Why We Don't Learn

While I was in college, my grandpa asked what I planned to do with my education. “I don’t know, I’m just going to college to learn,” I announced.

“Well, you have to think about investing in your future. You want to focus on courses where you can best capitalize on your investment. You have to look at the market, and the demand, and how you can best use your education to exploit that demand,” he instructed.

I found this concept repulsive. I felt that exploitation was bad and sacrificing the present for the future even worse. I wasn’t interested in money; I found it a distraction from the important things in life: equality, integrity and truth.

Today, I vividly understand and appreciate that grandpa was giving sound advice. I have never used my degrees in philosophy and psychology for anything practical, and consequently have only been hired for jobs requiring a high school education, if that. Not only do these types of job not pay as much, performing them means certain others are likely to assume I’m a moron. On the contrary, I have almost always had jobs that I enjoyed and currently make enough money to save a couple hundred dollars every month. I never took out student loans and currently don’t have debt of any sort: no car payments, mortgage payments or credit card bills. That makes my net worth more than most Americans. I am not owned by money.

The most prominent distraction related to money is excess. A few years ago, I decided to move and knew I couldn’t take my beloved 1993 Toyota pickup with me. I had just stupidly paid $2400 to rebuild the engine. I put out an ad asking $1000 and got a call. It went like this:

“Hello?”
“I’m calling about the truck for sale?”
“Yes, I still have it.”
“It has a 5-speed manual transmission?”
“Yes, that’s correct.”
“And it says here in the ad it doesn’t have anything automatic, by which I assume you mean windows and locks, but obviously it has things like power steering.”
“No, it does not have power steering.”
“Does it have a CD player or just a tape deck?”
“Neither. It doesn’t even have a radio. Just a hole in the middle of the dashboard.”
“A/C?”
“No, but you can crank down the windows”
“How’s the condition of the body?”
“It’s okay. There’s a fair amount of rust and the back bumper’s missing, but the tailgate works.”
“So basically, all you have is a manual engine in a shell.”
“Yes. It runs great. I’m not sure what else you’d need.”
He hung up.

I don’t know whether you can purchase love, but I am certain you can’t buy contentment. Capitalism calls contentment a lack of ambition, and I do agree that people are far too eager to be as lazy as possible. But instead of lauding satisfaction, Americans like to impress others with their things. Absurdly, people actually do seem to be impressed by the things of others. I’m much more impressed by humility, but this is so antithetical to Western culture the declaration comes across as coy.

Humility is important because it makes learning possible. Most people don’t like to learn because it requires overcoming the reality that one doesn’t already know everything. Learning, by definition, requires confronting the unknown, which is a major stressor. Accepting the reality of one’s personal shortcomings can be profoundly affective, evoking anything from frustration to physical pain. Most would rather persist in being wrong than endure the experience of learning. “I love you” is simple to say compared to “I don’t know” or “I was wrong.” Most would rather lie, invent or insist upon untruth than concede ignorance or guilt. People don’t even want to hear “I don’t know,” and assume being able to spew placating bullshit is a demonstration of competence.

When I was in college, I figured out that the most successful method for getting good grades on multiple choice tests was to choose the answer that best reflected the values and opinions of the teacher. This reveals something fascinating about what a multiple choice test teaches. Knowing the answer is less important than telling another what they want to hear. Towards that end, we become experts at things like understanding accepted norms and reading body language. These are indeed important survival skills to learn, but also develops a dependence upon external validation. The overriding concern of most is not how to excel, but how to convince others they are excellent. In the end, people don’t generally care whether they’re wrong- they just don’t want to get called out for it. Honesty is considered mean, imprudent and rude.

We usually expect to be right. In situations where we lack confidence in our competence, we tend to defer to whoever seems to have the most confidence in their opinion. This bizarrely includes situations where “right” in an objective sense does not even exist. While still in high school, I had a conversation with an adult who had expressed her dislike for the philosophy class she had been required to take in college. She didn’t understand why the professor toyed with the class by asking them questions instead of just giving them the answers. This would actually be funny if it wasn’t so depressing. I’ve had arguments with religious fans who insist there must be a god because otherwise nobody would have all the answers. People don’t want accuracy, they want answers.

Tests are sometimes graded on a curve in order to measure what you have learned relative to your peers. I was always considered one of the smartest kids throughout school, so I knew the goal of curved tests for a lot of others was to get as good a score as me. Therefore, as I took these tests, I would intentionally mark wrong answers. Then, just before turning it in, I would go through and change those answers to the correct ones. I would score well on these tests not necessarily because I was the smartest, but because others thought I was smatter than them and were therefore cheating off me.

People often think of learning in competitive terms- you only have to know enough to stay ahead of those around you. People read overviews of topics they know nothing about to impress at parties. This results in a lot of specific superficial knowledge but often lacks learning sophisticated enough to be prudently and effectively applied. The result of only having ever read the Cliffs Notes on a work is it seemingly justifies you to smugly ridicule those who actually read the source material and should therefore be experts but obviously aren’t smart enough to understand it. The easiest trick for staying ahead of others is not simply through growth but by restricting the progress of others. This is accomplished in many ways, including sabotage, propaganda and belittling. Making others believe that they are inferior is a powerful force, but it can only go so far. The confidence gained by believing others are inferior, on the other hand, knows no limits.

The people I despise most are those with a sense of entitlement. People claim they get paid a higher wage because they work harder. On the contrary, people get paid a higher wage so that they don’t have to work as hard. If you think blue collar work is beneath you, what does that say about your opinion of those who do the job? It should tell you that you’re an asshole, and if you can’t figure that out, you’re also a dumb ass. The person who works should always be revered by those he is doing the work for, and even moreso by those profiting from the work. Telling another to do something and then wondering why they can’t perform to your expectations without being able or willing to perform and teach that task yourself is unacceptable. Pondering hypotheticals is much easier than dealing with realities. If there was as much getting done as there was talk about how things should be done this world would be a much better place.

I assume most are familiar with the story of the sword in the stone, from the King Arthur legend. Whoever could pull the sword out of the stone would become king. Thus, men traveled from around the world to try. This is a great allegory revealing man’s bias toward egocentrically assuming they are singularly destined for great things. (Maybe a few women tried too, but for the most part they, do to their culture, would assume they had no chance.) Certainly the strongest men assumed they had the best chance. Logic sees no reason why physical strength would qualify one for political savvy, and yet we still tend to perceive physical prowess as an indicator of leadership. All you need to do to remove the sword is apply force greater than the resistance, right? Everything is easy in theory.

In the early 20th Century, prominent behaviorist psychologists such as John B.Watson and B.F. Skinner stated that you can completely control the actions of others, as what people do are a reaction to the information received by their environment. Behaviorism teaches that actions are learned as a result of being manipulated by reinforcement and punishment. This concept has been adapted by governments, advertisers, employers and whoever else feels they can use it to gain power and money. A fundamental premise of Behaviorism is that internal thoughts are irrelevant, but in reality that is only accurate if internal thoughts are kept to a minimum, and the best way to do this is by distracting us from having them. Think about it, people. Think. About. It.

Perceiving education as a form of manipulation makes many suspicious of both the educated and exposure to information. Those possessing knowledge are considered uppity and snobbish. It’s rebelliously hip to be dumb. “We don’t need no education.” This is exactly what those selling want you to buy. Learning is antithetical to a consumer-driven society, which relies upon the masses to continue purchasing. Toward that end, they must be continually made aware of things they need. This entails encouraging material dependence and discouraging self-sufficiency. I am constantly surprised how quickly others want to purchase replacements instead of fixing and maintaining what they have. Others will say they don’t have the time or patience. These are the same people who can’t understand why others trying to fix things are taking so long.

Education is considered a luxury of the affluent, but that downplays the significant education and discipline required to excel at things like hunting, farming, cooking, constructing and sewing. These skills are tied to actual instead of theoretical results. You can’t chalk up a bad harvest to having been misunderstood. Well, unless you introduce religion, which is mankind’s ultimate invention for eschewing responsibility. I don’t have a problem with religion; I have a problem with people who insist that what someone else told them to believe or what they want to believe is the only thing that everyone needs to learn.

Learning does not have to happen in a structured setting with somebody telling you what they think you should know. The priorities of education should include respecting life, diversity, beauty, logic and languages. I cannot fathom why fostering tolerance in an environment of peers is not touted. Our group-based education system lends itself perfectly toward promoting an appreciation and empathy for others in unfamiliar circumstances but, inexplicably, human interaction is generally regarded as beyond the bounds of the academic curriculum. I personally think America’s current system spends far too much time teaching us who to be impressed by, and firmly believe any education system that does not place utmost importance on teaching its students how to survive is a failure. Even worse is an education system that does not ignite and foster in its students the desire to learn and work.

It is vogue to discuss that people have different types of intelligences, but that is usually interpreted in public perception as a hierarchy of intelligences mostly paralleling our social hierarchy. I contest that notion wholeheartedly. Allow me an attempt to demonstrate using the following illustration:

The question is: Assuming the yellow apparatus is a three-dimensional screw, which direction (clockwise or counter-clockwise) do you turn the red handle in order to lower the blue lift and connect it with the green platform? To some, this may look like the type of thing that would be on an IQ test. I am interested in whether you chose: A) Don’t know, don’t care, B) I’ll just guess, because I have a 50% chance of getting it right, C) I’m not sure, but give me a few minutes to try and figure it out, or D) I know fairly quickly. My hypotheses are: of the four options, the least chosen will be C and those who choose D are more likely to be manual laborers. People such as car mechanics, construction workers and plumbers deal with this type of problem-solving all the time. I did, after all, design the illustration on an adjustable (Crescent) wrench. I have another hypothesis: after receiving that information, many are more likely to try and discern the solution, because they will suddenly assume it is easier than they did when they thought it was an IQ test puzzle. It doesn’t take a genius to work a wrench, right? Well, perhaps it doesn’t take a genius to master logic puzzles, either.

Learning takes effort. People vary in which things to learn are more intuitive as well as the scope of their learning potential, but without effort, potential remains dormant. Repetition and practice are great ways to learn, but do not necessarily lead to an improvement in knowledge or execution of a task. People are constantly stating how many years they’ve been doing a job as if it’s understood that none of that time was wasted. There is no limit to how many times the same mistake can be repeated. A stubborn refusal to change is a sign of ignorance rather than insight. A better assessment of wisdom can be found in how long a person has devoted to learning and improving. We learn from our mistakes only as long as we confront them.

People consistently think that their reasons for not being able to do things are perfectly reasonable while being appalled by the excuses of others. We are constantly searching for someone else to be able to blame. People think that others should do the things they don’t want to, and don’t understand why those others don’t appreciate the opportunity they’ve been generously granted. A local newsletter column writer explained that she has her husband put gas in the car because she doesn’t like the smell of gasoline on her hands. This only makes sense if her husband does like the smell of gasoline on his hands. Everyone, including those reading this, thinks they’re the exception and not the rule. Just this morning, a co-worker, referring to a discussion in the background, exclaimed, “Bitch, bitch, bitch- that’s all anybody freakin’ does around here!” That’s not ironic at all.

The truth about learning can be ascertained with a few questions: Have you studied any topics in the past to the point that you are now confident they’ll never need revisited by you? Do you tend to think things are common sense? Do you tend to think they best way to do things is the way they’ve always been done? Do you tend to think all opinions contrary to your own are ignorant and absurd? If you answered “yes” to any of those questions, there is a high probability that you resist learning. If you are now instantly qualifying or changing your answer or have immediately decided that that test was bogus, you almost certainly resist learning. I myself often resist learning and need to remind myself of its importance on a daily basis.

People don’t like chaos. We don’t want to believe it exists or be exposed to it. We demand for answers to be concrete and eternal. Towards that end, we become dependent on maintaining ignorance and denial. Our desire for control overwhelms us to the degree of being outraged by the sight of anything that does not belong to us, like bugs and stray hairs. We harden our reclusive, protective shells in which everything makes sense. When camping in nice weather, why use a tent? People fear exposure. Even while sleeping in the dark, we want to be able to have a divider between ourselves and reality.

“When I look back on all that I’ve seen, the one thing I see is that I haven’t truly seen anything.” - Socrates

Jay, My Hero

I spent a significant portion of fourth through sixth grade, which spanned 1985-1988, reading Marvel comic books. My main source for reading material was my classmate JJ, who had two or three much older brothers, which meant he had a library of comics that covered some of the 60’s, mostly what was available as reprints, and all of the 70’s and 80’s. I read them as often as possible during class, keeping them hidden beneath my desk and ready to slip into the storage area under the hinged top in case of an emergency. It is difficult to convey how steeped I was in the Marvel Universe without inciting incredulity, but among the comics I read included: some Fantastic Four, Alpha Flight, Punisher, Captain America and Master of Kung Fu; a lot of Spider-Man, especially the Venom suit saga; the bulk of Thor, The Incredible Hulk and The (East Coast) Avengers (all of which were already long-running titles) and virtually the complete works of X-Men, both the “Classics” written by Stan Lee and the more familiar revamp mostly authored by Chris Claremont, Silver Surfer, Daredevil, West Coast Avengers, Iron Man, Moon Knight, The New Mutants, X-Factor, Excalibur and, of course, Wolverine. I asked the art teacher if she could teach me how to draw super heroes and she suggested I might be better suited at being a comic book writer. Chris Claremont was my favorite writer but it seemed obvious to me that the penciller had the superior job, and John Buscema and Frank Miller were my favorite artists. Bescema was a pioneer who had established the typical style of the time, but Miller did his own heavy, high-contrast inking that would set the tone for the future.

Something hard-wired into my nature, which would take me, oh, about 35 years to realize is not a trait ingrained in everyone, is a compulsion to be loyal. I am passionate, some would say to a fault, about the things and people I enjoy. I stand by my convictions, which fortunately prioritize the importance of conceding to logic and humility, and don’t do ambivalence well. Once I start on a course, I tend to see it through to its completion. I don’t jump ship and never make alternate plans. One thing that highly irritates me is when others start second-guessing or changing plans. I always try to keep my word, even when I know doing so will be detrimental to me, because from my perspective, my word is more important than myself. In my worldview, this is known as integrity, which, if I am to be frank, is a thing few others seem to understand.

Anyway, it should go without saying that I didn’t read DC comics… that is, until Frank Miller wrote and drew their Batman: The Dark Knight Returns saga. It was good; really good. This created not only a moral but practical dilemma, because the only person I knew who had DC comics was a junior high kid named Jay, whom I had never personally spoken to, although I often stood beside JJ while they quickly traded comics between backpacks. Jay had a quirk of being highly secretive about his comic book reading habits, which I found strange. Beyond that, discussing comics with him was complicated by the fact that I have always been and probably always will be uncomfortable engaging in conversations with people I don’t know well.

I went to a Kindergarten-12th grade school which had 100 students total, so we all ate lunch at the same time. One day during lunch, when I was in sixth grade, the cafeteria was disrupted by a kid in the table behind me loudly taunting another kid. The latter, I discovered when I turned around, was Jay. Suddenly, and without speaking a word, Jay slammed down his fist onto the other kid’s lunch tray and smashed the unopened milk carton with a loud pop that exploded white liquid all over everyone in the vicinity. Then, Jay stood up and walked straight into the principal’s office. This was a highly-unique and therefore memorable event. In other words, it was basically the coolest thing I had ever seen. Without ever knowing the full story, I egocentrically assumed Jay was being mocked for reading comic books and milk-smashing was his Marvel-esque way of defending his honor. I resolved to always defend my comic book-reading ways no matter how old I got.

I never did speak to Jay. After sixth grade we moved, and I found myself in a school where nobody read comics. I wouldn’t pick them up again until several years later, when I was 16 and armed with a driver’s license. There were three comic book shops in Des Moines, and I started a routine of driving from one to another, getting caught up on X-Men and Wolverine as well as discovering Frank Miller’s Sin City and Neil Gaiman’s Sandman. Along the way, I would also read the current issues of those same comics at Barnes & Noble. In this fashion, I could read 10-12 comics in a day while paying only for gasoline, although I did occasionally purchase Wolverine back-issues. I also began reading Shakespeare’s plays precisely because they had been a sub-plot in several Sandman issues. Even after college, Sandman and Frank Miller’s 300, as well as Howard Zinn, inspired an interest in world history that I had never had while in school.

When I moved to the San Francisco Bay Area in 2000, I got a part-time job as a barista at Borders Books and began reading Japanese manga while there. Eventually, I once again started hanging out in comic book stores to discover more manga and even got into playing sanctioned Yu-Gi-Oh tournaments until the cards got too expensive and I sold my two decks for a profit. I still read manga occasionally today, religiously refusing any edition that doesn’t read right to left. A couple weeks ago, I found myself correcting a random lady in a thrift shop calling it “anime.” I watch a lot of anime, too, but it should go without saying that graphic novels and television shows are vastly different mediums. One advantage of comics is the pace of the story’s development is dependent upon the reader. Instead of passively watching the characters, you move alongside them, discovering as they do. Another difference is instead of viewing a rectangle of a fixed size, comic panels can change size, shape and location at will. This can be used to great effect in keeping the reader actively engaged in both focus and mood. During a chaotic climax, for example, a reader can find himself feverishly attempting to decipher the order in which the panels unfold.

Even with the exploding popularity of conventions like Comic-Con, comic books themselves have mostly remained a niche consumed by introverts. One difference is many characters that began their lives there are now popular mainstream successes. To say I have mixed feelings about this would be a lie; I flat out hate it. I’d like to smash the milk carton of every jock in America who thinks he’s a big Thor fan but doesn’t even know who Jack Kirby is. You have to be pretty pathetic to be too lazy to read a picture book. I can’t really explain why I find it so annoying, but it has something to do with loyalty and integrity.

A couple years ago I was dating a talented poet who, presumably for lack of anything better to do, attended a Neil Gaiman lecture at the university where she was attending grad school. She had never heard of him before, so was very confused as to why hundreds of students had shown up to see him talk. “He read a few excerpts and they weren’t very good,” she declared. I shrugged and said, “Yeah, his work is pretty popular but maybe he’s not that great of a writer.” I am ashamed to admit I had forgotten about Jay. In part, I knew any attempt to defend Gaiman’s work to this person in particular would be futile. But, to be honest, the first thought to cross my mind was, Well, he does just write comics.

And Shakespeare just wrote skits.

The Importance of Ice Cube

Growing up in rural Iowa did not provide many opportunities for interacting with black people, so my exposure to them came through 80’s mass media. If Run DMC and The Cosby Show were any indication, black people were talented, popular and well-respected. Besides those two examples, every black on television was either a fast athlete with trend-setting attire, an excellent singer and/or dancer with trend-setting attire or a good-natured, naïve orphan dependent upon white adults and peers to prevent them from making poor decisions. In retrospect, this may seem like a joke or exaggeration, but, um, nope. Remember, MTV was very hesitant to show blacks and only did so selectively and calculatedly until Michael Jackson blew that barrier apart after he began making elaborate and impressive videos that couldn’t be refused or ignored in 1983.

This disturbing reality is the backdrop for the most shocking thing I’d ever encountered in my 12 years of life, when, in seventh grade, I heard “Fuck Tha Police,” By NWA, being played through a boombox in the clay modeling area of the art room.

Upon hearing the unavoidable chorus, I wondered why anyone would say something like that. Simply listening to the verses reveals this song is about racial prejudice within the LA police enforcement and judicial system. More importantly, this song is a series of first-person accounts of what it is like to be a young black man living in the LA projects. As a young white man living in rural Iowa, I had literally no first-hand experience of police enforcement or the judicial system. One of my favorite television shows, however, had been Dukes of Hazzard, and so I sort of just figured cops were incompetent, unthreatening blowhards who ticketed bad drivers.

Public outcry protesting both the song and the band was loud and furious. The FBI sent the members of NWA a threatening letter accusing them of “advocating violence against and disrespect” for police officers. Parental Advisory stickers, which had been a compromised result of a 1985 Senate censorship hearing but had rarely been used, were suddenly omnipresent. (The first use of the sticker had been on Ice-T’s debut album in 1987.) It is extraordinarily important to recognize that, despite all the attention and backlash “Fuck Tha Police” received, nobody seemed at all concerned with investigating the LAPD or the California judicial system. The general public was shocked that this song was exposing their children to the f-word, not that this song was exposing racial injustice. It was deemed crucial that anger and violence should not leave the black neighborhoods; that was their problem… and their fault. When you peel away the layers, you find that the real concern was not to protect the children, but to silence the voice of the minority daring to speak against the unfair treatment they are receiving.

This wasn’t the first time I had encountered lyrics that shocked me. The first time was on a bus enroute to a little league baseball game, when I heard The Beatie Boys’…

“(You Gotta) Fight For Your Right (To Party!)”
You wake up late for school, man, you don't wanna go
You ask you mom, "Please?" but she still says, "No!"
You missed two classes and no homework
But your teacher preaches class like you're some kind of jerk

You gotta fight for your right to party

You pops caught you smoking and he said, "No way!"
That hypocrite smokes two packs a day
Man, living at home is such a drag
Now your mom threw away your best porno mag (Busted!)

You gotta fight for your right to party

Don't step out of this house if that's the clothes you're gonna wear
I'll kick you out of my home if you don't cut that hair
Your mom busted in and said, "What's that noise?"
Aw, mom you're just jealous- it's the Beastie Boys!

You gotta fight for your right to party

This asinine song encouraging teenage disobedience has no socially redeeming qualities. However, of all the songs on Beastie Boys debut album, Licensed to Ill (1986), this one is the least offensive. Some of them have a verse about shooting people followed by one about raping girls. The rest are about drinking, eating junk food and dealing with girls. “Paul Revere” even mentions cops: The sheriff's after me for what I did to his daughter- I did it like this, I did it like that, I did it with a whiffleball bat. Why didn’t anybody freak out about The Beastie Boys lyrics? They were hugely popular and influential while avoiding disparaging mass protests, threatening government letters or even a parental advisory sticker. They are also three Jewish kids from New York, so perhaps there couldn’t be more of an apples and oranges comparison.

Straight Outta Compton (1988) opens with the declaration, “You are now about to witness the strength of street knowledge.” Besides “Fuck Tha Police,” it contains songs that run the spectrum from “Parental Advisory Iz Advised” and “Express Yourself” to “Gangsta, Gangsta” and “Dope Man.” (Another highly controversial song, “A Bitch Iz A Bitch,” was a single added to the remastered version of Straight Outta Compton in 2002) Almost all of the lyrics on the album were written by O’Shea Jackson, using the pseudonym Ice Cube. His lyrics never quite go where you’d predict, for example “Dope Man” derides drug addicts. The characters in his songs almost always end up in prison. Ice Cube refuses to turn a blind eye to grim realities, and black on black violence is a central issue. Despite the grim subject matter, there is always wittiness in spades, and this is the key to NWA’s success. “Gangsta, Gangsta,” which is about a group of black kids driving around and terrorizing the neighborhood because they are bored, contains this gem:

Sweatin all the bitches in the biker shorts (but) we didn't get no play from the ladies- with six niggaz in a car, are you crazy?

One mustn’t lose perspective that Ice Cube is primarily an entertainer. He’s not a politician, physicist, psychologist or whatever- he’s a goddamn rapper. Ice Cube is a persona, a caricature played by a man named O’Shea Jackson. His lyrics weave freely between clowning and sincerity, gravitating toward whatever’s most entertaining. Ain’t nothin’ in life but to be legit- don’t quote me now; I ain’t said shit. He consistently defrays anyone from looking up to him as a role model, and makes it obvious that he’s exposing inner city violence as something to escape and not glorifying it.

Ice Cube’s lyrics contain a lot of tough talk and posturing, and while the outside world would cite that as a reason why they are baseless fiction to be ignored, in the inner city this is a necessary survival tactic. Street knowledge is basically the art of knowing how to handle yourself in a hostile environment. In the inner city, you have to wear a thick skin and retain a strong will to protect yourself from various pressures from people desperate to make a buck.

From 2000-2004, I lived in a neighborhood known as the “Iron Triangle” in Richmond, California. It was a close-knit community where knowing your neighbors was not an option but of the essence. During that same time, I was working late nights at a recording studio in the Tenderlon District in San Francisco, where I met and worked with dozens of rap artists, and playing avant-garde and experimental music in underground clubs in Oakland, including several centers run by the Black Panther party. In 2004, I moved to Oakland for a year. Those five years taught me a lot of lessons and showed me a lot of things, some of which would raise the hairs on the back of your neck. I will attest that to this day, when I feel threatened by someone or that they are trying to intimidate me, my first thought is to exclaim, I from fucking Oakland bitch; don’t even try an’ fuck wit’ me. Similarly, when I see a car driving down the street at five miles per hour, which is a frequent occurrence in the sleepy rural Iowa town in which I now reside, I still think, They either lookin’ to shoot or get shot. You never, ever act suspiciously in the ‘hood. You don’t want to look like a tourist. In Iowa, everyone basically acts like a tourist. Of course, they would likely have no idea what I mean by that, but it’s a convenient coincidence that the state’s name is an acronym for Idiots Out Wandering Around.

People in the inner city enjoy competition in a sporting sense. It is common to see men in open garages playing cards or families gathered around dominoes while cooking large meals together. This helps generate a strong bond of community. Gangs consist of a few greedy control freaks and a whole lot of teenagers desperate for a modicum of recognition and respect, but the vast majority of the community works hard to discourage gangs and remain safe. Moments of intense violence are borne from desperation, a lot of which relates to drugs, but also inner-turmoil stemming from deep-seated values of pride and familial loyalty. You don’t dare talk badly of anyone behind their back unless you are also willing to say it to their face. Speaking directly, decisively and frankly is expected and appreciated.

In contrast, people in Iowa tend to survive by being insular. They stay close to those they’ve known for years and try not to attract too much attention from outsiders. Iowans are not neighborly; in fact most prefer no or few neighbors. The degree to which Iowans will go to avoid communication or even eye contact with strangers in a public place is beyond impressive. Iowans are not used to handling stressors. They think traffic is a slow-moving vehicle (aka a tractor) that they’d need to pass to continue toward their destination at the speed limit. When confronted with any sort of direct challenge to any behavior, Iowans tend to completely lose their shit and respond with passive-aggressive immaturity and back-stabbing. As a result, Iowans are very suspicious of each other. People in Iowa enjoy staying in agreement and away from any competitive friction. They watch sports but don’t generally play them. They talk about the weather and how messed up the rest of the world is. Iowans think anything outside of their comfort zone sounds awful and is best avoided.

These culturally based ways of experiencing the world are mutually exclusive. No black person can go unnoticed in a rural Iowa town for the simple reason that there just aren’t that many people of color around here. An easy way to overwhelm an Iowan with panic and fear is to drop one in the ghetto. Even in places where it is more common, white people throughout the United States tend to be much more comfortable with blacks in isolation rather than in groups.

Iowans think, “If you don’t want trouble from the cops, don’t do anything illegal.” In the ‘hood, that assumption is straight up ign’ant. This assumption comes from experiences such as one that happened a few months ago, when a police officer in Iowa City hollered out the window at my white girlfriend while parked next to her at a stoplight that she had a headlight out. About a month ago, I was pulled over on a country road and given a warning for speeding, and as I drove off, I noticed I had three empty beer bottles sitting on my passenger seat which the officer didn’t inquire about. The fact that many are suddenly wondering the story behind the bottles illustrates my point perfectly. Two weeks ago, an officer in almost the same location flashed his lights at me to signal to slow down, and I obliged. I highly doubt any black person in America can relate to these experiences. Perhaps the biggest similarity between Oakland, California and the tiny towns littering Iowa is the main roads leading out of both are often hidden and unmarked. However, two other important shared traits are an appreciation for church and self-referential humor. One big difference is that if you talk shit about the ghetto to a hoodlum, it’s understood, but if you say anything bad about Iowa to an Iowan, heaven help you.


Part II
1990 was a world dominated by MC Hammer and The Fresh Prince of Bel Air, but it was also the debut of In Living Color on Fox, which shone like a ray of hope above anything on television featuring blacks. At first, I would watch it on Sunday nights in secret, not knowing whether it would be considered a bad influence. It laughed loudly at both the cultural treatment and media portrayal of skin color and race in America. Eventually, I used its sketches as starting points to instigate conversations about race relations, because the show seemed able to delineate the line between absurd and unacceptable.

1990 was also the year of Amerikkka’s Most Wanted, Ice Cube’s superb solo debut album produced by The Bomb Squad, best known for their work with Public Enemy. Many of the songs begin with sampled clips of mass media degrading American blacks and himself, contextualizing his lyrics as responses to and the result of white majority attitudes. A parody of himself being electrocuted after spouting the last words, “Fuck all ya’ll” is followed by a defiant rap that loudly mocks the claim that he’s the villain while drawing parallels between his lyrics and a drive-by shooting. He also demonstrates that the solutions are just as absurd as the problems.

"The Nigga Ya Love To Hate"
I heard payback's a motherfucking nigga
That's why I'm sick of gettin’ treated like a goddamn stepchild
Fuck a punk cause I ain't him
You gotta deal with the nine-double-M
The damn scum that you all hate
Just think if niggas decide to retaliate
They try to keep me from running up
I never tell you to get down it's all about coming up
So what they do go and ban the AK?
My shit wasn't registered any fucking way
So you better duck away, run and hide out
When I'm rolling real slow and the light’s out
‘Cause I'm about to fuck up the program
Shooting out the window of a drop-top Brougham
When I'm shooting let's see who drop
The police, the media and suckers that went pop
And motherfuckers that say they too black
Put ‘em overseas they be begging to come back
They say keep ‘em on gangs and drugs
You wanna sweep a nigga like me up under the rug
Kicking shit called street knowledge
Why more niggas in the pen than in college?
Now ‘cause of that line I might be your cellmate
That's from the nigga ya love to hate

(background voice) Fuck you, Ice Cube!
Yeah, ha-ha, it's the nigga you love to hate
(background voice) Fuck you, Ice Cube!
You know, baby, your mother warned you about me
It's the nigga you love to hate
Yo, you ain’t doing nothin’, pops
You ain’t doing nothin’, pops, fo’ us boys
What you got to say for yourself?
You don’t like how I'm living? Well, fuck you

Once again it's on, the motherfucking psycho
Ice Cube the bitch killa cap peeler
Yo runnin through the line like Bo
There's no pot to piss in I put my fist in
Now who do ya love to hate
‘Cause I talk shit and down the eight-ball
‘Cause I don't fake you're begging I fall off
The crossover might as well cut them balls off
And get your ass ready for the lynching
The mob is droppin’ common sense in
We'll gank in the pen
We’ll shank any Tom, Dick and Hank or get the ass
Fakin’ it ain't about how right or wrong you live
But how long you live
I ain't with the bullshit
I meet cold bitches no hoes
Don't wanna sleep so I keep popping No-Doz
And tell the young people what they gotta know
‘Cause I hate when niggas gotta live low
And if you're locked up I dedicate my style in
From San Quentin to Rykers Island
We got ‘em afraid of the funky shit
I like to clown so pump up the sound
In the jeep make the old ladies say
Oh my god wait it's the nigga ya love to hate

(background voice) Fuck you, Ice Cube
Yeah, come on fool
It's the nigga you love to hate
(background voice) Fuck you, Ice Cube
Yeah, run up punk
It's the nigga you love to hate
(Yo-Yo) ‘Who the fuck do you think you are you calling girls bitches?
You ain't all that
That's all I hear, bitch, bitch
I ain't nobody's bitch!’
A bitch is a....

Soul Train done lost their soul
Just call it train cause the bitches look like hoes
I see a lotta others damn
It almost look like the Bandstand
You ask me did I like Arsenio?
About as much as the bicentennial
I don't give a fuck about dissing these fools ‘cause they all scared of the Ice Cube
And what I say what I portray and all that
And ain't even seen the gat
I don't wanna see no dancing
I'm sick of that shit listen to the hit
Cause yo if I look and see another brother
On the video tryin to out-dance each other
I'm a tell T-Bone to pass the bottle
And don't give me that shit about role model
It ain't wise to chastise and preach
Just open the eyes of each
‘Cause laws are made to be broken up
What niggas need to do is start loc’ing up
And build, mold and fold they-self into shape
Of the nigga ya love to hate

Throughout the album, Ice Cube loudly rejects the status quo and refuses to yield his perspective. He reminds the listeners he still hates cops. In a song featuring the annoying Flavor Flav called, “I’m Only Out For One Thang,” Ice Cube very subtlely admits that not having his voice silenced has become a high priority. From his NWA days, Ice Cube had frequently declared his motivations were “money and bitches.” This is patently offensive, but also jarringly honest. Imagine if everyone who was motivated by those things admitted it. He specifically says this to cynically demonstrate his shortcomings: In “Gangsta, Gangsta,” he writes, Do I look like a motherfuckin’ role model? To all the kids lookin’ up to me- life ain’t nothin’ but bitches and money, which is juxtaposed by a KRS One sample in the chorus that says, It’s not about a salary, it’s all about reality. Anyway, in what sounds like an improvised throw-away outro of “I’m Only Out For One Thang,” Flavor Flav jokingly persists in asking Ice Cube to clarify what one thing he’s after and Ice Cube finally responds, I’m out for the pussy, the money and the mic. The humor reminiscent of Monty Python’s Spanish Inquisition sketch is obvious, but even keeping that intact, any long-time listener would have anticipated his answer to be “bitches and money.” This makes the addition of “mic” stick out as a declaration that being able to speak whatever it is he has to say is an essential goal.

The rap genre as a whole, and Ice Cube specifically, have been heavily criticized for being misogynistic. This is somewhat justified and one factor is the cultural impact of outspoken black male-chauvinists like Louis Farrakhan. Amerikkka’s Most Wanted introduces a female rapper named Yo-Yo in a song which attempts to reconcile perspectives on gender. Ice Cube takes the role of someone who thinks women should serve men, and Yo-Yo insists women deserve equality and respect.

Yo-Yo would go on to put out at least three very good albums, one of which Ice Cube co-produced and rapped on, and when Ice Cube started his own record label in 1994, he put Yo-Yo in charge (according to wikipedia.org). Although she had moderate success, Yo-Yo somehow never became a huge hit like her male peers. This ugly fact demonstrates the accuracy with which Ice Cube successfully captures not only localized attitudes but those of America as a whole in his lyrics. Like Archie Bunker, Ice Cube is both entertaining and relevant because he is publicly echoing thoughts that are claimed to be outdated but many silently cling to.

On March 3, 1991, a black man named Rodney King was filmed being brutally beaten by several Los Angeles police officers while other police officers stood by. After this incident became the top news story, the members of NWA should have received a whole lot of letters of apology for having criticized and been insulted by their claims of police violence on blacks instead of giving them diligent consideration. Instead, a jury demonstrated it wasn’t that the claims weren’t believed, but that police violence on blacks was acceptable. Inaction in striving for equality of justice could no longer be blamed on ignorance, but wholly on apathy. Tom Brokaw’s frank assessment that “Outside the South Central area few cared about the violence, because it didn’t affect them,” which had been used as a sample on Amerikkka’s Most Wanted, was once again validated.

John Singleton’s directorial debut, Boyz N the Hood (1991), came to theaters almost immediately after the Rodney King video broke with the tagline, “Once upon a time in South Central L.A... It ain't no fairy tale.” The title is borrowed from the title of the Ice Cube penned song that became the impetus for forming NWA, and includes Ice Cube in his acting debut. Today, the movie comes off as clunky and dated, but it accelerated the cinematic concept introduced by Spike Lee of giving an uncensored portrayal of the challenges and obstacles faced by black teens in the projects in movies like the seemingly prophetic Do the Right Thing (1989).

Death Certificate (1991) and Predator (1992), Ice Cube’s second and third solo albums, are just as good as Amerikkka’s Most Wanted. He also helped introduce Del the Funky Homosapien and produced Da Lench Mob’s magnificent Guerillas in the Mist (1992). In 1992, he also married Kimberly Woodruff. They are still married and have four children. In late December 1992, so basically 1993, another former NWA member Dr. Dre, now signed to a label financed by a real-life gangster named Shug Knight, released his solo debut. Although Dre was the famous name on The Chronic, it showcased the talent of a young unknown named Snoop Doggy Dogg and acted both as an introduction and test market warm-up for Snoop Doggy Dogg’s Doggystyle (1993). Both of these albums are over-rated, but they had a ton of commercial success. The failure of Ice Cube’s fourth album, Lethal Injection (1993) was that he seemed to lose confidence that the stuff he had been doing in the years between NWA and The Chronic was way better than The Chronic.

Acting is possibly a better fit for what Ice Cube attempts to communicate than rap. For example, when you rap about being a drug dealer, people assume you’re a drug dealer, whereas when you play the role of a drug dealer in a movie, people realize you’re acting. Ice Cube is not an exceptional actor, but he exudes confidence in front of the camera. When he turned down the male lead in John Singleton’s second movie, Poetic Justice (1993), Ice Cube recommended another gifted songwriter named Tupac Shakur.

For two years, I was the Assistant Engineer for the engineer who had mixed Digital Underground’s self-titled breakthrough album, and he often recounted the quickness and ease with which Tupac could listen to a beat, write a verse of lyrics and rap those lyrics over the beat in such a way that you could never imagine one had ever existed without the other. It is unfortunate that those who have decided they don’t like rap music will never get to appreciate how much more advanced rap lyrics are than what is found in any other American musical style.

With the successful rap producer DJ Pooh, Ice Cube co-wrote the hugely-successful comedy Fridays (1995), which launched the acting career of stand-up comedian Chris Tucker, and two sequels. He would re-join the cast in Singleton’s third movie, Higher Learning (1995), which is a creepily poignant depiction of how gangs are formed.

Hopefully the day will come when American blacks are given the same recognition and respect as white Americans, but, until then, it will remain essential for people like Ice Cube to bring the voice of the minority to the masses. This needn’t require heavy-handed preaching; simply re-telling entertaining stories from the point of view of those oppressed can be enough to trigger discussion, generate empathy and remind us of injustices. This will always bring strong resistance from those benefiting from the desperate, but boldly persisting in defying the roles society assigns us offers hope, at least for a time.

"Once Upon A Time In The Projects"
Once upon a time in the projects, yo,
I damn near had to wreck a ho
I knocked on the door - "Who is it?"
“It's Ice Cube, come to pay a little visit to you
And what's up with the niggas in the parking lot?”
She said, “Fuck ‘em, ‘cause they get sparked a lot.”
I sat on the couch but it wasn't stable
And then I put my Nikes on the coffee table
Her brother came in he's into gangbanging
‘Cause he walked up and said, "What set you claiming?"
I don't bang I write the good rhymes
The whole scenery reminded me of good times
I don't like to feel that I'm put in a rut
By a young nigga that needs to pull his pants up
He threw up a set and then he was gone
I'm thinkin to myself, Wont this bitch bring her ass on.
Her mother came in with a joint in her mouth
and fired up the sess it was sess no doubt
She said, “Please excuse my house,” and all that
I said, “Yeah,” ‘cause I was buzzed from the contact
Lookin’ at a fucked up black and white
Her mom's bitching ‘cause the county check wasn't right
She had another brother that was three years old
And had a bad case of the runny nose
He asked me who I was then I had to pause
It smelled like he took a shit in his little drawers
I saw her sister who really needs her ass kicked
Only thirteen and already pregnant
I grabbed my forty out the bag and took a swig
‘Cause I was getting overwhelmed by BeBe Kids
They was runnin’ and playin’ and cussin’ and yellin’
and tellin’ and look at this young punk bailin’
I heard a knock on the door without the password
and her mom's got the 12 guage Mossberg
The nigga said "Yo, what's for sale?"
and the bitch came out with a bag of ya-yo
She made the drop and got the 20 dollars
from a smoked out fool with ring around the collar
The girl I was waiting for came out
I said, “Bitch, I didn't know this was a crack house!”
I got my coat and suddenly...
(Stop, the police, don’t move. Freeze, or I’ll kill ya!)
The cop busted in and had a Mac-10 pointed at my dome
and I said to myself once again it's on
He threw me on the carpet, and wasn't cuttin’ no slack
stomped on my head and put his knee in my back
First he tried to wrap me up, slap me up, rough me up
They couldn't do it so they cuffed me up
I said, “Fuck, how much abuse can a nigga take?
Hey yo, officer, you're making a big mistake!”
Since I had on a shirt that said I was dope
He thought I was selling base and couldn't hear my case
He said, “Get out of my face!” He musta had a grudge
His reply, “Tell that bullshit to the judge.”
The girl I was with wasn't saying nothin’
I said, “Hey yo, bitch, you better tell ‘em something.”
She started draggin’ and all of a sudden
we all got tossed in the patty wagon
Now I beat the rap, but that ain't the point
I had a warrant so I spent two weeks in the joint
Now the story you heard has one little object
Don't fuck with a bitch from the projects!

FC Barcelona Analysis 2013 La Liga Weeks 1-5, Champions League Week 1

The Messi/Neymar attacking combo is proving to be deadly; I really don't think these two in tandem are stoppable. However, Victor Valdez has been performing miracles in the goalkeeper role- blocked penalty kicks in consecutive matches are the tip of the iceburg, but he cannot maintain sensational save after sensational save forever. I don't know what solution there is unless Carles Puyol is able to return to action, other than holding Mascherano and (not or) Pique further back on the pitch.

Xavi Hernandez and Andres Iniesta have proven themselves to be consistently reliable as the greatest players in the world at their respective positions, but I believe Cesc Fabregas will prove to be the key factor in Barcelona's success or failure this year. He is their most unpredictable attacking midfielder, and defenses haven't really figured him out, but I'm not sure whether his teammates other than Messi and Fabregas himself have figured him out either. He has a ton of talent and works as hard as anyone, but sometimes he starts over-thinking and becomes hesitant and confused. Adriano Correia continues to improve and I won't be surprised if he becomes another game-changer this season.

A lot of top-tier teams, including FC Barcelona, have changed managers this year. It will be interesting to see which of these will implode as a result. I am optimistic that "Tata" Martino can uncover a balance of staying true to Barcelona's tiki-taka style while encouraging them to take more risks and also inject fresh ideas to eliminate the predictability that cursed them last season. The addition of Neymar in itself has already proven to be a confusion to smaller-budget teams, at least, and the left attacking side has been more active than it was the past two seasons combined. Last season, Jordi Alba, Iniesta and Fabregas were the only players that ever seemed to be over there, and two of the three seemed to be desperately improvising most of the time. How Barcelona will match-up against the elite remains to be seen....

FC Barcelona Messi Skill Breakdown 2013 La Liga Week 4

FC Barcelona's offense was spectacular versus Sevilla. Neymar had his best match yet in a Barcelona uniform, but poor defense reared its ugly head near the end of the match and Sevilla came from a 2-nil deficit to tie on a horribly defended corner kick just as stoppage time began. Nearing the three minute mark of three minutes stoppage, which means more than three but less than four, plus the time between the goal being scored and the restart, Xavi Hernandez, the magnificent strategy-guiding mid-fielder, has the ball:

Xavi knows exactly what to do with the ball, especially considering the circumstances- give it to Lionel Messi:

Knowing what is at stake, Messi pushes the ball toward the opponent's goal. Remember, the referee cannot blow the final whistle while one team has an advantage:

Still moving forward, Messi slows down while giving the ball several light taps:

Then, Messi seems to uncharacteristically falter. He runs past the ball, but it is rolling too slowly to keep up. It seems the only thing Messi can do is pass the ball toward the center, but nobody is there:

Seizing the opportunity, the defender lunges toward the abandoned ball:

...and falls right into the trap. With a deft instep kick, Messi slips the ball past the defender on the outside:

Messi quickly pushes the ball goalward, where another defender awaits. Messi leans toward the center of the pitch, which is the easier move for the left-footed player:

...but it is more trickery, and he again goes around the outside of the defender:

Smartly, the defender cuts between Messi and the ball:

...and they collide. A lesser person, by which I mean every other player in the world, would have collapsed to the ground and rolled around in a frustrating attempt at winning a penalty kick:

Instead, Messi pushes inside. In desperation, the defender tries to hold him back with his arm, giving Messi yet another chance to attempt to win a penalty kick:

With all of his weight leaning into Messi, the defender finds himself in a precarious position when Messi slips past and continues his run:

Comically, when that defender finds himself on the ground, his teammate protests that it was Messi who caused a foul:

Somehow, despite this obstacle, Messi manages to catch up with the ball and drive it across the goal just before it crosses the endline:

The rest is a bit of a miracle- the goalkeeper kicks the ball directly to Alexis Sanchez who promptly returns it to the net to secure another Barcelona victory. ¡Visca el Barca!

The Importance of Nirvana (and Josh)

When he was in tenth grade and I was a junior in high school, Josh carried around a navy blue (or was it red?) Mead notebook containing, according to him, every single Nirvana lyric, which he had presumably spent that summer transcribing. The first time or two I asked to see it he said no, but eventually acquiesced. The first inevitable thing I was struck by was Josh’s penmanship, which I had seen before but not to this degree. It was nearly impossible to differentiate between Josh’s handwriting and a typewriter. His small a’s and g’s, for example, were the kind a keyboard makes instead of how we learn in school. This was not hastily written and barely legible scrawl, but focused and pristine devotion, replete with bracketed alternate possibilities for words he was unsure of.

The content of these lyrics varied from angry, unfocused rants to stark, desperate pleads, most of them dealing with the inevitability of change, the restrictions imposed by our environment and the stress of trying to cope with these realities. This author wanted to let others know that he was totally screwed up, but not as screwed up as they are. A motif uniting these lyrics was a defiant mocking of everything: parents, teachers, popular kids, unpopular kids, the status quo, rebels, himself, etc. I wasn’t quite sucked into pretending Nirvana’s lyrics were remarkably insightful or well-constructed, but they offered something I could relate to. In contrast to nearly every song aimed for a teenage audience I’d ever heard, there was no bragging about sexual exploits or other conquests that I knew absolutely nothing about. In fact, these songs suggested he was as confused about that stuff as I was. This writer was helplessly trapped within his own mind, a predicament I understood all too well.

Here’s a verse from “Paper Cuts” which serves nicely as an example: (The last line before the chorus, which consists of repeating the word “Nirvana,” is pretty much incomprehensible, but I tried my best.)

Black windows of paint
I scratch with my nails
I see others just like me
Why do they not try to escape?

They bring out the older ones
They point in my way
They come with the flashing lights
And take my family away

And very later I have learned
To accept some friends of ridicule
My whole existence is for your amusement
And that is why I'm here with you
To tear me with your eye on her

I didn’t know much about contemporary music. My girlfriend listened to bad hip-hop, dance music and, well, for example, her favorite song was “Vogue,” by Madonna. I asked Josh if I could borrow a tape of… what were they called again? Josh was high-strung and easily annoyed. He also didn’t like me very much. I once tried going over to his house to play video games, and when he discovered that’s why I was there, he loudly and forcefully kicked me out, accusing me of “using” him. To this day I have no idea what purpose he wanted me to have for hanging out. Anyway, he wouldn’t let me borrow a tape, but he would let me listen to one inside a band practice room while he stood outside guarding the door so I couldn’t get caught and have the cassette confiscated.

He had me start by listening to Nirvana’s first album, Bleach (1989) and followed that up with a bootleg (a real one, not the excellent compilation of live material called Insecticide (1992), as this was a few months before it came out). After having read such neatly-written lyrics, I was startled to discover not only the music but also the insanely-strained lyrical delivery were heavily distorted and incomprehensible. I now realized how much time Josh had spent listening to this band. I couldn’t really make much out of it, so in an attempt to understand it, I did what I always do and sought to discover its roots. I asked my mom for bands with songs like “Louie, Louie” and “Helter Skelter.” It’s interesting to note that, looking back at this moment twenty years later, I must have known more about music than I generally give myself credit for back then, because that is a damn fine question. I don’t really remember what music my mom came up with to listen to, but it unfortunately wasn’t The Stooges or Syd Barrett. She did, however, have me read The Catcher and the Rye, which contained that exact same magic of offering a character that I felt I could closely relate to even though we had absolutely nothing in common.

After the success of Nevermind (1991), seemingly every band from Seattle got signed to a major label, and one thing the best of them had in common was being influenced by The Melvins, perhaps the most under-rated rock band of all time. They spent the mid-80’s churning out the best music at the time, and continue to do so today. No band from that region was worse than Pearl Jam. Little annoys me more than mediocre music with insipid melodies backing up a self-absorbed, pretentious frontman, and in those ways Pearl Jam has more in common with U2 than the so-called “Seattle Sound.”

The third Nirvana studio album, called In Utero (1993), was released as I began my senior year of high school. Although I feel like I know the lyrics to every one of its songs, another album was released by a group from Chicago at almost the same time which I would argue is one of the greatest rock albums of all time: Siamese Dream (1993), by The Smashing Pumpkins. There has been a copy sitting in a used bin at a thrift store for several weeks, which is absolutely appalling. In fact, that is what inspired me to write this homage to contemporary popular music from my high school years. Billy Corgan’s wall of perfectly overlayed guitars backing odd, strainy vocals was probably heavily influenced by REM, but sounds nothing like them. Ironically, I was introduced to The Smashing Pumpkins at church. Our pastor, apparently recycling a sermon from twenty years previous, contrasted the lyrics from Chuck Berry’s “School Days” with Alice Cooper’s “School’s Out” in order to demonstrate how troubled and confused “kids today” were. He then offered hope that our misguided youths were seeking answers and vulnerable to be “saved” through “proper guidance” by presenting the Pumpkins song, “Quiet”:

Quiet, I am sleeping in here
We need a little hope

For years I've been sleeping
Helpless, couldn't tell a soul

Be ashamed of the mess you've made
My eyes never forget, you see…
Behind me

Silent, metal mercies castrate boys to the bone
Jesus, are you listening up there to anyone at all?

We are the fossils, the relics of our time
We mutilate the meanings so they're easy to deny

Be ashamed of the mess you've made
My eyes never forget, you see…
Behind me

Quiet!
I am sleeping
Quiet!
I am sleeping
Quiet!
I don't trust you
I can't hear you

Be ashamed of the mess you've made
My eyes never forget, you see…
Behind me

Behind me, the grace of falling snow
Cover up everything you know
Come save me from the awful sound…
Of nothing

I found this sermon so poignant that I went right out and purchased both Siamese Dream and a Chuck Berry two-disc compilation. (The Alice Cooper album covers were creepy enough that I figured I could take the preacher’s word about that one.) A large number of the Chuck Berry songs were preoccupied with the attractiveness of underage girls….

Part II
Shannon Hoon was born to sing. I’d put his voice up there with Roy Orbison and Freddy Mercury in terms of irreplicable natural ability. Rogers Stevens and Christopher Thorn have an uncanny symbiotic way of weaving deceptively sophisticated parallel guitar parts. This is not your grandma’s rhythm guitar/lead guitar duo. Brad Smith and Glen Graham are a rock-solid rhythm section, capable of understanding the nuances of any tempo. These musicians co-wrote both the music and lyrics as the band Blind Melon. Their big hit, “No Rain,” is probably the worst song they ever did, which is not to say that it’s a bad song. They were one of the few bands that could have lured me away from Star Trek: Next Generation or Northern Exposure to watch on that asinine David Letterman show, which is precisely what they did on April 8, 1994. After an absolutely sublime performance of “Change,” Hoon started talking seriously about I didn’t know what, until it ended with, “…goodbye to Kurt Cobain.” The blood rushed out of my head as I began flipping through all six channels in a futile attempt at making sense of this. All these years later, I still weep inconsolably when I hear that performance.

It seems like every revolution in American music is halted by drugs, especially heroin. The problem is so well-known that Eric Dolphy, whom I would argue is THE greatest musician of the 20th century, died after falling into a diabetic coma and being left untreated in a hospital bed because it was assumed he’d overdosed and they were waiting for the drugs to wear off. Even so, I’d suggest the problem is even worse than generally advertised. For whatever reason, my parents told me Janis Joplin died of alcohol poisoning even though it was really a heroin overdose. It has been stated by those that were there that Jim Morrison died of a heroin overdose. Vomit asphyxiation, which is how Jimi Hendrix died, is common with a heroin overdose, because the drug causes the lungs to cease working. Further, I’d be willing to bet that the same government employees encouraging heroin use among blacks to halt the Black Power movement have something to do with this. To borrow a Joseph Heller quote that I thought was Kurt Cobain because he used it in the song “Territorial Pissing,” “Just because you’re paranoid doesn’t mean they aren’t after you.”

Josh asked me what I did to become a member of National Honor Society. “Absolutely nothing,” I replied. He said he wanted to get in but hadn’t been chosen as a member. “It’s not really a thing. All you do is get a group picture taken once a year for the yearbook. That’s it.” But since he still seemed upset about it, I went and spoke to the teacher who coordinated the NHS photograph for our school. He explained that the voting board didn’t feel Josh demonstrated the community leadership required to be a member. I tried to retort that I didn’t have any community leadership abilities either, but he deftly cited the current conversation as an example that I did. When I graduated from high school, Josh had compiled over a hundred credit hours from Iowa State University and was the only one of the four of us in Advanced Computer Programming IV who actually succeeded in learning Fortran. I’m sure he became a successful person regardless of whether he was ever accepted into NHS or any other club.

When I got to college, I was completely confused by the omnipresent Nirvana t-shirts and posters, and assumed they must have jumped on the bandwagon after he died. In my high school, the popular kids listened to Garth Brooks and Shania Twain. I had never watched MTV, and honestly never realized Nirvana was a successful and popular band. I didn’t even know there was a version of Nevermind with a hidden track. It was only looking back that I realized there was a veritable army of kids scattered all over the country who had been united by an unkempt, flaxen-haired, awkward young man whose raspily screeching voice successfully expressed their sense of alienation while simultaneously obliterating it.

In 2006, Kurt Cobain became the highest-earning dead celebrity, unseating Elvis Presley. However, I just glanced at the current list, and Cobain’s name is nowhere to be found. I personally never cared for much that Elvis did other than his early Sun recordings, and even those are average at best, so I can totally understand how people today might listen to Nirvana and wonder what the big deal was. Some things are truly impossible to explain to anybody who didn’t live through it. From my perspective, I wonder how kids today survive high school at all if the crappy music on contemporary radio is any indication of what they’re listening to.

Although Shannon Hoon constantly altered the lyrics on live versions of this song, here is the transcription of “Change” from the debut album by Blind Melon (1992):

I don't feel the sun’s coming out today
It’s staying in, it’s gonna find another way
As I sit here in this misery
I don't think I'll ever, no Lord, see the sun from here

And oh, as I fade away
They'll all look at me and say, and they'll say
Hey look at him! I'll never live that way
And that's okay
They're just afraid to change

When you feel life ain't worth living
You got to stand up and take a look around and then you look up way to the sky
And when your deepest thoughts are broken
Keep on dreaming boy, ‘cause when you stop dreaming it's time to die

And as we all play parts of tomorrow
Some ways will work and other ways we'll play
But I know we can't all stay here forever
So I want to write my words on the face of today
And then they'll paint it

And oh, as I fade away
They'll all look at me and say, they’ll say
Hey look at him and where he is these days
When life is hard you have to change
When life is hard you have to change

Being (an Introverted) Vegetarian

A couple weeks ago an employee meeting was held at my job, and fried chicken, mashed potatoes and turkey gravy and dinner rolls were served. After getting my food, I spied an empty table in the back corner of the room and headed that way, using my arm to partially shield my plate. Somehow, I managed to eat my mashed potatoes and roll with butter without anyone noticing that I am a vegetarian, which I am aware of because this conversation didn’t happen:

“Didn’t you get any fried chicken?”
“Why didn’t you get any gravy?”
“How long have you been a vegetarian?”
“I could never be a vegetarian because I like eating meat too much!”
“Are you okay with me eating the chicken?”
“You eat butter, though?”
“But butter is an animal product, isn’t it?”
“Do you eat fish?”
“Do you eat a lot of salad?”
“Can you eat French fries?”
“I’m practically a vegetarian myself.”

None of these questions/comments are that big of a deal in and of themselves, but it is kind of annoying to be quizzed on your food choices while you’re simply trying to eat. The truly obnoxious part comes later, when the person you had that conversation with makes a huge announcement and spectacle about you being a vegetarian anytime food is discussed or present. Being singled out as an anomaly that must be dealt with is both embarrassing and unnecessary. Suddenly, my eating habits create a huge amount of confusion over what everyone can eat, and others act as if I am incapable of avoiding meat unless none is present. Somehow, even though I have not asked anybody else about their eating habits, they are made to feel that I am judging them.

It would perhaps be helpful to consider if this were actually true and every time I sat down with someone eating meat, I spent the meal asking questions about their meat-eating habits. Of course, I would never do such a thing because it would be disrespectful and inappropriate. This would be the case even if I was “just curious” and didn’t know why they’d get so defensive. It’s simply impossible for a vegetarian to non-judgmentally learn about a meat-eater’s eating choices; the act of questioning a meat-eater about eating meat cannot be perceived as anything but hostile. The difference is that it’s relatively difficult to feign curiosity about eating meat.

Probably my eating habits are inviting as a conversation starter simply because they attract attention. Being a vegetarian in Iowa is unique. In this case, asking about it is simply rude. These are the type of adults who start a conversation with someone with a physical disability by saying, “So, do you have cerebral palsy?” It’s never a good idea to immediately acknowledge something that another wishes you would look beyond, so that’s only an excusable gaffe for children.

The easiest way for me to enter another’s shoes is to imagine eating with a gluten-free dieter. I only learned what gluten was about a year ago, and my default position was to assume the whole thing was a nonsense fad. I egocentrically project that incredulousness onto those questioning vegetarianism, which I am aware may not be fair. Oftentimes others are legitimately curious and confused about vegetarianism. The level of ignorance regarding what people consume is truly frightening, and honestly, the surest way of maintaining that ignorance is by never asking questions.

An advantage of writing things out is that it forces us to logically construct a cohesive rationale. This is both more difficult and flaw-revealing than rapid-fire queries around a dinner table. Sometimes, writing our thoughts forces us to encounter the short-comings in our assumptions. I’ll readily admit oftentimes when this happens whatever I was writing is sent to the “unpublished drafts” file and is never heard from again. However, an essay, as any conversation, should be something deeper than a demonstration of one’s competence or defense of one’s beliefs.

One personality type I have a very difficult time keeping up with is extroversion. Unlike extroverts, I am neither skillful at nor appreciative of mindless chatter. I don’t enjoy saying the first thing that comes to mind and attempting to come to agreement with everything another says. I instead take everything as literal, and dissect, analyze and critique it with prejudice. It does not occur to me that some people simply prefer to fill silence with yapping gums even while they are eating.

Another personality that utterly confounds me is that of people-pleasers. These types insist upon saying what they guess another wants to hear. They absolutely refuse to reveal their own perspective or opinion directly, but will usually not hesitate to spread gossip behind your back. These people seem to enjoy the skill of trying to guess what others are thinking, which I am horrible at. Once these people have convinced themselves of something, it is very difficult to change their mind. This is because the possibility that someone could be telling them what they literally mean doesn’t occur to them. They instead attempt to fulfill the Golden Rule by doing for others what they assume the other wants done.

Maybe others are simply attempting to engage in a conversation about a subject that apparently interests me in order to get to know me better. Maybe they want to explore an unfamiliar topic or learn. Maybe they are generously trying to be helpful. In other words, my complaint that is the thesis of this blog is probably an over-reaction. My annoyance probably has less to do with the topic or the intent of the other than with my personal perspective regarding small talk in general. I am, at my core, a private person. I don’t appreciate others meddling in my affairs. I have seldom been accused of being friendly. But since I can’t expect the world to just shut the hell up and let me eat my food, I should do a better job of accommodating it. Why not just answer the questions in an honest and friendly manner?

“No.”
“I’m a vegetarian, and it is made with chicken.”
“13 years.”
“That is precisely why I eat seafood on rare occasions.”
“Of couse.”
“Yes.”
“I’m not vegan, but I agree mass market cow milking practices should not be supported. I became a vegetarian because I don’t like the idea of killing, but have stayed one because of the horrible conditions under which many animals destined to become food are raised. Life consists of choosing your battles.”
“High-quality sushi is my favorite food. I used to eat it about twice a year, but less now as it is rare in Iowa. That’s a pun, by the way.”
“Not really. I eat a variety of different dishes from all over the world. I enjoy discovering foods and learning how to cook.”
“Yes.”
“My rule of thumb is to not support anything being done that I’d be unwilling to do myself, but I do appreciate those who are willing to do things that must be done.”

I immediately worry about the adequacy of these answers, but that is a problem I run into while answering virtually any question. Some of these answers would likely act as quality conversation starters. In the end, this entire essay acts as an example of how we often look upon others with scorn for what is, in the end, our own egocentric short-comings and hang-ups that we loathe taking responsibility for.

FC Barcelona Skill Breakdown 2013 La Liga Week 2

Adriano Correia (#21) had already had such a good first half performance filling the right wingback role usually occupied by Dani Alves that I had commented on that fact aloud before, near the end of the half, he received a pass from Alexis Sanchez on the right wing with such an open lane to the goal I couldn't help but add a red carpet: (I have no idea why the score reads 0-1, but can assure you that it is actually 0-0.)

Instead of trying to push through that lane, his first touch pushes the ball toward the center of the pitch, and Xavi Hernandez (#8), alertly cuts around to the left side of the pitch which is completely vacant. There is also a small but dangerous area in which Cesc Fabregas (#4) could receive a quick flick:

By the time he's ready for his next touch, Adriano's movement has opened more area in front of the near post, which the goalkeeper is forced to protect. Pedro Rodriguez (#7), realizing his current position is inconsequential, has allowed himself to drift offside:

The ambidextrous Adriano strikes the ball with his left instep hard with slice, giving it a clockwise rotation so that, as it slows, it will curl in the direction of the spin: (Anybody who has thrown a frisbee should be familiar with this effect.)

I have painstakingly overlayed over a dozen stills to trace the flight of the ball as it finds the extreme lower corner barely inside the far post and completely out of reach of the goalkeeper. A low line-drive from 25 yards out (easily measured by the 6 yard alternating grass cuts), Iniesta tucks in his arms as it passes him around waist-high. I have also included a ghost-image of where the players are when the ball reaches the goal box:

This exceptional goal ends up being the decisive one, as the second half is destined to be a lackluster affair. ¡Visca el Barca!

FC Barcelona Strategy Breakdown 2013 La Liga Week 1

Cesc Fabregas (#4) has the ball and plenty of options, due to the team having formed a wheel, which is the most important shape in Barcelona's style, with someone in the center and teammates arranged around like spokes:

His teammates immediately react to Fabregas’ choice. Notice Xavi Hernandez (#6) is already running to his next spot while the ball is in mid-air:

Alexis Sanchez (#9) receives the ball, and could attack the goal or pass backwards to Davi Alves (#22). Xavi has established a position so that he is now the center of a wheel. Lionel Messi (#10) is double-teamed:

Instead, Alexis dribbles toward the sideline to open more passing options. The defensive line stays close to Messi:

Sanchez passes to Xavi, but playing a give-and-go with a Sanchez run toward the goal is well defended. Messi is triple-teamed:

Xavi one-touch passes back to Alves, who is completely unguarded. Defenders rush towards him, abandoning Fabregas:

Xavi slips behind the defenders, confused over who is covering Alves and Fabregas, so Alves returns the ball. The backline moves to put Messi offside:

Xavi again one-touch passes, this time to Fabregas, and moves to cover the option inside the box since Messi is offside (so ineligible to be passed to). Alves moves to make Fabregas the center of a wheel:

Fabregas one-touch lobs the ball over the defensive backline into the box for Xavi so that when Xavi reaches it, Messi is onside and completely unguarded:

Xavi surely intends to pass to Messi, but his poor first touch incidentally nutmegs (goes between the legs of) the goalkeeper and scores a goal:

Throughout this exchange, wheels are constantly being formed, Xavi is always thinking one step ahead of the opponents and Messi provides a key distracting factor while doing virtually nothing. ¡Visca el Barca!