Tech and Ramen

The O.C. made me feel as if my upperclassmen years of high school were incredibly lackluster. I managed to go through four years without as much as a gunshot or a fight at the bait shop. My girlfriend wasn’t killed during a high-speed chase, and Jeff Buckley never sang for my great sailboat escape. Regardless of these depressing facts, the soundtracks still bring high school, or at least the feelings associated with high school, flooding back. A growing pain in the pit of my stomach marked senior year, and “Forever Young” was on loop. The final yearbook signings were emotional for some, but all that I could think of was “what comes next”. I wasn’t afraid of loosing my friends, because I didn’t really have strong connections to anyone. My feelings weren’t feelings of sadness but feelings of extreme uncertainty.

A new graduation soundtrack is beginning to rear its head.

I’m not sure what happens in three months; the difference is that there is no longer a fear of the unknown but a fear of losing the people that mean so much to me. At one point, I seriously thought that I was missing the part of the brain that made human attachment. I left high school, but I didn’t miss any of the amazing people there.

This was because they weren’t my amazing people. I met those people when I moved into a small dorm room, with a bulletin board divider. The room housed four people and probably twenty or so cockroaches. There were many struggles, long nights, and disappointments, but all of those hard times were countered by undying support from the loyal friends that passed through this tiny room. High school centered around gaining independence and learning to be myself, but college showed me how to rely on others.

In many ways, I didn’t truly appreciate my high school times until well after the fact. My high school was diverse, full of future artists, engineers, poets, and free thinkers, and the exposure to these people helped to shape my personality. I know that the last five years have provided yet-unrealized opportunities, but this time things are different. My goal is not merely to look back with fondness, but to look back with the people who made these last years amazing.

It seems that life resets itself every five years, between elementary school, high school, and college. Each new beginning brings incredible opportunities and experiences, but for the first time I want to experience this new adventure with old friends.

Is it coincidence that the “rebellious stage” occurs during the pinnacle of social pressure otherwise known as high school? Teens move from their blissful prepubescent life into the real world. In this case, the real world refers to the place where every action is met with cynicism. Classmates are quick to ridicule anyone who sticks out. Parents shift from telling their children that astronaut is indeed a viable career choice to emphasizing the need for money. At some point most parents rattle off a sentence emphasizing the importance of a part time job; part time jobs teach responsibility they say.

Part time jobs teach subservience.
Real life begins at the bottom of the totem pole. Scratch your way to the top. If you spend your working hours diligently mopping, eventually you’ll be allowed to bag groceries. Do this for a few years and you could work at the customer service counter. Become a manager when the position opens up, and you might luck into a job at corporate, where a secondary totem pole replaces the first. Spend twenty years working your way up, and then you’re finally allowed to have thoughts and ideas. Those who manage to reach the top by climbing the rungs of the old system are left devoid of emotion and with a company-store type debt. Money becomes the only motivator because it’s the only asset necessary to continue the illusion. It’s easy to see what happens when money takes priority, and it’s unfair to blame politicians and crooked businessmen for chasing more money at the expense of the lower classes, because society teaches them to act this way.

At every stage we’ve been lied to. We’ve been told that if we just behave, we will be rewarded. Many implementations of religion work the same way; worshippers are told that their obedience will be rewarded in the afterlife. Sure, your children are starving and you have no happiness, but if you farm for twelve hours everyday, God will reward you. Our system was designed around obedience.

Rebellious stages are death rattles.
Quarter life and midlife rebels are reminded, almost violently, that they must fit into the societal mold. Like most rebellions, these are crushed by blows from a sword. The midlife crisis may result in the purchase of a sport scar, and the quarter life crisis manifests itself in a whiny blog and nothing more.

And then came these guys:

Innocent passersby stare in awe of Jackass stunts. Gaping mouths are common amidst the years of footage that this crew has collected, because most brains are ill equipped to even comprehend the events or how someone could dare to take part in them. The show has been condemned by politicians, concerned parents and nearly everyone else. Few would admit to liking the show in public, but numbers always tell the truth. The third film in the series brought in approximately $50 million. Fans seem to like the crew for the same reason that critics despise it, blatant rebellion.

This clip was shot with a Phantom Camera, and was directed by Spike Jones. Their rebellion could classify as art on many levels. Old pranks have been refined, and their third film takes on a surprisingly soft tone, as if they are looking out upon the twilight of their rule. If the requirement of art is to evoke an emotion, then this is definitely art. If anything, Jackass is made up of caricatures that force us to examine the price of rebellion and why we didn’t pay it.

People say that your dreams are the only things that save ya,
Come on baby in our dreams, we can live our misbehavior.

Personally, I’m trying to find a suitable balance between corporate enslavement and running through a hallway of tasers.

Buy Made in the U.S.A
These words have been annoying me for quite some time now. Its obvious that many Americans labor under the assumption that the American manufacturing infrastructure is a phoenix preparing its epic rise from the ashes. America will never produce as it did in the past. A large reason for this has to do with an unwarranted sense of entitlement and the fact that the American infrastructure can no longer support the old system.

Why does this country want to regain its manufacturing power?
Some fear that foreign countries could simply cut the U.S. off on a whim, preventing us from purchasing goods from certain countries. This reasoning is defensive and tribal. Countries stockpile nuclear weapons in a game of mutually assured destruction, and the cry for increased manufacturing is simply another defense mechanism. Playing defense can never lead to development; there’s an offensive aspect that is necessary for growth. The isolationist perspective held by many Americans is also damaging. It’s absurd to think that there’s a mystical set of jobs that are owned by Americans and off limits to everyone else. Most consumer goods come from China because people in that country are willing to work harder for exponentially less pay. The job rightfully goes to the worker that will work the hardest for less. It’s all very capitalistic isn’t it? Americans should praise those who work harder, if our supposed capitalist underpinnings are legitimate.

It’s all about the money. Manufacturing was, at one point, an excellent way of making a living. Plant workers could provide an excellent life for their families by simply working a full time job. After years of riding the wave, the manufacturing industry was decimated, and workers were quick to find out that the real world was not willing to pay for unskilled, uneducated labor. Even the government enforced this lesson by resorting to overseas labor for the construction of military vehicles.

The population does not shop at Walmart because it is forced to.
Cheap goods require cheap labor, and the purchasing habits of Americans will not allow for expensive American-made goods, unless these goods provide something that can’t be found in other products. The government could resort to massive tariffs; however, this would only cripple the struggling population. The old system competes for market share of cheap goods, but it’s apparent that America will have to focus on innovating to regain its stance as a force to be reckoned with.

The realistic solution is simple: shut up and do something about it. Are we so foolish to think that we can ignore “survival of the fittest”? Limiting competition by passing stringent import and immigration laws is a shameful way of prolonging the inevitable. Success requires adaptation, and those who are willing to pursue learning beyond the roots of manual labor will find success. Embrace technology because it’s required to survive. The United States could never compete with overseas labor and the country was only temporarily bolstered by being the only fish in the sea. In a country where working ethic is supposed to be flowing through the veins of every citizen there is a disproportionate amount of complacency.

Perhaps this all seems a bit harsh, but the growth in international communication has made it impossible to continue holding on to the idea that the U.S. operates within its own, private realm of existence. Success will require innovation and artistry. For years people have been told that obedience will provide monetary comfort. but the days of finding success as a cog are over.

For decades workers showed up, punched in, punched out, and left. This brought a promise of protection from the uncertainties of a life without a guaranteed paycheck. This lifestyle promoted complacency and conformity. The system worked for a while, but the perceived security was merely that, and employees soon realized that there was no job safety net. Cookie-cutter employees were safe when the economy was blooming, but the time of perpetual bloom passed decades ago. The perceived security disappears when companies and consumers choose to abandon the worker that settled for security and the mediocrity that came with it.

Fortunately, there’s plenty of room for success for those whom have been disenfranchised by the industrial system. Unfortunately, most have been told how to behave for so long that they no longer understand how to function in an environment that demands anything more than showing up.

The term “self-motivated” is evolving.
The industrial mindset is reflected in all aspects of American work culture, not just on the plant floor. I returned to a part time job in order to make some extra cash for graduate school and considered asking for more than the standard minimum wage that was paid to all seasonal employees. I figured that I deserved more money; after all, I showed up on time everyday and did all that I was asked. I began to consider how unreasonable it was for me to expect to make more than minimum wage for simply showing up. Everyone shows up, and those who don’t are fired without mercy. Sure, I considered myself pleasant to work with and obedient, but there was nothing that made me irreplaceable. Anyone could do what I was doing and, seeing as the company product was something irrelevant to my lifestyle, most people could do it better. Anyone can complete the tasks required for a minimum-wage job which is why the term “minimum” is so telling. In order to become irreplaceable it is vital to act even when no guiding voice is present. If an instruction manual can be created for a person’s job, the person is replaceable. This person has no place in evolving culture because the days of assembly line work ethic are over. It is only through a renewed sense of passion and initiative that we will be able to forge our own paths.

I hated pull-ups.

There’s some lonely sole on an education board somewhere who is tasked with establishing physical fitness standards for school children. Some miserable little man decides that an average 10th grade male should be able to complete seven full pull-ups, no leg kicks allowed. If one did not complete at least three pull-ups, he would not pass the physical fitness test. After straining my skinny little arms for what seemed like eternity, the “1/3″ written down next to my name was insulting. I watched as the girls hung limply on the bar and received their passing grade for “trying,” and I felt absolutely helpless. This was not the first time that I’d felt helpless; however, it was the first time that I decided to do something about it. I wasn’t quite old enough to operate a motor vehicle, so I had to explain to my mom why it was that I wanted to start lifting weights. “Because I want to” doesn’t seem to be a valid reason for most, but approval was irrelevant to me. I found a $30 dumbbell set and received several looks of pity as I limped to the checkout counter (I swear some must have thought that I had a club foot). 30 pounds, while not as impressive as Will Smith’s seven, was enough to set change in motion. I didn’t start exercising because it was fun; I hated all forms of sports and limited my physical exertion to the trumpet and piano. I started exercising because I was unhappy about my weakness, and I knew that getting stronger was a way to eliminate my unhappiness.

My foray into physical fitness began sometime around 2004 and it’s now 2011. I still manage to complete an hour routine at least four or five times a week, and the only time that I stopped exercising was for about three months during a six month stint in Japan. I can’t say that I like exercising, or that I’m even necessarily motivated to do it. Sure, sometimes I feel big and powerful after working out, but most of the time I struggle to motivate myself. “Just Do It” is how my mind handles this subject, and it reflects the not-so-delicate balancing act that I fight with on a daily basis. I like the way that I feel after exercising, and I love being in shape. Don’t be mistaken; I’m not ripped like Schwarzenegger before his gubernatorial days, but I can do a pull-up.

Most of us are completely oblivious to the reasons that we’re unhappy, and this isn’t something that we can control. The time comes when hurdles confront us and keep us from being successful, and it is during these rare fortunate times that we gain direct control over our happiness. Fear is inevitable but not a hurdle.

Having to do a pull-up is a hurdle. Hurdle is a term that’s thrown around, but it’s done so without true understanding of what it actually means. Athletes train to jump over hurdles, they do not cower before them in agonizing fear. Hurdles are in fact meant to be jumped, and an insurmountable hurdle would be pointless indeed.

I was the only witness to my eventual victory over the pull-up bar, but by the time that I was able to achieve it the audience was irrelevant. It was truly freeing to do something for my personal satisfaction and no one else’s. I write this as Electric President blares, and I write with little care of whether or not these words will ever reach someone else’s eyes, or if these eyes will like what they see. While living to please was safe, the only thing that it could ever provide was disappointment. There are countless battles being waged between the desire to please and the desire to live in unapologetic pursuit of the things that make inhaling worth the effort.

It was all in our heads. It was all in our heads.
The sky was never falling; it was all in our heads.
So sleep well tonight. And dream some good things.
The sky was never falling. It was all a bad dream.
~Electric President

The brilliance of 127 Hours is not so much the story behind the film but the entrapment of the viewer in Aron Ralston’s reality. The film builds nicely, exposing Ralston’s hubris as he climbs alone in the mountains of Utah, and the director places viewers in the crevice between two rock slabs, as Ralston encourages his makeshift tour group to plummet into the cavern below. Viewers are trapped with Ralston as the rock gives way from under them, pinning their hands literally between a rock and a hard place. Most of the film takes place between the same two rock slabs; however, viewers experience the visions of Ralston’s future firsthand.

Successful films elicit extreme emotions, whether they be happiness, fear, or anger. Most new releases simply act as background noise, eliciting nothing but comfort, in the same way that sound from the television reminds old people that they’re not dead. Very few films demand that you watch them with unflinching commitment. 127 Hours spends most of its runtime building a sense of doom, a feeling of deep despair in the pit of the stomach. Why couldn’t Ralston have just extended his reach a bit more to grab the good Swiss Army Knife before he left his apartment? Why did he leave the extra Gatorade in his car? Every small mistake is a blow to the stomach. Before his entrapment, Ralston absorbs massive landscapes, and each of these landscapes becomes a reminder of the world that lies just beyond his reach. There’s a beautiful scene where James Franco, who plays Ralston, extends his foot in an attempt to expose it to the sunlight creeping along the rock face. This sun seems to energize him, as it energizes the viewer. It’s almost unbearable to watch him chunk away at his arm with the free multi tool that came with his cheap flashlight, but a feeling of obligation keeps the viewer from looking away. It’s very rare that a director tells a story that makes the viewer feel indebted to the character, but the deep level of Ralston’s characterization and the link between the viewer and Ralston’s experiences make it impossible to abandon him during his time of greatest despair.

It is because of this great suffering that the value of freedom can truly be understood.

The film ends with “Festival” by Sigur Ros. The song, although released two years beforehand, seems perfectly crafted as it moves from Ralston’s horrific escape to emerging into sunlight and rescue. All of the tension and fear created in the body of the movie is immediately relieved, and the viewer is also released from the deep tension that the film has induced. The viewer is free to live again.