Comrades and Corkscrews

There is an epidemic going on that is buried under every epidemic that comes up every day about very imaginable thing that could be wrong with the world. The social hierarchy of academics. First, something very important needs to be established: There are a loads of people in the world that are highly adept at performing well in a school situation that includes tests, quizzes, studying, repetition, memorization, and without a doubt, no matter how much one would try to deny it, a certain degree of hard work, but hard work nonetheless. Now, we are going to focus on the group of academic-oriented people within the top 20% of their school. It goes without saying that when people don't like school, it's because they like something else. And they're probably way better at what they do than the smartest asian kid in the pre-calculus class they're failing. That said, the asian kid could run circles around them in algebra equations. To each his own. Now, there is a fundamental problem with the way society is taught to weigh certain abilities and skills: For one thing, school is required for everyone to be academically educated to be accepted in the working world to make money to buy a car, house, have kids, and continue the process with some important non-economic factors I left out. The main problem with this is that school is designed in a particular way that only certain kids can excel at it, leaving the rest to struggle with the method designed to further one's academic learning. So one kid may have to work harder to understand a concept and skill than another, making for an extremely unbalanced system. To think it could be so stupidly designed makes my blood boil. There are 16 personality types in this world, but there aren't 16 different dynamics of education. Why is that? Well, the school system is run by those who excel at it's process and method of "teaching". A valedictorian of her high school class once said in her speech that she wasn't the smartest, she was simply "the best at doing what [they're] told". And that's what school is. A test of how good you are at doing what you're told. Now, I have said what I feel about how screwed up the education system is and how that makes it highly inefficient. But it's widely accepted. Why aren't areas of the arts accepted as a serious form of learning? They are "extras" that are always cut from funding when money is tight. They're the "easy A classes". Your parents probably never beat you for getting a C in cooking class, or drawing and painting or jazz band. But then again, you probably would never have a C since your grade was (hopefully) based on participation and how well you tried in class. Now, the hierarchy of elitists that roam at the top of the food chain in class rank and GPa and SAT scores are mixed. there are some people who are down-to-earth, work hard, break their backs to be at the top because they were probably whipped as a child, taught that failure is a disgrace and the only option is being the best. Asian countries have an extremely bad case of this, as was brought to my attention by a friend who went to school in Vietnam, where they will kill themselves because school is so overwhelming. And I am not kidding. Doesn't that make you sad? Depressed? I don't even know how to respond to that. At least in my country we can still enjoy our lives and be happy. Think about the cost to being at the top pf your class: Wake up, school, homework, some kind of food consumed, homework, homework, bed, no sleep, repeat. Now, think about kids who go home, watch TV, do some homework, eat dinner, more tv, homework, computer, phone, sleep a decent amount, wake up, and go to school. I think I'd opt for the second choice, but the firs translates to high academic integrity. Enough of that, this is the part that bothers me: Those highly competitive kids at the top who rip each others throats out to be #1, always fighting, always studying the extra hour, taking the extra summer course, whatever it takes to eat anyone in school. And they're filled with malice. It's a subtle malice that they bury beneath their mountains of math homework, but if you can catch a glimpse, it's an ugly one. And they have flocks to group together with. They can only associate with the academically gifted that perform on their level of insanity. They look down upon others, and they look without sympathy. They scoff at skateboards, parties and IM. And the icing on the cake to this perverted system is the way the ranks of smart kids that are below the cream of the cream of the crop look upon them. They talk about them as if they were a new planet found with human life. They are looked upon as super-humans in it's a tragedy. I hear endless conversations going on about college, rank, GPA, complaints about doing above average instead of the best. And don't ask them about their quiz if you did better, or they just might not show up to school the next day. I am tired of analyzing the situation, and I have given up on being hung up on who's ahead off who every week, because it's insignificant, superficial, and it makes me wonder why people don't want to talk about anything else that matters. There's a life waiting for you beyond academia and it's called the real world, which is what I'm trying to prepare for. And I'm not going to let school get in the way of my education.

Celery and Sedition

I strutted to my car and drove home in a mood that could a smile on the face of the corpses buried in the graveyard I passed on the detour home, and it probably did. I made three sales at work on a 5 hour shift on Saturday. That weekend I had to drive to Kendall instead of being picked up, but that’s because my dad has been so busy working on his pieces for his next art show. It’s been coming together nicely, and I really love the techniques he’s used to create these abstract effects on the paintings, it really is brilliant. Anytime he does work, it’s for hours on end, always on his feet, working and reworking in the hot and humid garage studio, but I can already see it’spaying off. The style is really just beautiful and I want to just take his paintings and hang them up everywhere when I buy my own house. Although I don’t mind driving up to see my father if the situation calls for it, it takes away from the drive to and form his house to be able to spend some time without his wife and her children. I don’t despise them at all, but it’s important to be able to talk to my father without his wife taking him away by using trivial and useless things as an excuse. If I had all the time in the universe to explain my frustration about this, I wouldn’t be able to finish without devoting every day to writing down the problems caused by this marriage. I have personally heard my stepmother explain to my father how she hates when he comes to pick up my sister and I for the weekend because she can’t be with him to tell him what to do. And when he does pick us both up, which happens rarely now that my sister is in college, she has to call him at least three times during the drive just to say something unnecessary. It is frustrating to say the least, but considering everything else she does, it takes serious prayer time and mediation to keep myself centered with God well enough to not bother myself with her “overbearing” nature. Okay, she’s a control freak. She must always control a situation out of fear that things don’t go her way, thinking something terrible will happen. She places a great importance on the image of her self, home and her family, and she puts forth an incredibly great amount of effort to keep that image together, and I must say, I am impressed with her dedication to that. In addition to his, she is also incredibly judgmental of everyone, and she doesn’t like anyone in my entire family. There is always a criticism about what someone does, even when there is no fault to be found, such as my angel of a sister. My sister is one of the holiest, nicest people on Earth, yet my stepmother still finds a way to insult her out of the anger built up from her not being to have our dad for herself. If she feels strongly about something, (actually, she feels strongly about everything) she has no problem expressing exactly how she feels, and if that means I need to dress a certain way and behave and eat a certain way for my dad to be able to stay with her, his attitude must always be “so be it”. If my father is one of the greatest men I’ve ever met, and I truly mean that. He is very gentle and loving and always knows how to compliment well. He has great taste and always knows what to do in any given situation. His character is greater than that of most men, and it is truly amazing to be able to be his son, I honestly can’t believe I have a man like that for a father, it’s as if God just handed me a miracle that I didn’t deserve. My father only feels strongly about certain things, and if his wife feels a certain way about something he may feel differently about, he changes that opinion immediately if that means staying with her. If she tells him his son has to keep his elbows off the table to stay in her house, or he has to wear certain slacks to Mass, he immediately enforces that upon his son. It is a process that slowly tames him, and I’ve seen it changing him for the past 5 years. It kills me inside to have this happen, but there’s no possible way to explain it to him. My father can be very patient, but if I bring up anything, he immediately throws himself into a fit of rage and there’s no way to talk to him. He transforms from a lamb into a lion and I’m stuck in a cage with him. I talk to my Papa, my dad’s dad about this and he knows exactly how I feel because he feels exactly the same way. Luckily, he can help me through any trouble I have contending with difficulties of the tendencies my dad has picked up from his wife. I can see in his face how he has changed, and he doesn’t seem any happier. My dad is always stressed, and his marriage seems to be making it worse. He has to worry about 4 more kids that he spends more time with than either my sister or I, which also have been given higher priority when he has to pick them up from something instead of visiting us on a Wednesday for dinner. It seems that almost every week, there’s always something stopping him from coming, either rescheduling or canceling so he can pick up his wife’s children. I do understand that he may have to do that, but all things considered, it’s upsetting to lose my father like this. That’s right, I am losing my father. I am losing half the man that raised me. I lost the part of the man that would pick up my sister and I, take us to his studio apartment, go out to eat, see movies, walk around Lincoln Road, see our grandparents, aunt and cousins, watch R movies and live the life of the laid-back family that we truly are. My dad has lost that part of himself now that he’s no longer a bachelor and he has to take on responsibilities of a house, step children and the thumb that is pressing down harder on him as he tries to get out of bed in the morning. I am a boy who still has half his father, and luckily, half is still better than what I ever deserved.

Undergarments and Umbrellas

When I was little I used to look up to the adult world with these perceptions about it being on a level that I could never imagine being able to understand and fully grasp. It seemed so above everything in my world. I saw the world of people who were much older than me (some like to be known as adults or grown-ups) as knowing much more than small children and who were much more mature just because I assumed their experience gave them a great understanding of the world. I was content with this view of the world, because it left me to be carefree, not wanting to worry about paying for a car, a mortgage, bills, and the stresses of life that were shielded from adolescence. Still, where one thing lacks, another is present to fill the void. When you’re young, no-one listens to you, and you have no control over anything in your life save for the imaginary portions. A child can cry when they get something they don’t want, which happens just about all the time, but they’re young, it’s okay. On the other hand, an older person isn’t allowed to cry, so they transform their frustration into passive aggressive action, anger, drinking, malice, spite, repression and so forth. Perhaps the parameters for adulthood are solely to have the patience to live long enough to be taken seriously. On the other hand, experience is undoubtably attained throughout one’s life, granted it may be minimal, but if that’s what life hands you, so be it. The presumptuous attitude of many older people can be seen either is wisdom acquired through the years, or it can be a perception that is developed from poor philosophical education to think for oneself, wether the education was gained through the self in thought or from another. It can be the accumulation of thoughts for years on end with a mind not developed to think deeply and truly analyze states of being and existence, of human interaction and morals, ultimately, the philosophical questions to our very existence. This would cause a poor understanding of the value from one’s education through experience. Maybe many adults’ visions are corrupt from preconceived notions of earning experience, presumption and having a sufficient amount of knowledge and understanding. Perhaps this is connected to the seed of ignorance and foolishness. Perhaps it is the root of arrogance, close-minded views and outlooks that are built upon infelicitous truth.

2001: A Space Odyssey

Just to get started, let's explore the vast topics of Sicilians, cinderblocks and summertime. The alliteration incorporates, not only some arbitrary nouns, but matters which I feel require substantial attention to examine the properties of culture, cement and the seasons. Sicilians are a special breed, created by the whirlwind of civilizations that have inhabited the Mediterranean region for hundreds of years. It fosters a sort of life that can only be experienced with the wisdom acquired through trial and error, dumb luck and some not so dumb luck. My bloodline can be traced back to the island of Sicily, which can explain the emotional outbursts that define the nature of my family in general, as well as the appreciation for artistic tastefulness in everyday life reflected by their elegant fashion and charming home decor. I can feel that natural need within my to grasp life and wring out the flavor for all it has to offer. The sicilians are a mixed breed, they relax and take lunch breaks that are longer than the work shift. They much prefer to have a good lunch and sit back to talk about futbol rather than push for extra commission. The North, on the other hand is a different story. They are more industrious and hard-working, just like those Germans and Northern Europeans, eating their schnitzel and wearing lederhosen. Damn those indefatigable Northerners with their fast-paced lifestyle and determination to better themselves with "hard work". Don't misunderstand that I am completely American, first and foremost, and pride myself on the tradition of self-reliance and hard work to make your own wealth in what was once the land of opportunity, (more on that later) but the ember deep within me (although that could be my acid reflux) yearns for the lax and tasteful style that captures the essence of my lineage from generations ago, before Ellis Island and the Godfather and guidos and wise-guys and tough-guys and guineas 'whos talks like-a dis! EYY!!' Hey, let 'em be, they're not botherin' me. I haven't even been off the continental plate that North America sits on, but when I can visit the country of my family's homeland, I will breathe in the architecture and absorb the essence and scents and flavors that drape over the ancient monoliths and churches and statues that stand in partial ruin from civilizations that exist in 10th grade World History as a combined perception of the textbook, teacher and student, I will eat the food with such satisfaction I can only imagine that I will cry. But look through some tourist's photos and look for the natives. What are they doing? They are sitting at a table outside some cafe, sipping on a cappuccino, laughing at the silly tourists with sneakers, fanny packs and cameras who are taking pictures to remember a trip they never really went on. I hear my friends talk about their trips to European countries and browse through pictures on Facebook as they lean on the Tower and wave at a small metal box being held by their parents while they stand in the presence of some of the greatest architectural achievements from some of the most amazing civilizations to have existed on the planet, my heart drops to think they could fly over the Atlantic Ocean just to say they've been somewhere without realizing they never really were.