I’m in a box?
Rosencrantz & Guildenstern Are Dead
written by Tom Stoppard
Rosencrantz: Do you ever think of yourself as actually dead, lying in a box with the lid on it? Nor do I really. Silly to be depressed by it. I mean, one thinks of it like being alive in a box. One keeps forgetting to take into account that one is dead. Which should make all the difference. Shouldn’t it? I mean, you’d never know you were in a box would you? It would be just like you were asleep in a box. Not that I’d like to sleep in a box, mind you. Not without any air. You’d wake up dead for a start and then where would you be? In a box. That’s the bit I don’t like, frankly. That’s why I don’t think of it. Because you’d be helpless wouldn’t you? Stuffed in a box like that. I mean, you’d be in there forever. Even taking into account the fact that you’re dead. It isn’t a pleasant thought. Especially if you’re dead, really. Ask yourself: if I asked you straight off I’m going to stuff you in this box now – would you rather to be alive or dead?
Naturally you’d prefer to be alive. Life in a box is better than no life at all. I expect. You’d have a chance at least. You could lie there thinking, well, at least I’m not dead. In a minute, somebody’s going to bang on the lid and tell me to come out. (knocks) “Hey you! What’s your name? Come out of there!”
What me? A Troublemaker?
It’s Teacher Appreciation Week. The most memorable teachers/mentors I have all come from the 7th grade. That may seem strange… However, in 7th grade I ran into a wee bit of trouble. I was a straight-A student that had multiple run-ins with the law. I was smoking in the bathroom, hanging out with gang members, and regularly ditching school. I was experimenting with drugs and kept a weapon in my locker. Hard to imagine, I know. But it happened.
If it weren’t for the encouragement of the following teachers, I may have ended up in jail. They made me WANT to show up to school. They made me believe I could get out of my small little town and be somebody other than the family disappointment.
Mrs. Curren (English): I wrote one short story that was extremely morbid, but she wasn’t concerned about my mental health. She told me to ignore all other assignments and build off it. By the end of the class, I had 130 pages of eyeballs cracking on sidewalks and bodily fluids excreting from various orifices described in excruciating detail. I never skipped her class. Why would I? Who else had a teacher who explicitly said to not pay attention and just write?
Mr. Loader (Science): He introduced me to dissection. I had an immediate affinity for cutting things open and poking around in vital organs. He helped me research various facts for my storytelling in Mrs. Curren’s class. He didn’t get mad when I lit a frog’s eyeball on fire because I wanted to see if formaldehyde was really flammable. I ended up testing out of 9th grade science. I was a freshman in 10th grade biology, a sophomore in AP biology. I guess I made my classmates feel stupid - or at least that’s what they all wrote in my yearbook.
Mr. Commers (History): I think I irritated him. A lot. He’d always make me stay after class to discuss my trouble making… then would inform me that I was one of his best students. I always felt guilty skipping his class. There’s something about a teacher who lets you sass back as much as he let me that makes you enjoy showing up. Had him again in high school for AP World History (poor guy) - he told me if I didn’t get a 3 on my AP test, he would know I didn’t try. So I got a 5, just to shut him up.
Mr. Baldus (Vice Principal): I was supposed to be expelled. My parents… well, let’s just say they didn’t look at me, speak to me, or acknowledge my existence for a few weeks after that day. Mr. Baldus told them that I wasn’t a bad kid, just got mixed up with the wrong people. He wouldn’t be expelling me, but I was put on out-of-school suspension for the rest of the quarter. He lived up the street from us and would bring me my class assignments each day. I was kicked out of school, yet still allowed to “attend.” He was a school administrator that truly cared about the kids and I am very grateful for everything he did for me.
After that whirlwind year of bad decisions, I entered 8th grade, still a straight-A student, but no longer a smoking, gang affiliated, trouble maker. Well… maybe I was still a trouble maker. :)
Thank you.
Happy Tartan Day, America (with photos).
“…for, as long as but a hundred of us remain alive, never will we on any conditions be brought under English rule. It is in truth not for glory, nor riches, nor honours that we are fighting, but for freedom – for that alone, which no honest man gives up but with life itself.”
~Declaration of Arbroath, signed 6 April 1320.
So… enjoy some photos I’ve taken of my favorite place on earth.
Edinburgh
Glencoe
Glasgow
Bothwell/Uddingston
Inveraray
Skipness
Ardrishaig
Somewhere near Fort William
Inverness
Beinn Dorain, Bridge of Orchy
Urquhart Castle, near Drumnadrochit
Taking advantage.
Our country is a breeding ground for venality. But it is also a womb for brilliance. The United States is still a baby in terms of hegemony. We’re nowhere near the likes of the Roman Empire, which held dominance for centuries. Shakespeare once wrote, “Some are born great, some achieve greatness, and still others have greatness thrust upon them.” Into which classification will we as a society fall? Our country was built to be a haven from persecution (it’s not perfect, but that was the idea). The men and women who founded our culture were certainly “great,” but was it destiny that paved their path or were they forced by circumstances to step up to the plate? Achievement comes from necessity, does it not? So the latter two statements are not mutually exclusive. Would you rather be remembered for your greatness as a whole or the reasons behind striving for it?
When we are directed by self-serving opportunists, is it any wonder our own life decisions revolve around a similar mindset? But, can civilization survive without these individuals? There cannot be “good” without “evil.” Should we, then, thank these widely accepted evil-doers for showcasing depravity, because it inevitably results in a beneficial change of policy? How can we know what to change without first knowing what is wrong? Do we use our leaders in the same way they use us? We elevate them to power, then turn around and criticize their use of it.
Maybe we need corruption in the same way we need air. It feeds us, keeps us alive, pushes us to strive for more. What that “more” is is anyone’s guess. But it’s there, waiting for us to grab hold and fly.
(for those interested, the Shakespeare quote appears in Twelfth Night, Act II Scene V)
I have rarely not gotten what I wanted. I have parents who bent over backwards so I could follow my dreams and employers who want me to stick around for a long time. I have friends who have been around for more than half my life. I am ridiculously lucky.
Occupation.
Protesters are setting up in the park across the street from my building today. They all have matching red T-shirts. Seemed way too organized to be the regular “Occupy DC” group. My friend Steve, brilliant man that he is, provided this explanation:
The “Occupy” movement is a loose conglomeration of various political groups. The idea of occupation gained currency with a group of anarchists who held that the disenfranchised should “occupy everything and make no demands.” The idea is that the state overreacts to the occupation, and this overreaction displays the tyranny of the state in concrete form. Nevertheless, it is now populated by socialists, communists, anarcho-capitalists, anarcho-syndicalists, pacifists, social libertarians, democratic-socialists, unions, wobblies, post-left anarchists, lifestyle anarchists who subscribe to temporary autonomous zones, Ron Paul types who hate the federal reserve, and traditional democrats. This list is by no means complete. It is a very diverse group of rather pissed off people. That’s what happens when income disparity reaches the current level. Red t-shirts…id say you have a communist group on your hands or maybe a union? Hard to tell because there are so many smaller groups within the occupy movement.
***I went outside and asked… they are a teachers’ union.
Look into the light.
My eyes are healthy, except for maybe the small amount of astigmatism in my left one. But it’s negligible. Supposedly. Oh, and I’m not a candidate for Lasik. Why? Because I said so, despite the encouragement of my doctor to think about it. I happen to enjoy wearing fashionable frames AND having them be functional (unlike those people who have 20-20 vision and wear them simply to have a little style).
Besides, the whole prospect of a laser slicing a thin layer off my eyeball while I’m conscious is not appealing. Do you know how long it took me to get comfortable touching my eyeball to wear contacts?? And now you want me to let a laser do it? I don’t think so. At least I have control over my fingers… I have no control over the person directing the laser… I don’t care how skilled they are… no laser. Hear me?
Maybe I have a fear of lasers. What is that called? Is there some blah-blah-blah-phobia formal title? Lasers are evil. Seriously. Those little pointer ones… yeah, we used them to torment our cats. Shine the red dot on the wall, cat jumps into the wall. Shine red dot in a fast circle, cat gets dizzy trying to catch it. Unfriendly aliens could totally have lasers, Dr. Evil schemes with lasers… and he wants to attach them to ‘frickin’ sharks… I’m not a fan of sharks either. Stupid “Operation Wang Chung Alan Parsons Project.” Evil.
Reflecting Pool.
My friend Dave went to Costa Rica in August 2009. He needed to take some time after the death of his grandmother and learn to just breathe again; they were extremely close. On August 11th, he left his hotel and drove to a national park for a bit of hiking.
And never returned.
For 2 years I have mentally relived our relationship. I was a sophomore when Dave came to Beloit College, set on being a part of our crew. I watched as his social awkwardness faded and he came into his own. He was a clean shaven mama’s boy who we somehow converted into a hippie club kid (ok, so yeah, we may have corrupted him… a bit). He would recite his ”Booty Theory” after his 3rd drink, without fail (all you really need to know about this is that it was a good 40 minute rant about women’s asses and it was epic). I recall him declaring with pride that he was going to move to Israel and live his life as a good Jewish boy, only to come back to the States afterward and renounce the faith to become a Buddhist, disenchanted with his experience.
He was on the verge of completing his PsyD at the Adler School of Professional Psychology when he disappeared… I can’t help think of all the people who will now miss out on his introspection and patience. Who won’t ever know what it was like to sit on a porch for 8 hours and just… talk. About everything and nothing.
Just before he jaunted off to Costa Rica, he wrote about life. The poignancy of his thoughts so soon before he disappeared doesn’t escape me. Below is his post, preserved by the grace of Facebook Notes. A chance to go back to the week before he left Chicago for Costa Rica. A chance to say “Hey, don’t mess with the Gimelfarb” and smile.
I miss you, buddy.
*****
Perhaps I may be on my way to creating my own love/relationship column, but here’s another note about living the single life. As a single person, I often find myself cycling through times during which I love the adventure of being single and those through which I feel excruciating loneliness. I know I am not alone in this experience. I have also had the painful experience of recently losing a family member to whom I was very close. This difficult experience has served to bring the idea of my mortality closer to me. One day I too will do what she did. I will die. So what do I make of this life? Who will come into it and what do I make of the time spent with those people? Who will I love? Who will I marry? Or will it ever happen? If yes, hopefully great. If not, then what?
I’m not in a relationship right now. I sometimes wonder if I ever will be. And I wonder if this a good or bad thing. There is no way to know these answers. Regarding the second pondering,however, I have realized again and again that it is up to me. I will die someday. I will be reflecting back on my life through my last moments (depending how they happen) or at least at some point before I die and ask myself whether I lived as fully as I could have. Am I living fully by worrying about finding somebody, especially if I may, although this is improbable, not find anyone? What else can I do with my life? How much effort toward looking is appropriate? I mean, let’s face it. I am horny and enjoy female companionship. I can’t just ignore my needs and take no action. But what if it will never be successful or satisfying? There is no way to know, although the likelihood of finding someone is pretty high. And I refuse to stop being picky. There is no need to settle just for the sake of having a romantic relationship. Settling for someone you are not that into is worse than being single. It is a burden for both parties. So what is there to do?
Well, whatever I do, I think it is important to put effort into making every moment count. Enjoyment of life and contributing to the good of humanity come first. I would like to know that I’ve given all I can by the time that I die and enjoyed all that there was to enjoy for me. I would like to know that I was able to appreciate each moment of my life, each sight, smell, sound, taste and emotion regardless of how pleasant or unpleasant and how simple or complex. There is no way to know what the future holds and it really never comes exactly as we envision it.
Life is finite. We must love it no matter what so we can be satisfied with it when we look back on it. We must give all we can, whether it be in romantic relationships or other areas. Love is in the moment and nowhere else. Enjoyment and giving are all that matter. The rest is trivia.
~ Dave Gimelfarb 26 July 2009
Funny thing on the way to the disco…
When you read the intro essay to a novel, which I rarely do, and you come to the last sentence of the opening paragraph which says, “Originality can only be appreciated if it is prefaced by looking neither right nor left” or some such language… It gets you thinking. My mind wandered enough after absorbing this statement that I never did finish the essay or begin the book.
Something original cannot have comparisons. But. Art is all about interpretation. What I interpret as original, another may see as a rip-off or modification of something else, because our mentalities have been influenced by varying factors and experiences. Remember back in algebra (my favorite!) and there were these things called intersections and unions? Yeah. That’s what our lives are to each other. Intersections. Some overlap, some difference.
12th Century Philosopher-Fool
“There is always something of a gap between sincerely expressed and sincerely held ideals and one’s inward conformity to and transformation by those ideals.”
In simpler terms, ‘easier said than done.’
Peter Abelard, students from around the world may have flocked to France in order to learn from your genius… however, your flaw… one that quite possibly prevented you from achieving happiness, one that Juan Ramon Jimenez observed so eloquently:
“That love of Eloise; what tenderness,
what simplicity, what perfect reality!
All was clear and named by its name,
in full chastity. While she remained in the midst of
everything,
not touched by what is low within the fullness.
If your woman, Peter Abelard, could be like that, then
the ideal lives, we must not deny it.
Your ideal lived, why did you deny it,
stupid Peter Abelard?
Men, women, men,
we must find the ideal, for it exists.
Eloise, Eloise, in what does the ideal
end? And tell us, what are you now,
and where are you now? Why did you, vain Peter Abelard,
send her to a convent, while you went away
with the plebian monks, if she were
the center of your life, of her life, of life,
and wouldn’t it have been the same with you when you
were castrated
as before, if she were the ideal? You did not know,
I am the one who knows it, disobedience
from the sweetly obedient, full of grace.”
Page 1 of 2
