Objects and subjects

- Courtesy of threewordphrase

This is a short blogpost on the topic of romance, so if you don't wanna' hear about that stuff:
A. Leave.
B. Too bad.
C. Refer back to points A and B.


Now then, as a hormonally-driven male for _____ years, I've discovered some necessary truths about myself, my relationships, and the functioning "private" world around me. This has been aided by some fantastic interpersonal psychology lessons throughout college.

First, on the agenda:
Objects-
We often hear some varying comments about humans being objects, intentional or otherwise:
"The object of my affections."
"Pornography objectifies women."
"Humans aren't objects. They are not a means to an end, but rather, an end to themselves."

The first is just a common saying that we don't often think about, the second two are comments with a moral value about how we ought to treat other humans.

The interesting thing is that choosing to be an object makes many people happy. Have you ever sent a lover pictures of yourself? Have you ever wished someone would fantasize about you? Strictly speaking, that is objectification. And it feels good. People like to be objectified when it's their choice. Have you ever had a one night stand? Shamelessly flirted with someone because you needed a pick-me-up? You've objectified someone else now. However, both of these situations are still mutual, so there's no disadvantaged party (unless the flirting leads to someone feeling led on... Then you've got a situation).

Being objectified can feel awesome. Objectifying someone else can be just as thrilling. Just try to make sure both parties know what's going on.

This brings us back to the quote on pornography. Yes. Yes, it absolutely objectifies women. Women who voluntarily seek objectification in exchange for payment. It is their job to be an object with whom you will never have a real connection.
This is not, however, unique to pornography or stripping or other lust-based professions. Indeed, you're paying to objectify someone when you:
See a movie
Watch TV
View a sports match
Read a book
Play video games

It's true, these satisfy various other, non-sexual desires, however, you're still creating a one-way entertainment satisfaction trade in which you connect with no one and you're satisfying a desire.
(Yes, you can bond with people who are also doing the activity, but you could technically do that with pornography or strip clubs, and that is completely not the point I'm getting at)

The real statement you're trying to make when you say that pornography objectifies women is more like, "Pornography objectifies women in a way that is generalized by people who view pornography such that they believe women are nothing but objects." Or, in short, pornography does more harm than good to society. Which may or may not be a viable criticism. However, it's a viable criticism that could be made of many forms of entertainment. The problem is that we're in a Capitalist nation and if there's a demand for something and someone is willing to supply it, you have a viable product and the consequences must be met and dealt with on their own terms.


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Subjects- This is the idealization for relationships we have in this country. It should all be about romance and love. If a relationship breaks down for lack of physical attraction, you're just shallow. If it breaks down because of sex, you're only interested in using your partner.

Treating someone as a subject is all about focusing on their (and mutual) wants and needs and creating a dynamic with them. To have a real conversation with a person and to listen, engage, and respond is to treat them as a subject (as they are treating you as a subject). This is comparable to someone who may just be looking to vent to someone for a few minutes, treating them as an object.

Both have their place in the world, but we don't often talk about the good or importance behind objectification compared to subjectification (see, look- subjectification isn't even a real word according to Firefox!), so I'll stop talking about subjects and get back to the bigger picture-


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Here's where I breakdown relationships into three fundamental 'attractions' or 'connections.' These are the three basic ways in which you can connect with another human being:
Physical attraction (object-centered)
Sexual attraction (object and subject-centered
Emotional attraction (subject-centered)

Physical attraction is the simplest. It is merely whether or not you are attracted to the physical appearance and physical lifestyle of your partner. This ranges from whether you're attracted to their skeletal structure to their particular hairstyle at any given time, to even their hygiene. Physical attraction is incredibly important because it sets the mood for whether or not you physical enjoy being around another person.
If someone is perfect for you, but they never shower, you're not likely to physically enjoy being in their presence even if you do emotionally enjoy it.

Sexual attraction is more complicated, but still fits into a narrow array of issues. Do you want to have an intimate relationship with this person? Are your urges the same? Do your libidos coordinate? Do you have compatible fetishes? Do you actively enjoy the sex life you have with this person?
All important questions on sexual attraction.
To give an example, two people may be otherwise in love, but they're both dominating personalities in bed who absolutely detest or fear the idea of being submissive sexually. This could throw a wrench into their entire relationship simply because their sexual compatibility is relatively low.
Does one partner want sex every day while the other never wants sex? Another relationship-crushing problem not to be ignored.

Finally, we have the most complex connection-
Emotional attraction. This one is tricky since it ranges from humor to intellect to hobbies, tastes, personality types, and a whole host of other issues. Luckily, emotional attraction is also usually the most flexible. You don't need to like all of the same hobbies in order to be emotionally attracted to someone. The more emotionally compatible you are with a person, the more likely you are to have fun with a person all the time. This is because the person can typically make you laugh and share topics of conversation easily while also knowing your psychological nuances enough to avoid upsetting you or hurting you. Emotional attraction is also the most fluid of the connections. It's not difficult to get someone to like a hobby of yours usually, but it can be very difficult to get someone to change what they're physically attracted to.


These three work tirelessly in tandem to help a relationship function as smoothly as possible. While it is debatable that you need all three to have a successful relationship, there can be no doubt that having all three will make you happier no matter the circumstances. Being able to connect with someone in new and unexpected ways is exhilarating and enjoyable.


You need to understand the balance between the three connections, recognizing and agreeing when one connection is needed or important.
When you're going out to dinner, perhaps your physical and emotional attractions are most important. While watching a movie, maybe it's your sexual and emotional attractions.
And when you had a long night and just need someone to talk to, it's just emotional.
But then you head to bed for the night and it's physical and sexual that matter.

Find your balance and make sure to have these discussions with your partner(s). Don't just be an object or a subject. Without objectification, you lose out on a lot of passion and fun. Without subjectification, you lose out on respecting your partner and, frankly, enjoying their presence.

Balance and understanding!

-
Waddles

Empathy

In light of my whopping sob story from earlier this week, I'd like to lead my readers on an exercise (to be carried out over the weekend).

I'd like you to, if your schedule permits, examine five strangers. They may be someone you see at the mall, or in the car next to you at a red light, or walking down the street, or riding the bus with you. Anyone anywhere so long as you do not know anything about their backstory or history.

Now examine their facial expression. Examine their body language. What emotions are they sending out through their physical appearance and actions.

Take those emotions and write them down. It can be many, or it can be as few as one depending on the extremity of the emotion exhibited.

You do not have to do all five. Additionally, you could do more if you find the exercise to be fascinating. However many you can fit comfortably into your schedule is fine.
-

Now I'd like you to imagine a real-world and plausible set of reasons as to why this stranger might be exhibiting these emotions. Take care to live these situations in your mind as vividly as possible. Feel the emotions welling up inside you as a result of your imagination. Feel the emotions that you saw on this stranger. Be this person- just for a few minutes, let their life envelope you. Their troubles, their joys, their boredom, their fatigue, their anxieties and fears, their surprise and contentment.
What kind of friends might they have?
Are they in a relationship?
Is it a happy relationship?
What's their family like?
Where are they going?
Where have they left?
What do they want? What are they looking for?
What might make their day better? Or worse?
(Try for non-generic answers if possible)

There are some for whom this exercise may be more difficult, and that's okay. I encourage you to look for people exhibiting some really obvious emotions- someone crying on a bench, or perhaps a child screaming alone. Someone skipping down the sidewalk, or a couple holding hands.

If you think you can handle the more subtle strangers, pick someone who's barely displaying any visible emotions. Dig deep and try to find some hint as to how they feel.



--
This exercise is not about being accurate.
This exercise is not about making others any more or less than they are.
This exercise is about empathy.

This exercise is simply about understanding the unfathomable unimaginable amount of worlds that can and do exist in the people around us. We distance ourselves from people by nature unless we know them- and for good reason. If we stopped to take in everything about every person, we would go insane and become overloaded with information and stimuli. But it's good to step in that pool of emotion- just to remind yourself what it feels like.

Each person that you pass on the sidewalk, each driver rushing by, and every face you see has behind it a developmental history as complex and long as your own, but so fundamentally different for each person.
Think about the enormous number of memories you have, the number of connections you've made, the people you've seen, the fears you have, and the dreams you keep. Think about how much is there. Now remind yourself that each and every other human on this planet has something similar inside them too.

It's a daunting task, but it gives you some perspective.

-
Waddles

Stop, Drop, and Roll (Part 2)

Starting where we left off-

I had three relationships during this period of my life. During high school. I learned many things, but they were not... healthy.

In the first of these relationships, it was with a girl who shared some of my humor. But, it lasted two whole weeks. It was a relationship in name only to me. We were not romantic, and I didn't feel like she was looking for anything like that. She wanted someone to light-heartedly joke with- to watch TV with. I wanted someone to cuddle with. Romance was the only thing I had hope in at this point to make me see good in the world. It wasn't working. After an awkward twenty minute phone call in which no words were said beyond "should we break up?" our relationship was over. It was around this time that the first thoughts of suicide plagued my mind. I was not happy with life, so there was no reason to continue, right?

At the height of this depression, I was questing after a younger woman who had caught my eye. She didn't go to the same school, but she had a few friends that I knew. I pursued her briefly before learning that she was interested in someone else who had a far more troubled past than mine. My depression grew.

A woman slightly older than me who I'd met through a different friend had become interested in me, and out of self-pity, I latched on. She provided the relationship I had been seeking. She was very attractive too, but I couldn't appreciate her as she was because she wasn't my first choice. She caught me as I was falling and tried to provide a real relationship... But, I wasn't ready for a real relationship. I ignored her, shunned her, and I was incredibly passive aggressive towards her. I was emotionally abusive without realizing it. And still, she stayed with me because a flare of my softer, kinder side would escape. I was just good enough to keep her until she went to college. Even then, she tried to maintain a long-distance relationship with me. I tried to break up with her, but I couldn't commit to it. The fact of the matter is that I used her. Where she wanted a real partner, I could only provide a physical commitment. She escaped when she found someone else in college. I didn't come to fully regret my actions for several years...

After half a year of my depression growing again, I asked out the cashier at the Blockbuster near where I worked. We had hit it off and decided to date. Even after I found out she smoked both cigarettes and weed, I tried to maintain the relationship, largely out of loneliness. I never grew up around smoke, so it was a new reason to hate the world. Smoke gave me horrible headaches and my immune system wasn't prepared to filter it properly. I got sick immediately. But, I stayed anyway. I tried to get over the disgust I had for smoke. She made me feel wanted- something I needed. However, a few months down the road, and I knew I couldn't keep going. I was making everything worse by continuing it. She wouldn't let me break up with her though. Ironically enough, she broke up with me a week later, citing the reason that I'm not a smoker. The exact reason I wanted to break up with her.

It wasn't long after that that I met one of the biggest problems in my life. She worked at a game store I frequented. The summer before I left for college, I hosted weekly tournaments at the game store, just to do something with my time. I crushed on her pretty quickly and found out through my friend that she responded in kind. The first week of flirting was great- just what I needed. A relationship I could get into without sacrificing my health or sanity. A relationship I could be happy in. I'm probably lucky that it never actually became a relationship.
After the first week, she stopped returning most of my texts, calls, or messages of any kind. It was only when I saw her in the store that I had consistent contact with her. She would occasionally message me out of the blue, often complaining that I didn't try to talk to her anymore. She claims it was her phone's fault. However, the trend continued for over a month. I finally confronted her after work one night, and she promised to tell me everything after meeting her friend in another store. I waited outside for half an hour. She didn't respond to my messages. I didn't see her inside, so I wandered outside and sat on a bench overlooking the river. Another half hour went by before she hurried past me, crying. She refused to stop to talk to me. The trend persisted. I only found out shortly before leaving for college that it was because I was going off to college that she had flaked out on me. She apologized and promised to try to stay in contact.
The contact was just as sporadic as ever. I often tried to confront her about my reservations and concerns. She never responded to my confrontations. Or my ultimatums. And still, I couldn't let myself walk away. I was never strong enough. So I let her continue to put me through purgatory. Eventually, the messages stopped. I let myself ease out of it, and she didn't seem to care... Until on day in class when I got a text from her with a fierce apology. She wanted to talk to me again.

Like an idiot, I caved in. Spring Break was coming up, and I used that as a "now or never" with her. She put off seeing me the entire week. Didn't respond. It had all fallen apart again... Until the last day of the break. "Thanks for being so nice to me when no one else would. Goodbye." The text woke me up and dropped my heart into my stomach. I texted back. Called her. Called her again... over and over. Nothing. I was terrified. I had no clue what to do, I was only 19 and I'd never dealt with depression on the other end before. Agonizing minute after minute passed.
Then I made the decision. I hastily looked through my phone and brought up the address she had sent me before. I called 911 for the first and last time in my life up to this point and told them I thought my friend had hurt herself. I spent the next several hours wondering what happened.
My mother was about to drive me back to college and offered to stop at her house along the way. I don't know what exactly I was expecting, but I wanted closure, so I went.
She was on her computer in a bath robe, pale and looking very ragged. She didn't speak to me, so I left. I received a text later that night that only said "Thank you."
I have had no contact with her since.

I realize the irony of trying desperately to prevent someone from committing suicide (even someone who did nothing but lead me on in an indecisive plea for attention) and then becoming depressed with thoughts of suicide. 

--------

Leaving the romance, let me explain how college began for me and how I gained back some hope and joy for a few years.

Freshman year at Transylvania University was an extension of my high school life. I skipped classes out of boredom and I wasn't often interested in empathizing with other people. My cynicism towards others had lasted well into the year. I spent much of my time shut up in my room, not daring to go out and try to make friends. I fear that the room being occupied the vast majority of the time made my roommate less than excited to go back to the room most of the day. In fact, even now I fear my stagnancy causing this reaction in those around me. However, it's entirely possible that it's merely my self-consciousness convincing me that people notice more than they really do.
I was still neck-deep into a deep enthrallment with World of Warcraft at the time (MMOs were one of the few ways that I still connected with both of my brothers, given the distance between us), so my lack of a social life didn't present too many problems. However, I was still unhappy, and my temperament was savage. Only towards the end of the year did I start pursuing a more active social life.

Sophomore year is when my life picked back up. I had a living situation I was happy with and a small collection of friends. Furthermore, my roommate dragged me out of the apartment so that I could try to get to know people more with him. This was also the year I started Transy's Gaming Society in order to share my hobby of strategy games with people who were interested, which was actually a fair number of people. Gaming Society would become the event that kept me grounded throughout the rest of college. Through even the bad times, our Game Nights remained a bastion of nerdy togetherness that made me feel acceptable as a human.

Junior year was a little different. My rooming situation was that I effectively lived alone as a result of me pushing away my roommate. Try as he might, I never gave my roommate of that year a fair shake of things. I had an unnatural and possibly artificial inability to be around him for any length of time, and I always felt terrible about it. Because of this, my at-home time became less important and more bland to me, while my time with Gaming Society and friends became more important and more consuming. Still, I was largely happy. The largest hiccup in the year could be pinpointed around the time of midterms, where a large stress bubble burst, leaving me unable to eat for several days (the consequence being that I got to bail off of the terrible college meal plan though!)

Senior year. This is where the fun really kicked back up. Over the summer leading up to the school year, I had been drifting in and out of a depressive mindset, ready to get back to school so that I could be comfortable again. However, in the meantime, I'd been talking to a longtime friend (one of those friends-for-life I'd mentioned earlier) about my feelings towards her. Without delving into too much backstory, there was always something simmering just under the surface with us- or at least, that's how I perceived the situation. This was the summer that I was finally told that there was nothing. I hadn't correctly predicted how much that eventuality would affect me, so I was not at all prepared for the onslaught of suicidal thoughts that hit me all at once over the course of a few days.
I was proud of my individuality. In my cynicism, I began to seek help from myself and seldom anyone else. And here I was so easily broken. I needed someone- for the first time, I thought I might not actually be able to live through the night if I couldn't talk to someone. I was already on my way out the door without a word to anyone. It was the middle of the night and I was walking with such purpose even though I couldn't have been less certain of anything than at that moment. Luckily, someone was there to talk me through it. I've assumed since then that I'm being a burden to anyone that I share my intimate problems with. Whether or not it's true, this event made me afraid to let down any of the weight on my shoulders- a weight that would begin to crush me throughout the next year.

Once school started, I was able to kick back into the swing of things, although I pursued a relationship far sooner than I should have. I wasn't ready, and I shouldn't have convinced anyone that I was. (But then... I still don't think I'm ready, and here I am with a wonderful woman to whom I owe my sanity.) My depression continued fading as my living situation proved to be enjoyable, active, and entertaining. But then winter hit and my suicidal thoughts began returning piecemeal. One after another without justification. My depression flared, and it wasn't until after a particularly nasty weekend that I found out why. The weekend in question had some of the worst suicidal ideation I'd experienced (though it wasn't as bad as the summer night). I conceded to receiving school therapy which answered some initial questions I had while merely reinforcing other deep-seated convictions.

I was terrified of growing up. I am terrified of growing up.

I've never been able to distance my perspective from a greater-picture style pattern of thought. I see top-down over the course of my short life rather than first-person, viewing the world as it comes to me.
So, to me, growing up means getting a 9-5 job that I'll have for several decades doing work that I find unhelpful to society at large, scraping together just enough cash to live. I do this for 50 more years, before I retire. When I retire, I won't have the energy to pursue anything I truly feel is very valuable. I will whither and slowly die under the weight of the immense nothing that I've truly accomplished. I will get stuck. Forced to do something day in and day out, unable to appreciate some of the strongest irresponsible joys ever again.

Along the same mindset, the nature of political struggle looks equally grim. It takes immense movements and untold energy from the public to stop career politicians from pushing a bill that they don't understand. A bill that they can rename and bring back up with a fraction of the energy used to combat the bill. These same career politicians can also be replaced with that untold energy to be replaced by a new politician, uncorruptable by the evils of the system... until someone flashes a wad of money their way.
In short, it takes a nuclear detonation's worth of energy to close an anthill. And a new anthill simply opens up a few feet away. It takes decades of work to change anything socially meaningful, like gay rights. But a new group to persecute is simply brought up in their stead. And after all's said and done, so much remains left no matter how far we travel. Even now, the election addresses some key differences between the candidates, and yet, both of the only two candidates who could win are pro-Israel, pro-interventionism, pro-war, pro-drug-war. A lifetime of struggle can bring about so little change.

From a broad perspective, we really are tiny, insignificant creatures.
It seems so... pointless.
Not just pointless, but downright unpleasant in a certain light.

Logically, I'm aware this isn't the case, however, my brain has gone to all-out civil war with itself over the matter. The result is that I'm being bogged down by a crippling anxiety to enter the workforce- to even finish my resume. I am fatigued constantly, and I'm prone to wild mood swings.

The time in between this realization and the end of my college career led to a steady increase in my depression

Now, I've moved into an apartment with one of the few good friends I have in the area. Many of the people I counted as close friends are still somewhere around, but I don't see them anymore. Life just seems to be taking hold of everyone. I've stopped seeing people regularly and my anxieties about the "real world" have jerked with my confidence about leaving at all. It's now the rare occasion that I visit Transy's campus to see old friends. But then... what would I do even if I went more often? I'm not a conversationalist. And I can only justify sitting in silence with people for so long before I get self conscious. My board gaming hobby has basically died altogether. I have no one to play them with. The rare time there are enough people, no one seems to have the energy anyway, least of all myself. It's just another part of my life that I wish had continued, but I can't seem to make it... There are game stores in the area that hold game nights occasionally, however, after attending a few, it became clear that most of the people weren't people with whom I shared much. They were older, more competitive. It seemed like that was their way of escaping the "real world" as well. Just that they were so focused on escaping, they hadn't realized that their hobby was now something they were forcing. I didn't belong there. I still wanted to enjoy the hobby. I didn't want it to just be an escape.

Everything seems to be falling apart at the seems. The long and delightful narrative I had convinced myself of is melting.

I pretend I'm better at things than I really am. Writing. Acting. Storytelling. Strategy. Debate. Being a good person. I'm not really great at most things. I have the curse of being mediocre or good at most things, and truly amazing at nothing. I can do many things I put my mind to, but I can do so few of them to an exceptional degree. And I have the curse of being unable to turn off my mind, so even when I am good at something, I second guess myself. I second guess everything around me- a tendency that has nearly sabotaged every relationship I've ever been in. Along with this, my brain's activity refuses to let me sleep. I have to sit for hours in silence before I can get to sleep- But let me clarify, this is not useful silence, this is silence where I'm contemplating all of the terrible things in my life and my relationships. This is silence where I can convince myself that I'm scum of the earth and no one is there to tell me otherwise. This is silence where the best I can do is creating elaborate fantasies where I have super powers. Fantasies where I'm not living the life I am here. Fantasies where I've escaped and I'm unique- special- powerful.
But I'm not. With my eyes to the clouds, I'm a dreamer facing a common depression born of common fears, and I'm too weak to step up and face it properly. I'm too scared to conquer these fears and frustrations

It's a weekly occurrence that I envision my death. Perhaps not in a way that suggests I have the intention of hurting myself, but in a longing way that whispers kind promises into my ear. Slipping into an infinite quiet in which my brain no longer troubles me. In which I no longer have to worry about society's expectations for me for many decades to come. A state of nirvana that affords me the chance to sleep. To rest. To finally stop my obsessing and worrying. There's so much happening- too much. The amount of noise in the world hurts and I find myself unable to concentrate. And it's only getting worse. I shudder to think about the next generation of children that will have to take the world we dump onto them- a world of filth. A broken world with little hope for repair and the only solution proposed is to "find a new world."
My heart hurts. Not all the time. It's not even common. But the pain is unbearable and the resounding truth rings quietly persistently in my head... "I am not happy." I am not a happy human being, and I cannot seem to bring myself to try to find what would make me happy. I have no motivation, and if I did, I would have no energy. If I had energy, I would have no plan. If I had a plan, it would rely on chance or it would be impractical. The options are daunting and the weight on my shoulders is great, such that I am simply tired.

I am tired and self conscious. I have convinced myself that in my mere two decades of life, I have not put more into the world than I have taken out. I have done more harm than good. I have left few lasting and good impressions on my fellow humans. It hurts and it's only going to get worse.
This is what my brain has deemed to be the truth. The simple joys of life invisible to me, I've become too tired to be productive or useful. I am confused, hurt, tired, and unable to understand others. Unable to understand the world.
I've been able to retain my last shreds of sanity thanks to the escape that video games and cartoons provide, and I've been able to retain my sanity thanks to my girlfriend who has been supportive throughout this process- who has not wavered and who has not allowed me to sabotage our relationship.
I wish I could appreciate it more, and I suspect I will in time.
But right now...

In this moment,

I would like nothing more than to sleep...

And sleep...

And sleep.


So I will nap, and I will hope to wake up when I'm not sad anymore. But I've forgotten how to be happy... so that may take a while...

-
Wade

I appreciate the words of supportive some have given me, but this chronicle has been laid out for me. I felt that I needed to write my story and my feelings down. I do not have insurance, and I would not have the motivation to seek a therapist who could only tell me what I already know.
I know that this is a rough patch.
I know that this is not all there is to life.
I know that there is light ahead or that the night is darkest before the dawn or whichever idiom you choose.
I know that my situation is not among the worst in the world and I know that many around me share similar fears and burdens.

This does not make my hurt less real to me, and I assure you that it is very real.


EDIT:
.... I sincerely apologize for the length of this monster...

Stop, Drop, and Roll (Part 1)

This is not going to be a short blog post.
This will also not be interesting to anyone looking for controversy or insight.

No, this is a very personal blog post. In the interest of getting my thoughts out there and being a more open person, I wanted to write this.

This post is about my battle with depression and, in its more recent stages, suicidal ideation as well.

I'll save Part 2 for the present and we'll wind our way there through my life history~

I grew up in the middle of the middle class. I've never been wanting. My father never beat me and very rarely even yelled at me. My mother was always a cultural and intellectual outlet. I've never had anything important taken away, and I was never refused anything that mattered. I still wound up hating my own life with every fiber of my being some days.

I was born in Cincinnati, my mother gave up her career options in order to be a full-time mom to three boys, myself included. My father worked for a company that did plant contracts, so he moved with the jobs, bringing us with him. Before I could walk, I was living in Washington state. A mere year had passed before I was moved again to Boston. One of my earliest memories can be attributed to this house.
Sitting at the table long past dinner, a paper towel in front of me and four Oreos lined up on in- my dessert. The first memory I would have with my father's anger and desire to be in control. My mother had thrown out the newspaper before my father had had the chance to read the sports section. He yelled at her. He slammed the front door shut and drove off, knocking the wall phone off the hook (remember corded phones? Yeah, that was a long time ago....).

We packed up and moved again. This time almost back to where I was born. We moved to Mentor Ohio, a stone's throw away from where my mom grew up. I got to spend a little longer there. I even made a best friend in first grade: Ryan Minnis. I started playing soccer this year. To make my dad proud. All he seemed to care about at the time were sports. Playing it, watching it, hearing about it... So, despite hating sports, I tried to be interested in baseball for him. I tried to be good at soccer. The exercise was good, and it definitely was better playing than watching. But even still, I was more interested in video games, a trait I attribute to my brothers who both played as often as they could as well. We were competitive, even at that age. Although I wasn't old enough to solve most of the puzzles. I couldn't beat most of the games I tried, but it was fun just to try-- and when I could beat them, I felt more adequate- more like I had lived up to my brothers' skills. I had few people to truly look up to at that point in my life. My dad was interested in things I wasn't. We didn't seem to share a huge number of interests, but he tried to be a video gamer when he wasn't a sports person.

Honestly, when I look back, I didn't have that many interests that COULD be shared. I wasn't musically talented (my parents never made me try anyway), and I wasn't interested in sports. I read some, but it was all Goosebumps and Boxcar Children- an interest that faded with time. I wasn't much of an outdoorsman. When we went camping, I complained. I was too young to appreciate forests the way I do now.

That time came and went. For second grade, we moved again, this time relatively permanently to Rochester Hills in Michigan. Here, my eyes began to deteriorate. My schoolboy crushes began to blossom. And my parents' marriage began to dissolve. I continued with soccer and I made new best friends too. Life was still good. I even got to learn the profoundly worthless skill of cursive writing! Then came fourth grade. My parents had been arguing a lot lately. Furious yelling- slamming. I didn't understand most of it. What I did understand was when they got my brothers and me onto the middle landing of the stairs to the top floor where our rooms were- sat us down, and told us that they were separating and that it wasn't our fault. Departing myself from cliche depressed child, it never once crossed my mind that it was my fault- they were always arguing about each other. What I didn't understand was why they couldn't put up with each other for our sakes. It wasn't until much later that I understood my mother's necessary quest for freedom and the equally detrimental effects of living in a household with constant yelling, tired glances, and suspicion.
My innocence had been stricken with a debilitating disease. It was terminal.

Over the course of the year, everything seemed to get more somber and troubled. The arguments were more vehement. My grandparents (on my mother's side) had begun to visit more. My father moved a couch-bed into the basement to stay there. A single word sparked a new race- a new type of fight that would ruin my oldest brother for the better part of a decade: Custody. My father began to pollute conversations with us with the notion that it was "your mother's idea," "your mother's fault," and my favorite phrase, "tearing this family apart." His goal was to convince us that our mom had systematically gone out of her way to destroy the family without any regard for anyone within. I never dared question him, but some divine luck prevented those words from truly sinking in.
Unfortunately, I cannot say the same for my eldest brother, 15-16 at the time. My dad offered cartoons, video games, and a compelling story. It was hard to say "no" to. Still, he wasn't the only one employing shady tactics. My grandmother had stooped over the top of the basement stairs one evening, holding a tape recorder out, trying to catch my father saying something potentially incriminating. I understand now why she did it, but I still look back on that memory with mixed feelings...
Being the youngest, I didn't have a say though. My mother received custody of me no matter how passionately I tried to stay with my brothers. Deep down, I knew my desire was breaking her heart, and I couldn't force it. The oldest had no problem refusing, though. The middle child was left in an oddly symbolic place, for he too knew he was hurting our mother, but he was also more willing than I was to put up the fight to stay. In the end, he wound up coming with me for the earlier part of the separation. We went to live at an apartment (it was only recently that I learned my mother had to have her parents cosign the lease for her. At that age... The confusion and embarrassment and desperation must have been enormous. I don't remember much of the talk during the divorce, but I do remember my grandparents remarking that my mom needed to start eating. She had been stressing herself into not eating... A problem I could only relate with in the later years of college) in the same city. My school didn't change, so I was able to retain most of my life. For the moments when it got particularly bad, my mom had decided that we should get a dog. As much for her as for us. We needed something to keep us occupied. She needed someone to love when we were away.

The fights weren't getting better. The bitter feud between them raged each time they tried to speak- so much so that my brother and I had to be messengers much of the time- a practice that would continue for me alone for many years. The police were called on numerous occasions. Typically when my father wouldn't give us up when it was her time to parent. It was also around this time that I learned my mother had been seeing someone else- the man who would become my step father. A man that I loathed with every inch of my soul. A man that I would come to respect and appreciate much later in life for his love and devotion to my mother- for showing her what a real friend and a real partner was, where my father was so woefully inadequate. But in the meantime, I hated him. More than I hated anyone else. I lashed out at him- and who wouldn't? He was an invader. He didn't belong there. He was the change that everyone fears in their lives.
To avoid too many examples, for Christmas, I opened a gift from him- it was a towel. A simple hand-towel. My repulsion with such a pathetic gift (I mentioned how spoiled I was, right?) was only topped by the fact that it was him giving it to me. I hurled the box across the room and stomped off. It was pointed out to me afterwords that the real gift was underneath the towel- a gift I had actually wanted- something I don't even know how he found (since he was hilariously inept with the internet). I suspect my mother bought it and told him to give it to me- and to be clear, it's not that he's not a generous man, but merely that he didn't know me- didn't know how to get on my good side.
My frustration hadn't abated. Our dog, Nick was the only thing keeping me happy at this point.

It was after this year that the worst move of my life took place- only an hour away to Dearborn Michigan. I was just entering middle school. No friends, no knowledge of the area, nothing under my belt at all. I was alone, afraid, and rebellious. My adolescent mind took in the change on top of the new male figure in my life, and it did not approve. On top of all of my rage and confusion- on top of being separated by a distance I could not cross on my own from my oldest brother, this was the first time in my life that I was bullied. Bryant Middle School- My own special hell. My older brother went through a similar phase at this time- he became dark and brooding. I talked to him less and less during this year as he spent much of his free time shut up in his room.
I made two friends. I didn't like either of them. Friends of necessity. To help me survive.
My mother called the police several more times here. When my father stood out on our sidewalk and refused to leave, and when my oldest brother came to visit for the first and only time. He stayed in our brother's room and wouldn't come out. When push came to shove, he did indeed shove our mother for trying to make him come out. She was used to the power of the police solving the problems she could not by this point. And that's not to say she shouldn't be. Here she had an ex-husband who could not be tamed by reason- who could only be persuaded by the flashing lights and sirens- and it worked. The unintended consequence, of course, is that my oldest brother hated my mother for it even more. It was this incident that led to his decision to stop speaking to her for nearly ten years. And I was forced to sit and watch this fight tear our ragged family apart further. Academically, socially, and emotionally, this was the worst year of my life. In a word, I was lost.

The following year, my mother made the first major sacrifice for me that I could actually see ( I assume she made many, but that I was too young to appreciate them)- she drove an hour every day to drop my brother and me off at school back in Rochester, before driving an hour back to go to work. Every day. I don't remember these drives, as I was fast asleep in the car almost every time, however, it baffles me to think about that kind of sacrifice right now... I can barely justify a half hour drive to do something I legitimately want to do, let alone several hours in the wee hours of the morning just to make my kids happy. And it was a sacrifice that could not properly be acknowledged until we were both much older.

As luck would have it, that was exactly what I needed to thrive again. For the rest of middle school, I found myself in a small number of very close friendships (that persist to this day) in a learning environment that suited me for the most part. After a year of this, my mom moved us back to Rochester. The following two years are mostly a contented blur of happy memories- probably some of my happiest memories, and definitely the memories that produce the most nostalgia in my life. Memories of fort sleepovers, Halo with friends, staying up until 2:00 AM to to watch TV shows that I fell in love with, sneaking out at night to play online games on the family computer, and even buying my own computer. This was the easiest period of my life- the best.

But, of course, these things must come to an end as quickly as they came to be.
We moved. And my brother stayed behind. This time, to Kentucky- a state that I had no good knowledge of- only bad assumptions and hearsay from stereotype-filled television. Here I was to begin sophomore year of high school, and I would stay in Kentucky through to the present day.
The school? Newport Central Catholic. I was going to a Catholic school... At the time, I was a self-described atheist, although I had heard the word, "agnostic" used before, and I didn't fully understand the concept. By the end of high school, agnosticism was the perfect standpoint for me.

This point in my life is when I learned how to succeed in the system without trying. Receiving high grades for minimal work. I spoke more with my teachers than I did with other students. The kids were obsessed with our football team- it was the pride of the school- something we sank much of our budget into. However, this is still the school in which my interest for photoshop and video editing had taken hold. And it was accommodated here. I was able to learn some basic picture and video manipulation to an extent I was pleased with. I got a job that I kept for several years. I didn't have the relationships that I wanted here though. I became cold, aggressive, and distant. My argumentative side exploded due in part to my emotional and cognitive development, and also in part because it was a Catholic high school, and I had to sit through videos like "homosexuality 101" in a class called "Catholic Morality." (PS, if you're gay, it's because you had a fascination in the fine arts. Just so you know) I made the most of my life here, and it wasn't bad by any stretch, but I would also not use the word, "fulfilling." It didn't help that holidays were a mess of my father wanting to see me, but being unable to hold a simple conversation with my mother. So, I had to be the lone messenger between the two of them, conveying their desires, capabilities, willingnesses, and most of all, their displeasure with each other. This was my teenage burden- to be an adult where my parents could not be. My developing argumentative nature was explored in this realm as well. I began to yell at my mother when she couldn't understand my or my father's perspective. It was easier because I was more familiar with my mother. I wasn't scared of her.
My father?
Every time he picked me up or met my mother to pick me up, the long hours in the car would slip by in forced conversation. Almost always, my mother would come up. And not in glowing terms. I tried to ignore it and send the message through silence that I didn't wish to discuss her with him, but it didn't work. For years I put up with it, letting him berate her. It wasn't until I was 18 that I found the courage to explode at him about it. He hasn't used the word "mother" in negative context since...

I wasn't nice. Kentucky taught me to keep everyone at a distance or show my dominance over them. If I wasn't the bottom rung of the ladder, then I would avoid trouble. This was how I operated for the remaining three years of high school and the first year of college. I began to see the world as fundamentally ugly. It was a shallow world of pain. I started to understand politics, little by little as I began to understand people through Psychology courses. People are fearful. Hateful. Prideful. I understood little still, but I was picking up on human agendas. On deliberate politicization of issues. I began to understand the lengths people would go to in order to cover up secrets- in order to hate each other- in order to persecute each other.
My innocence and wonder was lost. I lived, but I can't say I was happy.

We'll end part 1 for now. This is a long read I understand.

 -

Wade

Fall

There's something really magical about Fall that I only started liking in the most recent years of my life. As a kid, I never liked puffy down jackets, and I hated wind-breakers even more. It ushered in the school year (up in Michigan, Fall pretty much came with September whether you wanted it or not). The world became dreary, but it wasn't quite enough for snow.

Fall was purgatory and a foreboding reminder of the year to come.

These days, it's an excuse to look my best. I like sweaters. I like my stereotypically pretentious academic jacket. I like things that make me look warm and inviting, because it's really hard for me to look like that in the Summer. Mostly because I think tee-shirts are hideous more often than not.
(I know, I know- to anyone who's close to me, the idea of me being warm and/or inviting is kind of hilarious...)

Fall is also an excellent reminder of nature's power. In a growing age of man's god complex, I enjoy watching storms and heavy rain and thinking to myself that if nature had a true will or consciousness, it could easily wipe out humanity in an extremely short amount of time.

Fall ushers in a time of cuddling and bundling and a fierce determination to fight the cold. And, of course, Fall is also the first bearer of snow. Although if our climate keeps wonking the way it did last year, we may see nothing but grass this time around...

Fall is for soups and pumpkins and celebrations. Sweaters and blankets and fireplaces.

It just... is kinda' nice, you know?


But seriously... I'm cold. Let's fast forward to Spring.

-
Waddles

Yeah, short post with nothing substantive. Sorry about that!

Catch us next week as we discuss:
Next week's topic!

Tuesdays

In lieu of another politically charged post, let's talk about my least favorite day of the week. Tuesday.

Tuesday is the tiny, albino, red-headed step-child of the weekly family.
Many people consider Monday to be the worst, but I find it more than tolerable because, more often than not, you've still got a bit of a nice high coasting from the weekend. You got to relax or have fun. In the one case, you're energetic and ready to go, in the other, you're pumped full of endorphins and good memories of the weekend.
Then, the long shadow of the week is slowly cast over you as the day progresses. However, by the time it finally dawns on you that you're in the real-world counterpart to hell, the workday's already over and you get to spend the rest of the day in some semblance of comfort.

Then comes Tuesday. If Satan truly wanted to take over the earth, he'd simply make every day Tuesday.

The weekend is surely gone, you know that now. But the next weekend is still so far away. At least on Wednesday, you can claim you're "halfway through." And Thursday and Friday are merely the days where you're winding down and preparing for the feelgood sensations of a break well-earned.

But not Tuesday.
You've just started the week. But it's distant enough from the last weekend that you've relived all the glory moments, and you've already thought ahead to what you'd like to do this weekend, but there's so much time in between now and then.
No, Tuesday is a far more sinister creature than any of the other days of the week. It taunts you with lingering wisps of memories from your last fleeting moments of relaxation or happiness, and just before you have a sweet thought in mind, Tuesday yanks the splendor from your fingers slicked with tears, holding the weekend out of your reach like a toy just above a dog's head. Tuesday tears your hopes and dreams asunder, reminding you of the cruel march ahead of you- the long road that cannot be circumvented.

See, what we ought to do is create an 8th day of the week. It would go directly before or after Wednesday, and it would be a BREAK day. Everything's closed that would be closed on a Sunday. People are encouraged to sit inside, grab a snack, and take a breather before fulfilling the rest of the week's obligations. Mostly so that Tuesday loses its power over us- its viselike grip over our sensibilities!
Tuesday's not merely inconvenient! Tuesday is a power of malevolence!
A force of pure evil! 

Tuesday kicks you while your down, then berates your puppies, then calls your parents to tell them you're not getting anything for their birthdays this year.
Tuesday wears your good shoes out in the mud and then tracks them through the house without cleaning any of it.
Tuesday fires that one good co-worker that you can relate to even as everyone else in your place of employment reveals themselves to be jackasses.
Tuesday spits on your grandfather's grave and whispers sweet nothings to your wife while you're at work.
Tuesday is the baby daddy that doesn't pay child support!

STOP THE TYRANNY, TUESDAY!

-
Waddles

Free Speech and the Internet

This is maybe a little too related to my post waaaaaay back on the Constitution, but you'll have to bear with me because I'm pissed right now.

Okay, so for those of you who don't know, I'm a Redditor. I have my own reasons for it, and I find it to be a valuable resource for me more often than not. Recently, Reddit exploded over some free speech jazz. Gawker, a news site, recently published an article about a Redditor I'd heard in whispers and rumors, violentacrez.
http://gawker.com/5950981/unmasking-reddits-violentacrez-the-biggest-troll-on-the-web

violentacrez was basically a professional asshole in his spare time. He's the kind of person that tried to make Reddit more like 4chan- full of the kind of porn that makes most people uneasy, violent racism, aggressive sexism, borderline illegal photos, and definitely illegal photos.

Picsofdeadkids
Beatingwomen
Misogyny
Racism
Jailbait

These are the kinds of subreddits that this gentleman created and presided over. Reddit saw violentacrez as an internet hero, championing free speech and fighting censorship. The mods and admins of Reddit came to be friends with this fellow. Anyway, there's the exposition.

So Gawker released his name along with an article detailing the author's conversation with this man. Reddit responded by banning links to Gawker or affiliated sites (there are plenty of them and some are very popular).

Now I just want to take a minute and revel in the complete and total irony that encompasses this situation.
Reddit (the bastion of free speech and anti-censorship that hosted violentacrez's material) is actively censoring a journalistic website for violating the privacy of violentacrez, a man known for moderating over both the subreddits, "Jailbait" and "Creepshots" (voyeur subreddit) using Reddit's anti-censorship stance as a means for getting away with the stuff he was posting.

That.... baffles me.

Listen, if you're on the internet, you have some anonymity, this is true. However, there are ways around anonymity, particularly if you give your personal information out (he did), or if you do anything illegal. However, I actually have a problem with this system. Strict anonymity is a privileged expectation that I'm not okay with- it takes oversight out of the internet. I'm a fan of free speech, and I do think the internet is malevolent as a group. They gang up and attack people, often unjustly. To those ends, it would be insane to require personal information linked directly to our "usernames." However, there needs to be some system in place for allowing consequences.

The one big, huge, vast difference I see between the internet and the real world right now is a lack of accountability. A lack of consequences administered to people, because people on the internet have artificial names that they can delete or add at the drop of a hat. Not necessarily bad. One of the things I like about Reddit is that if there's a sensitive topic, you can create a throwaway account solely to tell your story without fear of backlash or having your Reddit history sprawled out by some investigator. However, I don't think this anonymity should extend to all conversations. People need to be reminded that there are consequences for your actions and what you post.

As it stands, you have a right to post whatever you want, so long as it's not illegal. However, places like Reddit are also trying to guarantee you the right to be anonymous while doing it (not a constitutional right this time). The reality is what Gawker has done- you're not fully anonymous. And there are consequences for what you post sometimes.

The internet should be a bastion of free speech in the same way that the street is. If your boss finds out you're showing Polaroids of voyeur pictures in the street, yeah, you better believe your job might be at risk. The same should apply to the internet. The internet doesn't give you a fucking free pass to say and do whatever you want without thinking first!

As a bit of a troll myself, I have appreciation for people who occasionally troll. I probably shouldn't. I don't think trolling adds anything of value to the world, but there are some trolls I find amusing. However, to say something solely because it will offend people is an unimaginative troll. And sometimes detrimental too! Creating a forum called "Racism"? You're just drawing in people to a safe haven for regressive and cruel thoughts/statements. Again, these people have a right to be regressive and dumb, but they ought to be accountable for those statements as well.

Gah, I'm just going in circles now. Sorry, I'm just extremely angry about this perception people have that they deserve to be anonymous regardless of the content of their messages.

TL;DR - Some 49 year olds need to grow the hell up.

-
Waddles

Guilt

After some much needed dog therapy, and then some unneeded VP debate rage, I decided to do a post about guilt in our society.

This is one of those societal norms that I think isn't really paid due attention, even in academia, really.

We guilt trip and shame each other for so so many... completely illogical things. Let's go down a list, shall we?

Sex: If you have sex, prepare for the slut shaming of your life. Because satisfying bodily desires is a problem. Unless that bodily desire is to eat an entire bucket of ice cream, because then you'd be the prototypical female according to our hilarious media. Not only enacting it, even talking about it is cause for shame and judgment. Lordy forbid we talk about masturbation like big kids (I even hesitated at typing the world for a second, thanks to prolific acculturation of sex being "bad"). And don't even think about having a mature conversation with your significant other about what each of you wants and needs physically in a relationship. That shit is downright wrong in our society.

Speaking your mind: This one's great-
If you're young, you're too inexperienced for your opinion to hold sway.
If you're old, you're too stuck in your ways.
No one wants to hear your opinions unless they're explicitly asked for- otherwise, it's "mind your own business." People are allowed to say whatever dumbass thing they want, but as soon as someone can come along and fact check them, the fact checker is being a big ol' problem.

Criticizing:
Along with the last point in speaking your mind, you're simply not allowed to criticize someone if they don't ask for criticism. Doesn't matter if someone's beating their kids, drinking themselves to death, smoking three packs a day, doing meth, maxing out their credit card every month without paying it back, sabotaging their own relationship, cheating on their partner, cheating on their taxes, stealing, lying, being extremely unhygienic having any unhealthy addiction, etc.
Now, with some circumstances, it is perfectly reasonable to expect privacy. Typically, when your "problem" doesn't affect anyone else and when the detrimental affects on you are negligible or arguable. And, of course, when your "problem" is subjective.
It's tricky territory, to be sure, but instead of parsing out the gray area, we've taken to generalizing all criticism as unwarranted and offensive, even to the point that calling out someone for lying is cause for the response, "who do you think you are?"

Stepping in: When you stop a bully from hurting someone else or even yourself, we have this lovely system set up where in many places (the number is shrinking, thankfully), you get in trouble as well. We also have an entire narrative about "tattling" being a reprehensible activity, often times viewed as negatively as the crime being "tattled" on.
You know what we call "tattling" when we enter the professional world? Whistleblowing. The odd thing is, whistleblowing used to be seen as an incredibly honorable way to lose your job and being untrustworthy. We even had laws protecting whistleblowers! Now, we deliberately attack them and demonize their behavior in the same sort of way that we punish kids for trying to prevent bullying on their own. What the absolute hell?!
Similarly, if you see or hear about any kind of abuse, the first thing most people will say is "mind your own business."
We have this perpetual fear that we're not exclusively worrying about ourselves, that we refuse to even try to abate societal dangers and problems unless they reach a certain threshold. And evidently, assault is not beyond that threshold...

Being yourself:
Who the hell do you think you are? Having your own opinions, hobbies, and friends?
"My way or the highway" is the phrase I think of with this. Your parents say it, your bosses say it, and, in less eloquent wording, your peers say it. We instantly respect those who follow in our footsteps or the footsteps that we too are following. Deviation from these steps is met with harsh glares and enough disdain to feed a family.
So many parents raise their kids to fulfill their failed hopes and dreams, it's unreal.

Being someone else:
Who the hell do you think you are? Wasting your life chasing after someone else's dream?
Every musician, poet, and advocate of liberal arts, intellectualism, or hipsterism seems to have the same message- forge your own path or else your life is meaningless. What about the people who aren't creative enough to find their own place in history? What about those who aren't yet comfortable diving out of the line and creating a personal identity on the spot?
Sure, in the end it would be nice if everyone found themselves someday, but there are plenty of people who just aren't that passionate about individuality.

Being smart (and/or going to college):
The current right-wing narrative. Intellectualism is bad. And shame on you for thinking that being more educated means you know more than someone else! The nerve of some people. This one straight-up baffles me. I have no idea how a person can stand there and denounce people who want to learn more as being somehow inferior to those who are content not pursuing more education. Especially in the realm of politics, where knowing things is generally good.
"What, now you're too good for us, is that it?"

Not going to college:
And some of those right-wingers are the same parents in this section who demand that you go to college, regardless what you actually want to do with life. And shame on you if you don't want to be a doctor, since that's the only profession known to man that is respectable anymore apparently. Corporations look down on you (if they look at you at all), and your family will think less of you if you don't go to college.
"What, you're not good enough for college, is that it?"

Having feelings:
Nothing like a male who has emotions. A symbol for everyone to hate. Peers, corporations, politicians. You keep that shit inside where it belongs until it festers out of control and erupts in a boiling ulcer causing you to wig out and kill three co-workers with the breakroom spatula.
And if you're a female? You're allowed to have feelings, but good luck finding anyone to share them with. Once you're married, you're not allowed to have friends and your husband sure as hell doesn't want to hear about those pesky feelings. In short: let's all be robots.

Having preferences:
You like reading/video games/board games/exercise/sports/acting/painting/any other hobby? God, you're weird.
You don't like the same foods that I do? That's inconceivable. You must have just never tried the foods properly, that's it.
You don't like rap? Aw man, you just haven't heard this song.
You're not an atheist? Shit, you just haven't thought about it enough!
And so on.

Being an extrovert:
Annoying. Whore/man-whore. Loud.

Being an introvert:
Creepy. Creepy. Creepy.

I could go on, but I think you get the idea by this point.

We shame people for being different from each other and from ourselves. We shame people for doing the right things. We shame people for making us think and forcing us to experience the wild discomfort outside of the personal bubbles that we've formed around ourselves. Maybe it's not their place to make us travel outside the bubble. But it's no longer our right to stay in the bubble once it starts affecting anyone but ourselves. Kids, friends, neighbors, acquaintances. Once your narrow view of the world starts infecting someone else, you've given up your right to hide from scrutiny.

See what I'm doing here?

I'm shaming them. For shaming others.

It's like there's a theme here... or something...

____________________________________________
As accurately pointed out to me:
"Actually women get to feel guilt and shame about the ice cream too. About as much as the sex; if we're having straight sex, we're still pleasing some man, so that's all right, but if we eat a whole tub of ice cream we are fat and self-indulgent and no one will ever love us."

Ohhhh God, feminism...

Preface:

This post is rage-induced. However, I would deeply appreciate an actual conversation on the issue, and I welcome comments, concerns, and/or questions through blog responses, facebook messages, or even wall posts. I don't want to pretend that I alone have the "end all" answer to anything, and it's important to understand that while I may be stubborn and argumentative, I am capable of lacking in knowledge as well.

_________________________________________

Okay, so this has been an issue bubbling up and around Reddit for a long time, and every time it shows up where I'm subscribed, my position is discounted and I'm seen as part of the problem.

To give you some backstory, there's a forum on Reddit called "Men's Rights." This group is, to be honest, mostly reactionary people looking for a reason to point at feminism and yell about them feeling entitled or some such nonsense. However, MR often brings very necessary reminders to our perceptual lenses- the reminders that our gender dichotomy is not an issue of womens' rights. It's an issue of gender inequality. These posts include points about false rape claims, domestic abuse charges, parenting, trust, societal bias, and the ever-present problem of the myth of masculinity itself.

Every once in a while, I'll come across a post about feminism that disparages the MR group for the initial reason I cited; many are jerks who misunderstand the point of the MR group. However, they generalize the statement across the board against all MRers. My response is always puzzled and concerned, because the way I see it, they're doing the exact same thing on the other side. Let's look at the very words we're using:
"Feminism"
"Men's Rights"

We're talking about gender problems, and we're trying to exclude an entire gender.
Yes, let's get it out of the way- women face far more societal inequality than men. There's no question about that. Am I discounting it? No- it's incredibly important. However, my point is that it's reckless and problematic to focus on it to such an extent that we forget about the problems facing humanity as a result of the gender dichotomy.

Let's examine a popular one- Men who excel in business are thrifty and wise, while women are bitchy and demanding. Men are encouraged to be CEOs with business ambition, and women are not.
This overall problem leads to:
Women
Lower wages
Lower job satisfaction
Lower job opportunities
Lower job ceiling and often a lower job floor
Societal insults and pressures
among other things.

Men
The expectation to be ambitious
The false dichotomy that if you're not, you're weak
Being forced into an unhealthy male dominated world of business
Being raised to value the importance of money over emotion
Getting trapped into workaholism
etc.

Now, yes, the situation, I would say, is pretty heavily biased towards women having the more raw deal, however, my point is that both parties are stuck regardless of what they want, which causes deep issues for both sides. As a psychology buff, I won't neglect the immense damage that can be caused by a person being trained all his life to believe an ideal about money and business only to find that he hates that life.

This gender dichotomy affects many issues that we don't talk about enough. The dichotomy causes psychological bullying among girls and physical bullying among boys. It causes eating disorders among females and violence among males. It causes hopelessness in women and stress-filled expectations for men.

This is not an issue of "feminism" and it is not an issue of "men's rights." This is an issue of gender inequality. There is so much to lose and so much to gain for both sides that we shouldn't label them as "sides," we should call it what it is- "humankind."

So often I see thrown around the word, "misogyny" to people who just want to point out that the problem extends beyond women. It discredits their own position and makes me think that they're not examining the problem from any perspective other than their own- which can be good, but it's a double-edged sword. Personal perspective is informative and emotional, but it lacks a sense of big-picture perspective, and it vehemently avoids challenges to your logic, even when those challenges are rightly deserved.

This is a confusing, complicated problem, and we cannot afford to approach it only from a single angle.

We cannot simply "raise" women up to the standing of men. Nor can we "lower" men to the standing of women. Both ideas are insulting and belie a total misunderstanding of the issues at the heart.
If we raise women up to where men are, suddenly, women have no maternal leave for parenting, women are thrown into jail as often as men, and women inherit this lovely statistic:
http://bjs.ojp.usdoj.gov/content/glance/tables/vsxtab.cfm
More violent crimes have always been committed against men than women. This covers the vast array of violent crimes available. While domestic abuse remains largely centered around the female victims, abuse in general (a less-discussed problem) is centered more around males. This is particularly true when we examine prison violence and issues of bullying.

I would also like to note that finding that site was nearly impossible through google since nearly every hit was about domestic abuse towards either men or women, and no one seemed interested in plain ol' everyday vanilla abuse.


So- in ending here, I want to be absolutely clear. I am not suggesting the issues caused by the gender dichotomy are more important for men OR women. I am not suggesting the issues caused are more numerous for men (they're not).

What I am suggesting is that ignoring an entire gender's problems caused by the same dumbass societal illness is effectively ignoring the problem itself. If raise women up to the status of men, we're going to cause just as many problems as we're going to solve. We need to actively deconstruct the "status" of both men and women such that there are no expectations left at all. Once that is complete, we can lump both genders together before rebuilding the foundations of how we understand gender. Only then will there be true equality.

-
Waddles

I don't normally get many messages. Let's see how much hate mail I get for this...

Arguing

This wasn't brought on by a personal circumstance, but rather, something I was reading that happened to some other people, however, I've faced numerous similar situations, and I feel it's a good thing to talk about.


"Why do you always have to be right?"

A question for the frustrated who don't really stop to think about what they're asking.

When you start an argument- a friendly debate- or an uncivil disagreement with someone, you are "right." That is your main stance. That is part of your thesis.
You're trying to make the argument that you are correct, or at the very least, that your opponent is either not correct, not approaching the issue properly, or missing some key points in the conclusion.

You don't argue with someone with the premise that you're not correct right off the bat (unless you're playing devil's advocate for a position you disagree with). If you end a disagreement with this line, you're openly announcing your hypocrisy and your inability to handle being wrong.

Here's something a lot of people who don't argue much don't often empathize with relating to seasoned argument-lovers:

We don't often stick our necks out into a debate that we don't have a pretty firm grasp on. If you say something contentious that we aren't knee-deep in, we usually don't respond in an argumentative way (unless what you're saying is truly outlandish).
The reason it appears that argumentative people are so thoroughly stubborn and intellectually elitist is that we (I speak for those that follow this rule) argue what we're familiar with. Things that we have a decent collection of knowledge regarding.
We "have" to be right because we pick our battles to be ones that we actively judge to be "winnable."

What I notice (and this is purely my subjective experience, so take it with a helping of salt) of people who are not familiar with argumentation is that they are prone to repeating second-hand knowledge- something that they heard from another source- and taking it at face value.
Now let me stop here to say- humans like to impress each other. Physically, cognitively, emotionally- we just like surprising people or creating genuine reactions in them. There's something pleasant about the experience of invoking those types of emotions in others, and that's not bad at all.
However, if you plan on impressing someone with your vague knowledge of topic X, you'd better be sure that either:
A. You understand your knowledge is secondhand and unchecked at best
B. You could totally be wrong about this kernel of knowledge you just picked up
C. You've checked it out yourself and you know some background information to the knowledge.

Yeah, I know, it seems like homework tacked onto a normal human interaction meant to liven up that whole... living thing. But if you have unchecked information that you take to like a hawk, you're just going to make yourself feel foolish and you're going to get into a stubborn argument with someone who very well may be far more familiar with the topic than you.

For those arguments that are truly about subjective material, the previous rules only barely apply if at all. If someone's being stubborn about their totally subjective opinion, chances are you're also being stubborn about it, but you're not realizing it. Try to remember that people will never fully share opinions.

However, if the topic is in a murky-ish territory, like those that involve religion as a basis for an opinion, make sure to use available evidence at your disposal, and if nothing else, the best way to end an argument is to simply prove that your opponent's philosophy is inconsistent. Is what they're saying contrary to a similar opinion? Is it contrary to their actions? Is it contrary to actual known religious dogma? Is it contrary to religious script? If any were answered "yes," then they have no stance to argue from, and you're free to nudge them while they fall to the ground, arms flailing wildly.

Debate what you know, not what you think you know.
(We're all guilty of breaking these from time to time. Just try to catch yourself before you fall into any of these traps)
(For instance, I often pick battles that are not necessarily in my favor just because I like debating. This, however, I safely do with my close friends)




Side note: I use the word "win" even though I do not believe that the true reason for debate or argumentation is winning or a matter of pride or anything as superficial as that. Argumentation:
A. Is fun exercise for the brain
B. Helps you to figure out just how much you understand about a topic
C. Trains you to debate better in the future
D. Imparts knowledge and promotes understanding on a topic


"We don't like people making baseless, asinine arguments or accusations, YET, when we demonstrate (in detail) to people how they're wrong (usually in situations that more/less warrant a rebuttal) we are attacked with ad hominem, emotional knee-jerk bullshit, and further accusations (usually completely hypocritical)."
-Some guy on Reddit

-
Waddles
(This post was written on Saturday)
 
Now quick, everyone call me a pretentious douche!
I've already gone out of my way to ruin my life in 48 hours.

Regularity

Okay, heading down a bit of a personal path. This is something you may be able to relate with, or you may not. It's non-controversial in nature, so that may drive you away if you're looking for something political on this Friday

Humans are sort of built around regularity (most creatures are). However, ours has gotten to a point that the media, culture, and corporations have managed to convince us to live lives that are altered only in small degrees each day.

I find I'm both saved and ruined by this notion simultaneously.

Let me explain a bit, since I'm sure that sounds odd. I live far more easily when I don't have to make preferential choices about everything each day. Such a burden would drive me insane very quickly as I'm not the most decisive person. I eat the same few meals for lunch and dinner. I don't eat breakfast. I visit the same websites/forums each day, rarely straying from that. I engage in the same conversations, I rarely try new foods, I haven't simply gotten lost in what feels like ages. I've begun to stagnate.
This has done two things-

1. This has raised the amount that I can think and obsess about everything cognitive and emotional in my life, since I spend so few resources on anything else.
2. This has killed my ability or drive to experience new things and, therefore, my sense of wonderment.

Going back to a previous statement- I haven't gotten lost in any activity in longer than I care to admit. It's possible that my routined non-life is actually poisoning any remaining vestiges of passion that I have in my heart.
However, the routine is comfortable and safe. Of course, the obvious response is that safety and comfort isn't always what's best for a person, which is absolutely true. Somewhere along the lines, I forgot how to take any risks, and now I'm terrified to stop being comfortable.
It's not just a mildly anxiety-provoking thought anymore, I'm almost certain it's a full-on phobia.

I'm not even comfortable with the idea of taking the bus downtown. I like Lexington, and I like Transy. This fear hasn't prevented me from visiting all the time yet, but it's slowly getting there.
Things that normally seem fun in my life are gradually taking a grayscale look as the anxiety petrifies me.

The routine is actively destroying me. But I need some level of routine or else my energy is sapped far too quickly. I am still an introvert and I am still more of an observer than an enacting agent. I cannot effortlessly try new things or talk to people- these things may always consume more of my energy than I'd like. However, it's become obvious that a stable routine alone will do just as much damage as a total lack of routine and a life of spontaneity.
Finding balance is something Aristotle taught as the way towards being a virtuous human being. Take two opposing vices, find the middle-ground, and there you have a virtue (I'm screwing it up a bit, as I am wont to do with exact philosophical ideas).

Being lazy ----- Diligently working ------ Being obsessed with your work
Being stagnant ------ Cautiously adventurous(Here's where I should be)  ------- Never slowing down
Being a glutton ------ Indulging judiciously ------- Starving yourself

You get the idea. Aristotle had a lot of progressive ideas about personal ethics and how to live. His conception of telos and eudaimonia for example. I'll get into those at a later time, I'm sure.

I just know that right now, I have to find a way to move into the middle ground or else I'm going to actually explode.

-
Waddles


EDIT: As corrected by my philosopher roommate, Aristotle vouched for the mean between two vices. It's not quite the middle ground, but rather, certain virtuous tendencies or aspects of two vices.
Subtle differences.

The Debate!

The first debate is tonight.

Let's all pull out our drinking games and make a mockery of this tradition, which is already a mockery of its former self.

Presidential debates used to mean something, back when candidates spoke to each other and directly responded to points that mattered. But everything changed (when the fire nation attacked) when George Bush senior completely screwed up on a question in a live debate.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7ffbFvKlWqE
Clip of the question in question.

George Bush completely falls apart because he cannot relate to the American public. Simply put, the recession didn't affect him.

After this incident, debates became weaker each four-year period. They used to be a gladiator fight. Now they're kitten scratches. Very cute kittens.

Questions screened by both candidates. No personal interaction. A moderator agreed upon by both. Pre-written responses.
It's all phoned in.

However, the debates still afford us some important information.

The candidates may have pre-written responses and talking points, but the strength of those talking points is, as we may deduce, the strongest stuff they can muster.
So tonight, when we watch the debate and one of the candidates responds to a question by talking not about his own policies and ideas, but rather the "failed ideas of their opponent," then we know that they don't have a future plan worth talking about.

When one responds with an emotional appeal irrelevant to the question, we know they don't have an answer worth hearing.

Each pre-written logical fallacy is another point to note- another proof that no real message exists for us to find. No argument available for them.

Additionally, Politifact will be fact checking the debate live, so tune into their website to see what little substance is included in the debate torn to shreds on a truth-o-meter.

-
Waddles

Another dud

To me three readers:

I apologize, but I've had another lapse in opinionated creativity.
Spending too much time obsessing over the anxiety-provoking reality that I have no plans for a future.
The world and reality are always up for a good fight, but some days, I'm just too tired to fight back. Hopefully, I'll have something a little more... substantive for you on Wednesday.

-
Waddles