FIN

Well, it is that time. As the semester winds down, so does my Art of Living blog. It has been a unique journey to say the least, filled with reflections that have helped me think, grow, and change. I am grateful this assignment was given because it allowed me to not only keep my own thoughts straight, it allowed other people to glimpse my life which reciprocated back to me in many different ways. It's as if for the past four months my very existence was served up several times a week for anyone and everyone to scrutinize and comment on, if they chose. The comments I did receive were comforting in the sense that I realized at least my thoughts were coherent. Existentialists have often struggled with the fundamental question of whether or not "the other" (i.e. other people) sees the world in the same way as the "I" (i.e. myself). I'm confident we all see the same world, only with a multitude of interpretations. It is this notion that makes life interesting and worth living to the fullest.

I remember the first PAR 400 meeting when we were asked to create and maintain an online journal. The goal was to reflect on class assignments and readings and to define our own Art of Living. In respect to the former, I found blog assignments effortless because so much of what we read and discussed had a profound effect on the way I think about and view the world. From Aurilius to Thoreau, anyone who chose to espouse their Art of Living did so in such an elegant and beautiful way that they are now permanently engrained in my existence.

So, as to avoid any awkward cliches, I will leave this journal the same person but with a new view of the world. In conjunction with my other philosophy course, I now fully realize that too much of our collective existence is centered around the individual...the "I." In a burst of bright light I came to the realization that my own existence does not begin and end with me. Unfortunately, I must live in a world where this concept goes unrealized. I do not loose all hope, however, as I refer back to my previous statement that such diversity is the only basis on which my life can have meaning and be worth living.

Retrospective

I was looking through some old posts I made at my old blog and I thought it would be cool to post some excerpts that have to do with my search for a graduate school. Now that I've chosen South Florida, it seems strange to see how adament I was on going to William & Mary and how worried I was that I wouldn't get in. Enjoy!

Thursday, September 30, 2004
I e-mailed 2 profs at USC and a couple of people at william & mary asking about the grad school and asking to set up a meeting. I got replies from both and it seems pretty promising. I think I'm on the right track setting up in-person meeting, even though its going to suck driving to richmond and columbia in the course of a few months. but I do alot of driving anyway. i'm starting to get really excited about graduate school, and as the days go on, I feel more and more confident that I'll get into one of my top choices.

Monday, October 18, 2004
Well, I found another grad school, and this one is perfect for me (more than William & Mary?). university of south florida's program seems like it's got all I want: a masters program in applied or public archaology plus it looks like it hardcore in-the-dirt archaeology. the only small catch is that I have to get my GPA up to at least 3.2 because their requirements made it sound like you HAVE to have that minimum, although most school are flexible, USF might be a little more strict (because they used the word "must"). But that's totally not impossible, I just basically have to get straight A's this semester and as of now, that doesn't seem to far-fetched. might be able to get by with a B according the GPA calculator. well, I'm going to stop being a nerd for now and go to bed. on the water with the novice tomorrow morning!

Thursday, October 28, 2004
well, here we go. I am taking the GRE tomorrow morning at 8am. right now, i'm surprisingly calm and relaxed, and i'm trying to keep it that way and get a good night's rest. i'm trying not to let the running around with crew/regatta business mess me up and it's working. have everything pretty much under control. i told myself i wouldn't study tonight but i'll probably go over some basic concepts one more time and some vocabularly i'm 99% sure is going to be on there. so until then, i'm just relaxing here by myself (my favorite company), listening to sigur ros, and counting down to one of the more important events of my academic career. i know i'm going to rock it...it's just a matter of not losing my neves, which I don't plan on doing.

Friday, October 29, 2004
so how about the schools? Well, I did 20 points better than the average of accepted grad students at William & Mary, my top choice. Their avg. was 1070 and mine of course was 1090. But their average writing score was 6, which pretty much tells me that they consider that part the most important, and pretty much all accepted people got a 6. So we'll have to wait and see. I'm 10 points shy of the U. of South Florida anthro minimum of 1100, but who knows, I could impress them with my field work and other stuff. Not sure about U. of South Carolina. And I'm still confident about ECU, of course.

Wednesday, November 03, 2004
tomorrow morning I leave for Williamsburg. I have a meeting with Dr. Mary Voight, director of graduate studies at William & Mary around 2:30pm, so I'll have to leave early. Then on Friday morning I meet with Dr. Gallivan to basically beg to work with him and push for me to get admitted. all in all i think this is going to be a worthwhile trip and might even put me over the top to get admitted. we shall see. I'm still waiting for the rest of my GRE score to come in the mail. still hoping for a 6 on the writing part.

Monday, November 08, 2004
had the big weekend up in williamsburg to visit W&M. not surprisingly, it went extremely well, meetings and all. I got up there thursday afternoon around 12:30 and after checking in to my hornet-infested hotel room (they eventually moved me) and having a quick bite to eat at the College Deli, I met with Dr. Mary Voigt, director of graduate studies. she was a very nice and receptive to my visit, and seemed thankful that there was an interested grad applicant who was doing his homework. luckily she did most of the talking. the next day I met with professor gallivan. he seemed really cool and also welcomed the interest in the program. we talked for about 30 or 40 minutes and I learned alot about the program and his work. i also got to hang out with a few masters and a Ph.D. student in the arch. lab, which was actually pretty helpful. the anthro department itself is pretty amazing...display cases everywhere having to do with some of the faculty's areas of study, and a classroom/museum that along put the entire UNCW anthro department to shame. of course, the campus is ancient which immediately makes it attractive to me.

Wednesday, November 17, 2004
and I'm headed to columbia, SC this weekend to check out their grad school. it's a big school, but the program seems small enough and it's a good backup in case william and mary falls though (look at me gettin' all cockey!). so pretty much the end of the semester is winding down and the shit is once again making its way toward the fan, but I think I might make it out alive this time.

Saturday, November 20, 2004
Well, the verdict is in! We all know I rocked the verbal (560) and quantitative (530) sections, but the big one I was waiting on is the analytical writing section. Drumroll...

5.5!

That's right, 5.5 out of 6. And if that wasn't enough, the ultimate ego trip is the description for a 5.5 score:

"Sustains insightful, in-depth analysis of complex ideas; develops and supports main points with logically compelling reasons and/or highly persuasive examples; is well focused and well organized; skillfully uses sentence variety and precise vocabulary to convey meaning effectively; demonstrates superior facility with sentence structure and language usage but may have minor erros that do not interfere with meaning."

That's right bitches. William & Mary is about to become William, William, & some bitch named Mary.

Four years later...

Well, the journey is over. My fate has been decided and all my options have been exhausted. This afternoon I received in the mail an offer to study at William & Mary in the fall. In a way, I was expecting an acceptance because I was first on the waiting list and so it only took one person to turn down their initial offer for me to be bumped up. It's hard to believe that after all these months of stressing out over William & Mary's admissions, applications, thank you letters, e-mails, visits, and phone calls, I am still content with my decision to study at South Florida. It seems almost like a dream that happened yesterday where I was so confident that Williamsburg was my destiny, but for some reason events had me accepting an offer in Tampa.

It is also not lost on me that this is the exact same situation I was in four years ago, perhaps to the day. Then, I wanted to attend Chapel Hill and had my mind set to it. I was confident I would get in and became very excited about the prospect of studying at an elite university. I was first deferred then rejected, and "settled" for UNCW. Within a year at Wilmington I knew that I had been rejected from UNC for a reason. My home was here. I began to see the differences between the prospects of attending a huge university and studying at a smaller, growing campus. By my second year, I was convinced that UNCW was the right place to end up. To this day, I tell anyone who asks that I was lucky to get rejected from UNC. I would never have had the opportunity to lead a rowing team, write for the school newspaper, excel in two majors, and spend a month in Central America among 3,000 year old ruins.

My experience with applying to undergraduate actually played a major role in my decision to study at South Florida. William & Mary is an elite university, the oldest one in the country, and their anthropology department is perhaps the top program for historical archaeology on the East Coast. But they cannot offer me any sort of assistantship or financial aid, and I feel that my opportunities would be limited, as there is no one on the faculty that works in Central America. University of South Florida is located in a beautiful state in one of the biggest cities in the country. They are able to offer me financial aid and I'm almost guaranteed the chance to study again in Central America. The choice for me is clear. While USF may not be as prestigious as William & Mary, I know Tampa is where I belong. I don't doubt for one minute that a year from now I'll be regretting my decision.

Dialogue

This past Friday we had yet another interesting 50 minutes in my Philosophy 101 class. While the meeting began as strictly in the context of philosophers like Sartre and Buber, it eventually progressed into a discussion on the contemporary issue of the role of dialogue in the "war on terrorism."

What McGowan (the instructor) was advocating was constantly striving for dialogue with those who are "out to get" the United States. Although this may never be achieved, we must avoid concluding that it can't. In other words, while he advocates peace and non-violence, he seemed to suggest that our current situation is a necessary evil. McGowan continued by saying, unambiguously, that we as Americans have no grounds on which to condemn terrorists or their actions, including the 9/11 hijackers. Needless to say, at least one student took offense and cited her faith in God as reason enough to condemn terrorist acts. I think McGowan's methodology was lost on many students when he pursued the issue and used the "but why not?" line of questioning when challenging her. He eventually backed off a little bit and revealed that he was trying to get us to think, which is where he excels as a professor (purposefully enrage students in order to get them to think). After the class meeting, I started having second thoughts about all the perceived liberal bias in academia. At least in this case, McGowan was advocating an extreme view on terrorism in order to get us, as students of philosophy, to think.

While I didn't take offense at McGowan's comments and agreed with him to an extent, I echoed the "war-as-necessary-evil" argument but stopped short of suggesting that terrorists are justified in their acts of violence. Indeed, I believe that their basic argument, while completely wrong on moral grounds, is valid. What McGowan was doing was completely removing the emotional/political/moral aspect of terrorism vs. the United States and challenging us to approach the other side in an objective manner. While this method is rejected by many people as impossible, McGowan's overarching argument is that in order to achieve the desired result (i.e. peace) we have to constantly strive for dialogue with our enemies, regardless of whether or not it seems impossible. I agree with him in that if we continue as we are, the United States will ultimately fail at winning the war on terror.

On a personal level, I can't think of a single more important concept than dialogue. Everything we do in life, every aspect of our existence, is governed by the idea that we are able to interact with those around us. Even the most reclusive hermit is influenced in his ways by the outside world. For this reason, it seems ridiculous to assume that anyone can progress through life by ignoring the ideas of others and not considering all reasonable options. In terms of my Art of Living, I have begun to incorporate dialogue into my everyday existence, the most significant manifestation of that being discussions via the internet. From reading blogs to posting my own thoughts on message boards, not only am I giving my opinion but I am nurturing and informing it at the same time. I am constantly disheartened at the amount of stubbornness that dominates many people's thought process, sometimes to the point of complete ignorance. While it is not my place to judge anyone for the way they think, I can only hope that science and reason will prevail in the end.

Self-evaluation

Here is the brief self-evaluation I was asked to write for my Philosophy 101 course. I think it makes a swell blog entry as well because it may provide insight to why many of my posts are the way they are.

Although a critical evaluation of the current state of academia will be avoided, it is worth noting that my recent awareness of the matter has led me to conclude a major point: A tremendous effort must be made on the part of the student to meticulously scrutinize and evaluate the information being presented in a university course in order to receive a well-rounded, quality education, particularly in the humanities and social sciences. A course in existential philosophy could not have come at a better time for me.

Overall, I am pleased with my progress over the past semester. I have not missed any meetings and I manage to consistently turn in what I feel are quality papers. The nature of the course has caused me to take an active interest in the material and truly reflect on the topics, making paper writing effortless and enjoyable. Consequently, I feel that I have produced some of my best essays in all of my four years at UNCW. This has to do with that fact that I believe philosophical thinking should (and does in this case) go beyond a simple academic study of the topic. The paper topics are such that they require us to think for ourselves and apply the concepts and themes to our own lives; something that I feel is not stressed enough in undergraduate coursework.

While my performance in the course thus far has been nothing less than what I normally expect of myself, the unorthodox class format and teaching style has made me aware of the importance of constant self-evaluation and inner reflection. This is in contrast with the typical university course where grades and minimum requirements are emphasized over the benefits of a more personal, reflective approach to higher learning. The result is usually a detached, unimpassioned approach to education on the part of the student. Over the past semester, I have taken full advantage of the class format and used it to my benefit. I don't have to worry about attendance, due dates, participation grades, quiz grades, multiple choice exams, group work, PowerPoint presentations, or getting the right answer. While some of these are important to the class, the point is that I don't have to worry about them. As for getting the right answer, I have learned that there is no right answer in philosophy. That is the beauty of this course and the reason why I feel I have been enjoying it so much.

Over the past four months, I have experienced a metamorphosis in the way I think about and view the world. This change, I feel, has much to do with the material covered in Philosophy 101. I believe that the format of the class has allowed me to not only learn about existential philosophy from an academic standpoint, but to apply existential concepts and themes to my own world. I have rejected many of the more extreme philosophies, such as nihilism and other overemphasis on death and despair. Conversely, I have embraced Heidegger's discussions of conscious awareness of death as the key to understanding and appreciating the nature of our existence. Although I have yet to fully grasp the intricacies of many of the philosophies discussed in class, they have made me realize that there is far more to life than simply existing.

In conclusion, I am very satisfied with my performance in the course given the limits of undergraduate coursework, such as brief fifty-minute sessions and a consideration for other courses. My only regret is that I didn't have enough time to fully immerse myself in the worlds of Heidegger, Husserl, Sarte, Kierkegaard, and others. I got feeling that these fellows has massive amounts of time on their hands to not only produce the work they did, but to synthesize and reflect on it in the first place. I am envious to say the least.

The Turtle

There was a massive snapping turtle outside of my apartment this afternoon. I noticed it when I was driving to the store and thought it was fake at first because it was hardly moving. When I returned, he had walked about fifteen yards toward the road so I got Angela, and walked over to the next building and told Meredith to come out as well. The image above could just as well be a video clip because he didn't move at all while we were looking at him. We were afraid that the turtle would wander into the road, but an hour or so later he was gone, hopefully back to his home.

The Next Step

My entire future was just decided in the past five minutes. I received in the mail today the unofficial acceptance letter from U. of South Florida to their Public Archaeology MA program. Yesterday I had received an e-mail from U. of South Carolina offering me $10,000/year though an assistantship and tuition waiver. No word yet from William & Mary on whether or not I'm off the waiting list.

Five minutes ago, I just made one of the biggest decisions of my life. One that will shape who I am, who I become as a person, and how I think. It's the last one that makes such a decision so hard.

So, a few minutes ago I had my USF acceptance letter in one hand and my cell phone in the other with the graduate director's phone number entered and ready to dial. I took a deep breath, closed my eyes, and once again imagined myself at each school. I can honestly say it was the first time in my entire life flashed before my eyes. I opened my eyes and stared at the letter some more. "This is it," I thought. I put my phone down, stood up, and paced my room twice. Outloud, I said "Fuck it" and picked my phone back up and dialed USF. I left a message on the director's voice mail that I plan on attending in the fall.

Tampa, here I come.

Aspects

Over the past several weeks I've become more and more aware of my Art of Living. That is to say that I am beginning to realize the constituent parts that combine to form the structure of how I operate on a daily basis. This, I believe, is the most important step in making any art of living work for you. We can aspire to always tell the truth, never make assumptions, or be kind to others but in order for those things to take full effect we must really stand back and look at ourselves from a different perspective. One has to consider the consequences, both positive and negative, of applying a new aspect to an art of living. In other words, it is one thing to say you're going to do something to better yourself but it is another to truly make it work on a fundamental level. If you never contemplate the ramifications of fine-tuning your art of living how are you going to grow intellectually and emotionally, if those are your ultimate goals?

What I think will help me, and what I'm surprised I haven't done yet, is to list the major aspects of my art of living. A nice, concise list of what it is that guides me through the hours of my day, the days of my weeks, and the weeks of my years, and the years of my life. Dr. Phil would be proud.

Aspects of My Art of Living (in no particular order)

1. Always tell the truth.
   
2. Read.
   
3. Listen.
   
4. Don't worry about what other people think about you.
   
5. Realize and appreciate when you're better than someone else.
   
6. Realize and appreciate when someone else is better than you.
7. Keep your word.

Edit: Initially I had short descriptions for each aspect but they started to sound ridiculous so I left them out. I think these speak for themselves. Like everything in life (including life itself) they aren't concrete and are subject to change.

The Third Agreement

Here is an excerpt from my philosophy paper on Don Miguel Ruiz's The Four Agreements, A Toltec Wisdom Book. Agreements three is "don't make assumptions."

To not make assumptions seems to go against the very nature of humanity, but by consciously avoiding unwarranted judgement we not only eliminate seeds of hate and bias but also facilitate the growth of understanding, kindness, and a plurality of meaningful arts of living. Too often we read and hear about negative events that could have easily been avoided had only we opened our minds to a deeper level of understanding. I am reminded of the recent case involving Terri Schivo, a woman whose vegetative state resulted in a divided family. From every direction came assumptions, judgements, accusations, and falsities that resulted in this very unfortunate situation becoming a national embarrassment. Reputable news agencies abandoned any remnants of journalistic integrity by openly speculating on the motivations of those involved. Unsubstantiated reports continue to saturate the airwaves and news presses. Does Terri Schivo's husband want her dead so he can marry his girlfriend? Do her parents want her alive for purely political and religious reasons? The assumptions resulting from such speculative news reporting has the adverse side effect of perpetuating a slow moral decline in the United States. Since major news outlets bombard us with stories on a daily basis, over time we are desensitized to the fact that making assumptions only negates any reasonable and moral art of living.

Books

I am in a literal utopia at the moment (yes that was pun...my apologies). I found myself back at Edward McKay tonight, a paradise for nonfiction bookworms such as myself. Each time I browse this used bookstore I am amazed at the quality of their science, anthropology, and nature sections. Apparently Winston-Salem lacks the same taste in books as me. With a grant from the Bank of Mother I acquired two Wade Davis volumes, One River and Shadows in the Sun, Lost World by Tom Koppel, and a slightly tattered collection of Henry David Thoreau writings. All in all a source of intellectual stimulation that is sure to last me through the summer.

I am most excited about One River by Wade Davis. A Harvard-trained ethnobotanist, Davis is an authority on Amazonian plants and psychotropic drugs. I didn't know where I had heard his name before, but after I had bought the book I realized that he was recommended by my fellow anthropology and environmental nut Hollis. A hero for "psychonauts" as their called, Davis seems to be a respected and accomplished scientist and scholar of indigenous plant use. Only having read the introduction and first few pages of the first chapter, I can see why his work has received so much acclaim. It's very easy to read and already very interesting. Coming of the heels of White Rock by Hugh Thompson and Heinrich Harrier's Seven Years in Tibet, my current interest lies in travel writing with a bit of anthropology or science involved if I'm lucky.

I only read the prologue of Davis' Shadows in the Sun but it's in the same genre as One River: a very personal account of indigenous cultures and how they still possess what most of us have lost in the torrent of modernization. I can see some dismissing Davis' work as perpetuating the demonizing of Western society and how indigenous cultures are somehow "better" than us. On the surface this may seem true but my impression of Davis so far is that he is able to relate in writing what many of us think of as exotic or pristine. I'm anxious to delve into both of these books, perhaps simultaneously, in order to gain a better understanding of the earth that we're all a part of but that only a few remaining cultures truly understand.

Lost World by Tom Koppel caught my attention because it is an argument for a maritime origin of the first Americans. The long-standing paradigm has the peopling of North America occurring via the Bering Land Bridge between Siberia and Alaska. Koppel, along with a still-growing community of archaeologists, are positing this maritime hypothesis. Citing the lack of archaeological sites due to increased sea levels since the last Ice Age, Koppel aims to lay out the theory. I am the audience he is addressing, as I was taught the traditional Land Bridge theory in my anthropology classes so I will approach this work with an open and eager mind. Damnit I love knowledge!

To me a book is much more than bound paper infused with ink. It's a key, a microscope, a window, and a mirror all at the same time. I look for books that will leave me with more questions than when I started. I gain knowledge with each page turned, but the true beauty of a good book is its ability to send my mind racing in a million directions at once, as if my brain were the victim of the old torturing method known as "quartering." A good book makes me look closer at the world around me. Things really aren't quite what they seem. A volume that challenges and expands my view of reality is what I crave. A window to a world that otherwise is invisible is a gift that I cannot dismiss as mere paper, ink, and glue. Through that window I see not only fascinating places and experiences but myself as well, staring back at me from the pages. A strange dynamic is in motion when I read a good book. I'm starting to see the genius behind the philosophy of the PBS show Reading Rainbow:

Butterfly in the sky
I can go twice as high
Take a look
It's in a book
A Reading Rainbow

I can go anywhere
Friends to know
And ways to grow
A Reading Rainbow

I can be anything
Take a look
It's in a book
A Reading Rainbow
A Reading Rainbow

Applicable today as it was then. Dismiss it as silly, but that song (and way of thinking) has taken on a new meaning for me. Thanks Levar.

This Just In

Seems like I haven't written in ages...but it's only been three days. I've been enthralled by what some call "the blogosphere," more specifically the political blogosphere. Starting a few months ago, I began reading some political websites on a regular basis, mostly Frontpagemagazine.com, an overtly (and sometimes annoyingly) conservative site mast headed by David Horowitz, author of the Academic Bill of Rights and the leader of the so-called "Academic Freedom movement" on college campuses across the US. It amuses me how riled up conservatives get about issues ranging from Marxism in academia to the horror of Terri Schivo being "starved" to death.

To balance out my conservative opinion intake, I began reading the online version of the Socialist Worker, the publication of the International Socialist Organization. Needless to say, these two sites are on quite opposite extremes of the political spectrum. I found myself fascinated by socialist thought as espoused on the Socialist Worker website but still rejected most of their ideas about how the country should be run. It is only updated once every few weeks and much of their material is tired and recycled issues (e.g. kill the Bush war machine). I did, however, see the parallel between that aspect of socialism and the staunch conservatism of Horowitz and Frontpagemagazine.com. The Nation is another online version I've started to read consistently. Knowing it to have a very progressive agenda, I was attracted to The Nation by its slogan ("Unconventional Wisdom Since 1865") and original mission statement, which they still adhere to. There is a professor in Bear Hall (home of the Philosophy and Religion, Mathematics, and Computer Science departments) with the famous George W. Bush-as-Alfred E. Neuman parody cover taped on his office door. Try putting a John Kerry or Bill Clinton parody drawing on your door and see how long it lasts in hallways of academia.

Perhaps my favorite political blog is written by Kevin Drum and titled The Washington Monthly. It seems to be one of the most unbiased, observational, and insightful opinion publications out there, blog or otherwise. If John Stewart wrote a blog, it would probably read like this one. So, while based on opinion, I find myself getting a large portion of my political news from Kevin Drum and his blog. I have only very recently started reading a couple of blogs written by two PhD candidates and their experiences. I haven't read enough of them yet to have an informed opinion, but they are entertaining nonetheless.

My new found interest in the world of politics on the internet can be attributed to my conclusion that popular media is shit. I have become disillusioned with cable news, network news, popular newspapers, local news, news magazines, etc. They all spew the same sensationalist garbage aimed at a public with the attention span of my aging cat and the intellect of his feces. Popular media does not give the American public the credit they deserve, so we fall into this trap of thinking that Terri Schivo and Michael Jackson are actually important news stories. It is a self-perpetuating cycle of instant gratification: news agencies want to be the first to break the story and in the process completely trample over any notion of journalistic integrity. Waiting on the other side is a willing public anxious to eat up the latest garbage as if it were actually worth something. What the public at large does not realize is that these news networks and corporations thrive on deceiving the public into thinking what they are reporting is truly important. Turn on Fox News, CNN, or even one of the big networks, or open up a Newsweek magazine and count how many stories you would consider important news. There was once a fine line between Entertainment Tonight and the nightly news, but that line has since disappeared.

So, after coming to the above realization and deciding that I did not want to live my life as a corporate bitch, I decided to venture out on my own to get my news from where I wanted to get it, as opposed to being spoon fed glossy stories and opinion-laden news reports. The internet has made that possible and its one saving grace. Computers are no longer just porn boxes and music-stealing machines but can now provide access to important information from around the world that can shape or destroy public and personal opinion.

You can take a boy out of the city...

I've been consumed recently by political stuff; mostly the Terri Schivo issue that I've concluded is a huge embarrassment to the United States government and its leaders. Perhaps I'm more politically conscious, but I can honestly say this is the first time I'm ashamed to be represented by the current government. I shan't write on it again but what I will say is that using the misfortune and heartache of an American family to push a religious and political agenda is sad and disturbing and not part of my Art of Living.

Not to be absolutely certain is, I think, one of the essential things in rationality.
--Bertrand Russell

Other than that, what's been on my mind recently is my future. I've now been accepted by two of my three graduate schools, with the third still in limbo. After thinking about it at length, if the choice does come down to William & Mary and U. of South Florida I'm leaning toward the latter. Although W&M has been my first choice for a long time, I have to get over the whole prestige kick that I've been on and wake up. It would be silly of me to choose an institution JUST because it is more prestigious than another. While W&M is older and more "traditional", I feel that I would have more opportunity at USF and almost a guaranteed chance to study the Maya and perhaps go back to Central America. There are no Mayanists at W&M at all and thus a very slim chance that I would get to work down there for my master's. As a result, I should choose the school that would be better for my future overall. Besides, the hard part is over. I've been accepted to a program above undergraduate, and it seems that much less emphasis is placed on WHERE I get my master's versus the quality or relevance of my work in terms of going on to a doctoral program. Simply put, brand names aren't important in post-undergraduate academia.

Two roads diverged in a wood, and I--
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.
--Robert Frost

The real issue that's eating at me is what I'm going to be leaving if I end up in Tampa. I have grown to love Wilmington as my home and the place that has shaped me into the person I am now. The town has provided me with so much that I almost feel guilty leaving it, like I used it for four years and now I'm abandoning it. But I know that's not true, because a part of the Port City will be with me always. I've have learned that I almost have to live near a large body of water. Wilmington has the Cape Fear River and the Atlantic Ocean. I've gotten used to the feeling that I'm literally on the edge of the world. It's comforting to know that if things get too much, I can jump off and swim into the sunset where nobody is. It's nice to have an escape plan like that.

I'm also leaving one of the few things in my life right now that really does matter, when all is said and done. I was prompted to write this entry because I made the decision that when I move away, I'm not ready to move on. I value the moments we have now because they give me the opportunity to be free and escape from a universe that is too often centered around me. When I'm fourteen hours away such a connection is much harder but I'm not willing to let it go right now. Being apart, while hard, is going to make me stronger and motivate me to continue my quest to de-center myself from reality and realize that I'm not the only important person after all. She helps me do that on a regular basis and it is that that I'm going to miss the most.

Who's the truly brain dead one here?

Found this quote by Jon Stewart (Daily Show host) as quoted on one of my increasingly favorite political blogs, The Washington Monthly:

"If you want to know just how sick you have to get before Congress is willing to do something about it, well, now you know."

Quite true. Apparently you also have to be a white middle-class Christian to get any attention from our government (and the popular media at that). Do you think this case would be getting so much attention if Terri Schiavo was a low-income black woman from the ghetto?

And the question has been answered...what does it take for President Bush to cut short a sacred Crawford Ranch vacation? Yet again, a white, middle-class Christian woman who turns out to be an excellent opportunity to promote a political agenda, that's what. War, genocide, economics, devastating tsunamis...no vacations cut short by Bush. One woman out of thousands over his two terms has a brain fart and he rushes back to Washington to sign a document, knowing the cameras are rolling.

I reject any leftist whacko who says President Bush doesn't know what he's doing. He knows exactly what he's doing and it's sick.

ANWR

WASHINGTON (AFP) - The US Senate narrowly approved opening Alaska's Arctic National Wildlife Refuge (ANWR) to energy exploration, handing a victory to the White House, which has long advocated oil drilling in the preserve. story here

"If you put together a video of ANWR, you would see nothing but snow and rock. It is no place anybody's ever going to go. The wildlife that lives there wishes it didn't, but it's too stupid to figure out how to move anywhere. They don't have moving vans sent to their places like people in Philadelphia do when they want to get out of someplace. This is absolutely absurd."

--Rush Limbaugh, 3/16/05

The above quote made by Rush Limbaugh prompted me to write this entry. The issue over Arctic drilling is a very polarizing issue in the United States that it demands closer examination on everyone's part. Although much of what I know about the facts and figures regarding drilling comes from popular media (unfortunately), I'm tempted to do some research on my own to get to the bottom of the story. I'm sort of tired of the politics of the situation and it's unfortunate that most people's knowledge of this issue comes from popular media and biased pundits.

This is one of those issues that needs to be taken up not from an outside perspective but with a conscious realization that how we act now will influence the world we live in tomorrow. It saddens me that many people are either casual or completely ignorant about arctic drilling and what it means. Aside from the environmental effects in the immediate area of ANWR, we need to consider why this is an issue in the first place. The United States is far too dependent on oil and we are only recently considering and utilizing alternative energy sources. I sincerely believe that we will make the changes needed before it's completely too late, but I also feel that too much damage will be done before people realize that need. In other words, this country will change when we have to. When the arctic refuge is no longer producing enough oil to be profitable, where will we be? We need to take a careful look at the facts that we have now and make a concerted effort to think about the future. This means blocking out the conservatives in denial and the environmental wackos as well, and become aware ourselves. Only then can we make real progress.

Down the Tube

The Terri Schiavo case has caught my attention as the epitome of the debate of the role of government in people's lives. Here, the government's involvement is quite literal: should a loving husband be allowed to remove a feeding tube supplying life to a persistently vegetative woman who (according to the husband) left specific instructions that she did not want to be kept alive artificially? The parents of Schiavo claim that she left no such instructions and for some reason believe that her husband wants to remove the feeding tube for a reason other than that he loves her deeply. If she did indeed say she did not want to be kept alive by machines, then the parents are the true monsters in this case by fighting for their daughter to be held captive in a virtually lifeless mass of flesh and bones.

The whole situation is quite unsettling and raises an important question in my personal life. What would I do (or want done)? I believe that if we truly live in a free society as so many people claim we do, then people should have the right to end their own lives if they so choose. If a person is simply mentally unbalanced or emotionally disturbed, then suicide will be swift and without grounds. This act, I believe, is incredibly selfish and just giving up on life. On the other hand, if a person is consciously aware of his or her condition and the pain or distress associated with that condition, then that person should have the right to determine if their life should go on. It is not the job of the government, religious leaders, family, or friends to make the decision. Often in emotionally charged cases such as this, family, friends, and community act very selfishly throughout. The parents of Terry Schiavo are clearly thinking more about their own personal piece of mind and comfort than that of her daughter, who is obviously not living any meaningful sort of existence due to her lack of mental capabilities. I know my opinion may sound cruel and heartless, but if a human is being kept alive by breathing machines and feeding tubes and has no mental awareness of the world around them, then what is the purpose? The only purpose I can think of is to keep the bodily functions (sans brain) up and running so the parents won't have to deal with the emotional stress of the death of a child. Then there's all that pesky paperwork and funeral expenses.

Sen. Tom DeLay who is one of the several politicians involved in the activism to keep Schiavo alive said today "Terry Schiavo is alive. She's as alive as you and I. As such, we have a moral obligation to protect and defend her." This is simply not true. While she is alive in the sense that her lungs are taking in air and her brain is still presiding over various bodily functions, the difference between her and I is that I'm not having food forced down my throat because I lack the capacity to do it myself.

I do not doubt that Mr. and Mrs. Schiavo love their daughter with all of their heart. I do, however, believe that their intentions are severely misguided and that they are acting selfishly by not allowing their daughter to make a decision about her own life. The parents and their supporters outside of the hospital are all share a common thing: religion. The pictures and news reports of the demonstrators are replete with references and comments about Jesus, God, and the sins of the guilty that will be washed away with Jesus' blood. Is their judgement so clouded by the institution of religion that they actually value their own personal beliefs over the life (or lack thereof) of another human being? It is a sad state of affairs when a religion teaches people that any life is worth living regardless of the condition.

I place value on my own life because of my ability to think freely and consciously experience the world. While I welcome the development of technology that would allow me to sustain life with the assistance of manmade creations, I draw the line when I cannot make that decision for myself or I lack the mental capacity to enjoy life as I do now. My entire existence is based on that ability and if it is taken away from me then I do not wish to carry out my days hooked up to machines, unaware of what is going on around me or the stress that my state is causing my loved ones. I am the only one that can make such a hard decision, not the government or anyone else. While I did not choose to be born into this world, I should have the right to decide how I want to live in it.

edit: I just came across a blurb about Republican senator Daniel Webster of Florida. On the floor of the U.S. Senate, he actually held up a $100 bill to make the point that it has value whether it is crisp and new or crumpled. These are the kind of ignorant people fighting to keep this woman alive! They compare a human life to an inanimate piece of paper that has no intrinsic value at all! The irony of a U.S. senator using money to make a point is not lost on me either. This is the society we live in folks, and it's scary.

It's not me, it's you.

It's almost 7am and I'm already drained. The one thing I'm most looking forward today is going to happen in about five minutes...when I crawl back into bed, under my warm covers and sleep for another two hours before my class. My day started at 5:45am when I thought the team had training scheduled at 6. Either people on the team miraculously forget how to read when faced with the potential likelihood of physical exertion or the slightest bit of precipitation (or appearance of) makes them recoil in fear and hide like an ostrich in the sand.

I decided to run the campus loop by myself, which of course was inevitable due to the lack of anyone else being there. I was kind of glad, however, because it gave me a chance to think and reflect. I fantasized about quitting; just giving up because it seems like no matter what I do I can't bring this team to the level I want it to be at. Over the past several weeks I've started to realize that it really has nothing to do with me or how I lead. A marching band and a bucket of ice water couldn't get most college students out of bed before 8am no matter what. What we need is more motivation and much of that was lost when our season was shot due to the lack of equipment. I try not to blame myself, and while it's not my fault that people don't show up, I wonder if I've taken the team in the wrong direction by asking too much. As a freshman we had about four times as many guys on the team and many more girls. Most everyone showed up to a.m. practices on a regular basis and everyone that did had a blast. Of course, we were hardly winning any medals and it was frustrating not having a strong showing at the competitions even though we were training so much. When I became vice-president and then president, I wanted to not only have fun but win as well. What was I thinking? Apparently you can't have both with you're under-funded and under-equipped.

But of course I'm not going anywhere. I still have hope and a vision and I think it's going to be realized. That's one thing I've learned over the past four years is that you really can't give up on anything you start out to do. Even if it looks bleak, you still have to try and hope for the best. Even if failure happens, you have succeeded in that you did not give up. That's half the battle. At this point all I can do is stay hopeful for the team, not take any setbacks personally, and complete the job I set out to do.

The Beach

I live at the beach, play at the beach, and breathe the beach.

I am the ocean waters that lap against the infinite grains of sand that call the space between my toes home. When children play in my waves and surfers ride them in, I feel like I serve a purpose. I am not just a vast body of water anymore. I am loved, I am wanted.

I am the sunrise that backlights the horizon every morning. I watch the early-morning joggers pound the sands with their athletic legs. I begin to provide the light people need early in the morning and leave it to the west coast to take it away. The beach gets the first glimpse of my light and the last dark patch of my absence. I serve a purpose, people expect me.

I am both of these things when I think of the beach. The beginning and the end of time as far as I'm concerned. Although I am no Jesus, I can walk on the ocean waters and pause at the very moment when I think I'm going to drown. My dreams keep me afloat, my aspirations, my desires. The vastness of the ocean is synonymous with my potential. It's all out there, somewhere. Scary to some, inviting to others. Neither to me. I am neither frightened nor at ease with the vastness of the ocean. The currents take me where they will.

Something about living by the water changes the way you think about the world. The infinite and humbling feeling I get when I stand on the beach looking east is something I crave on a daily basis. I see flashes of it several times over the course of the day and even more in my subconscious. When I am at the beach, I take snapshots and save them up for later. This is what my life looks like, I want to remember it.

The sound of the waves crashing reminds me of the unstoppable passing of the days. I can see a wave coming, the white crest forming many yards out. Some are big, some small. As they swell up and begin to form, I prepare for the sound. When I'm at the beach I can see into the future. The beach is my crystal ball. Incoming waves like incoming days fail to knock me over.

The ocean is nameless to me, but it has a face. A very vivid one in which I can see changes in attitude and temperament. Most of the time the face is calm, content. Some days it swells with rage and beats down on me like an angry street thug. The next day it will be as calm as ever, almost as if to say "I'm sorry about last night, I didn't mean it." When the ocean rages I'm reminded of the temperament of my days that has been known to show itself. One day, all hell. The next, pure calm.

The water, the air, the sand, the sun, wind, the waves, the birds. These are the elements of my life. From the cacophonous noise of the seagulls to the cool, white sand under the pier, I am intimate with all of them. As I know where the waves are going when they begin to form, so I know where my life is going.

Reflections on Walden, Pt. I

"We must learn to reawaken and keep ourselves awake, not by mechanical aids, but by an infinite expectation of the dawn, which does not forsake us in our soundest sleep. I know of no more encouraging fact than the unquestionable ability of man to elevate his life by a conscious endeavor. It is something to be able to paint a particular picture, or to carve a statue, and so to make a few objects beautiful; but it is far more glorious to carve and paint the very atmosphere and medium through which we look, which morally we can do. To affect the quality of the day, that is the highest of arts. Every man is tasked to make his life, even in its details, worthy of the contemplation of his most elevated and critical hour. If we refused, or rather used up, such paltry information as we get, the oracles would distinctly inform us how this might be done."



The other day I decided to begin reading Thoreau's Walden. Being abundantly aware of Walden's critical acclaim in the world of literature, I was nevertheless surprised that I'm actually enjoying its pages. After only a few days, I've come across several passages that would make great topics for journal entries, hence the entry you're reading now. I am struck by the beautiful quality of Thoreau's writing and instantly realized why it is considered a classic. Just by reading the first two chapters I can say that he's a master of the written word that one doesn't come across very often. I found myself quite envious of his talent, for although I like to think of myself as a good writer, I am lacking in the natural talent that Thoreau obviously possesses. "The Economist," the first chapter, is kind of hard to digest so I skipped ahead to the next chapter, "Where I Lived, and What I Lived For," where the passage above was found.

"We must learn to reawaken and keep ourselves awake, not by mechanical aids, but by an infinite expectation of the dawn, which does not forsake us in our soundest sleep."

The first sentence is magnificent and I knew that this was a passage I had to write about. "We must learn to reawaken and keep ourselves awake..." Here, Thoreau is speaking of "effective intellectual exertion," which in the previous paragraph he says is lacking in all but one in a million people. He goes on to say in the same paragraph that only one in one hundred million is awake to a "poetic or divine life." As Walden is often cited for its insight and attention to detail, this provides a wonderful example of that. I couldn't agree with Thoreau more. Millions of people are indeed awake enough for physical labor and the monotonous task of existing. Few people are perceptive to the true nature of their existence and when one is, it is hard to ignore by that person and outsiders alike. This true nature may or may not be different for everyone but as Thoreau implies, its realization is indeed rare. Effective intellectual exertion can mean a variety of states of existence. I interpret this as the ability and the means by which to produce meaningful thoughts about one's inner and outer world. Furthermore, one cannot exist without the other. In other words, one must be able to project effectively the intellect both inward and outward. This duality, I feel, is that basis of that effectiveness. Thoreau believes just one in one hundred thousand people is awake to a poetic or divine life. By this, I think he meant the rare geniuses that walk the earth: the John Lennons, Pablo Picassos, and Shakesperes of the world. Although I suspect he would be hesitant to agree with me, I would include Thoreau himself in this latter category. The mere fact that he is aware of two different "levels" of awareness speaks to his unbridled perceptiveness and amazing ability to translate this into the written word.

Thoreau insists we must "reawaken and keep ourselves awake...by an infinite expectation of the dawn..." Here, Thoreau is suggesting we need goals and objectives in our lives to make our existence meaningful. Indeed, without goals we have no purpose. These can be anything from living according to God's divine plan or carrying out one's days in the hopes of achieving great wealth. Thoreau seems to be suggesting we need to define our existence in terms of our art of living, or what we believe is the ideal way to live. The human ability for conscious endeavor that Thoreau is so fond of largely defines my art of living. I structure the way I live my life around future goals and the means by which I am to achieve these goals. If I decide I want to earn a master's degree in anthropology, I set my mind to active inquiry about anthropological issues. This includes reading, studying, and always being conscious of the dynamic nature of the field. I encourage myself along the way and remain disciplined, for if I fail to do so that master's degree will be unattainable. To a degree, personal goals also shape the aspect of my art of living that deals with those around me. I cannot realize my dreams by leaving a trail of bodies in my path. That is to say that I must respect outside opinions, welcome criticism, and otherwise treat everyone around me with the amount of respect they deserve. Nobody got anywhere in life by ignoring and disrespecting others. I believe that one cannot lead a meaningful existence by treating other poorly. While my motivations for being nice to people may sound selfish, the difference lies in the fact that I sincerely wish for those around me to be happy and enjoy life. I could easily just put a fictitious smile on my face only to be pleasant.

"It is something to be able to paint a particular picture, or to carve a statue, and so to make a few objects beautiful; but it is far more glorious to carve and paint the very atmosphere and medium through which we look, which morally we can do."

Again, Thoreau seems to know the rarity of living a truly meaningful existence. In this sentence, he is saying that we are the primary influences and shapers of our own existence and future. While we may carry out actions that please others and ourselves, we must strive to let those actions be in the context of a meaningful art of living. I also believe he is saying here that beauty is in the eye of the beholder, for if we control the way in which we see the world it is possible to see beauty in things that we otherwise wouldn't. I am reminded of the scene in the film American Beauty where Ricky is showing his girlfriend Jane a film he took of a plastic bag blowing around in the wind on a city street. While most people just see trash caught by the wind, Ricky sees beauty and tries to relate this to Jane. Initially, the viewer is skeptical but after Ricky's explanation, we can draw a number of interpretations from the film of the bag.

If we are to lead this meaningful existence that is so prevalent in both ancient and modern philosophy, then we must heed Thoreau's advice and view our world as we personally feel is best. While outsiders can influence the way we see the world, we alone ultimately have control over the filters that we choose to place between our mind and the outside world. If we see war as appropriate, then we have a filter in place which blocks out all the horrible images that we don't see on the evening news. Similarly, some of us consciously avoid that which makes us uncomfortable, such as poverty and third world living conditions.

Although this is only one passage in what I can already tell is a beautiful piece of literature, I suspect that it sums of Thoreau's Art of Living, at least during his time at Walden Pond. I still have the strong desire to pack up and do something like Thoreau did. I believe the only true path to a meaningful existence is through experience and contemplative awareness. It is too easy to go through live in a mind-numbing state of sedation brought on by such phenomena as popular culture and religion. As Thoreau suggests, it is more difficult and far more admirable to live in conscious awareness of one's existence, always cognizant of the fragility of that existence but the infinite potential of it as well.

What a Day

I woke up at 10am, showered, dressed, and prepared for class. I stuck my head out the door to check the weather. A comfortable sixty degrees with a slight breeze. Finally, T-shirt weather! I strapped on my bag and headed out the door at a quarter to eleven. As I was walking toward campus, I noticed some ominous-looking clouds off in the distance. "Hmm, rain's headed this way" I thought to myself. "Just let me make it to Bear (Hall) and I'll be good. Both of my classes are in that building." Not three minutes later I felt a drop on my head. Then a few more followed by several in a row. The wind began to pick up and I soon realized that the rain clouds were moving much faster than I had expected. I was still several hundred yards from Bear when it happened: the rain clouds blew in extremely fast and let loose a storm of violent wind, rain, and hail. The wind picked up even more until I literally had trouble standing. If I had been riding my bike I surely would have had to dismount. Leaves began flying off the trees as if some unseen cosmic child was blowing seeds off a dandelion. Dozens of people were walking up and down the sidewalks to and from campus, and we all had the same reaction: "Oh shit, we're going to die." I was now about fifty yards from Bear when the hail started to pelt my face, which was now serving as a dartboard. A girl behind me screamed and ran past me toward campus. Some other students on the sidewalk across the street began hollering in a playful manner. I swear I heard at least one shrill cry of "Auntie Em! Auntie Em!" While the sheer force of the wind and hail was quite comical to those walking home, for me I was reminded that I would be spending the next three hours sitting in a classroom, soaking wet. When I finally reached Bear I checked my face to see if I was bleeding from the frozen needles, quickly matted down my hair, and walked down the hallway to my classroom. It would be later that day that I learned the airport reported hurricane-strength winds and several building had collapsed across the area.

Soaking wet and in a T-shirt, I ignored my professor's sarcastic comment that "dark clouds mean rain." Thanks, Al Roker. I did make it through my two classes, albeit with the demeanor of a cold, wet, pitiful dog. The odd thing was, I was not upset or pissed off at all. Normally a mild hurricane on my way to class would have ruined my day, but I was wearing a smile the whole time. And I didn't even have to try.

I have undergone a metamorphosis over the past several weeks and it is directly related to this and my other philosophy course. In that brief amount of time, I have come to the realization that the things that are out of my control should not have an effect on how I react to those situations or determine how I react to situations within my control. This morning, I could have easily let the mini-hurricane ruin my day but instead I chose to see it for what it was. I was cold, wet, and completely uncomfortable but that didn't matter to me. I knew that in a few hours I would be back in my warm apartment listening to Interpol and gnawing on one of the Cow Tails my mom bought me.

The storm had nothing to do with anything that I did or didn't do and so I should not get bent out of shape when I'm caught in the middle of it.

Another aspect of my metamorphosis has been the realization that I lead an unusually comfortable and privileged life. I am healthy, live in a relatively free and safe society, I have no money problems, I have two parents who are married (to eachother!) that love and support me, I have friends who are there for me, and I have opportunity and a future. There is so much hatred, poverty, and negativity in the world but I have somehow managed to grow up in a privileged situation. That is not to say I am blind to this negativity but the fact that I have only recently realized the true scope and nature of it leads me to believe that it is because of that realization that I am growing as a person. I used to have a very bad temper but I almost never get angry anymore. I used to get very upset with my routine was disrupted or things didn't go my way, but now I just take things as they come and deal accordingly. While it still bothers me when things seem out of my control, I do not let the emotions rule me, which has proven disastrous in the past. For some reason I have matured to the point where I am now able to step back for a moment and really think about a potentially troublesome situation and how I should handle it. I can't tell you exactly where or when I learned how to do this, but I do feel it is connected with my trip to Belize and my present philosophy classes. One day it just snapped, and my temper and attachment to things going my way all of the time took a back seat to the more important things in life, which includes thinking more about other people and how I view them instead of how they view me.

Philosophy has taught me that there are far more important things to life than money, religion, and material comforts. While I have yet to completely rid myself of attachment to money and material possessions (I'm just as materialistic as the next person), I have learned that to truly enjoy life you have to have a rather laid back attitude toward life. One extreme is analyzing every little detail and overreacting to insignificant events, the other extreme is taking a "fuck it" attitude toward life. I am in the middle, leaning toward the latter extreme. I constantly remind myself that many things are out of my control and all I can do is live my life as best as I possibly can. This is the only way to have a truly rewarding and fulfilling life.

Hotel Rwanda and the concept of race

Tonight I saw a late showing of Hotel Rwanda. This excellent true-story film stars Don Cheadle as a hotel manager who sacrifices his sanity and risks his life to house almost a thousand refugees associated with the atrocities in Rwanda back in 1994. I was very impressed with the cinematography, which made it quite emotional and enabled me to become part of the story, something few films are able to do. The acting was amazing as well and also contributed to the overall realism of the film. It takes talent to take a real life human tragedy and adapt it to the screen in such a way that it emphasizes the importance of what happened in a broader context of human history.

Instead of a simple movie review, which can be found anywhere on the net, I'll reflect personally on the film and the thoughts that are running through my head immediately after seeing it. I remember when the Rwanda genocide happened but I didn't pay much attention to it, as it was just another depressing news story that dominated the headlines for a few weeks then faded away. I have seen so many such stories in my lifetime that I try not to think about what it all means, but I will try to lay it out here.

The basis of the Rwanda story has to do with political differences between two groups, the Tutsis and the Hutus. Originally, things such as nose size and other facial features distinguished them. In other words, if you looked a certain way you were a Tutsi and if you looked another way you were a Hutu. After a scene in the film that described this I was immediately struck by how pointless it was. The two looked exactly the same, one indistinguishable from the next. I then realized that it was no different than the race wars that occurred in the United States during the past century, and indeed since our country's origins. I feel that by highlighting the seemingly ludicrous and superficial differences between a Hutu and a Tutsi the writers and director of Hotel Rwanda were making a subtle statement about the nature of racism in general. Most Americans that see this film will not notice the difference between an actor who portrays a Hutu and one that portrays a Tutsi, and they will be lost on the significance of this. "They are both black Africans. They aren't different!" Needless to say, a Hutu and a Tutsi are just as different as an African American and a white American.

The concept of race has become so engrained in the consciousness of America that it has taken on a social significance, as if the color of one's skin mattered. Of course, this has been preached since the days of the Civil Rights movement, but again, I think much is lost in the simple proclamation that we are all humans first. We teach our young children that a person should be judged "not by the color of one's skin but by the content of their character" as Dr. King put it so eloquently. While this is a fair and completely correct thing to teach, I think there should be more of an emphasis placed on the absurdity of race on a biological basis. It is a sad fact of reality that we have been "trained" to even notice skin color and pass judgements on this. The truth of the matter is, skin color is just as significant as hair color. But hair color doesn't matter, you say? My point exactly.

In summation, Hotel Rwanda opened my eyes not only to the capacity for human evil but for also for our capacity to latch on to a meaningless and superficial trait such as race. To function properly in today's society, one has to be aware of the concept of race because of a sad chapter not only in American history but the world over as well.

One good thing about music...

I've had quite an amazing spring break...and much needed it was. On Sunday night I had the extreme pleasure of seeing Interpol for the second time in Raleigh. This show was better than the last, which was last year. I went with my sister again who has always been a great concert buddy. I came across a guy's website who had a photo pass for the show and he got some amazing shots. Some of the best ones are at the end of this post. My sister and I were about 10 feet back, stage left roughly in front of Carlos.

Live shows are what keep me going. When I saw Interpol this past Sunday it allowed me to escape into another world that I can usually only do in my car or my room by listening to a CD. A live show allows me to become part of the music in a way that I have trouble putting in to words. For a brief hour or so, I am transported to another world where the landscape is smoke and lights and the soundtrack in the music that I love. From the opening organ intro to the last thumping bass line of the closer, a show like Interpol's is escapism at its best.

Very few bands have been able to do that for me both in person and in my CD player. The emotion is flowing like a raging waterfall and for that hour, I forget exactly what city I'm in, what my purpose is, and what my future holds. Such a prime opportunity to lift above the world for a short moment is one that I cherish. Both times I've seen the band, in a way, has had a great impact on my life. While they are just a band of four guys and nothing more, their music has the ability to cut through me like nothing else and shine lights in parts of my mind that I didn't know existed. When I hear the opening guitar chords of "Untitled" I know that life is good and that it only gets better.

Interpol has been accused of making music to kill yourself by. I see it quite differently. It's all in the interpretation. I close my eyes a few times during the show and really listen and try to process what I'm hearing. I'm hearing the soundtrack of my past, my present, and my future. Even with my eyes closed the flashing strobes and red stage lights pound my brain into oblivion and back again. When the generic "thank you...goodnight" is mumbled into the mic by Paul in a melancholy tone, I picture for a moment that he is just as sad to leave us as we are to see him go. Interpol has grown to define my college career in many ways. Whenever I hear one of their songs from now on I'll think of all the late nights studying, the worrying, the procrastinating, the sleepless nights, the early mornings, the long runs, and the hurt feelings. But I wouldn't change one chord.

"One good thing about music, is when it hits you you feel alright."
--Bob Marley

I'm always right.

In my philosophy 101 class this past Friday we had an interesting discussion that really got me thinking. A sidetrack as it were, the topic was about the "meaning" of right and wrong and the inherent uselessness of the defense of what we perceive of as right. Naturally, once McGowan got on this topic he used war as a contemporary analogy but was careful not to keep his politics relevant to the discussion (does he know I've been reading frontpagemagazine.com and the Students for Academic Freedom website?). Relating it to Nietzche, we discussed how the events and actions that we perceive as good or evil are not inherently so in and of themselves. Murder as an action is not good or evil, it is generally interpreted as evil because of the value most of us place on human life. Similarly, giving your sandwich to a homeless man on the street is nothing more than the implied actions. It is good because many of us apply notions of goodwill or kindness to such situations that seem to produce some sort of positive inner emotion or state of well being.

What McGowan was arguing and what really got me into the discussion was that the nature of actions and events (lacking an inherent quality of good vs. evil) renders defense of a position pointless. In other words, it was useless to defend your opinion as "right" and someone else's as "wrong." Indeed, read any great philosophical work and rarely, if at all, do you find overt claims of rightness or superiority of opinion. From what little Kierkegaard I've read, he's never said "I am right and others are wrong and this is the way the world is." McGowan again applied this concept to the modern day situation of American expansionism and patriotism. During class I argued that the defense of freedom is necessary because I place a value on being free. Of course, this statement would make any liberal or socialist cringe (re: Ward Churchill). That's when McGowan brought up the paradoxical nature of "freedom" in the American sense and before I could allow this concept to fully process in my brain, the class was over. It was a hell of a way to leave the argument but I agreed...it is very paradoxical. A brief one-on-one post script after class left me suggesting to McGowan that one has an obligation to support the American war on terror (but not necessarily how we're going about it) if one is to take advantage of other benefits that American citizenship entails (i.e. laws, criminal prosecution for someone punching you in the face, etc.). I think we left it at that before the next class in the room kicked us out.

The whole discussion really got the wheels turning. What does it mean for something to be right or wrong? That day I realized that nothing is right or wrong in and of itself, which is kind of a mindfuck because I've grown up in a society that places value judgements on things as if they were concrete. As a result, I have been trained to deem certain things as right or wrong. For the most part, these assumptions are correct and allow me to lead a productive and successful life. But many questions were raised, particularly the role of defense. What exactly are we defending when we bomb another country to the ground or kill even one innocent person in order to destroy a bomb plant? It's easy to argue that destroying that bomb plant potentially saved millions of lives so the loss of a few innocent civilians is incidental. I would still take this stance even in light of my realizations from Friday's class.

What made me think is that there is in fact an alternative to good and evil...that what we do in our lives is very much a product of our own value judgements that have no basis in reality at all. Some people trace their values to God. Since I don't, what is there? (This is when the Christian fundamentalist starts chastising me and convicting me to a life in hell). While it's a discomforting question to explore, it's one that I will not readily give up by simply unloading it all on a concept of an all-powerful being; that's too easy and a copout in my opinion. I'm left with many questions that I have a strong feeling will never be answered. I suppose for the time being I'll just have to trust my instinct on what is right and wrong, no matter where it came from.

Future Perfect

It's strange to think how two people at completely opposite ends of a situation view events.

I received an e-mail today from the director of graduate studies at U. of South Carolina. She said they were making their graduate admissions decisions soon and they had not yet received my letters of recommendation. Of course they hadn't received them because Murphy's Law was acting in full force, as it usually does with situations as important as graduate school applications. I promptly replied to her message and said that I sent them with the packet that was mailed directly to the graduate school (as opposed to the Anthropology Department, which received a separate packet) but that I was have my two referees (they're really called that, apparently) send two more.

In my eyes, somebody had fucked up...bad. I considered the absolute worst case scenario: that I had included my SC letters in the William & Mary envelope. Unlikely. I made sure each envelope was perfect and one hundred percent complete. They didn't go in the U. of South Florida envelope because Dr. Simmons discussed his letter in person with the people making the final decision. Second worst case scenario, I misinterpreted the website and sent the letters to The Graduate School when I should have sent them to the Anthropology Department. Unlikely as well. The website clearly states I am to send only my writing sample and letter of intent to the anthro department. I even included a typed note in that packet that explained that I was unable to get copies of the letters mailed to the department, as they had recommended but not required. Least worse case scenario, The Graduate School misplaced them after taking them out of the big envelope, in which case I am relieved of all fault but still have the burden of asking Simmons and McCall for another copy of the letters.

You don't understand until you're in such a situation. I printed my letter of intent for William & Mary at least ten times before sending a copy, but I hadn't made any changes to the actual letter. "Wait, there's a smudge right there, can't send this printout. Shit, the corner of this copy has a slight dog-ear, might as well have a coffee stain on it. Damnit, this copy actually does have a coffee stain! Ah, finally! A perfect copy!"

To the graduate director at South Carolina, I simply need to have two more copies of my letters sent. If anything, her message meant that I was definitely not rejected yet. And it wouldn't take Dr. Simmons and Dr. McCall two seconds to print another copy and mail it. But to me, in my unstable state as a potential graduate student floating between two worlds it's everything. My future lies in the balance here, and everyone must be perfect. Right? The thing that bothers me about the whole situation is that I worry too much, and I know in the back of my mind that it does no good to worry. It doesn't change anything. They don't know that I check my mailbox every afternoon or the online status twice a day. I need to stop thinking about it, because what happens will happen. It's just as if my nerves have been strung at a five-year-old's birthday party and beaten with sticks as if there's candy lodged in my stomach.

Especially in the past few months I've consciously tried to live my life without letting the little things get to me. Graduate school admission is a big thing but the tiny events that lead up to it are insignificant. I have to look at the big picture, not the constituent parts that compose it. I try to do this in every aspect of my life as well. If I hit a bump in the road, I keep going and try not to let it affect me. It does far more harm if I let it get to me than if I just accept any consequences and move on. It's similar to students that get below a 90 on a test and freak out. I've never done that because one grade means nothing in the grand scheme of things. Several bad grades together can kill your course grade and GPA, but alone they are relatively insignificant.

It takes hard work to live like that and keep moving when small things happen. It is easy to be thrown off balance by your potential graduate school telling you they don't have one of the most important parts of your application. There's no logical reason to get thrown off, though. The fact that the South Carolina grad director wrote me means that they want me to send them in again and get it right, and that whose ever fault it is, it wont have an effect on their decision. That's a somewhat comforting thought.

I've started to view life like one of those big pictures that are made up of tiny little pictures. The different colors and shadows of each tiny picture, when viewed from a distance combine to make one large image. Some of my "tiny pictures" are dark, some are bright. But no matter how you look at it, each has shaped who I am now and how others view me and to change any one of them would be to alter my whole being.

Montaigne on Men, Women and the Role of Pleasure in the Good Life

In "On some verses of Virgil", Michel de Montaigne advocates temperate use of pleasure, namely sex, in enjoying life's pleasures. In this essay, Montaigne begins by giving the reader an insight into his personal situation: one that has been ravaged by age and kept alive by memories. He is fully aware of his younger days and suggests that pleasure does not wither away with age like the body does. His goal in life is "to live and enjoy myself" and he tries his best to avoid negativity and that which causes pain or discomfort. The latter, according to Montaigne, necessitates seeking pleasure in life and much of the rest of the essay is focused on courtship and the interactions between men and women. He elaborates on how each functions in situations where pleasure is the goal and stresses the use of moderation so as to not dilute that which makes pleasure pleasurable. Montaigne explains the role of pleasure as one of usefulness, for it can enable us to feel good about others and ourselves if used correctly. One quote that seems to adequately portray Montaigne's view on the role of pleasure in the good life is the conclusion of his essay:

"In bringing these infamous jottings to an end I have loosed a diarrhea of babble, but let me close on a single point: I saw that men and women are made in the same mould when it comes to sex; save for education and custom, there is hardly any difference between them. It is far easier for men to criticize their women than to acquit themselves. As the saying goes: it is the pot calling the kettle black."

In the above quote, Montaigne places men and women on the same level when dealing with sex, pleasure, and its associated feelings and actions. It is important to place Montaigne's work in a social context, and when applied today it takes on a different meaning. I would, however, tend to agree with Montaigne that men and women are essentially the same when it comes to sex and pleasure, for it is culturally generated gender roles that greatly influence perceptions on sex, particularly in the past century. If one is able to look beyond gender roles, we are able to see sex for what it is: a biological mechanism for the reproduction of the human species. It then follows that culturally applied norms and expectations on what men should think about sex versus what women should think form the foundation for the argument that there is an underlying basis for feelings on sex. Prior to the 1960's Cultural Revolution, it was generally expected that a man was the dominant force in the initiation of sex and that the woman was to willingly accept her role as a reproductive medium. She thus lost her individuality as a sexual partner and thus her ability to view sex as a pleasurable experience. Following the 1960's, American society opened up and women became empowered, rejecting the outdated notion that sex to them was strictly reproductive. Women were now able to be open about sexuality as a source of pleasure in life and were no longer tied down by stereotypes. Over the years, sex eventually became synonymous with the ultimate pleasure and a mentality of hedonistic escapism entered popular culture full-force. This way of thinking survives today and we are taught that it is unnatural and even dangerous to suppress the natural desire for sexual pleasure.

This overemphasis on sex in today's culture is notable, for it overshadows many other activities than can potentially contribute to a meaningful or "good" life. That is not to say that I am advocating abstinence in favor of "safer" forms of recreation, but instead that sex is not the only pleasure available to us and too much of it, as Montaigne suggests, can reverse any potential benefits to leading a good life.

Face

Now I know what people are talking about when they refer to leaders having to make "tough choices" and face the crowd. Developments over this past weekend are putting me in such a situation. The new coaches and I have to confront the team again with another set back that will find the season slipping further through our fingers. We are being kept off the water because we don't have a chase boat, something that we desperately need mostly for safety reasons, but for coaching purposes as well. We haven't rowed on the water once this season and our first regatta is on March 19th. Not having enough funding is one thing and a problem that we've had since I've been in the Crew Club. Completely changing our policy for the betterment of the team over the long term is tough, but I'm optimistic people will ultimately understand.

The dilemma I'm faced with is only a perceived one. I found myself this weekend sucking up my pride and taking a "fuck it" attitude. I'm the president of the team and I can't run and hide from what I signed on to do. Even though the team may become vocally frustrated with a decision that I made and take it out on me, what comforts me is knowing that I'm doing what's best for the team in the short term and the long term. I don't want rowers on the water without a safety boat, something we haven't had for 95% of my time on the team. We've been extremely lucky. I've recently been contemplating the legacy I'm going to leave for the team. I want to see the team grow both literally and competitively. What I don't want my legacy to be is a dead rower feeding the fish at the bottom of the Cape Fear River. To achieve the former we as a team cannot take our safety for granted any more.

I find my art of living influencing my leadership. I could easily drop out of the club or blame someone else for this relatively minor setback. I could be a coward and run from the problem so as to avoid the criticism of some people on the team. But this goes against everything I believe and I'm only now realizing that it's hard to live up to that standard that I have set for myself. The one question I asked myself and that I had no trouble answering was "is your pride worth more than the life or safety of a rower?" Of course, the answer is no and I am almost embarrassed that I found myself this weekend culling through the USRowing and UNCW Sports Club waivers of liability trying to justify getting on the water without a chase boat. Just when I thought I was in the clear, my conscious kicked in and I realized that if something did happen on the water, my justification for doing the bare minimum would mean nothing in the eyes of the university and a judge overseeing the lawsuit.

So I don't know what's going to happen tomorrow morning when the coaches and I tell the team yet again that we won't be on the water until we buy or get donated a chase boat. I'm confident it will happen, because 20 rowers who love the sport will do anything to play it.

The Stroke

I row one stroke at a time. When I strap my feet in to the ergometer or racing shell, I try to keep this in mind. A race in the sport of rowing consists of a few hundred pulls of the oar, each harder and ultimately more crucial than the previous. I stare at the back of the rower in front of me. I think to myself that he is going through the same pain as I am, but is he truly experiencing it the same way as me? When I push off the foot stretcher and lean on the oar, is the pain that shoots through my quadriceps the same pain that explodes in his? I breathe deep each stroke, trying to maintain some sort of consistency throughout the whole race. If I don't breathe properly, I won't make it out alive. I try to take my mind off the numbing pain of my muscles and concentrate on my breathing. Each breath as steady as I can make it. I try desperately not to gasp for air but instead draw it in to my lungs evenly and quickly. Each stroke I take is history a fraction of a second later and thus no longer is of concern to me except to reference how hard I should pull the next stroke: much, much harder. The water that splashes in my face is incidental and I pretend that it's blood spraying from the animal that I am slowly killing: weakness. It struggles for survival but doesn't stand a chance at the end of the race. It has left me and lost the battle. I have left every ounce of energy on the water and I struggle to sit upright, but now I am allowed to gasp for air like I've never had the pleasure of breathing before. I look at the course in front of me, littered with bloody limbs and guts from that animal I've just slain. My sense of hearing returns and I am no longer listening to only my rapid heartbeat. The dockmaster yells on the bullhorn to bring it in and I snap back to reality, check my hands to make sure it really wasn't blood that I was seeing and silently lean on the oar far more lightly and return to the dock.

Much like rowing, I try to live one "stroke" at a time. Each day must be conquered more forcefully than the previous. If it is not, I risk falling in to an unbreakable cycle of monotony that lacks the excitement of an unknown future. Fortunately, I have not had any major setbacks in my life. I remember my mother telling me my grandmother was in the hospital after suffering a stroke in a grocery store parking lot and probably wasn't going to live much longer. I remember crying for a few minutes. Perhaps this was the first real notion of human mortality that I experienced. I was not sad, however. She was old, and as far as I know led a fulfilling life full of happiness and love. What more could I wish for her? She even got one of her biggest wishes realized: sending my sister and I to college. I eventually accepted the fact that she had passed and my family and I continued living our lives, but I've never forgotten the fact that I owe a part of my university existence to my grandparents. That is why I can't and usually don't let incidental things bother me. Someone in the Crew Club talks about me behind my back because of a leadership decision I made...so what? That's part of leading a group of people. I make a fool of myself in front of an attractive girl by recoiling like a scared box turtle and forgetting what kinds of things to talk about...who cares? I'm lucky in this moment to have a girlfriend that loves me the in the same way that I love her. Everything that's happened to me in the past four years has been either positive or rewarding or incidental.

I take the negatives in my life like I take the pain of rowing.
I beat down one painful stroke at a time, beckoning each future one to take its best shot.

Love

I watched to movie "Love, Actually" last night with Angela after a delicious dinner of linguine shrimp scampi, made with some fresh little guys just hours out of the waters of the Atlantic Ocean. The movie is about, well, love and different situations involving different people in which love is the central theme. The movie was mediocre but the message was amazing. The opening scene is set in an airport and consists of loved ones reuniting after a presumably long separation with a voiceover describing qualities of love and how it is all around us. This opening scene struck a chord with me and I doubt that I'll soon forget it.

Love is all around us, but you wouldn't think it. Sit down and watch the news every night for a week and all you see is murder, hatred, bigotry, war, death, terrorism, politics, bickering, money, greed, despair, and loss. Very few stories are publicized in the media that are centered on love, and those that are are done so consciously for a holiday such as Valentine's Day or Christmas. While there is nothing necessarily wrong with this, for the media is what it is, love just isn't news. That is a wonderful thing. Love is so abundant in the world that it is not newsworthy, it does not shock us when we see people love each other: a husband and wife, mother and son, best friends. It can be said that we have been desensitized to love and all its wonderful consequences and this is proof that there is more love in the world than hatred. Before I watched the movie last night, I did not realize this. We grow up learning that people hate, that war is a reality, and that death is unavoidable. All of these ugly things are burned into our brains until they become a part of us and we no longer see the alternative. Again, turn on the news and all you will see it hatred. We cannot get away from it. Love, on the other hand, is within arm's reach and cannot be reduced to facts and figures (although it has been attempted). Think of it mathematically. Think about how much love you see over the course of a day. A mother kisses her son goodbye and sends him off to school, a husband buys flowers for his wife for no reason, best friends share life philosophies, and lovers lie in bed beside each other wondering why they feel so happy, so alive. Then think about the hatred we read in the papers and see on the television. It is so rare that a murder makes it on the front page. In terms of ratio, love is much more abundant than hate. Therefore, it is easy to conclude that love doesn't have to triumph because it was never behind. What people have to do is realize this and use love to defeat the ugly, both on an international level and personally.

When I think of my art of living, much of it is defined by love, respect, and admiration for those around me. What is the point in wasting energy speaking badly about someone or doing things from which no good could possibly come? When someone speaks badly of me (which I modestly report is quite rare), I dismiss it as that person's issue, not mine. I don't get angry anymore like I used to because I have far more important things to expend my energy on. If someone were to truly wrong me, I will take issue and stand up for myself and defend my character but I will not attack unnecessarily, either verbally or physically. With this in mind, I live from day to day trying to be as pleasant as I can to those around me. If some people are unable to find love themselves, I try to help them by being nice.

Nothing is more satisfying than striving for greatness on a daily basis and a large part of this involves love and respect. Our culture does not "permit" me to admit this without judgement, but I am a far better person than some people I come across if only for the fact that I have a positive outlook about most things in life while they wallow in negativity and pessimism. While some people are beyond hope, I like to think that humanity as a whole hold promise. Hatred will continue to dominate the news because it is rare in comparison to love and love will continue to dominate my art of living because of its infinite uses.