Mortality Blog

I say I’m trying to stop wasting time on the internet, by which I mean wandering Wikipedia, or ED, or TVTropes, or 4chan, or CollegeHumor, or any of those sites that I could easily spend an indefinite amount of time perusing. I say I’m trying to find something more worthwhile to occupy my time - that if I’m going to be an insomniac, or whatever, I’m at least going to use those waking hours to better myself.

Well, Wikipedia and TVTropes probably alright fit that requirement, but not the others. And I still spend time on them, though I have been reading more lately, and it feels good. It feels like the old days, when I would read an installment of Redwall or Pern cover-to-cover, curled up on the carpet, surrounded by my quilt, propping myself up on pillow, enduring decidedly uncomfortable postures in the interest of continuing the story. It occurs to me that perhaps associating hard surfaces on which to recline with intellectual (and perhaps a bit devious, given the early hour of my supposed bedtime) pleasure lead me to my professed prefresence for harder bedding now, in my 20’s. Other people preach the virtue of the box spring, the space-age memory foam pillow top mattress, they search for their ’sleep number.’ I flop down on my futon, not to firm and not too squishy, settling into the canyon that my body has gradually pressed into the material, slightly form-fitting as I roll back and forth, starting out on my chest, then my side, then my other side, then my back - but usually waking on my back or chest, rarely on my side. I seem to settle on one or the other sometime during the night.

And making music just doesn’t see the same as it used to be. It’s refreshing to sit down at my new piano and play with chords, but I can sense that a lot of the practiced agility of my teenage years has fled - I just don’t think that way anymore. I could learn to again, no doubt, but it’s not an undertaken I’ve seen fit to pursue yet. I’ve considered it. I wonder whether acquiring long forgotten copies of elementary learning materials, for casual perusal, might help me ramp back up to where I was in highschool - looking eagerly over a piece of sheet music, subconsciously testing the fingerings against my palm, pretending to already catch a glimpse of the melody, when in fact that level of sheet-music reading was beyond me. I remember my fingers flipping over eachother like gymnasts, showing off in front of a crowd of peers and elders, seated beside a similarly talented performer, each of us playing our part, barely paying attention to the way the music must sound, totally focused on getting it right. Was that naive? Was it rote repetition, disciplined conversion of the body’s natural instinctive movement into measured machinery, clicking finger after finger as the notes flew up and down the staff, and behind my eyes, where I’d half memorized it already? Was it the thrill of the performance? Will I ever occupy that same space? Would I like to?

Music I miss in a kind of abstract way - I remember my joy in it, but there is no music-shaped-hole in my soul, so to speak. More and more, though, I feel flickers of literary ideas, small sparks dancing in my peripheral vision, characters, plotlines, nebbishes, attributes and elements. Magic blurs with programming, memory with fantasy, and I wonder (as if it matters) what would a story say about me? Is it all about me? I wonder whether authors who are successful breath life into their characters because they care about them - because to them, they are all real, the plot is a real problem, the consequences are something to be concerned about. I don’t think I make that connection with the protagonists I’ve thus-far devised, all my past efforts have been something more akin to flights of fancy, the pleasure of imagining ‘if it were like this, I would choose that,’ perhaps hoping to instruct everyone who reads it; ‘this is who I am.’

There are so many moths in my bedroom (abrupt changes of subject are attractive sometimes) and I wonder where they all come from - is there a thriving moth colony beneath the back deck, which sends these mostly sedentary members out as scouts, or settlers, or perhaps pariahs, banished from the land of the moths into the perpetual twilight of my bedroom, startled by the occasional bright lights, hiding for hours behind shelves before dive-bombing my glowing monitors when they are the room’s only light source? (was that really all one sentence?) They migrate in waves, and their presence creates a hidden-picture-like situation - earlier, I caught all three gathered around the exhaust fan on my computer tower, perhaps staring into the flickering blue LEDs. I tried to nab them with a clear glass and a stiff paper envelope, but they escaped, scattering - and now as I glance around, I see one by one lamp, another by another, and a third dissimilarly positioned low down on the outside wall, apparently uninterested in maintaining proximity to the electric lights. Now that I’ve marked their locations, I think I’ll take a quick break to relocate them, releasing them (as has been my habit with spiders as well) into the near-outdoors-ness of the attached garage. BRB.

Aside from a few tiny little fruit fly type things, or maybe an immature mosquito, I think that leaves me with my room insect-free - I need to be more careful about putting up the screen on the window when it’s nice and summery. Still, it makes me think, in the vein of life imitating art, that there’s a certain as-yet-unnamed character in a certain as-yet-unwritten story of mine that shares his life with insects in a bit of metaphor that I’ve yet to puzzle out. The bug bite boy, with spiders in his room, always finding a new little itchy bump or two somewhere on his skin, inflamed and un-poppable, unlike the occasion zit his adolescence has brought him. And yet despite the continued campaign of annoyance he’s suffered at the hands of the insects, he hasn’t developed a phobia, or a vendetta, or anything - he wonders at it. Why is he bitten? Am I that boy? I’ve been stung and bitten many times, sometimes covered in mosquito bites, sometimes the victm of a single terrible insect encounter - pre-pubescent summer camp memories include sitting on a bee-infested log and getting stung in the butt, while later as a teenager my scrotum somehow became the target of the big jaws of a large black ant - I screamed, my breath coming in gasps, panicked despite the lack of danger or even real pain, but scared at such a small unstoppable intruder’s unexpected appearance in such a delicate and private place - I hurriedly flicked it off, but this only detached its body, leaving its head stuck to my skin. Nightmarish. There are always spiders, Daddy Long Legs or beefier varieties with more impressive mandibles, working cobwebs into the corners of my bedroom. Did this insect omnipresence beget the bug bite boy?

Unlike a particular childhood friend, I’ve never been particularly bothered by spiders, or bugs in general - I only ask that they stay away from me. I don’t want them walking on me if I (or they) can help it, and I don’t want them in my way, partially, I have to admit, because I don’t want to inadvertently kill them. Is it hypocritical to use an empty glass to catch-and-release moths and mosquitohawks and at the same time continue to chow down on red meat? Empathy for bugs, but not for cows? It’s interesting to contemplate for a moment, but doesn’t really bother me. Maybe I’m too at peace with the way I am, but a little paradox is alright if it keeps me comfortable.

Okay, six months since the last entry? How’d that happen? Do I really have nothing new to say?

I mean, what’s it take to make me write an update - a good book? (The Perks Of Being A Wallflower, in this case)

For about a year, I kept a fairly frequent journal in highschool. And most of the things I complained about seem petty now. I’m pretty sure they weren’t petty back then, but the Matt in 2010 thinks the Matt in 2003 had it better than he thought. Not that things are bad now, or anything.

The point of these has always been thinking aloud, and posterity, maybe, and a little bit of showing off even. I mean, I like my life, I like me, and I flatter myself by wondering whether what I’m feeling and thinking might be intriguing, interesting, even entertaining to everyone else. To be honest, it’s a little censored, but maybe I’ll get over that eventually - or maybe there are some things that you have to censor, in order to get along with everyone. Even if it’s a little vain to think that everyone reads the mortality blog.

I was thinking that if you were to plot my life on a line graph, where Y is time, X is frequency, and each line represents any particular activity, you’d see two shapes appear most often: A quick peak and a long gradual dropoff, and a fairly steady line, or maybe something close to a low-amplitude sine-wave. In other words, some things I don’t do, and I don’t do, and suddenly I do all the time, and then I do less, and I do less, and I barely do at all. Things like parties, drinking, drugs, sex, making music, maybe even jobs - I’m not sure what those things have in common, but they’ve never been constant, always a peak and a decline. Then maybe another peak. The other things happen fairly regularly: reading, writing, listening to music, playing video and computer games, that sort of thing. Again, not sure what they have in common - maybe I should actually make that graph and look for a pattern. But those things tend to always happen, and keep happening, with little dips or spikes in frequency but overall very steady occurrence.

Which makes me think about the future, a little. For instance, let’s say how much I weigh, and any hypothetical plans I make to ‘get in shape’ - would regular exercise be a peak and a decline, or a new constant line? If I get a gym membership tomorrow, will I go less and less until I find myself paying a monthly fee for something I don’t use, and putting on the weight I’d previously lost? Or more to the point, beyond idle speculation, if I had reason to believe that was the case, would it be reason not to try?

But that’s just an example. I can live (well, for a while at least) with being about 50 pounds heavier than I remember feeling in highschool. I’m thinking about work, though. That’s the main thing that concerns me at the moment. Actually, I’m trying not to let it concern me, but I’m wondering about it.

In highschool, and in lots of other areas in my life, I have this sort of weird thing I do, which might be procrastination, but almost borders on… I don’t know, some sort of distraction, or something. Where something is important, and I know it’s important, but for some reason it becomes more and more important that it not be so important. That sentence makes sense, but I’m not sure it’s easy to follow. Let’s try an example. I work on a project, and there isn’t anything particularly special about that project, but this thing happens - and it starts out being important (because it’s fun, and I like the people I’m working for, and I’m getting paid on top of it all) but gradually, it becomes more important not to care. Maybe my sleep schedule is unrelated, which’d be easier, for sure, but maybe not. Either way, when I wake up at 9 in the morning after only getting 4 or 5 hours of sleep, it becomes harder and harder to just get up and do work. It gets harder to look at code instead of youtube vidoes - and youtube videos are completely unrelated, it could be anything, singing songs I like out loud, or tracing patterns in carpet, or literally anything I know isn’t at all important instead of doing something that I know is actually important. I know it, and yet…

… so that’s weird. At first I kind of wondered if this was a new thing, due to whatever, finishing puberty and hormones, or a change of scenery as I ‘grew up’ in a more cultural sense, but I’m betting it’s actually always been there, but it never mattered before. Because it was only school, or they were only friends, or it was only piano lessons, or it was only church, even only college. But when there’s rent, utilities, and “the lifestyle to which I’ve become accustomed,” it’s hard to say “it’s just work.” Already I’m wondering if I’m over-analyzing this, and just feeling a little melancholy and loquacious because I just finished a good book. But it’s happened, this thing, it’s happened at work, and so it isn’t not a problem (which isn’t an unintentional double-negative.)

Now, I’ve only recently started to notice it… to really recognize it. I suspect that CMD might have been the first casualty, and I’m thinking Ascentium might be the second. Although if I’m really rolling with this, AIPD might be before that, and even my grades in highschool, and maybe even a few things I can’t mention specifically here because of the people involved. My point being, I might’ve screwed a few things up in the past, which makes me wonder how I’m going to do in the future.

Arguably, I could just make the line on that chart I mentioned earlier marked ‘job’ turn into a constant line over a long period of time - my lifetime. If I keep getting jobs, then losing them, then hanging out for a bit before getting another, and then losing it, it’ll make a nifty little sawtooth wave that’ll average out to a straight line. But as long as I’m waxing metaphorical, a sawtooth at a short frequency sounds sweet on a synthesizer (thin and bitey) the whole quick cycle of jumping in and out of work doesn’t really sound right for me in the long run. It’s hard to be secure, although I’m awfully lucky to have found a career that pays so much that I can afford to be lazy about addressing things like this. See, I’m bragging.

So that’s what I wonder. What happens in the future? Do I try working out a bit, doing some running or some lifting, eat a bit less, and burn off some fat? Or do I fall off of that and go back to 230lbs? Do I continue to get peak and decline jobs until I’m… 60, or whenever I end up retiring, if ever?

The silly thing is, I kind of don’t care. If you ask me whether I’m an optimist or a pessimist I’d have to say the former, although only because I feel like overall things have generally worked out well for me, and so far I have no reason to believe that’ll change any time soon. I can’t tell if I deserve it or not, because then we’re talking about free will and determinism and I like the idea that there is no free will though it’s a moot point because we will never become powerful enough to map all the variables and accurately predict the ramifications of any particular action in such a complex system as human life, let alone the string of choices and related activities that put people like me in the place where I find myself. That’s a lot of writing I just did there. Anyway.

I guess I’m thinking that it’ll turn out alright, however it turns out, I don’t feel like I’m wasting my life by any means (not that it’ll be any less easy to die as a result.) But now that I’ve got this theory, I’ve got this observation about that thing that I’ve been doing, it makes me want to play with it, to see if I can figure out when it happens, and what to do about it. I guess it’s kind of a revelation, maybe not an epiphany (or maybe, if it illuminates other things about myself, who knows) and I’m happy with it, especially now that I’ve thought it out enough to actually articulate it a little, even in writing on my little blog that no one reads, ha ha. And if I manage to figure it out, I feel like I’ll have a responsibility (not to anyone but myself, arguably the only responsibility that’s important) to follow through and try to do something with it - get rid of it, work around it, overcome it. Because I’m embarrassed, I’m unsatisfied, I feel like my mostly smart self is being held back by this craziness.

So we’ll see about that. Maybe I’ll keep a little spreadsheet, or a new notebook journal thing, or whatever. I do think (as I usually think when I write a new entry for stuff like this) that I’ll start keeping a journal again, a personal one where I can make a post-college rendition of my highschool self’s petty complaints about stuff that doesn’t matter - I mean, it’s cathartic, maybe not even at the time, but certainly in retrospect, reading back in the future. That was Matt in 2003, or maybe even 1998. What was that kid thinking? So this’ll be me in 2010 - can you believe that stuff he thought was important?

If only I could see what it is that I’m stuck on now that I’ve circumnavigated then. Being a time traveler sucks when you’re stuck going one second per second, eh?

Okay, so the whole point of the Mortality Blog is that I have less then 80 years to live, and I think there’s a few things that I’ve run up against in my life that might be good for other people to see my thoughts on.

That said - how do I put this? I experienced an intriguing conflict of interests today. It’s a pretty stellar example of something that I’ve really only had the privilege of being exposed to a few times - a girl more or less explicitly asking me to sleep with her. In this case, it was someone attractive, someone smart and funny and cute and all that, but a girl nonetheless - and despite being comfortable in my relative lack of interest in that sort of thing, I realized that I felt bad, in a ‘I’m letting someone down’ sort of ‘not meeting expectations’ sort of way. Which is total bullshit - how many times have I protested that responsibility can only be accepted, not assigned, and that I feel that I’m under no circumstances obligated to follow cultural conventions regarding romance?

And yet - not saying, “Yes!” felt bad. In my head, I know that it wouldn’t have gone well - it would’ve just been disappointing to both of us. And yet there’s this sort of distinctly masculine cultural responsibility that I found myself aware of, where a guy is supposed to sleep with a girl especially if she really wants it. And I was failing at that duty.

It’s times like this that make some of my gay friend’s humorous accusations that I’m a straight man with a penis fetish seem just a little bit accurate - there are plenty of girls with whom I would gladly flirt if only there wasn’t this more or less inescapable reality of a vagina laying in wait. It seemed like a lot to explain to this particular girl, considering my general reluctance to bring this sort of thing up due to my cultural obligation aversion, but it was striking - how many times do I actually have reason to momentarily regret my sexual tastes? Not very often.

Anyway, it seemed interesting, and like I said, if anyone feels like taking a peek into my head, this is the sort of stuff that tumbles around like a wet load of clothes in a dryer.

It depicts a white protagonist going into an apparently poverty-stricken village (the location is unspecified) and killing throngs of black zombified men and women (see the trailer yourself)…

What was not funny, but sort of interesting, was that there were so many gamers who could not at all see it. Like literally couldn’t see it. So how could you have a conversation with people who don’t understand what you’re talking about and think that you’re sort of seeing race where nothing exists?

- Newsweek’s N’Gai Croal On The ‘Resident Evil 5′ Trailer: ‘This Imagery Has A History’ [multiplayerblog.mtv.com]

Let me help you out, N’Gai Croal - the reason so many gamers can’t see it is because it’s all in your head. It’s totally subjective. The trailer depicts the main character of a zombie killing game, killing zombies. The setting is some sort of impoverished african village. The zombies are zombies. This isn’t racism, it’s a classic zombie situation.

There was stuff like even before the point in the trailer where the crowd turned into zombies. There sort of being, in sort of post-modern parlance, they’re sort of “othered.” They’re hidden in shadows, you can barely see their eyes, and the perspective of the trailer is not even someone who’s coming to help the people. It’s like they’re all dangerous; they all need to be killed. It’s not even like one cute African — or Haitian or Caribbean — child could be saved. They’re all dangerous men, women and children. They all have to be killed.

It’s called ‘foreshadowing’ - the village is full of spooky looking people because they’re going to turn into zombies. No, you can’t spare any of them, because they’re zombies! Lack of redemption and compassion does not make this racist. Let me take a moment to brainstorm situations in which the game would be racist:

1. If the black people became zombies because being black they were too stupid to avoid getting infected
2. If the black people were zombies in the first place because only black people, having inferior physique and poor personal hygiene, are naturally more zombie-infection-prone.
3. If the protagonist called them ‘niggers’ as he was shooting them between the eyes.

Actually, even the last example wouldn’t make the game racist - it’d make the main character racist. It’d make the audience uneasy about their avatar in the game - they’d enjoy the thrill of making him fight his way through waves of zombies, but be a little uncomfortable with his overt bigotry. It could be an important lesson in the grey area of morality.

If it had been me in that situation, I wouldn’t have put out a trailer like that. I think it’s very easy to misunderstand what that game is about based on that trailer.

No kidding.

Do things like this scare other people? An article on digg.com talks about a russian kid who attacks his sister’s rapist with a knife, inflicting 8 stab wounds before being killed by the rapist. That’s heroism, unquestionably, and in my book a totally acceptable level of violence for a situation like that: the guy was trying to rape his sister, so the boy stabbed him; the boy was stabbing the guy, so the guy killed him. It makes sense.

But the comments are where things go wrong:

What a tragical story! I’m usually a pacifist, but I would condemn all those pedophiles with a death sentence!

- sanela86

I heard a story from a Russian woman. She talked about Russian prisons. She told me that it is sufficient to lock the criminal up into prison and inform the other prisoners about his crime. They will pay daily attention to him and no prison guard will disturb them. Normally those criminals hang-up themselves within a few months.

- Wulffy

Pretty much the same in the US. Child-murders and rapists are usually dealt with…appropriately…in prison.

- AriaStar

To begin with, you can’t have it both ways. Is rape morally acceptable, or not? This is almost exactly like the death penalty - is it okay to murder people in cold blood, or not? Non-consensual sexual acts are obviously morally reprehensible, regardless of the circumstances. The victim never ‘deserves it’ - because if they ‘deserve it’ in prison, it’s a real slippery slope towards ‘deserving it’ outside of prison too. This disgusting cheer-leading for prison rape as ‘justice’ is totally sickening - and terrifying.

I’m almost afraid to contemplate the possibility that criminal vengeance has become a source of entertainment in our culture - we like seeing the bad guys get handcuffed, smacked around, pepper-spray, and tazered. Do we really take pleasure in the knowledge that people are being raped, or killed? Can we really call this ‘justice’? This is where ‘moral police’-like groups come from - citizen vigilante militia that violently enforce their own behavioral restrictions in spite of the freedoms provided to citizens by law.

I mean, duh, of course I should. But when? I just watched ‘who killed the electric car?‘, which is a great film, especially if you’re into corporate conspiracies. It was hard to watch all the despondent drivers of EV1s stand by and let Ford take away their beloved cars - and crappy as my car might be, I understand the sort of investment people have in their automobiles.

But electric cars are expensive, aren’t they? I have no doubt that they’d be cost-effective, but I only spend about $30 on gas a month - a far cry from the amount I’d be spending on car payments if I bought a Prius hybrid, for example. They retail at about $22,000 - and in terms of monthly payments, that’d be $1800 a month over a year, $915 a month over two years, $610 a month over three years (roughly what I’m currently paying for rent), or $460 a month over four years - that’s where it starts to get more affordable, but still, that’s a lot of money, considering I probably spend about $400 on gas a year, even with my car being the shape that its in.

Now, to be fair, I probably don’t really need a Prius - what if I kept my gas-guzzling Geo Prizm (maybe even fixed it up a bit), and bought a little ‘metro’ car to go along with it, one that I’d just drive around the city, but wouldn’t take on long trips, or carry big groups of people in? There’s a place called ‘Eco-motion‘ just down NE Sandy from my house, and it’s got some cool looking vehicles - for instance, I could get an electric scooter for about $3,000, which seems pretty reasonable to me - although they won’t go much faster then around 35, and won’t go much farther then 30 miles per charge. Somehow I think I could find a way to ‘upgrade’ it a bit to go faster or farther, if I wanted, considering all the ‘green DIY’ vibes in portland.

But what I’d really want it something roughly analogous to my Prizm - capable of 60mph, able to seat at least two people, that sort of thing. The cute little ‘Xebra’s are close - I could get one for $6,000, which would be $500 a month over a year, $250 over two years, $165 over three, et cetera. I probably wouldn’t want to stretch it out for more then a couple years or three, maybe - I just don’t like owing money for that long (my student loans are one of the exceptions I’m willing to make). Even a few months in debt stresses me out. It’s an uncomfortable position to be in, second-guessing every purchase you make. But enough about my insecurities. That Xebra thing is maybe a little faster then the electric scooters, and certainly carries more, so I could use it for groceries and whatever. I could actually buy a small fleet of these electric vehicles for the cost of a new prius hybrid, which is a tantalizing option, and apparently I’m not the only one to think of it, although that article suggests that I might also regret it - like so many other battery-powered devices, the actual operating time is ridiculously removed from the idealized number sold by the manufacturer. ‘Hype Machine‘, an article in Wired, makes me incredibly reluctant to go near anything ‘Zap’ produces.

But they can’t all be bad, right? The idea of a smaller, reasonably-powered vehicle must be attainable. Unfortunately, Zap cars seem to be the bulk of Eco-Motion’s inventory, so that kills my chances of shopping somewhere local, as far as I know. The Tesla Roadster is too luxury, and we’ve already established that the Prius is in the same boat - although maybe a used Prius would be okay? Still, it’s only a hybrid, not a straight-up electric, and the idea of having a car with an electric engine is appealing - I feel like I could have a better chance of getting to know how it works, since there would be a few less parts to deal with. But this is where my knowledge and interest runs out - with no new options in front of me, I guess I just have to wait a few years until this stuff becomes more viable, and more readily available. If anyone knows of a good way to get ahold of a reasonably-powered plug-in car for less then 10k from a company that isn’t sleazy, let me know. Otherwise, electric cars are going to be like laser eye surgery - I’ll get some one day, but until then, I’ll have to make do with what I’ve got.

Blog title is a song reference, see Shiny Toy Guns’ latest album ‘Year of Poisen’, track 1. This is probably one of the first blog posts I’ve written that I’ve (briefly) considered keeping to myself - it’s really just me talking about me, but I figure that you, my friends, are probably nearly as interested in me as I am, and that complete strangers certainly don’t have anything to lose. It’s kind of rambling, as usual.

So - after reading an incredibly good book (Spanking Shakespeare by Jake Wizner) I’m thinking about typical highschool experiences, and how I missed out on some major classics: drinking, drugs, parties, and dating. Or rather, I’m wondering, did I miss out?

Obviously, since highschool, I feel like I’ve more then caught up - and while I rarely regret any past actions, I do wonder a bit about how I might be different if I’d been exposed to some of that stuff before college - or, honestly, before working at CMD, ha ha. I mean, if I’d had a date to the prom, smoked some weed in the parking lot before we went in, spiked the punch or whatever, laughed at whoever was crowed prom king, then drove up to Mt Tabor to fuck around and drink tequila, where would that leave me today? Socially, things never really lined up - I was too nervous about the repercussions of being gay in highschool to ever really persue any romantic interest, and all my friends were straight, anyway. Well, not that a lot has changed since then - my sexual preference is pretty low-key, and my sparse encounters with the ‘gay scene’ have been disapointing. Most of my friends are pretty straight, and I don’t even remember who ‘knows’, ha ha, which might be because I just don’t care, or perhaps because it almost always sounds forced to me - like I’m trying to come out of the closet, when I don’t think that should even be necessary.

But what if I’d had all that stereotypical stuff - maybe not even a boyfriend, just a somewhat gay friend, a fuck buddy, perhaps, who I went to dances with and got super drunk with? It feels like it would’ve been totally out of character - but honestly I’d always wanted to get a taste of that sort of lifestyle, but wasn’t ever really assertive enough to seek it out. Now I wonder if my parent’s hypothetical “you’re not old enough to be doing that” response might’ve been right? I’m egotistical to think that i have a fairly supreme outlook on life and people and things in general - would I have developed it if I’d partied my way through senior year and into college? I don’t know, it’s like there’s a weird parallel universe version of me, who’s probably pretty simliar, but not quite the same as the me that’s writing this. I don’t believe in the theory about alternate universes constantly fractalling out every time a choice is made, but it’s an appealing concept. I’m attracted to that idea of there being more of me, ha ha.

The reason that this has relevance and isn’t just fanciful speculation is that it has bearing on how I make decissions today, and in the future. Should I be more adventurous? (another music reference, whee!) I might just feel this way because of the group of people I hang out with, but getting drunk, high, sleeping with guys, and living in a house with some friends and owning all this stuff just seems like a normal thing to do - it’s not really an accomplishment. All of these things were sort of milestones, in my mind, and yet they’re pedestrian to people a few years older then me. They would’ve been pedestrian to people a few years younger, even. So is that something that I’m concerned about? Reaching sort of cultural milestones, being recgonized for ‘being ahead’ by my peers?

I think it’s one of those rare occasions where peer pressure, societal pressure, cultural expectations, and maybe even basic animal instinct slip through my otherwise expertly maintained self-confidence - not even to the point where it degrades the trust I have for myself, but at least to the point where I occasionally question it. Why don’t I have a boyfriend? Why didn’t I try harder to stay at CMD? When I think about stuff like that, I can’t help thinking back to being younger, to a few of my brief often nerve-wracking encounters with girls, and my petty little spats with teachers - I’ve always been mulish about submitting to authority, especially if doing so would make me uncomfortable, or if I perceive that I’m being coerced into a decision. I’ve always second-guessed myself like crazy when it comes to starting and maintaining relationships - my ideals, my hunches, and vauge notions of cultural expectations all collide and leave me fumbling for the right thing to say, or the right move to make. And yet, despite all that, it doesn’t really bother me. I mean, thinking about it at this moment, it certainly seems like a big systemic problem in my life, but an hour from now it’ll be completely gone from my mind - I won’t lose any sleep over it.

Actually, the swing between not caring and caring, frank examination and frank indeference, is probably worth thinking about as well. Am I not interested in striking up a romantic relationship because I already lead a fulfilling life, or have I convinced myself that my life is fulfilling because I never had what I would consider a real ‘going out on dates’ relationship, and I’m 22? That sounds like the sort of thing that cultural expectations would interject into my thought process, and there is the overwhelming evidence that the subject only rarely surfaces in my near-nightly introspective pondering (again, is it because I have trouble sleeping, or a cause of my trouble sleeping?) and if I hardly ever devote much thought to it, can it really be that important to me? I think more about dying then I do about dating, and I try to think about dying as little as possible due to my fear of mortality (which this mortality blog refers to.)

… after writing all this, I kind of wonder what my motivation is. Do I have a somewhat compulsive desire to inform my fellow members of humanity that I’m gay, haven’t had a real date in forever, didn’t drink or smoke at all until I started working at CMD, and et cetera? Are these really all important factors that contribute to Matt Lohkamp? They must be - I mean, they seem kind of tame, but I’ve pretty explicitly identified them as important to me, what with all this thought I’m putting into them. My guess would be that it’s cathartic more then anything else - that was such a freaking good book I just read, and the main character sort of got his whole screwed up life together at the end, and now I kind of wonder if I’m in the process of doing that too. Well, my life isn’t exactly screwed up, though. Actually, it’s probably a sort of preliminary life story telling - I would’ve discussed any of this with anyone, if that conversation had happened, but if it does now, it’ll be easier because I’ve essentially already talked it out pretty thoroughly. I actually do that quite a bit - carry on long hypothetical conversations with myself, or play out hypothetical events, all in my head, and I’m honestly not sure if doing that ahead of time helps me any when the situations or conversation actually occurs - it’s more likely that it just calms me down if I’m nervous about something.

To end, I’m going to tell a story about one of my first almost-girlfriends, one of the crazy ones. We walked down the dark path to the beach, where the ocean crashed invisibly against the sand, and we huddled together next to a driftwood log. In between french kissing, she told me that she saw ghosts, and spirits, and angels, and devils. I felt incredibly akward, because I didn’t believe in any of that stuff (despite the fact that we were both currently attending a christian church camp.) She went on about how demons had come after her while she was talking to her counselor, and they had held hands and prayed, and a white sheet had fallen around them that protected them from their supernatural assailents. I wasn’t really sure if I wanted to kiss more, or maybe try having sex (I might’ve been a virgin at that point, I don’t remember), or if I wanted to seriously debate the existence of angels. I wasn’t brave enough to make any sort of sexual moves, or to do the conversation thing (she was a cool person to hang out with, appart from the semi-girlfriend thing, and this new supernatural revelation) so I opted for more kissing. A year or two later I told her I was gay, and she told me that she was bi.

Good story. The character in that book I just finished was supposed to write his memoirs as a senior highschool assignment - and I for sure would like to give that a try. I wonder - would I change the names to protect the innocent?

In life, we commonly default to holding a certain opinion or view, prompted by a myriad of factors including the culture of all the groups with which we associate ourselves (our family, our neighborhood, our city, our country, our religion, our sexuality, et cetera) and these in turn inform our choice of actions. Without exposure to new concepts, some of which may contradict things we’ve come to assume are indisputable, we’re stuck with those default beliefs, often to our detriment. Social progress is fueled by new ideas, and personal wisdom likewise results from the process of critically examining new information and choosing to incorporate new elements into our existing world-view. What we eat is obviously as much a product of that process as anything else – but sometimes we have trouble giving honest consideration to the viability of anything less then ‘free omnivorism’, the practice of eating whatever you like. We’re familiar with and grudgingly accept the necessity of expanding or limiting your diet for health reasons, but we treat a doctor’s recommendation to avoid steak in order to guard against a heart attack differently from PETA’s recommendation to avoid leather because of the violence surrounding its creation.

The decision to exercise self control concerning what you eat, wear, and use is a difficult one to make, to the point that many people almost refuse to consider it at all – as though their omnivore status were sacred, unimpeachable, and that the thought of anything less then unabridged freedom of food (much less strict veganism) is actually threatening. When asked to justify your animal consumption, it’s easy to get defensive, easy to ridicule the petitioner later around the barbecue with your meat-eating buddies. In addition. Even if you were to declare that from this day forth never more would you touch anything made from an animal, the amount of research and diligence required to maintain this resolution would seem prohibitive. If it were easy to tell which items contained animal products and which were ‘clean’, it’s likely that the indignant ‘I’ll eat whatever I want!’ attitude would persist, despite the removal of the ‘research and diligence’ barrier. So what is it about the subject that gets us so worked up?

Brainstorming reasons that self-assured omnivores would reject a philosophy of less-inclusive dining doesn’t take much imagination: jealous stubbornness, knowing the ‘right’ thing to do but being unable to do it because it’d involve admitting that they’d been doing the ‘wrong’ thing prior; honest hedonism, accepting the reality of the impact of their decisions and choosing their own pleasure over the condition of the animals sacrificed to facilitate those pleasurable experiences; or maybe even a belief in man’s superiority over lower life-forms, possibly outlined through the popular beliefs of the previously-mentioned groups with which they associate themselves. All this, to justify a course of action which undeniably involves the planned creation and subsequent destruction of life, a situation which abstracted would only be found acceptable by sociopaths. Despite this, animal-rights activists face derision and dismissal, and despite their best efforts, only about 3 percent of adults in the United States (as of 2008) have ‘converted’, or chosen to become a vegetarian. On the one hand, it seems strange that such a friendly, environmentally responsible ethos would fail to catch on – on the other, the fact of its lack of general appeal suggests that the afore-mentioned attributes (stubbornness, hedonism, and superiority) are substantially more powerful motivators then ‘environmental responsibility’.

This determination to disregard alternate points of view ‘out of principle’ is not at all a mature one – and possibly sets a dangerous precedent. Once presented with an alternate point of view, critical-thinking individuals are given the choice to reconsider what has been up to this point a (possibly unconscious) acceptance of (default) cultural norms. When faced with our own reasoning for continuing the consumption of animal products, can we really justify our actions? Biologically speaking, we are perfectly capable of maintaining a comfortable existence in an environment untouched by the ‘use’ of animals. Therefore any benefits or drawbacks concerning consumer preferences in this area are in our own heads, and a matter of morality rather then survival. Defining the essential distinction between humans and animals is a tricky task; Life itself is variously defined, somewhat akin to Justice Potter Stewart’s well-known statement of defiance: “I know it when I see it.” Debate over birth control, abortion, capital punishment, and even riot-control or military operations is an indicator of the wide range of opinions people hold on the subject, and it follows that the debate concerning ‘animal rights’ would be just as complex. Inasmuch as everyone would likely agree that animals are ‘alive’, it would be impossible to get them to consense on the definitive ‘rights’ that living bestows.

Once you’ve decided what constitutes a ‘protected’ form of life, there are a couple of common outlooks to explore: An ‘anti-capitalist’ view encourages safe, fair raising and slaughtering of ‘crop’ animals, and seeks to punish companies that ‘torture’ or use ‘creative marketing’ to sell products that are not what they seem; While ‘animal-lovers’ are opposed to the practice of causing harm to animals in general, and lobby for the complete cessation of ‘animal abuse’. Some people have trouble avoiding getting caught up in ‘what it means’ to be a member of whichever group they share an ethos with, and it’s important to keep in mind that your own personal decision to restrict your animal product consumption is distinct from the activism you choose to engage in – that is, whether you ‘preach what your practice’. The reluctance to participate in activities stereotypically associated with a more strict policy on using animals is another stumbling block that potential ‘converts’ encounter, as the decision to accept an ‘identity’ that is casually ridiculed in your culture is a difficult one.

Ultimately, regardless of how you settle on your views concerning the commodification and subsequent consumption of animals, it’s important to remember that in the grand scheme of things, the marketplace decisions of the average person impact the world on roughly the same scale as voting in a national election – it’s a very small drop in a very big bucket, and yet ironically it’s important (and socially responsible) to act as though it did matter. If your goal for changing the way you consume is merely to satisfy your own moral qualms, then you have a responsibility only to yourself to stay ‘on the wagon’, but if your goal involves a fundamental change in the way that the meat industry operates then you’ve got a responsibility to be an activist, and spread your view to others. Alone, your vote counts for little – in a group, you’re at least a little more effective, and as the number of people you’ve convinced to join you in your protest of the cultural acceptability of animal product consumption grows, so does your power to change things.

Whether you decide to limit your animal product usage or not, whether you decide to become an activist or not, it’s important to make an informed, purposeful decision regarding your feelings on the subject, as with any subject. Everyone has a culturally ‘default’ preference concerning animal consumption, but as a mature individual you have a responsibility to ultimately make your own decisions regarding your actions, and to remain open when others share their own views with you.

Works Cited:

Jasper, James. The Art of Moral Protest: Culture, Biography,

and Creativity in Social Movements. University of Chicago Press, 1999.

“How Many People Order Vegetarian Meals When Eating Out?” <http://www.vrg.org/journal/vj2008issue3/restaurantpoll.pdf>

The Vegetarian Times “Vegetarianism in America” 2008

Justice Potter Stewart, concurring opinion in Jacobellis v. Ohio 378 U.S. 184 (1964)

Has anyone else read “the book of the skulls” by Robert Silverberg? towards the end, in order to attain immortality, four of the main characters are tasked with revealing to one another the worst thing they’ve done in their entire life, the secret shame that they’re haunted by.

So I’ve been thinking - what would I say, if I were in that situation? Right away, I can think of a few times in the past where I’ve been a complete asshole, to a somewhat uncharacteristic extent. If you know me, you might try to guess - but I doubt you’ll get it right. One time in particular, perhaps, that I completely regret. But I’m not sure that I’d call it my ’secret shame’, or my cross that I’ve born for however many years. I’ve sort of made peace with it - not forgotten about it, exactly, but just accepted it as a mistake I made before I was as smart as I am now, and moved on.

Thinking about the things I’ve done that I regret brings up an interesting point: things that I’ve done that I don’t regret. It’s a little bit of sociopathy, in the ‘Dissocial personality disorder’ sense of the term - “Gross and persistent attitude of irresponsibility and disregard for social norms, rules, and obligations.” [wikipedia]. I mean, I’ve done some stuff that’s not only illegal, but ‘morally reprehensible’ according to the average person. But I don’t think it was wrong for me to do so, regret it, or even feel the need to stop myself from doing it in the future. Once again, if you know me you might be able to guess it, but I doubt you’ll hit on the one in particular i’m thinking of.

So if I’m in the situation that the main characters of “The Book of the Skulls” find themselves in, which do I confess? The choice that I regret making but am at peace with, or the choice that I don’t regret but most other people would find totally reprehensible?