A Non-Issue: or why we shouldn't care about same-sex marriage

You know, generally I am somewhat apathetic when it comes to presidential races (or gubernatorial, senatorial or congressional races) because, frankly, I could care less about a candidate's record and his or her likely success as "leader of the free world" (I use that phrase with irony, in case that's not clear). Politics, to me, is quite generally an actor's game, built on creating an image and appearing to believe what you say you believe, whether or not those beliefs are true. It is a game of who can stay most consistent with a set of principles outlined in his or her platform nine months before the election (as if a person's mind cannot, under any circumstances, be changed in that time span). I encourage intelligent voting and informed decision-making, but there's a level at which information becomes too excessive, somewhere around the point when every single word a candidate says--in a speech, in a conversation at a cafe, or in his own bedroom--can be held against him.

But there is one thing, this election, that really gets me riled up and pissed off. Perhaps it is a bit stereotypical, ok, but California's Proposition 8 (on which I will be voting no, clearly) not only enrages me but also confounds and bewilders me. I am a child of the 1990s (although I am proud to say I was born in the 1980s), raised to believe that equality of opportunity is an inalienable truth and that any person born in this country or brought to its shores with the hope of partaking of its valor was entitled to that equality. Proposition 8, which attempts to repeal the state supreme court's finding that defining marriage as between a man and a woman fundamentally denies equality to same-sex couples, makes me question whether modern society actually has reached that point. Civil rights, it seems, is more a political tool--the workings of a Kennedy/Johnson administration interested in winning a growing political constituency--than a fundamental national value.

Now, I truly believe that any rational human being who believes in the right to equal opportunity for all individuals cannot support the denial of same-sex marriage rights. This belief is based on two lines of reasoning that I find to be logically sound and infallible. First, marriage, as bestowed by the state, is at its core NOT a religious issue but a civil issue; it is the right of two consenting adults to form a union recognized by civil society (a "civil union," if you will) and to obtain all of the rights and benefits of that union (i.e. joint taxes, shared healthcare, and the essential recognition by the state of this couple's status as members of one joint family). Considering this fact, to argue that the Bible or God's will has any bearing on the state's choice of how to decide marriage is a disrespect to the First Amendment's guarantee of the separation of church and state.

Based on that reasoning comes my second point, which is that, as a civil right, marriage cannot be denied to anyone who willingly seeks to have one bestowed. A part of the civil rights struggle of the sixties was, believe it or not, marriage equality; that is, the right of two individuals of two different races to marry without risk of harm or retribution. I am proud to say that I am a product of the recognition of that right, and although my parents are divorced, without the granting of marriage equality it's entirely possible that I would not exist. Now, I am a gay man, yes, but, frankly, I don't care about this issue because I want to be able to get married or because I necessarily intend to. Rather, I know, based on personal experience and the passionate feelings of those arguing against same-sex marriage that until same-sex marriage is recognized as legitimate, same-sex couples will never be able to feel welcome or accepted in American society. And, frankly, I don't want to live in a world that denies anyone--whether it is me or not--the right to live their life without unnecessary intervention from the state.

So perhaps you have religious beliefs that tell you that homosexuality is a sin or you believe based on Darwinian theories of biology that homosexuals should not exist because sexual attraction between members of the same sex is unnatural (we can have that discussion, you and I, another time if so), and I'll leave you to those beliefs. But, if you believe that the state should interpret its definition of what amounts to a civil right based on a religious, traditional or personal belief, just consider this: what would happen if the same decision were held true in the civil rights era? Was it not a religious, traditional or personal belief that Black Americans and White Americans cannot have equal access to education or to buses or to bathroom facilities? And as to the claim that people would be prosecuted for their personal beliefs with this decision, I'm sorry, but I believe that those people should be prosecuted when they seek to use those beliefs to deny rights to individuals based only on one quality of who that person is. Remember, this decision says nothing about whether or not churches have to grant these marriages, only that state institutions have to recognize them and bestow rights accordingly. I hope, with that in mind, that if you can vote in California that you will, and that you will vote a vehement NO on Prop 8. However else you vote is no concern of mine; but, in this case, this issue is about whether or not our society supports equal civil rights. Same-sex marriage is not a political issue; it is a right. I'm sorry, but politicians are using it--and have been using it for years--to divide the country along religious lines. It's time these needless issues give way to the real ones (like, say, economic policy or energy). And frankly, this country has made no progress if this measure passes, and I hope (yeah, I said it, I hope) that that's not true.

A Frightening World

The most frightening thing about dystopias is that while they are imagined and, in a certain light, fantasy worlds they are based on and build off of our modern world. Now, I've never been much of one to take to conspiracy theories and to distrust of the powers at hand, but of late I've been noticing a few similarities between your average 1984 world and the one we live in now. Don't get me wrong, modern life is wonderful; but, I wonder how much of it we're willing to take before we give up the idea of a "personal" life and give ourselves over to mass-marketing and technology-controlled lifestyles.

Right about now this all sounds like a bunch of garbled lingo, but in all honesty I think it is time we take a step back and realize how absurd our lives and our media and our government have become. For example: I was watching CNN yesterday--a well-respected news source, mind you--and as Wolf Blitzer raised the issue of Congress' proposal to dump nuclear waste in the deserts of Nevada, a reporter was called to comment on the political sentiment around the controversy at-hand. Nevada residents, of course, object to the dumping considering the potential health hazards and the general sketchiness of nuclear waste, while experts claimed it was the most appropriate, least populated area in the country. But, what was interesting was not the perspectives given, but they way the reporter presented them in a conversational tone, making the debate out almost to some sort of political farce with characters falling into the typical caricatures of their roles. The absurdity of the whole moment lies here: while it is a serious issue, it was presented almost jovially, and as a viewer I personally took it in almost as something that I could skip over on the way to another, more important issue--the Obama/McCain battle. And then I did a double-take...is this really minor news that should be summarized in 30 seconds? I mean, this is NUCLEAR WASTE we are talking about, something not to be treated like a local debate over a stop sign or speed limits.

But worst of all, later the show presented a debate between two senators relating to the recent questions over the Patriot Act (and Obama's potential support of the act...wtf?). I mean, it's pretty clear that the Patriot Act violates the right to privacy and probably the right to free speech as guaranteed by our Bill of Rights, but still a senator (or a president) can throw the War on Terror into anything and suddenly we have an acceptable piece of legislation. Our nation's fear of terrorism, while justified, seems to be turning a little towards the Big Brother style. Maybe this is why so many movies have been released of late questioning these sorts of ideas: Children of Men, V for Vendetta, or Minority Report come to mind, among others. It's right to take measures to protect ourselves, but how far should those measures go? Is it worth living a life when that life is lived in constant fear of attack?

So I don't know how we got here exactly, but I do know that it alarms me. If Orwell saw our modern world, I don't think he would be pleased of our progress. It's quite possible he would be even more fearful of life today than he was of Post-War Europe, which, while frightening, at least wasn't characterized by the constant risk of monitoring and tracking. That's the world we live in, though. What can we do, now that we've come this far? Progress is a tricky thing...

Quarter-Life Crisis

I applied to graduate today. It was a rather unceremonious event that felt more like paying your gas bill than starting the wheel turning on one of life's most momentous events. Likewise, I powered through three more pages of my thesis and spent an afternoon working in the office (doing, so-to-speak, actual work). It seems more and more that being a student should be my full-time job, but instead I'm paying upwards of $15,000 a year (after aid) for this opportunity. I'm beginning to think, though, that the business of universities as they function today is increasingly backwards, especially as these institutions of higher learning compete to attract the ever more competitive classes of 2012 and beyond, each cohort more a group of achieved than the last, each putting the senior class to shame for their accomplishments. Rather than viewing a university education as an investment in one's future, perhaps it is time universities began to see the value in investing in our young minds.

Personally, I have little idea, standing now a little over three months away from that ever-touted day when I walk, bedecked in cap-and-gown, to receive the diploma I've slaved the last four years over. It will be a simple piece of paper, a ceremonious hand shake, and a few photographs to represent the past four years. In the reflective mood I find myself, I am increasingly questioning what it is I have learned over those years, what this journey to the eventual stage has meant. This piece of paper will represent, among other things, the awkwardness of arriving in Lag at 8AM on a Sunday morning to be cheered by my RAs (who, stalkers that they were, knew my name already). It will represent the starts of a number of life-long friendships and four years of glimmers of love and broken hearts. It will represent six-months in Paris, six-months in a place that felt completely foreign--nay, alien--at the beginning and now feels in many ways more like home than the original. It will represent literal days-upon-days of reading, paper-writing, problem-setting, and, of course, crazy partying to counterbalance the stress of it all. Last of all, it will represent a young man who was little more than an adolescent when he arrived and leaves fully aware not only of himself but also assured of his identity.

But I can't shake a nagging feeling that something is missing in all of this: namely, a sense of direction. I'm getting ready to, some might say, embark on the beginning of my fully-realized life, to begin that ominous search for a fulfilling and exciting "career." But I have no idea where to start!

To be honest, I love my major, I love urban studies, I could see myself happy as an urban planner, yet I can't at all say whether that career path would feel more right or more satisfying than, say, working as an office assistant or something along those lines. I once thought I would never go into research, but as I get further through this whole thesis thing I'm beginning to think that maybe research would be a worthwhile pursuit. I know some of the things that I like to do: I like to write (go figure)--just not for too long, I like to be in charge of projects (because I like to have control and to work independently), I can't work for extended periods of time without breaking frequently to concentrate on something other than my work, and I love thinking, reflecting...je pense. What job can use that skill set? What career can put those passions to practice? I'm looking, but I have yet to find anything that is actually, truthfully, perfect for me.

So I'll just sit here, at the end of Winter Quarter, and wait to hear what will come my way. I'll make a choice, I suppose, and figure out what I want to do with my life then. For now, however, life is good, and my thesis is getting written at a snail's pace, and it's almost Spring Break! And I'm blogging for the first time in months.

Weird.

Here's to not knowing where you want your life to go! Truth is, no matter how much they seem like they have a direction and a path laid out ahead of them, nobody my age, contemplating their imminent graduation from college, has any idea what they want to do with their life. I just have no direction to start with. That's the beauty of being young.

Slightly more opinion, slightly less engagement

I was talking with my thesis adviser the other day about more or less random things, and, well, I can't seem to stop thinking about one of the topics we discussed: the generational divide that exists between the Boomers and Gen X-ers and my own generation. It perhaps speaks something of my generation that we are often given a name by other generations or in reference to those generations: Gen Y, the "Me" Generation, and other, perhaps more derogatory, names. So what happens when this generation grows old enough to become completely incomprehensible to its predecessors.

The reason this question came to mind, I would argue, is the seeming political apathy that many from the older generations perceive because college students of today have shown little interest in taking to the streets and starting marches in protest of the War in Iraq and our generally deplorable foreign affairs situation. While this may be the case, it may not actually be that our generation is in fact so apathetic when it comes to politics. In fact, I would purport that today's young people--especially those in college--are infinitely more informed than their predecessors and are acutely aware to a level that is almost unfathomable for older generations of the political climate and international happenings in our lives. This is the generation, lest we forget, that grew up in a world where information was readily accessible and effortlessly available at the click of a mouse. We have never known a library search that required looking through a paper catalog, nor have we ever hand-written (or even type-written) a term paper. The demands upon the academics among us have risen accordingly, and the competition to enter the ever more over-qualified workforce is only growing with time. We are, after all, the most proportionally college-educated generation yet (and, surely, the generation to follow will be even more so, should the trend continue). So we're smart, and that is pretty universally understood. But, why are we not non-violent marchers like our '60s-era counterparts? Why do we not produce the orators like our previous anti-war brethren, why are we not the incendiary rebels who make their nation aware of its flaws and errors?

Well, maybe, my elders, you haven't been paying attention (it's understandable when the medium to watch is a bit less comprehensible than those you know well). The upcoming generation, the newbies, the youth, or whoever we are, communicate in ways that our uniquely our own, just as your generation communicated in its own ways. Except for the minor detail that ours have names like AIM, MSN, Facebook, MySpace, and, yes, blogging. This generation was not raised on the streets, we were raised in front of a computer monitor and a television screen (note: this was, for the most part, a decision made by your generation--in the collective sense). And, forgive us for living outside the world of marches, marijuana and music, but we are only working in the framework that we know best.

So rather than sit back wondering where the marchers and the orators are (and, mind you, they do exist in this generation as well), perhaps it is more worth your while to just sit back and give us time to come into our own. Each generation is different than the last, and we're not here to recreate your idealistic nostalgia. Rather, we will work in the world that we know best: the world that is our own, the world that will soon be your own as well. The nostalgia is good and it has its proper place, but there is also something to be said for change and for a new modus operandi. So, maybe it's more valuable to read the blogs and to watch the Facebook updates--a new politics is brewing, and the generational divide is forcing its way through the mainstream. All it takes is an online ballot or, well, a YouTube debate. The world changes, each generation has its time in the sun. Respectfully, it seems your sun is setting and tomorrow is dawning. Only time will tell what changes will come.

From Anaheim to Main Street, U.S.A.

I'm making progress on my thesis, and for the time being I'm very euphoric about the fact that my research is becoming so developed and that I could make a significant contribution to the research community--and to my intellectual development. Not only that, but doing this research is helping me to refine the sorts of ideas that excite me and the sorts of areas in which I would prefer to be employed.
(Disneyland City Hall, Main Street, U.S.A.)

Essentially there are four main areas that I will be examining as I look at Disneyland's aesthetic influence in Anaheim. First is the formal pressure the Disneyland Resort (as it is known today) has exercised on the functions and powers of the Anaheim government bodies (mostly the City Council and the Planning Commission). This includes things like recent pressures from SOAR (Save Our Anaheim Resort, a Disney-formed and funded lobbying group) to block the proposal by SunCal (a real-estate developer) to construct a housing complex (which includes affordable housing) on a lot that stands within the currently designated resort area. This relationship has changed rather drastically in recent years with this housing proposal, which represents one of the first times the city has not automatically given a concession to Disneyland as a sign of the importance the park has played in the local area.

Second is the informal aesthetic influence that Disneyland has had over the local area, primarily over businesses, hotels, and the relatively new "Anaheim Resort District." The resort district, as its name suggests, is a large area surrounding Disneyland, the Anaheim Convention Center, and numerous hotels and tourist businesses that was completely revolutionized in 1998 when the Anaheim City Council passed new aesthetic regulations for zoning in the area to create a uniform appearance throughout the resort. The idea, allegedly, was to make tourists feel that they are experiencing a purely resort experience and to encourage longer stays in the area. Whether that works is, of course, up for debate.
(The zoning requirements of the Anaheim Resort District)

Third is the influence Disney has on what I'm calling the "Disneyland Sphere of Influence" - that is, the businesses in the tourist area surrounding the resort. In this way I'm looking mostly on the fact that production industries that used to exist in the area have more or less disappeared in recent years, giving way to a purely tourist area within a triangular area south of the 5 freeway and bounded by the boundaries of the city of Anaheim. Another aspect is the theming that occurs among the majority of the businesses in the area - the hotels that look like Alpine Chalets, European Castles, and Tahitian Resorts. Clearly to appeal to tourists in the area, you have to be somewhat kitschy, and the Disneyland influence is visible less directly than in the previous two cases.

(The Castle Inn Hotel, on Harbor Blvd., across from Disneyland)

The final aspect is Disneyland's influence on blending reality and the entertainment media in city planning. Not only in the Anaheim Resort but throughout Anaheim there exist businesses that build of Hollywood blockbusters and television successes to create a commercial experience, and without a doubt Disneyland was one of the earliest examples of such a project. Walt Disney literally wanted to build a giant movie set - complete with its "Castmembers," "Backstage," and performance protocol - to take "Guests" into his movies and imagination. More than an experiment in escapism, the park is also an ingenious (and multi-million dollar) marketing tool. This technique has been copied a number of times over, but never duplicated with quite the success and acumen of the Disney name.
(Main Street Hotel, which, at one point, actually offered accomodations)

With these directions in mind, I'm beginning to pour over my notes and data sets to find examples of these trends (and potentially of others). Disneyland is really quite the interesting phenomenon, and for all the criticism it gets it is important to recognize the park for the genius that went into its creation (by Walt, Roy, and all their peers). Disney and the Disney Park have had influence far beyond the tourism industry, not only forever altering the model of that industry but also redirecting the goals of urban planners, architects, advertisers, politicians, businessmen, and redefining American culture as we know it. He may have been a bit of an idealist when he spoke, but as Walt said on that hot July day in 1955: "Disneyland is dedicated to the ideals, the dreams and the hard facts that have created America...with the hope that it will be a source of joy and inspiration to all the world."


All images are my own, taken in July and August, 2007. All rights reserved.

Is it a chemical that makes this moment true?

Starting a new school year, at home, abroad, wherever, is always such a difficult time. It's absurd, really. I just imagining an alien exploratory study vessel watching as 17,000 people almost arbitrarily, but in patterns of agreed-upon times and periods, spontaneously walk between a number of outlying buildings and a smaller number of buildings that are located near the center of the other buildings. In the mean time they all stop to acknowledge the presence of a variety of other individuals, saying hello to a select number of individuals but walking by the majority of passers-by.

But maybe I'm just a little strange. This whole start of classes thing is rather overwhelming, because not only are classes starting but the deluge of emotions and stresses associated with starting those classes and seeing people you haven't seen in 3 years and trying to find a job and trying to plan 18 events all at the same time...well, you get the picture. In all honesty, it's not unusual, it's just going to take me a little while to get into the swing of things, since last year was sort of a bit of a free ride (well, in the nothing-to-do sense, not in the cost sense).

Nonetheless, it's a lot of fun, you know, having these first few weeks. Right now is the time when it feels like you have to see everyone and do everything or else you'll miss it all (so it's really easy to get motivated). I wish I could take some of this energy, store it up, and tap into it at the end of the quarter when I literally am forced to lock myself up in the library and write and write and write. Actually, it's not this bad this quarter. Spring quarter will be hell...but I'll deal with that when it comes.

Point is, life is a little absurd right now. Give it time and at some point it may actually seem back-to-normal. This first week, though, while everything is still in chaos and I worry that I won't be able to enroll in enough units since really I only have classes that I have to take in the spring left to finish my major, I've just got to push through. Things will work themselves out, I'm sure.

But, alas, new experiences are always fun. Life goes on.

Popcorn: or a treasure map of my consciousness

So, summer's over. It's official, in some circles. Well, almost. Labor Day is the "unofficial end of summer," but it might as well be the end. I don't really know what to say about that. On the one hand, I'm excited. On the other, I'm sort of sad to be changing environments. I'm also anxious that I and everyone on campus have changed a lot over the summer and that it will take a while to get back into the normal groove of seeing each other all the time. But that's what going back is all about.

Is it weird that listening to songs about home the first thing that popped into my head was being on campus?

I went to Disneyland again. It was better this time, even though the rides were shut down for an entire morning because of a (very minor) earthquake. I think the key, though, was that it wasn't as random an excursion but was more planned as a day between friends, and that we watched Fantasmik! (sp?) That show always gets me. I don't know what it is about all it's hoopla about imagination and looking into your mind and such, but it just speaks to me. It obviously speaks to a lot of other people as well, or else it wouldn't be the most popular show at the park.

I regret that I have yet to make it to Seal Beach this summer. I might stop there for breakfast or something before heading up on Monday. Or go there Sunday if I can. In any case, it's more of a nostalgia thing than a Seal Beach is great thing. I'll get there sometime.

Ever have one of those days? No? Neither did I. But still.

This is your brain. This is your brain on overdrive. This is your brain in a frying pan. Any questions? Yes, um, you there, in front...

A million lights are dancing and there you are, a shooting star. An everlasting world and you're here with me, so let it be.

Xanadu.

Foreplay, or in anticipation yet again

Anticipation is a glorious thing. I mean, I think people generally have it all wrong when they think about how to make themselves happy. The way I see it, the best part about anything--whether it be the "Holidays" (capital H), an exciting party, moving day, the start of a new school year, a visit from friends, or even (oh no don't go there!) sex. I mean, it's not about the climax, it's not about the actual experience...the best part of anything is the anticipation of the end of that event before it has happened.

If I could, I think I would live my entire life "in anticipation." But, then, there is something to be said about knowing you have completed some things in your life, even if the completion leaves you feeling empty and rather useless. This week I've kicked into anticipation mode, if you will, largely as it were set off by the preparation of my room for its latest redecoration.

And, really, I don't think I want to leave this flurry of activity and all that it entails behind. I'll be driving up to campus in a couple of weeks (well, less) and by that time my life will be packed into a single car and driven all the way north. And, I guess I'm excited, you know? I'm excited for all the possibilities the new year offers. I'm excited for the talk of insane parties that are to take place, for the development of amazingly exciting events, for probably my best class schedule ever, for meeting the new (and re-encountering) some old residents, for old friends, for senior year, for all that senior year entails, and for the big C-word (Commencement, just to be clear). I'm excited, you know. I'm also hopeful that it will be an accomplished year, that it will outdo the amazingness that was last year (a very tough challenge), and that I will find some sort of job or something to occupy my time after I (ack!) graduate. I'm also, well, a little fearful about not accomplishing some of my goals, about sinking into a familiar lull and losing the excitement of the anticipation.

And for what it's worth that's why anticipation is really the best part. When you're anticipating, you're escaping, you're dreaming, you're envisioning. There is no one there to tell you that your dreams are unrealistic, no past to tell you that you haven't accomplished your goals or that you're going to have to put it off a little longer. There is no negotiating, no improvising, no changing of plans. Life is clear and you know how things are going to be. Until a week and a half from now, all that lies ahead of me is a sunny campus overrun with young and attractive people living out their transition from adolescence to adulthood in celebration of youth and all that it encompasses. Two weeks from today, though, there will be training and there will be millions of errands to run and shopping (yay!) to do for my new room. I will be busy. And then classes will start. And then the holiday will end and life will return to its normal pattern. (I really wonder if I'll be able to do any work again; I guess I'll learn--I'm going to have to).

So, let me end this pointless blabber. Anticipation is a really great thing, and I really wish I could live with it all the time. Life would be like one long visit to Disneyland (well, with the escapism effect in full force). But, unfortunately, at some point the park has to close and get ready for tomorrow's crowds. Unfortunately, at some point, the time to anticipate runs out and the actual holiday arrives. And then all you've got is a flurry of organizing family members and serving turkeys and running to pick up a last-minute package of heavy cream (which someone always seems to forget). Or, well, you get the picture. Life comes at you full force. And all you've got is a quickened heart rate, a shortness of breath and some wetness. But god was it worth it!

Nostalgia unfulfilled

It's surprising really how the world changes as we do. We grow up, we get older, and eventually childhood becomes merely a thing of the past. I don't know exactly when (or whether) that happened for me, but now it seems that I have grown up, and it's about time that I say goodbye to childhood.

It happens to everyone around this age--I mean, why do you think Disney songs are so popular among college students? Maybe something is going on in our brains, preparing us to face the big-bad adult world. Maybe not. Maybe we're just collectively reacting to our independence away from home and the protected environment of our parents' residence and, as a result, clinging to those vague reminders of what it meant to be a child. It's tempting, after all, to just curl back up into that ball and believe someone else will take care of you again.

Unfortunately, that's not the way things were meant to be.

So let me get to the point: I went to Disneyland today. I've been conducting research (and I know, it sounds b.s., but believe me when I say it's been quite in depth) on Disneyland this summer, and today was the first time I went to the park this summer. Or, for two years, in all truth. I've been researching this park, trying to grasp what it is that makes it special, trying to put a name to what Disney does to Anaheim and to Orange County, and why so many tourists flock here. Trying to understand whether Anaheim is truly the city of Disneyland, or whether Disneyland is just some tourist trap in the middle of the budding metropolis known as Anaheim. Needless to say, it was difficult--I was dealing largely in vagueness and uncertainties because I was relying largely on a Disneyland I had known in my memory. Suffice it to say, that Disneyland is drastically different from the one I saw today.

I think most disappointing is that everything--and, yes, I mean everything--has been updated to reflect the newest Disney blockbusters and such. Pirates of the Caribbean has become, well, Pirates of the Caribbean--ironically, much as Eco would see it, a copy of a copy of something that never existed. I mean, does it not seem absurd to the Imagineers that they are, in essence, turning a ride that inspired a movie into a ride based on that very movie? And then of course the submarines have recently reopened to reflect Finding Nemo, which, while a great movie, does not exactly fit well to the concept of the Submarine Voyage without a little smoothing over of details. Similarly, High School Musical, the bane of all things kitsch, Disney, and pop culture has come to invade the park and turn a generation of 'tweens into, well, I'm not quite sure what they are. Singing zombies? Close, perhaps.

Ok, I'm being a little harsh. But the point is not that the park has been redone. That happened quite frequently while I was young as well--one year it was the Swiss Family Robinson Treehouse, the next it was Tarzan. Or, perhaps more aptly, one year it was empty space, the next it was the Indiana Jones Adventure (also known as the greatest amusement park attraction of its era). But, you know, I didn't seem to mind those changes. Perhaps because the marketing and the product pushing weren't so widespread back then. Aladdin could just hang out in Adventureland and you didn't have to be bombarded with 10,000 plastic-bottle genies or Aladdin-red vests. But now you wait in line for Finding Nemo Submarine Voyage and all you see are Nemo hats and Dorie t-shirts. I mean, give it up already, just let kids have fun without turning them into mindless consumers, gosh.

But, you know, I don't really care that they want to do all of that. I mean, Disney is a business, they have to make money. And they're doing it quite well right now and, well, go figure they've found a cash cow in High School Musical. Good for them. What is most upsetting to me, personally, is seeing this park that I remembered one way overrun with a completely different generation of children. The Disneyland of my childhood is officially gone. In its place is a castle that seems a fraction of its former height, a Space Mountain that--despite its smoother, faster, darker upgrade--seems slower than I remember it, and a trip down Splash Mountain's final plunge that seems, well, anything but the long and scary drop it once was. It seems that, somehow, I have outgrown Disney. Or Disney has outgrown me. In either case, walking around the park today was fun, yes, it was entertaining and all of that, but it was an experience in analysis and in letting go. Rather than take things at their surface value, I couldn't help but question every sign and decoration and trick in the park's details. Rather than experience a return to my childhood, I had to face the fact that I am no longer a child.

That is the most upsetting realization there is. I don't know why it is so hard to transition out of childhood, why it is such a challenge to face the fact that you are an adult. After all, when we're children adulthood can't come fast enough. But sooner or later childhood is gone, and all it can be is a memory, a glimmer in your eye when you hear the first chords of "A Whole New World," or a belief, just for a minute, that through your imagination all your dreams really will come true. Eventually, though, you have to leave the park gates and return to a world that doesn't give a shit about your imagination...

I'm On My Fifteen (weeks)

You know, a few weeks ago, I thought I was going to have the most boring summer ever. All I'd be doing is sitting at home, with the occasional jaunt to Anaheim or somewhere else to work on my research and the sporadic social event. I mean, let's be honest, in Orange County you pretty much have to drive to go anywhere, and when you go somewhere you're there. There's no taking the metro to the Rodin museum, then walking over to les Invalides because it's right there, and then walking back through the winding roads of St-Germain with expensive and fine boutiques worth ogling at endlessly. No, once you go to South Coast Plaza or Newport Center you're there, and there's no where to go down the street.

But, you know, despite my initial thoughts, despite all my desires to find some day job to get me out of the house regularly and earn a couple extra bucks, and despite all my thoughts of how boring it would be to sit around the house, I actually am sort of enjoying it. Is it wrong that I actually desire laziness in some part of myself, that my body wasn't wired to work 9 hours straight day-in-day-out with overtime on Wednesday and Friday nights and the occasional Saturday afternoon in the office? I'm sorry, but that's just not me, and if that's what the modern workplace will require of me, well, maybe I'm just not cut out for that. I mean, if the work was mostly doing things I enjoy, like imagining future communities or designing walkable cityscapes, well, I might be OK with it. But data entry, phone answering, and the regular office mini-drama just don't inspire me. I know, I've been there.

Needless to say, I don't think I'm going to be pursuing a position on Wall Street any time soon. Or Madison Avenue. Or Fifth Avenue, even. But no matter what street or avenue (or boulevard or highway or, God forbid, US Route) I find myself on in the oh-so near future, I am content to have had this summer. Call it a summer of soul-searching. Call it a voyage of self-discovery. Call it a return to my roots. Heck, call it my lazy-bum summer. In the end, this summer has been much more appropriate, much more of what I need than any other summer I've ever had. I mean, if summer, time of bright and sunny, excruciatingly hot days is meant for productivity and resume-boosting, well, let's just say something is very backward with our culture. I mean, why do you think Paris is occupied by more tourists than it is by actual locals during the summer? Because the locals don't want to be home working their butts off in hot and humid weather, they'd rather get away while they still can. And, well, the government gives them 6 weeks vacation in order to do that.

So, excuse me for being into relaxation, for treasuring the moments of bliss that occur when you get a steaming hot cup of coffee with a friend and just take a break for conversation. Or the times when you get to sleep until your awakened by the sun breaking through the marine layer at about 11. I mean, I know it's only temporary, I know I'll have to return to stress and work and classes and grades and deadlines and all that come September. But for now, it's nice to have the time to recharge.

And, well, go figure, despite it being summer and a time of relation, I've somehow come to be in the best physical shape in my life. So, I don't know, maybe torturing yourself with endless work for the dollar is not all that important in the end. One way or another I know I'll be comfortable later in life, and that's all I really need. Besides, I can't say that I really need that new CLK 500 more than the homeless vet at the 22 offramp, if his sign is correct, needs a burger or a beer or whatever. Relaxation, contentedness, and satisfaction that I am living a life fulfilled--well, as a MasterCard ad would tell me (somewhere up in those buildings on Madison)..."priceless."

Diatribe of a Caffeinated Mind

A few weeks ago, I came to the realization that my life is largely without any definite direction. Unlike many of my peers (but like the large majority of my true friends), I do not know where I am going in the future--I am not planning to go to med school immediately after graduation and become a doctor in 5-7 years. Nor am I planning to become a corporate lawyer working for a 7-figure salary, nor even a consultant for a non-profit or some Wall Street firm in New York. I have no goals. But, I'm not ashamed of that. That doesn't upset me. In fact, I would be more concerned if I had found a definite direction that I was determined never to stray from.

You see, one thing that college teaches you (if nothing else) is that what you study as an undergrad has little relevance to your life after graduation--whether that involves grad school, professional school, a regular day job, or (God forbid) long-term unemployment. College is another one of those equalizers that is designed to knock you off of that pedestal you had built for yourself in high school and to teach you that everybody is fundamentally the same. In one way or another.

But then it hit me. Watching, of all things, Stranger than Fiction (or, as I know it, L'incroyable destin de Harold Crick), I found myself particularly engaged by the random and incredibly detailed shots the camera would occasionally hold during the film. For example, every once in awhile you'll get a close-up of Harold's watch or a pan shot of the city in all its modernist drabness or a POV shot of Miss Pascal's bakery from Harold's place outside the window. The shots that happen in the movie, like the shots that happen in any movie, are carefully executed and captured only after however many tries it takes to get exactly the vision the director wants perfectly right. They are designed to capture the beauty in the everyday objects we collect around us--the watch, yes, but similarly the iPod headphones strewn on the floor, the empty water glass on the bedside table, the lifeguard's whistle symbolically tossed on the floor before a dive in the water. To capture these moments is a difficult pursuit, to be sure, but it is perhaps one of the most rewarding experiences out there. It is almost as if you had been able to capture, just for that one moment, a glimpse of holiness, pure and true. It's the same feeling as the actor who is able to perfectly capture a moment of desperation or of pure joy when portraying a character, or a musician finding that exact combination of tones that was in his or her head, or a writer looking at the perfect combination of words--the "perfect sentence" that is so elusive but almost within reach at any moment.

That's when I came to the conclusion that modern life has lost touch with that element of purity, of beauty, of perfection, leaning instead toward practical and calculated choices based on which direction is safest and the least involved. It's why the most popular majors on many college campuses these days are those most related to high-paying jobs: engineering, economics or business, and other such courses in practicality. Which is not to say that these paths are not justified in their own right and that some individuals do choose them because they see the beauty in an economic system or a circuit board. Two things I will never see. But what is tragic, what is worst, is to make a decision of your life's goal, your life's direction based on practicality, based on how much money you will make or how likely you are to find a job out of school. The way things are going, it's going to be competitive no matter where you go, and it's going to be a tough search in every direction you can choose. All the more reason to find something exciting, to take the time to explore yourself and find a direction that you think can open your eyes to that beauty and that perfection in its pure and real form.

Which is why I sometimes worry that I've gone the wrong path. You know, Urban Studies has been a lot of fun, but what I wonder is where I'm going to find the type of work that will excite me with an Urban Studies degree. Perhaps a good sign is that I am passionate about my major and deeply interested in the classes I take. But I don't really think that working for a real estate developer is my ultimate dream in life. Unfortunately I'm afflicted with a passion for beauty, an interest in those little moments that can be so exciting and so eye-opening in three seconds or less. Some may not see the rationality in trying to get a camera shot exactly perfect, passing the director's three-hundred tries off to his OCD. And perhaps it is a little obsessive; but then again, what could be more rational than the search for perfection?

Correct me if I'm wrong, but I believe that is the highest pursuit there is. Plato and Aristotle didn't argue about empty ideas; beauty is the one idea that really is true.

Multiplicity

There is only one more entry left in the "Reconstructing Reo" series. Somewhat sad, I suppose. I guess the main point is that Reo has been successfully reconstructed; however, to say that he is the same as he was before I went to Paris is quite the overstatement. Reo, as me, is no where near the person he was before those epic six months, and the return has been a real lesson in integrating that individual with all that is the United States.

But as I think about how different I am, how changed I have become, it is just that integration, that reentry into America that has been the biggest lesson this whole experience has had to offer. Let me explain, borrowing a little from Prof. Fraga's lecture yesterday...

You see, to call oneself American, especially today, comes with a great deal of ambiguities and uncertainties. If you think about it, no matter how you identify, it is probably very hard for you to pin down a concrete definition of what an American is--culturally, ethnically (yes, unfortunately that is part of it), spiritually, physically, or otherwise. In today's America we are more of an amalgam of multiple different Americas--Mexican America, African America, Asian America, Gay America, Evangelist America, Consumer America, Capitalist America, Libertarian America, Bleeding heart liberal America, I could go on and on, but you get the point...Our identity today has so little to do with unifying ourselves as a whole and forming a singular identity.

And you know, for all that we berate France and for all the mockery Americans tend to throw to our cheese-loving, wine-guzzling, chimney smoking friends from the continent, all we really have to give them is envy. The French, while not exactly the most equilibrated or egalitarian of cultures, do partake of one principle which we in the US could stand to learn from. In France, no matter whether you come from Algeria, Tunisia, Martinique, the DRC, or are a native-born Frenchman, under the law if you are a citizen, you are French. You are not French-Algerian, you are not French-Canadian (ok, but still)...you are simply and undeniably French. In practice this is not always the case, but nonetheless, you are French, and that is all.

Perhaps in America we need to get over our fear of the other. We need to form an identity that is more unified, more comprehensive, and perhaps to decrease our fear of integrating outsiders. Mexican, Chinese, or whatever immigrants may be illegal by our current laws, but they can integrate over time, over generations. If we are so afraid of becoming a nation of brown-skinned people, perhaps we should have thought of that before we moved to a brown-skinned continent. America will still be America, it just will look a little different. But America today looks nothing like America in 1787, so what difference does it make?

I am proud to be an American, however. I am proud, after it all, to say that I am a member of the most exportable, and, by extension, the most integrative culture in the world. If only that culture would realize that this is its most defining quality.

LIFE 163: The Life Crisis

So I may only be a junior in college at this point, and I may be worrying a bit overly about something that will work itself out in the end, but it's worth noting anyway: I feel old. I don't mean, of course, that my head is balding or that my joints feel more and more brittle. Granted, I'm still pretty young in that respect. But being on the eve of my senior year and feeling the daunting task that is going to be graduating (including thesis-writing and class-passing), finding a job, and leaving Stanford, it's starting to worry me.

I'm sure I am no where near as frightened or worried as some of the seniors are right now. And, of course, I don't blame them. Naturally, I am also a little bit tired of this campus, feeling a bit underwhelmed by what it has to offer me and taking every opportunity I can to escape from it. The environment here is just too tense and too pressured, sometimes it really makes me wonder how tough the pressure must be in places where it isn't always sunny and 75 degrees. But perhaps in those places it is easier to get off campus. Unless you go to Cornell. But, that's another story.

The point is that being at this point, this cusp, if you will, and about to enter my senior year and to prepare for the outside (or "real") world can be a frightening affair. Case in point: I was walking to class today, humming along faintly to my iPod, carrying my Nalgene and my over-the-shoulder bag, trying to avoid direct glances at the sun or at people I know but don't really want to say hi to, and just generally being a college student when I had a flashback to Paris. In Paris, you don't look at anyone. Saying hi, even to someone you know, is rare because neither one of you is concentrated enough on examining the crowd to realize that someone is familiar. Or, really, you are too busy avoiding gazes from other people to realize that one of them is not just any "other" person. But then it dawned on me: this is all going to end, very soon.

In about a year's time, I'll be contemplating the fact that in two weeks I'll never be able to walk out of my dorm room and head to the library or the CoHo to study--I mean, why would I study anyway? In a year's time, the random encounters with friends sitting on lawns outside their houses will not happen: where I hope to go no one will even have a lawn or, if they do, they'd never sit outside and sunbathe on it. And, of course, in a year's time I will not be surrounded by overachievers, do-gooders, and extremely philosophical hippies, but rather by business people or tech geeks or maybe even your average joe. The real question, though, is how will the social scene work? How will I meet new people if I don't live with them? How will I find friends to go out to a bar with on a Friday night or to chat over coffees with in the middle of the afternoon? Most of all, how will I meet Mr. Right?

I kid somewhat on that last one, but it is a concern occasionally in my mind. I mean, in college you have your frat parties or your house events or your friends-of-friends who are people they lived with last year or had a class with this spring or were in X and Y organization with for the past 3 years. But in New York, in Paris, in LA, in Philadelphia, in Frankfurt...wherever, you don't have "classes" with people, and your housemates/roommates/neighbors aren't that likely to have lived with 40 other potential new friends last year. Maybe your co-workers are a good bet, but unless you work at a major organization with thousands of employees (not likely in my case), it's got to get boring hanging out with them and only them all the time. So what do you do on a Friday night? Is there anything good on TV?

So maybe I'm in the middle of another quarter-life crisis. Then again, college is all about facing one daunting task after another, at least in my experience. Moving on to regular life and navigating its lonely paths is probably the most daunting of them all. In the end, though, what better way to conclude your time in college than to suddenly lose all of the safety nets it had set up for you?

I'm game.

Pulling the cable...

Maybe TV is an evil machine that rots your brain and steals away your imagination. I mean, it's possible. So long as we accept that radio and cinema did the same, just as the video games and the Internet are doing the same now, just as Victorian novels once ruined our delicate youth and Shakespearean plays put dirt into the minds of the masses. But, on the other hand, perhaps TV is much like these other things, perhaps it too is an art form, when driven to extremes. Perhaps even Jerry Springer has something to say about our modern lives and about the struggles of the popular masses.

But in any case, I was reminded these past few weeks of what a struggle television writing is, what a difficult task it is to come up with an original idea in a media form steeped in cliches and overused plot tactics and recurring character types (if only because so many television shows have developed over the years). I watched three major season finales, which is to say I watched them the day after they aired on the websites of their respective networks, and all I have to say is, you win some, and you lose some.

What is the valor in writing about season finales? Well, you know, I ask myself the same question. But in the end everyone is a critic, and why not give the writers some credit for trying to be original. That in mind, quick assessments of each (trying as much as I can to avoid revealing any major details).

1. Grey's Anatomy. If I were the professor in a class on television writing, I think this finale would get maybe a B, probably a B-. In comparison to the work of other season finales, it seems to have come out well. But it is not high quality. If you really think about the season finale, absolutely nothing happened. No loose ends were tied. No characters (who we all know will have their own spinoff in the fall) have left the hospital...well, okay, so one character did leave the hospital, but still. A new chief was NOT chosen. A wedding did NOT happen. A relationship did NOT end nor recommence. NOTHING. You can't have a season lead up to a season finale, and then leave the season with the same loose ends left unsettled. Rewrite, and return to me on Monday.

2. Ugly Betty. Now, this one had some real promise. As a finale, things were actually getting resolved and new developments were actually occurring. However, potentially killing off practically every character (by my assessment) is not a good way to end a season finale, nor really a single episode. That's just lazy conclusion writing from my assessment. In the end, I was somewhat disappointed, because it was somewhat evident that the writers only decided to take a turn for the worst because they needed some way to end the season. No, this is not how a season ends. Sorry.

3. Heroes. By far the best season finale I have seen in awhile. There was an ultimate conclusion to the plot the entire season has been developing, and there was an opening to further plot development. Basically, everything was well concluded, and I have regained my faith that this is one of the best-written series on television (I have to admit, I was having some doubts the past few episodes).

So that's what I've been doing with my life the past few days. If you think that I am rotting my brain by absorbing myself in all this television...well, perhaps you are correct. But I only will watch a show if it is verifiable quality. It's a hard task, and I think in the near future television writers will be pushed to even further extremes, trying now more than ever to come up with original plot lines and to throw original stories into their shows.

In any case, it's time for me to get back and try to work on my own season finale. Look out for that. It's coming, in only about 4 weeks. Look out!

Procrastination is not a bad habit, it's a way of life!

I had a day like yesterday once. It started around 11, when I went out for a bite to eat at the sandwich shop down the street. From there I met a good friend for some shopping, starting at the wine shop, of course. We walked a few blocks, went to the biggest super market in the city to buy some hand-made jam and some fine important chocolate powder (they were gifts). When we stepped outside the sun was peaking behind a couple of buildings down at the end of the block, burning our eyes a little (a surprise after so many days of cloudy chances of rain). We kept walking past the fine premium shops, the local designers and the international conglomerates side-by-side. We made our way to the river where we bought some ice cream, then we sat and stared at a church.

Except, the church was Notre-Dame de Paris, the river was la Seine, the ice cream was Berthillon, the super market was La Grande Epicerie de Paris, and the neighborhood was St-Germain de Pres. But, despite all that gradiosity, despite all the celebrity that accompanies some of the most famous institutions of food and of culture that Paris has to offer, the day was actually a lot like my yesterday. Equally amazing, equally worthwhile.

The point is, I guess, that you can travel all over the world and see the most amazing places in order to get a change of scenery or to have a new experience. There's a lot out there to see. But there's equally as much to see around you, equally as incredible a world right around the corner.

I guess I shouldn't speak: I do go to school in Paradise. But still, I had an amazing day yesterday despite the normalcy and mediocrity that Stanford can at times embody. I started with a hummus plate lunch on California Ave with Courtney (yeah, Mother's Day crowds sort of make brunch difficult...go figure). Always amazing, but that goes without saying. Then, I got all of my work done at the library in 2 hours, leaving me enough time to rent a couple of movies to take home and watch in the evening. Subsequently (yeah, weird word...look at it, admire it), I went to White Plaza to, surprise, go watch Chris and Jocelyn (aka the Red Stone Tea Forest) perform amidst the Spring Faire. Then, a meeting, a tamale dinner, an after-dinner food coma time-of-goodness, an evening of accomplishment, and all before bedtime! And I watched Mysterious Skin.

Perhaps my day was unusually amazing, but it can't be coincidence that I've been having more and more amazing days lately. I don't think it's that I've made them more incredible though, I think it's that Paris has taught me to appreciate them a little more. You see, it's hard to remember to take time out for a little fun, for a little break once in awhile. Our teachers and the posters on their walls used to tell us that procrastination is the least responsible practice out there, that efficiency is about starting early and finishing ahead of time so that you can relax when your done. I used to buy into it all, used to think all that was true. But you know what, it turns out it's complete and utter crap. Life isn't about working hard so that you can relax later. Wake up...you don't get to relax later! Finish and they'll just pile on more work, until you've become a lean, mean and efficient machine.

Sorry for the tirade, but it's true. No, my life is no longer about working first and relaxing later. My priorities have switched, and I think that's the part of France that I've adopted the best. Relaxation is of primary importance, work is for the last minute. After all, if you are skilled at the last minute, then you're definitely overly skilled at the on time work. And if you ever wonder, well, look for me taking a walk instead of working on my 10-page paper that's due tomorrow and is currently only an idea in my head (that's a lie, but it could happen). I'm the one getting the fun out of everything, saying screw you to all the deadlines and due dates piling up in my mind.

Man, Paris was incredible. But so is Stanford. So is Orange County. So is all of it.

Monotony is bliss

There is something to be said for the routine, for the usual, for the comfortable. I mean, most of the time in life you've heard your friends tell you to step outside your confort zone, or your parents told you that there's nothing to be afraid of, or your high school teacher told you to just give it a try. "What the heck?" runs through your head, somehow you build up your nerve and you do something you've never done before. And that's all well and good and very important.

But you know, sometimes it's important to recognize the routine. We spend our lives passing through the day-to-day, getting it done because it's meant to get done, falling into line with our schedules and our plans and our stress. But when does the routine become the routine? When do your new classes become your classes, when does your new workout schedule become your regular workout, when does life cross into that line of boring regularity? Maybe that's why so many of us find ourselves at a point where we've just grown tired, where the new classes each quarter have just become the new quarter, which in turn has become just another quarter. And it doesn't matter where you go to school or how much you were in love with the place when you got there, at some point it becomes routine, life gets boring. I mean, heck, I went to Paris. "What the heck?" I thought. Why not?

And perhaps it was a good decision. Perhaps it was the best experience of my life. But eventually the new and the exciting has to end and you have to return to the routine. I dreaded that return, I thought that I would become exceedingly bored again and never be able to see Stanford in the same light. Everyone goes through that, everyone does change the way they see Stanford (even if they stayed on campus). Nothing new, nothing original. The hard part, however, is getting through it. The hard part is realizing that no matter how menial and how tedious the routine can get, it was at one point exciting and new and it always has potential to be just as exciting and just as new (and just as shiny) again.

The point, I guess, of this entire rant is that allowing the routine to get you down is not really worthwhile. It's important to throw some variety in there, yes, but to always accept that the routine is the starting point. It may be menial and it may be boring, but it's only a routine for a little while. And once it's gone, you're going to miss it, so why not cherish it while you can? What the heck? Why not get enjoyment out of classes and have fun going to the gym. I mean, in the end it's not about chores and about tediousness. In the end, it's your routine, the one you chose, because at some point way back when as a naive and uncertain seventeen-year-old you thought it was the right thing to do.

I guess I'll just stick it out. I've never left anything unfinished, and there's no reason to start now. I miss Paris, I loved my time there, but it's time to get back to life, until I go back and find newness in everything around me again.

Kindergarten University

I hate feeling incapable. It doesn't agree with me at all. But lately, it's been a lot of what I've feeling. Incapable of starting a literature review (writer's block, or mental block?), for example, which is what I'm feeling right now. But alas, class deadlines don't wait for me, so I should probably get to starting that.

Seems to me that the biggest struggle of getting back has been getting through the work, learning again to balance work and play (with a heavy bent toward play), and procrastinating like crazy. But you know, probably the most important thing I learned in Paris is that the education you get through classes, the version they feed to you so that you can look academic, is not really all that valuable. I mean, let's be honest, college--even at an elite institution such my (our) own--is not about the information you absorb by reading a book. I mean, that's interesting, and discussions can be lively and exciting, especially if you engage in them. But, it's not the point. The point is to be surrounded by amazing people, to have access to resources you couldn't normally access were you studying on your own, but ultimately to take your education into your own hands. Which is to say, to refine your ability to learn, all over again. It's sort of like kindergarten, redux. Except with reading and papers and exams.

I know, it sounds stupid and cliche. But, I mean, most cliches tend to actually have some truth to them when you think about it. So if college were measured in that sort of GPA, well I'd say I'd probably be doing pretty well in GPA, considering where I started. Of course there would be the occassional lesson that I don't tend to learn very well, or those "exams" of sorts that I fail miserably. But, I'd like to think that I'm making progress. Improving. Learning. You know.

The point of this all is that...well, I don't really know what the point is. I guess the point is that if I were to summarize the last week of my life in one major thought, that would be it. I have direction, I have a goal, and I'm sticking to it. It's amazing the value that can add, the sense of purpose you can feel. In the end, life will not send you signals, there will be no bricks dropped on your head to point down the right (or wrong) path. You just have to sort of guess. There's always time to make up for mistakes, to try to change directions later on. But you'll get nowhere if you constantly decide to go back, and take the other road.

Sometimes, though, your wireless cuts out and forces you to work on your paper. Sometimes the signs are there. But that's only if you're being really dumb. Unfortunately, that happens alot for me. Fine, God or overarching force of reason or whatever you are, I'll work. If you insist.

Life in "John" pace (gotta love inside jokes)

Life has kicked into full swing. It's sort of tragic, you know, the phase of rushing around trying to balance everything has faded into normalcy. On the other hand, it's quite reassuring to know that the transition is that quick, and to know that it's possible to leave but there are always people you can see with whom it will feel like you just saw each other yesterday, even if yesterday was 5 years ago.

I've had a busy week this week. I guess that means that I've had a lot to do for classes, a lot of things to deal with (I started a new job, for example), and it's felt a little like I've been rushing from one thing to another. Fortunately for me, when I feel like I'm rushing, I'm really just moving at a faster rate with the same amount of time at my disposal. I just think I need to rush. In any case, now I'm hoping my econ problem set is good to go, worrying that I'm forgetting something I was supposed to turn in, and looking forward to beach trip this weekend.

But that's all boring. In fact, that's I guess the point of this return. Life has become normal. I'm working on it, and hopefully soon there will be more interesting things to talk about.

For now, and for always, I'm taking pleasure in those little moments that make a day. The random run-ins with old friends on a campus that is infinitely smaller than it should seem, the sly smiles to a cute passer-by, the chill factor on a cloudy day (that actually has double meaning), and the comfort of my dorm bed. Life is good, as long as you take the time to notice it. God really is in the details...

In any other world

Begin phase two. So to speak. I've definitely begun to feel it, that sense that you have changed, the feeling that you are completely different, unable to explain to people how you changed and unable to really illustrate to them (though they clearly can tell it's there) that you're not the same person you were when you left. This is just about the most exciting experience I've ever had!

Sounds weird, right? It may sound like I'm feeling constrained, feeling surrounded by a sense of alien-ness, a sense of disconnection. To some extent, this would be true. But not in a bad way. It's good to feel alien every once in awhile, to feel foreign, to not understand what you're looking at. Teaches you to deal with situations (which will come, over and over again) where you are thrown into a new environment completely alone. And here I'm lucky: I'm not alone. 60-some other people this year, and hundreds (or thousands) of others in years before have been through this whole transition.

But the truth of the matter is that, if I were to throw back to SOC 1 last Spring, I've been able, by going abroad, to gain the "eye of the sociologist." What they don't tell you in that class is that the eye of the sociologist is really just the eye of the foreigner. It's like when you walk into a new country, a different culture, how the littlest things throw you off and make you think, "why the hell would someone do that like that?" After living for a substantial amount of time in that country, though, you start to understand it. Then you come back to the US and you wonder why everyone seems to look you in the eyes (sketchy???), and why people are always done with their meals before you are (did I really start on a French diet?), and why your alcohol tolerance is suddenly SO LOW (wtf, mate???). But, you know, life is one constant movement from culture to culture. We all did it when we left high school and came to college, and even before when we switched from junior high to high and all the other transitions we've made. Ultimately, there is no such thing as culture shock. It's impossible. There is just a transition, an adaptation, that can be gradual or quick by degrees, but that, in the end, is nothing more than what it is: a transition. It is not a shock. It is not deadly. It is human.

So, blogging on this thing has become less interesting, naturally, as a result of the fact that life does not offer new random experiences of cultural adjustment. But alas, I will keep it up, for it is my mission, my heroic goal in life. Or just because I want to torture everyone with the boring diatribe that is this blog. Either way, why kill the fun? Cheers to boring transitions!

The absurdity of normalcy

So, it's been a few weeks. Quick summary: past two weeks I went home, I saw most everybody (yay!!!), then I came up to campus Sunday, moved in, and started classes today. It's an interesting experience, you know, coming back to the US. I thought that it would be difficult, but to be honest it wasn't that hard, until now. In SoCal there was a lot of time at home, a lot of hanging with friends, a lot of feeling like I was back home. Here on campus, though, things feel very foreign, very different, very new, like I'm coming back to somewhere vaguely familiar but also somewhat bizarre.

So what does that mean? Well, primarily it means that I am feeling reverse cultural shock, yes. It's usually manifest as a "why do people do that like that" or an occasional "whoa, I actually understand how this works" every few minutes. Also a lot of over-analyzing the way people interact and then quickly telling myself to forget about analyzing things. But alas, such is the process, and I figure it'll pass in a couple weeks once I'm out of this whole process and settle back into life at Stanford (but I doubt I will get over dressing more Parisian anytime soon).

In any case, life is slowly getting back into a rhythm. Classes are fun, meeting people and adjusting to the new house is exciting. And I really don't have much of anything else to say. So yeah, here's to America, and to the "honeymoon phase" as that return adjustment thing Estelle gave us once said. Onward!

P.S. Blogger still says things in French for me. My computer apparently is adjusting a little more slowly than I am. Lucas, we're in America, you're not in France anymore. Sorry, deal with it.