‘They Put Money in their Hearts and God Where their Mouth is…’

“At the present time it is widely accepted among lawyers that law is higher than morality – law is something which is worked out and developed, whereas morality is something inchoate and amorphous. That isn’t the case. The opposite is rather true! Morality is higher than law! While law is our human attempt to embody in rules a part of that moral sphere which is above us. We try to understand this morality, bring it down to earth and present it in a form of laws. Sometimes we are more successful, sometimes less. Sometimes you actually have a caricature of morality, but morality is always higher than law. This view must never be abandoned. We must accept it with heart and soul.”
- Alexander Solzhenitsyn, “Warning to the West”

Although I don’t think it’s commonplace today for law to be definitively valued over morality, I have observed that law can be a dangerous, heartless monster that has the tendency to depersonalize situations and individuals. Any place that uses law as the ultimate standard when assessing something of extreme personal nature is in danger of becoming a heartless dictatorship that repels rather than reaps.

Who’s the Sucker Now?

Last night I created a new Facebook account. My previous one had been permanently deleted – purged from the Facebook servers forever. So there was no going back to that old life. I am starting fresh, and have set a 100ish-friend-limit for myself.

Yes, I said I was never coming back. Yes, I called everyone who still used Facebook a ‘sucker’. Yes, I smashed one shrine and erected another. Yes, I realize I am the real sucker, despite the fact that I constantly try to rage against the machine. I make a big scene about it, too… which is even more embarrassing. The things is: I’ll probably delete my Facebook again at some point. Before things build up too much and my friend count gets out of hand (I’m even more of a sucker when it comes to accepting friend requests). It’s nice to kind of flush things out every once in a while. I was friends with people I barely knew, and others I didn’t want to know. But I felt too awkward/mean/elitist to defriend them. I hate it when people do their annual “spring cleaning” on Facebook (and I don’t make the cut). It just seems so… middle school. Why not just delete the whole thing and see who cares enough to find and re-friend you? That might be messed up reasoning, but I’m not too concerned about it right now.

Unwanted ‘friends’ aside, I have friends and family members that are difficult to keep in touch with. I’ve come to the realization that Facebook is truly the best way to do that at this point in time. Especially when you realize you lost your out-of-state friend’s number and can’t find it anywhere and really need to get in contact with them about something very specific: Hello again, Facebook! I am your slave.

So it looks like I managed to live without Facebook for a little over a month.

The ghost of my Facebook past says ‘hey’. Didn’t make it past the withdrawal.

Go ahead, rub it in my face.

Define Maturity, Please

English folk rocker, Frank Turner, has been my inspiration lately. I’d like to think we’re distantly related. Question: What is maturity? Being wise with how you use your talents and passions, even if that means foregoing having a comfortable (‘responsible’) lifestyle OR doing the “responsible” thing first – school, job, etc. and then pursuing your “dream.” Also – why do we call that which we feel drawn towards a “dream”?

Is it really that unattainable, that unpractical?

Frank Turner – Photosynthesis

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“No ones yet explained to me exactly what’s so great
About slaving 50 years away on something that you hate.”
- Frank Turner

The Violence of Waking Up

Sleep deprivation is a horrible, horrible thing. It makes waking up extremely difficult, especially if it’s at any hour before 9 am. Over the years I’ve developed several (un)strategic methods in order to cope with this horrendous process.

Most of the beds I’ve slept on in my lifetime have been at least five feet off the ground. Actually, come to think of it, literally every bed I’ve had past the age of eight has been of considerable height. After falling off said beds in my sleep a couple times, and waking up in a pile of books (hitting the conveniently present bookshelf), I developed the subconscious skill of self-preservation. Somehow, in my slumber, I always knew where the edge was, and never rolled that way.

Once I entered high school and stopped sleeping I was never ready to greet the morning. No glory left. I got into the habit of throwing myself off bed the second I heard the first beep of my alarm clock. That way I had no choice but to snap into action… because if I didn’t I would probably break something. Or worse: die of closed-head injury. It’s kind of like ripping off a band-aid. Just get it over with. No need to prolong the pain. Face that festering wound head on. You can’t change your mind halfway through the air – gravity has already made the decision. Not to mention, the ensuing half second rush is quite effective in jump-starting the faculties. Sometimes I would get confused and throw my alarm clock across the room instead. That was only helpful in briefly quelling my morning-angst, but not in getting me up and going. Unless, of course, the batteries failed to fall out… in which case I had to listen to the horrible beeping until I got angry enough to go shut it off (throw it again, until the batteries fell out). On a side note: the hiding-of-the-alarm-clock “wake-up” method is MUCH LESS effective than the instinctively-throwing-your-body-off-the-bed method. Band-aid ripping. Think band-aid.

As a disclaimer, I should mention there are certain risks that accompany springing into action off a raised bed at insanely early hours. One particular morning my alarm jarred me out of my peaceful state so violently that I actually threw myself off the bed before I had time to recognize my legs had fallen asleep. That was one of the most bizarre, strangely non-painful, yet metaphysically disturbing experiences of my life. Also, it is wise to make sure there are no potentially breakable or harmful items on the floor beneath you. At least be aware of their location. Landing on a tackle box in the dark and in delirium… not pleasant.

That being shared – goodnight.

Things I’ve Learned in Much Time and with Much Reluctance

1) Unexpected responses to expected questions are the best. Throwing a rock in the pond of normalcy can be quite amusing and rewarding at times. Especially if you go to Bible college (institute, to be precise). And especially if that rock is actually a boulder. It’s just a matter of getting past the potential shame and the desire to be accepted by others.

2) I’m a horrible human being. It’s not like I’m a criminal or anything super shady in the societal sense. I’m just a jerk. Also – so are you. You might not have admitted it to yourself yet, but you are. You are selfish and most everything you do is for self-glorification or gratification, even if it’s under the guise of selflessness.

3) Christmas is obnoxious and depressing. Self explanatory. The magic wore off a long time ago. Although I was never fed the Santa Claus lie, I always looked forward to December. Until I was about twelve. Then I hated it. However, it took until I was about sixteen to realize that strange feeling I got during this time was depression, and my contrived excitement was indeed… contrived.

4) Cats aren’t ALL necessarily the worst pets on the planet. They’re soft and entertaining. Even though they are usually obnoxious brats, that in itself can be pretty hilarious. Nothing like watching your curious cat fall off the counter with its head in a bag of potatoes. And they’re pretty darn cute as kittens.

5) It is possible for me to fail a class. Especially if I don’t show up for an exam. And don’t write one of the only two papers… and fail the other exam. Brilliant. Just brilliant. This brings me to the sixth point…

6) I shouldn’t have gone to college. Bad. Idea. I know you “need a degree to get by in this culture,” but I don’t really have high standards. Well, I do. Just in a different way. In the process of this education (of which I have a semester left) good has been gleamed and some friends have been made. However, I feel like my soul and spirit have been battered in the process. Went a tad crazy, too. And it’s all my fault because I was convinced I had to do “the responsible thing.” Seriously. Who was I kidding? I’m a stubborn ox of an anti-authoritarian at heart. Can’t bring myself to write a paper if I’m not 100% into it (which rarely happens). I don’t even want my degree anymore because it just means more structure under different organizations. Not happening. Sorry, mom and dad. I’ll finish. Just don’t expect much.

Sometimes I Wonder if My Dog is an Untamed Rodent

I haven’t been home with my family since May-ish. So of course I have been enjoying a little bonding time with the fam-dog/ewok this Thanksgiving break. Tonight we shared a latke (I always crave potatoes, don’t judge).

It was an experience akin to feeding a squirrel.

The Creature and Her Fears

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Angry Artists

I’ve always been fascinated by artists… the idealistic, stubborn folk with too much integrity to compromise the fabric of their soul for societal standards. Sometimes I find myself living vicariously through others’ artistic expressions. Mainly because I’m not capable of creating a somewhat original, palpable piece of work that embodies my emotions. At least not in a way that would make sense/appeal to others.

This is a new song by one of my favorite musicians. All her songwriting of late seems to be a bit anti-man. It should be noted that I do not hate men. I’m just disappointed by their lack of spines… constantly. Listening to LM’s songs are a great outlet.

Master Hunter – Laura Marling

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“I’ve often thought men never understand what honor is, though they’re always talking about it.” - Anna Karenina, Leo Tolstoy

I Wanna Be Sedated

This semester has been horrendously brutal. Mainly due to my complete lack of academic output. Really, every semester has been a battle. The very core of my being despises deadlines and academic structure. Molds. Expectations. Pressure. It’s hard for me to do anything if I don’t see the point. I don’t see the point in much. This is a problem. The perfectionist in me wants to crank out the work that it takes to get my degree, but my idealistic and contrary nature is usually the victor. So I sit. Being unproductive, papers piling up. No motivation to fight for something I don’t really care about. It’s a pathetic state to be in, I’m aware. Some might even call it lazy or immature. But lets be real here – I almost feel completely justified in my academic inactivity.

In order to perpetuate the constant state of shame and defeat I have been living in for the past couple months, I have been working on a playlist called “I Hate Academia.” Yep. Progress. This is what gets me through my fake “attempts” at paper-writing.

Please, send me song suggestions. Feed the fire.

Smashing of the Shrine

Last Wednesday, around 3 am, my roommates and I had a very intense discussion about Facebook, friendships, time, and community. We came to the conclusion that very little good has come out of our experience with this social networking site. So much of how we interpret our real, face-to-face relationships with people is read through the grid of Facebook. Even if it doesn’t determine how we interact, Facebook ever looms over us. Its presence is hard to ignore.

I’ve had Facebook since 2005. I made a new one in 2006 when I started community college. Facebook was an extension of myself, an entity that existed apart from me, yet was still a part of me. I was calculated in what I shared. Most of my statuses were sarcastic, self-deprecating, or anti-climatic, mocking whatever the hype of the day was. I had an image to uphold. The majority of my time was spent mindlessly clicking through the newsfeed and friends’ pictures and conversations. I subconsciously (and consciously) judged everyone based on their grammar, social awareness (how much is too much?) and ability to share information in an aesthetically pleasing way via the tools we had been given by dear Mark Zuckerberg and company. Six years into using Facebook, I would often find myself on the homepage, unsure of how I got there. My fingers would type the address automatically. It became so regular, so natural, so mind-numbing.

Community is important – crucial to our survival and health as human beings. It is being damaged by the reliance upon instantaneous gratification and access to information. Facebook is taking the place of real community. I believe it’s time to reclaim that. The first step to doing this is deleting my page. It’s now or never, go big or go home… something like that.

Since Facebook, my writing ability – completing thoughts and explaining concepts in a tactful way – has decreased significantly. It became much easier to communicate through sharing links, clicking “like,” or just writing a few stupid comments. Even easier than actually calling someone, or sending them a long e-mail or letter. My mind used to be so much more engaged. Now it is instantly gratified and weak. The gratification due to this disconnected yet immediate communication is temporary and leaves much more to be desired. I am convinced that Facebook is devaluing community and communication. Although there are many positive aspects to this kind of social networking, the negative (for me, personally) far outweigh whatever conveniences it provides. Having everything in a centralized, accessible location is nice. But it destroys the opportunity to actually fight for something, to search for something. I’m lazy enough as it is. I need to take measures to combat that, starting with Facebook.

This doesn’t mean I’m withdrawing myself from online networking altogether. Obviously. However, I do want to focus my energies on producing material that is more thoughtful and meaningful. I want to start printing out the pictures I take; create an actual hard-copy portfolio. There’s no real need for that with Facebook. Hopefully the absence of my virtual life in my life (make sense?) will motivate me to start doing, to reach out and create in more tangible ways.

I realize Facebook doesn’t affect everyone the same way it affected me. I know plenty of people that barely use it. But as a very visual, right-brained person, Facebook was an extreme distraction in my life. Not anymore.

Erik @ 9/12/11, 1:02 pm: “Just so you know, everyone is going to make you feel unwelcome and hated at Thanksgiving… if you delete your Facebook.”

Micah @ 9:05 pm: “i will murder you if you delete your facebook- seriously.”

Bye, suckers!

P.S. If you have a blog, send it to me, I’ll add it to the blogroll. Don’t hesitate to call or write. Or Skype. Or Gchat. Who am I kidding? I am tethered to technology. Baby steps.

Crazy Girl Throws Temper Tantrum in Public

I had an emotional breakdown in public today. I don’t even have those in private. But first let me give this some context…

Last night I rented “The Pianist,” starring Adrien Brody. It was extremely difficult to watch. Draining. The attention to detail is superb, and it is perhaps one of the most historically and emotionally aware/accurate films I’ve ever seen. It is set in Warsaw during the invasion of Poland in 1939, and follows one man – Władysław Szpilman – throughout his experience inside and outside the ghetto walls.

While watching this film, I was thinking about the research paper I am in the process of writing. It addresses this question: “Could America/Great Britain have done more to save Jewish lives during the Holocaust?” The answer is most certainly YES; but that is not what I want to focus on. Rather, I want to know: 1) where was the outrage AND 2) Why aren’t more people concerned about dispelling the ignorant beliefs that foster anti-Semitic attitudes? Do people even know what needs to be dispelled?

As I was watching “The Pianist,” with other historical events in mind, my frustration grew. The compliance of the general populace with the atrocities being committed made me want to pull my hair out. However, I was even more on edge because of the large and looming anti-Israel bias that is prevalent today… even after all this history.

Are anti-Semitism and anti-Zionism the same thing? Many would say no. However, there is a very observable correlation that cannot be ignored. According to recent research – not to mention my personal, nonchalant observations – anti-Semitism is on the rise. In fact, more global anti-Semitic incidents were reported in 2009 than any year since WWII. Much of this growing anti-Semitism is fueled by increasing anti-Israel beliefs and attitudes. It’s a dangerous situation with ingredients just waiting to be stirred. Ironically, this week’s “What Would You Do?” episode featured anti-Semitism. The results, while somewhat encouraging, were also tainted by the fact that you don’t have to go far to find historically ignorant and hateful people.

This morning I decided to visit Michigan Avenue (Chicago, IL) and see which new books were out at Borders. I had no goal in mind, but ending up purchasing “The Case For Israel” by Alan Dershowitz. I’ve done my own in-depth personal studies on this matter, starting my freshman year in high school when I gained an interest in Israel’s modern history. However, Dershowitz presents the arguments in such a clean, convincing manner that I decided it would be a much-used, helpful reference. I walked out of Borders feeling very adamant, mulling over arguments I’ve had with former friends and acquaintances regarding Israel, and whether or not the Jewish people have the right to their own nation (which is, by the way, the size of New Jersey).

As I was contemplating these things, book in hand, I cut through the Water Tower plaza area. The crowd changed. I came to the realization that I was surrounded by a line of people, on either side of myself, holding up signs. Mildly confused for a moment, I soon realized what was going on. A pamphlet was shoved in my face: “End the Siege on Gaza. Stop Atrocious Israeli War Crimes.” Another one said something about one Jew’s life not being worth the Palestinian nation. There were pictures lined all along the plaza of bloody Palestinian children – apparently mutilated by malicious Israeli soldiers. A man started yelling “we just want Salaam!” Another picture was shoved in my face. I shoved it away with an angry, “NO.” I stopped and turned around, standing in the middle of the crowd, wanting to yell something. But I couldn’t. All I could say was, “Stupid.” I was so frustrated my eyes were welling up with tears and my face was already bright red. The protesters noticed. Three men stopped their conversations and turned toward me with curious expressions. I just turned around and walked away, tears in eyes. I’ve encountered anti-Israel protesters many times before, but this was different. I was unprepared and emotionally primed. The timing was too perfect. I thought of all the ignorant shoppers, and how easily they could be convinced by the out of context facts, figures and pictures. Propaganda that could be likened to Hitler’s clever campaign.

Killing was justified in Europe because people believed the Jews were the cause of their financial troubles, etc. Strong religious anti-Semitic beliefs also ran deep, and it did not take much to bring them to life. Today people see Israel as an annoyance. There have been scads of books and articles written on how the Holocaust needs to stop being used as an excuse for the Jewish nation, Israel.

This is deeply troubling. I’m not saying the glass is half-empty or anything, because that would imply a misguided psychological interpretation of the situation. I’m simply saying this is how it is. These are the facts. This is what is happening. It’s unacceptable. No matter how scarce or prevalent.

A blind boy feels a relief of a map of Israel.
Photo by David Rubinger, “Witness to An Era.”