Sunday, August 25, 2013

Sex, Drugs, and Loud Bass

Everyone’s a critic.
Not only that, but they are always right, and more importantly, you are always wrong—at least, that has been the trend among the mentalities of the masses in the past generations. So afraid are we to admit fault or uncertainty that the language of our generation has devolved to a state of inaccuracy and the grasp on what was reality versus what was opinion, a difference often indistinguishable, became tenuous without even a remedial realization that the arrogance that plagues us may not always be reasonably incurred. Instead, we are an oblivious people, bigoted in our own ways and made sure of every small thought our minds can create with some quick, measly justifications. This, on that note, is nothing more than what I can justify it to be—an attempt, and an essay, as it were. Christy Wampole believes in this plight on modern culture—the stigma against the uncertain and the belief that there is a direct correlation between confidence and correctness. She knows the origin of the essay to be the French root for “to try,” and not, as one might theorize, “to convince.” While her attempt may be too far in the other direction, almost implying that writing should be never used persuasively, the accuracy with which she pegs society is intriguing. Essays are designed, nowadays, to present a point and convince the reader of some thought or ideal that the author often holds himself. This “essayism” attacks reason and introspection—it perpetuates what Wampole describes as “meditative deficiency.”
Then there are the Matt Richtels of the world. He, seemingly, agrees with Wampole’s assessment of the strictness of the modern essay, but makes no comment on the issue of expression versus persuasion. He comments on a different battle—expression versus semantics. As technology continues to pervade in modern culture, its presence can no longer be denied in the educative realm. With that given, technology appears to have a degenerative effect on the language of its users, with autocorrect and vernacular undermining the classical teachings and corroding the minds of each generation slightly more than the previous one. Indeed, the necessity to express our opinions through microblogging and social networking has caused considerable regression, and both Richtel and Wampole notice such a danger. Richtel, though, harbors concerns more practical and relevant to the progression of society’s functionality rather than simply concerns regarding the preservation of a language and a sociological tendency.

Wampole and Richtel present apt points regarding the state of the English language and its slow evolution, but I disagree with a few points in their arsenal. Brilliance being the operative word in Richtel’s final paragraph, how might the expressive art forms shine with the mud of conformity seeping in? His concerns regarding a creativity-deficient language are not unique to the field of writing. The multimedia world and the music world, particularly, suffer from the same demise, as “sex, drugs and rock and roll” can now be more appropriately adapted into “sex,drugs, and loud bass.” With multimedia, videos in particular, edging more towards the absurd, and the glamour of being labeled “crazy” if it lands you a spot on tosh.0, it seems conformity is a degenerative condition common to many forms of modern expression. Writing suffers from its difficulty. As multimedia begins to dominate, and formulaic language becomes the curriculum in schools, society is left to its blissful regression—to its nut-shots and Ms. America pageants. We are content to sit idly, singing “la, la, la” with our fingers in our ears, alienating reason and intelligent cognition.

Tuesday, August 20, 2013

Pieces of Me

Since the dawn of time--no that isn't right...

A long time ago, in a galaxy--no no...

Once upon a time--yeah there we go. Once upon a time there lived a boy, with wonder in his eyes and a dream beneath his wings. No, he wasn't a Guardian of Ga'hoole. He was Jeff--or Jeffrey--whichever you prefer because the mundane details of his life, and the semantics of how to refer to one another do not weigh on him. "You can call me Sandy/Monique/Dan for all I care," he would say. Once you got to know him, you wouldn't be surprised to find his favorite color is clear, and that he, more than damn near everything in this life, wants to hold a Red Panda. Apart from the trivialities of his character, however, is the paramount concept of reason. Logic is held "as an absolute" and Jeff attributes this crucial piece of his being to Ayn Rand, the author of The Foutainhead and Atlas Shrugged.
A Libertartarian by politics and an Objectivist by nature, Jeff does not dilly-dally in idealism or fiction. While his impetuousness occasionally prevent the devout following of this philosophy, Jeff, when given time or a difficult decision, consults his inner voice and carefully considers the repercussions of his decisions. That may come as a shock, considering he may be one of the loudest and most obnoxious people you'll ever meet in your limited time on this spaceship called Earth.

Above all else, Jeff is about "gettin' hella gains" in whatever he does. Disregarding being immensely lazy, he is driven to succeed and be a powerful and influential member of society at some point--can you say Narcissist?

...because I can't. Words are hard.

Back to the point. Jeffrey/Dan/Molly/Sebastian/Gregory/Yolonda highly regards humor, and often attempts to make people laugh. I never said successfully... But it would be great to throw him some pity here and there--also money and presents.

Jeffrey has two brothers--Derek and Kenny Hanton, who both attend college in the UC system, Berekeley and Davis, respectively. He has no witty catch-phrase to end his posts on, and plans on ending everything mid-