick like that. It all started with one series and soon developed into a curiosity followed by a love and finally in a realized talent.
To me, an English class should not focus on structure and form and the “truths” that a novel puts forth. It seems that the current doctrine of the American English class is to herd the students in like retarded sheep, jamming books down their throat while screaming, “This is good literature! It’s good literature because a lot of people think its good literature. Oh and by the way, here’s what it says about life. Now read it and figure out how you can learn from it.”
No wonder the average American doesn’t even read one book in the course of an entire year as an adult. They are conditioned to remember ridiculous exercises of quote analysis, theme writing, and worst of all, the thematic essay which asked the student who didn’t like to read to read even more closely, and while their at it, to do something they dread even more. Write. English classes could learn quite a bit from the childhood stories of some of their students who like to read.
When I hit high school, I was ecstatic to finally be taking an intelligent English class that didn’t focus on correcting sentences and group reading simple short stories. But oh how I was fooled. The grammatical busy work suddenly was transformed into literary busy work. Instead of correcting sentences, I was picking them apart piece by piece, and trying to find the exact point that the instructor kept insisting the author meant to get across to me.
Whatever happened to reading for the sake of discovery? Why even seek to discover themes that an author intended in a novel if we are told them with some excruciatingly long fifty page “introduction to the novel” packet that tells you why the author wrote it, what was happening at the time they wrote it, and their ultimate purpose they were trying to get across. After reading all that (if the student even has any energy left to keep reading in the first place), why even open the book? If we already know everything about the themes of the book, then what else is there to learn about? We might as well get the context of the novel and the themes and then have a discussion about how we can better ourselves with those themes. English class has turned into morality class. Ultimately, an English teachers need to loosen the reigns a bit. Curiosity is the greatest facilitator of eventual knowledge, and the English classes of today only murder this curiosity before it ever has the chance to turn into a passion. Passion is what the subject of English requires. I do not believe that students are incapable of feeling passion about something other than Lauren’s recent boy toy on The Hills. Perhaps all that is needed is for the teachers to set their children free from the failed structure of their classes that only turns students away from their subject with a bored look on their face. If the chains of structure are loosened only slightly, we can all begin to find our own Magic Tree House.
The boldest memories of my elementary school years are of lying in bed with my window open on a breezy summer day, indulging myself in the epic wonder that was The Magic Tree House series. Through these books I was transported back to the farthest reaches of history, but not through the monotonous droning of my Dad’s World War II non fiction and even worse, the horridly simplistic and utterly boring text books at school. For me, a yearning for adventurous reading turned into a passionate love for the past and all of its secrets that it could offer me. Looking back, there was perhaps no series of books (and let me tell you I read tons of them) that had such a great effect on me as The Magic Tree House. The little history that I learned from the novels sparked my curiosity to find out more. By middle school I was tackling more advanced historical fiction that I found in the adult section at Davis-Kidd, and by high school my passion for history had grown into a passion for political history, and thus politics itself. I now wanted to make this my life long goal.
“Journalism!” it dawned on me. Suddenly my passion for reading other people’s words had suddenly become a fiery passion to create words of my own, and bring them to the world as those of the author’s I so viscously devoured had. The point I make here is that my love of the written and read word did not stem from some intense, life changing experience in a classroom straight out of Freedom Writers, or some other inspirational flick like that. It all started with one series and soon developed into a curiosity followed by a love and finally in a realized talent.
To me, an English class should not focus on structure and form and the “truths” that a novel puts forth. It seems that the current doctrine of the American English class is to herd the students in like retarded sheep, jamming books down their throat while screaming, “This is good literature! It’s good literature because a lot of people think its good literature. Oh and by the way, here’s what it says about life. Now read it and figure out how you can learn from it.”
No wonder the average American doesn’t even read one book in the course of an entire year as an adult. They are conditioned to remember ridiculous exercises of quote analysis, theme writing, and worst of all, the thematic essay which asked the student who didn’t like to read to read even more closely, and while their at it, to do something they dread even more. Write. English classes could learn quite a bit from the childhood stories of some of their students who like to read.
When I hit high school, I was ecstatic to finally be taking an intelligent English class that didn’t focus on correcting sentences and group reading simple short stories. But oh how I was fooled. The grammatical busy work suddenly was transformed into literary busy work. Instead of correcting sentences, I was picking them apart piece by piece, and trying to find the exact point that the instructor kept insisting the author meant to get across to me.
Whatever happened to reading for the sake of discovery? Why even seek to discover themes that an author intended in a novel if we are told them with some excruciatingly long fifty page “introduction to the novel” packet that tells you why the author wrote it, what was happening at the time they wrote it, and their ultimate purpose they were trying to get across. After reading all that (if the student even has any energy left to keep reading in the first place), why even open the book? If we already know everything about the themes of the book, then what else is there to learn about? We might as well get the context of the novel and the themes and then have a discussion about how we can better ourselves with those themes. English class has turned into morality class. Ultimately, an English teachers need to loosen the reigns a bit. Curiosity is the greatest facilitator of eventual knowledge, and the English classes of today only murder this curiosity before it ever has the chance to turn into a passion. Passion is what the subject of English requires. I do not believe that students are incapable of feeling passion about something other than Lauren’s recent boy toy on The Hills. Perhaps all that is needed is for the teachers to set their children free from the failed structure of their classes that only turns students away from their subject with a bored look on their face. If the chains of structure are loosened only slightly, we can all begin to find our own Magic Tree House.
Monday, February 25, 2008
Opening Message
This is my first foray into the world of blogging, and I'm quite excited. If you don't already know me, I'm an extremely opinionated person and make those opinions known. I'm also an aspiring journalist and staff writer for the humble little newspaper at Hume-Fogg High School, The Knightly News.
This blog will be a place for me to get out my thoughts as well as develop my journalistic skills. Soon it will be filled with collumns, random thoughts and ideas, angry rants, and who knows, maybe even a poem or vignette-type thing every now and again.
This blog will be a place for me to get out my thoughts as well as develop my journalistic skills. Soon it will be filled with collumns, random thoughts and ideas, angry rants, and who knows, maybe even a poem or vignette-type thing every now and again.
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