A Generation Apart

I spent a lot of time yesterday thinking about what I was going to write about today. I dissected a number of themes including: the role capitalism plays in our holiday traditions (boring), the real and sordid history of Thanksgiving (been done), and finally, things in my own life that I'm thankful for (sentimental rubbish). In the end, I decided to discard all of these ideas and write instead about the gaping hole that exists between my generation and all those that precede it. This is the story of my Thanksgiving. Due to my work schedule, I decided to stay in the town I'm currently living and celebrate Turkey Day with a few friends. Thanksgiving is a strange holiday because, realistically, it's all about food. The underlying events of the said holiday have been either forgotten or drastically altered enough to the point where they cease to hold any sort of significance. How many families do you know tell the story of the one day our ancestors decided not to screw over the Indians and they all shared a meal together? At any rate, we had big plans for our Thanksgiving celebration. There was to be hors d'oeuvres, ham, mashed potatoes, pies, etc. My donation, per usual, was to bring the wine and baked goods (for those who are not from the midwest, baked goods consist of brownies, bars, scotcheroos, and danishes). I never actually learned how to cook, so my meal contribution usually takes the form of sitting in the kitchen and entertaining the cooks while I consume vast amounts of red wine. This year was to be no exception. The gang woke up around 11:30am. We had crashed the night before around one in the morning, so we all looked bright-eyed and refreshed. We decided, in an effort to reject societal norms, that we would start cooking later in the afternoon and have a nice mid-evening supper . . . so we went about our day the same way we would any other. We watched three episodes of 'Lost,' my friend Harry played a couple games of Madden 10 on the PS3, and we had cracked a bottle of wine. Finally, around 3:00pm we decided it was probably time to look at the recipe for the ham and start cooking. You can imagine our surprise when we realized the ham would have to be cooked for over FIVE HOURS! Who knew it took so long to cook a ham, much less a 12lb ham. After the ham went in the oven, we had some time to kill. I finished the first season of 'Lost' (brilliant) and we decided to play a card game. Since we had so many bottles of wine and it was gong to be about 2.5 hours until the ham was done, someone got the bright idea that we should turn UNO into a drinking game. After going through three bottles of wine and a quarter of a bottle of tequila (not to mention some rousing rounds of UNO) we were all well on our way to being half in the bag. The next two hours were a blur (probably because I was drunk . . . ). People were running in and out of the kitchen, there was yelling and fighting, and finally, around 10:15pm, the meal was done. I must say the food was very good. Unfortunately, I passed out before the pies had cooled . . .

Now - let's rewind the clock back to noon. I called my family and my mom tells me that her and my dad had been up since 4:00am preparing the food and the house for company. The whole while I'm thinking to myself, "I'm so glad we don't have to follow the dictates of a timeline that other people have thrust on us" and "good for us for having such an outside the box Thanksgiving." But the truth is, making such a momentous meal was stressful (and I easily did the least amount of work). You're probably asking yourself, "what's the point? So what? You guys are unorganized shmucks, what does that say about your generation?" I happen to think it says a lot. It reflects a new perspective on responsibility and efficiency. When our parents were our age (early to mid-twenties), many of them were already married, had children, and had started the job that they would consider their 'career.' These days, there are very few of us in that boat. This changes the way we regard responsibility. When I seriously ask the question: who am I responsible for? The answer is short and simple, I'm responsible for myself. Hence, I have no interest in taking on the societal baggage that comes with hosting 'traditional' seasonal gatherings. Hell, I can hardly arrange my own breakfast! But this shift in responsibility has brought other changes as well. It has birthed a new era of efficiency. Efficiency can be defined as an 'effective operation as measured by a comparison of production with cost' (Merriam-Webster). I don't mean this strictly in terms of how we view holidays, marriage, or cooking, but rather it effects the lens through which we view all things. We, as a generation, are in a unique position to dispel the traditions and ideals that our predecessors have been clinging to for so long. Perhaps the world needs a cultural makeover . . . or perhaps we're all so stuck in our ways that change is a faraway fantasy. I found out last night that a Thanksgiving dinner takes a lot of hard work, time, and money. So what am I going to do next year if faced with a similar predicament? I'll probably try to convince my friends that we should hit up a restaurant instead.

Gone Baby Gone

Eleanor Roosevelt was wrong. Absence does not make the heart grow fonder. Memories blur with time and the sentimental staying power of photographs is vastly overrated. Basically, it sucks when someone we love departs, dissapears, or simply cuts us out of their lives. It leaves a gaping hole that is all the more painful when you realize the inevitable: life will go on. But the going on will change. You will no longer feel the excitement of a dinner date, the intimacy of a late-night walk, or merely the good company of an afternoon grocery run. Not with that old friend anyway. There may be the occasion phone call, or if you're really diligent a letter or email, but your relationship will be forever changed. I should add here (before my inner defeatist takes over) that I do think it's possible to have a healthy, fulfilling long-distance friendship, but it takes a lot of work. I'm writing this because I've got old friends (and one recently departed friend) on my mind. Eddie left for California early Monday morning and I haven't heard from him since. I'm sure he's taking time to turn his situation over in his mind, but all my psyche registers is nothingness. All that remains here of his being and personality is a vacancy, an empty room waiting to be filled.

I have yet to deal with the grief that accompanies the death of a loved one. I have, however, felt grief. Mostly my grieving manifests in the form of regret. I regret pushing so and so away, I regret treating him or her like that. As I get older and progress into my mid-twenties, friendship is becoming an increasingly important part of my life. With no spouse or 'partner' to help me carry my emotional, physical, and financial burdens, my reliance falls mostly upon a tighnit circle of people I have come to love and trust as my own family. I don't mean to sound overly sentimental, rather I find this to be a relevant issue for the new generation. I am a vocal proponent of communal/alternative living arrangements. As young people make the decision to hold off on marriage and dedicate themselves to a career or alternative life path, I think the existence of a support system is imperative. A family is not made up of one man and one woman, two children and a dog, but of people who encourage each other to fulfill their potential. Needless to say, it's a difficult loss. We miss you Eddie.

Don't walk in front of me, I may not follow. Don't walk behind me, I may not lead. Just walk beside me and be my friend. -Albert Camus

Everybody's Got a Gripe

All morning I have been looking at quotes about anger. There are some really good ones by the likes of Winston Churchill, Benjamin Franklin, and (of course) Confucius. But the one that sticks out the most is a quote by Ralph Waldo Emerson. He says, "Anger is an uncontrollable feeling that betrays what you are when you are not yourself. Anger is that powerful internal force that blows out the light of reason. Know this to be the enemy: it is anger, born of desire." My mind and spirit wholeheartedly agree with Emerson. Anger is the enemy, right? So why are we as a species so apt toward the 'emotion' (if that's truly what it is) of anger? I'm not sure, but what I am sure of is that I'm pissed off today. I woke up this morning with a big 'Fuck You' stamped on my forehead and everyone seems intent on agitating my delicate condition. I keep asking myself the same question again and again: Why are you angry? The only reply I get is the echo of another crabby customer griping in my ear or a phone call about something I personally took the initiative to mess up. In an effort to take control of my madness I have decided to contact the one person I think may have some insight into this conundrum: my mother.

Lunch starts at 12:30, so I go out to my car and make the most important phone call of the day. I tell my mom that I'm angry for no apparent reason. Little things are getting on my nerves. Everyone is bitching and moaning and I don't really want to hear it. I'm one coffee spill away from snapping like a firecracker . . . and she (per usual) puts the whole thing in perspective. You see, what I didn't think about was the fact that for the past two weeks I've been fighting off some sort of respiratory ailment. Since I came down with my nasty affliction, I've begun each morning with a nice large dose of cold medicine. And it's not just any old cold medicine, it's one of the more popular over-the-counter drugs that contains pseudoephedrine, a decongestant that has a reputation for causing side effects such as mood swings, loss of appetite, anxiety, etc. Now, you may be wondering, what's mom's miracle remedy for cold medicine withdrawal? Drink more coffee. The caffeine is a stimulant and, if anything, will keep your mind from the groggy depths of sleepy despair.

The question of the hour remains, what does it all mean? Emerson, anger, cold-medicine, motherly wisdom. Where does my mild irritation fit in a world marred with violence? The answer: I have no idea. Anger seems to be a driving force for so many actions in our world. Whether it be war or advocacy, everyone is so damn irate. What my own experience with anger re-affirms is what researchers, dieticians, and doctors have been saying for years. The substances we put into our bodies (whatever they may be) have a direct effect on our physical and emotional well-being. So I can do one of two things. Either I can start listening to my body, creating an impeccable record of all the things I ingest throughout the day and the various ways they affect me, or . . . I can lighten up and realize that my problem, along with everyone elses, is that we take everything too damn seriously.

Note: Nothing I write should EVER be confused with actual medical advice and I apologize for making two or more vast and sweeping generalizations about the human condition.

Searching for a Voice

Today is my re-birthday. This is the day I leave behind my concrete, earthly soap-box in favor of something a little more metaphysical (or perhaps techno-centric is a better word). Yes ladies and gentleman, this is my first blog ever. Not quite sure of how to flex my newfound bionic vocal chords, I suppose I will describe the events that have led up to this memorable moment. Recently, I have been searching for my voice. It all starts with an opinion. Throughout the day I read a myriad of articles on all sorts of topics, from the repeal of the so-called Defense of Marriage Act to the kooky schemes of Scientology, and I yearn for a place in which to explore ideologies and examine the vast scope of human polarities. Lately, these rogue (curse you Sarah Palin) thoughts have fallen on deaf ears (mostly due to the fact that my friends are tired of listening to my second-hand social commentary and are jealous that their workplaces are without the luxury of high-speed internet access). Hence, my journey into the world of technology begins.

Here's a little bit about me. I'm a bi-racial transgender republican. Just kidding. But sometimes I wish I was that diverse and interesting. I'm actually a white gay male in my mid-twenties with a background in: Surprise! Theatre performance and English literature. My true passions lie somewhere between the existential stoicism of British Literature post-1900 and the Avant-garde and seemingly nihilistic plays of one Sarah Kane. But perhaps those subjects are better explored later, when there's more time . . . and that leads me to the real reason for starting this blog. This blog is a shout-out to a generation 'left behind' by a counrty in the midst of economic and cultural crisis. Or perhaps it's a direct representation of my restlessness as a middle-class white male feeling the weight of mediocrity upon my twenty-something shoulders. I spent the past two years as a flight attendant herding rude people around the globe in glorified fruit crates and have given that up to re-join the art world and do some theatre in a quaint Mississippi town in Wisconsin. Oh yeah, and I have a day job. So without further ado, I introduce to you R.M.B.-Speak, a blog that will explore all things that enter the vast (and perhaps hollow) realm of my psyche. Stay tuned.