I don't want to offend anyone who watches football. I mean, I like the concept of the Superbowl party - the festive atmosphere, the foods, the excitement of the game. I just wish it revolved around something that I found more interesting. Sports in particular is an activity that I think is better done than spectated, but even then, you could pick a better game - like gymnastics or beach volleyball, or even a cheer comp. Something that's at least visually stimulating, beyond counting points as a ball goes back and forth across the screen.
Watching family and friends follow games on TV for much of my life, I've always disliked the manner in which the viewer pins such intense highs and lows of joy and disappointment upon the performance of a group of athletes with which the only thing they have in common (in most cases) is their general area of residence. It's like a localized form of nationalism. That kind of arbitrary tribal mentality might have served us back when we were primitive hunter-gatherers, but in this global society, it's one of the driving forces behind such things as war, bigotry, and terrorism. One stranger isn't better than another stranger just because he lives closer to you, and maybe he's been to some of the same stores or restaurants, or listens to the same radio programs as you do.
Anyway, the first few years I moved away from home, it was a novelty and a relief being able to get through an entire season without even hearing about football. In some cases, Superbowl Sunday passed me by without me even recognizing that there was a game on. I don't miss it one bit. But one thing I've learned that's fun to do is to go grocery shopping on the day of the big game. All the stores are basically empty, because everybody's at home glued to their couches. It's a pretty cool atmosphere. I think I'll call it Supermarket Sunday.
09 February, 2025
07 February, 2025
Sunscreen
In 1997, Baz Luhrmann (the same Baz Luhrmann who directed the film adaptation of Romeo + Juliet, starring Leonardo DiCaprio and Claire Danes as the titular star-crossed lovers) released a spoken word song titled Everybody's Free (To Wear Sunscreen), which was in actuality an adaptation of an essay written by Mary Schmich, former columnist for the Chicago Tribune. Styled as a hypothetical commencement speech, it contains a lot of good, general life advice. Anyway, there's a line in it which I think about from time to time (among several others, as a matter of fact), that reads as follows:
"Live in New York City once, but leave before it makes you hard. Live in Northern California once, but leave before it makes you soft."
(I've travelled to both places, but haven't lived in either). I like this line because it reflects balance. It displays the importance of cultivating a varied perspective on the world, and the practice of familiarizing oneself with (and, presumably, generating empathy for) people who come from vastly different walks of life. But at the same time, it cautions you not to become too entrenched in a particular camp, or to let over-exposure dim the broadness of your vision.
I've read both Kinsey reports cover to cover (as with any textbook, the academic prose is dry, but filled with fascinating insights for those with a little patience). It, of course, has much to say about human sexuality, but of the many things that have stuck with me, I remember a comment about how in this great American experiment, most people do not change social class throughout their lives. Some people do, indeed, move up the social ladder - which is the elusive American dream. There are plenty of rags-to-riches stories out there (although I wonder to what extent this is just a convenient fantasy designed to placate the less fortunate masses). But only a minority ever find themselves climbing down the social ladder. Which is not to say that it does not happen (and there is certainly a catharsis to be had from the not unpopular riches-to-rags reverse tale).
Regardless, I would categorize my upbringing squarely in the middle class range. My immediate family was not what I would consider to be rich. But we were definitely not poor, either. I don't know the details of my parents' lives before I was born (we've never really been a "gather 'round and tell our life stories" kind of family), but I suspect that I may have had something of a more comfortable upbringing than one or both of my parents had. Which is nice for me. Unfortunately, circumstances directly related to mental illness (i.e., my crippling anxiety), have prevented me from fully unlocking my potential in life. I do my best to maintain the standards I grew up with - and I have a certain pride in that, although others of lesser means may interpret it as snobbery (which is fair). But, since having moved out of state, I've definitely entrenched myself within the confines of a decidedly lower class environment.
There's no way I can speak authentically about this subject without the risk of tarnishing the reputation of, and potentially causing offense to, people that I honestly like and care about. Nobody's perfect - nor are most people responsible for the conditions they're born into, and the opportunities they're not given - and you can still love and respect someone in spite of their flaws. Heaven knows I have more than my fair share of my own. So I hope my words aren't taken out of context. To be fair, the reason I moved out here is the person I've chosen to spend my life with; and she is by all accounts a diamond in the rough. What's more impressive than who she is, is that she's managed to become that despite the circumstances she's had to overcome.
So, like, don't get me wrong. But, aside from that exception, I do find myself surrounded, in this town, by people who are, on average, poorer and less educated than what I'm used to. And let me tell you, it's eye-opening. For the first few years, it was an adjustment. Something I had to get used to. After getting to know some of these people, and participating in their lives, it's definitely given me an appreciation for the hurdles they're faced with. But the more you witness what seems to you like bad decisions, and relative lack of cognitive capacity and critical thinking skills - no matter how it's not these people's fault that they're playing with an incomplete deck, against professional scam artists - the more it whittles away at your faith in humanity, as if to convince you that sapience is a myth, and we're all just animals running on instinct.
You know, there's a certain misanthropic frustration that settles in, when you hear about the kind of unethical behaviors rich, upper class tycoons engage in (most of the time without any kind of repercussions). But there's a risk of swinging the pendulum too far in the opposite direction, and concluding that the lower class "salt of the earth" type of people possess some kind of fundamental virtue. It's like the phallacy of the "noble savage", but applied to poverty. And it should be all the more apparent in an age where the ignorance of the uneducated is being exploited by those same tycoons to proliferate their immoral debauchery.
And when you're constantly hammered over the head with it, again and again, day after day, it can get to a point where you start to lose that empathy. And a different kind of misanthropic frustration begins to settle in. One that is, perhaps, even more depressing. Because it's one thing to recognize the corrupting influence of power. But it's another thing entirely to recognize the rotten core that exists at the very heart of humanity itself, which doesn't even require power to find expression. I guess if I were to amend Mary Schmich's original essay, I would add the following line:
"Get an internship at a Fortune 500 company, but quit before it makes you cynical. Live out in the country, but leave before you lose all faith in humanity."
And don't forget to wear that sunscreen.
"Live in New York City once, but leave before it makes you hard. Live in Northern California once, but leave before it makes you soft."
(I've travelled to both places, but haven't lived in either). I like this line because it reflects balance. It displays the importance of cultivating a varied perspective on the world, and the practice of familiarizing oneself with (and, presumably, generating empathy for) people who come from vastly different walks of life. But at the same time, it cautions you not to become too entrenched in a particular camp, or to let over-exposure dim the broadness of your vision.
I've read both Kinsey reports cover to cover (as with any textbook, the academic prose is dry, but filled with fascinating insights for those with a little patience). It, of course, has much to say about human sexuality, but of the many things that have stuck with me, I remember a comment about how in this great American experiment, most people do not change social class throughout their lives. Some people do, indeed, move up the social ladder - which is the elusive American dream. There are plenty of rags-to-riches stories out there (although I wonder to what extent this is just a convenient fantasy designed to placate the less fortunate masses). But only a minority ever find themselves climbing down the social ladder. Which is not to say that it does not happen (and there is certainly a catharsis to be had from the not unpopular riches-to-rags reverse tale).
Regardless, I would categorize my upbringing squarely in the middle class range. My immediate family was not what I would consider to be rich. But we were definitely not poor, either. I don't know the details of my parents' lives before I was born (we've never really been a "gather 'round and tell our life stories" kind of family), but I suspect that I may have had something of a more comfortable upbringing than one or both of my parents had. Which is nice for me. Unfortunately, circumstances directly related to mental illness (i.e., my crippling anxiety), have prevented me from fully unlocking my potential in life. I do my best to maintain the standards I grew up with - and I have a certain pride in that, although others of lesser means may interpret it as snobbery (which is fair). But, since having moved out of state, I've definitely entrenched myself within the confines of a decidedly lower class environment.
There's no way I can speak authentically about this subject without the risk of tarnishing the reputation of, and potentially causing offense to, people that I honestly like and care about. Nobody's perfect - nor are most people responsible for the conditions they're born into, and the opportunities they're not given - and you can still love and respect someone in spite of their flaws. Heaven knows I have more than my fair share of my own. So I hope my words aren't taken out of context. To be fair, the reason I moved out here is the person I've chosen to spend my life with; and she is by all accounts a diamond in the rough. What's more impressive than who she is, is that she's managed to become that despite the circumstances she's had to overcome.
So, like, don't get me wrong. But, aside from that exception, I do find myself surrounded, in this town, by people who are, on average, poorer and less educated than what I'm used to. And let me tell you, it's eye-opening. For the first few years, it was an adjustment. Something I had to get used to. After getting to know some of these people, and participating in their lives, it's definitely given me an appreciation for the hurdles they're faced with. But the more you witness what seems to you like bad decisions, and relative lack of cognitive capacity and critical thinking skills - no matter how it's not these people's fault that they're playing with an incomplete deck, against professional scam artists - the more it whittles away at your faith in humanity, as if to convince you that sapience is a myth, and we're all just animals running on instinct.
You know, there's a certain misanthropic frustration that settles in, when you hear about the kind of unethical behaviors rich, upper class tycoons engage in (most of the time without any kind of repercussions). But there's a risk of swinging the pendulum too far in the opposite direction, and concluding that the lower class "salt of the earth" type of people possess some kind of fundamental virtue. It's like the phallacy of the "noble savage", but applied to poverty. And it should be all the more apparent in an age where the ignorance of the uneducated is being exploited by those same tycoons to proliferate their immoral debauchery.
And when you're constantly hammered over the head with it, again and again, day after day, it can get to a point where you start to lose that empathy. And a different kind of misanthropic frustration begins to settle in. One that is, perhaps, even more depressing. Because it's one thing to recognize the corrupting influence of power. But it's another thing entirely to recognize the rotten core that exists at the very heart of humanity itself, which doesn't even require power to find expression. I guess if I were to amend Mary Schmich's original essay, I would add the following line:
"Get an internship at a Fortune 500 company, but quit before it makes you cynical. Live out in the country, but leave before you lose all faith in humanity."
And don't forget to wear that sunscreen.
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