• “The world needs plenty of bartenders” is true, and there should be absolutely no shame in this. If everyone were a CEO, we’d all be doomed.

• I am suspicious of people who do not have at least one guilty pleasure. Anyone who admits that Proust is their favorite read but refuses to acknowledge publicly that they love UFC fighting, listening to American Top 40, and watching Robocop late at night is not only lying to the people they know, but also to themselves.

• 15 seconds for an emergency door to release and open seems like an awfully long time. Especially when what you’re running away from isn’t a fire.

• I like Henry Ford because in his later years he insisted on keeping everything he owned so that nothing could be falsely stated about him. His museum holds thousands of boxes of his personal letters, artifacts, bank slips, etc. It would take a lifetime to go through, which is probably why a new biography is written about him every couple of years.

• I like Alfred Sloan because he did the opposite of Henry Ford-he destroyed everything connected to him and wrote a single autobiography, thus giving the world only one opinion of him-his own.

• Henry Ford and Alfred Sloan do a good job at representing everything about humanity: either you can put everything you have out for everyone to see, or you can show people who you are with the limited evidence you present in everyday life.

• I don’t know why I enjoy old stuff. One reason could be its resistance to disappear.

• As much as I appreciate all forms of music, I’d take Original Scores or Classical music over everything. To understand why, try this: take the soundtrack to Road to Perdition and either walk or drive around for fifty minutes. Then, on another day, take the soundtrack to Requiem for a Dream, and follow the same path you did when listening to Road to Perdition. Without lyrics, you get to write your own narrative.

• It’s fine to look for differences in people, places, things-but don’t forget to look for similarities too.

• I don’t know where I’ll be in five years and I’m perfectly fine with that. To lay out a plan feels like giving up on the adventurous, exciting element of life. It’s as if saying “I hope to make $80,000 a year in five years” is the only reason you’re alive. There’s got to be more to it than that.

• You can find interesting qualities in everyone, even the people you may greatly dislike.

• I don’t remember the exact moment when I was able to hold thoughts independently, but I do remember when I became consciously aware of blinking. 6 years old. Top of the stairs at my parent’s house. There is a point here, although I’m not sure what it is.

• The only self-less job I can think of is a volunteer fire fighter. The things you see with that job…there’s no selfishness in this.

• If you can find silence-true silence-take full advantage of it. You may never get the opportunity again, as police sirens and crying babies and heating ducts are everywhere.

Every single person in your life has been talking about the recession. Admit it. Your boss. Your spouse. That fellow on the Home Shopping Network. Your banker. Your priest. Your dentist. The Circuit City. The newspapers. Superbowl ads. And, lest we forget, the woman standing at the bus stop who sighs “economy”, as if a new coined definition of the word is “complete and utter damnation.”

What’s more painful than hearing about the recession every time you decide to wake up in the morning is the fact that all of the people above seem to think they’re presenting you with information you may not have known about. As if you slept through September and October of last year. As if you somehow overlooked the tens of thousands of people getting laid off every week. As if you missed the “Liquidation Sale! Everything Must Go!” signs on Mervyn’s, Steve and Barry’s, Linen and Things, and Circuit City storefronts.

Then there are the folks—again, often the same ones listed above—who decide to give you pointers on how to survive the recession, since apparently most Americans needs someone to tell them to cut back on dry cleaning or manicures to save money. Most of these pieces of advice are straightforward that can be summed up with this basic equation:

Cut Your Everyday Expenses + Find Cheaper Alternatives = Save Money

Ta-da.

And there are entire books dedicated to this equation. I just saved you $20. Now I’m going to save your sanity. Follow these 7 Habits of Handling a Recession Effectively and you’ll get out alive.

1. Don’t suddenly start listening to commercials. For the next few months (or possibly years) every commercial you see—regardless as to whether they’re pushing the latest 3G phone (which you don’t need) or McDonald’s Big Macs (which you also don’t need)—will tell you how rough the economy is, and how they’re product is different from the rest, primarily because they, as a company, are here to help you. This is from advertising 101. “We feel your pain. We’ve changed. This is how it’s going to be different.” But it’s not different. Companies are obviously suffering just as much as the consumer (i.e., massive layoffs, bankruptcy, liquidation, etc.) and while it’s not necessarily a bad thing to try to stimulate the economy through sweet offers and soft language, the businesses you’ve relied on for so long have not suddenly become buddy-buddy with you. And if they have it’s because they want something from you. Like money.

2. Repeat #1 with the newscasts. Again, over the next few months you’re going to have news specials that focus on “Money and You” or “How to Budget Effectively” or “The Worse is Yet to Come.” Every person who’s ever gotten a master’s in economics or business school is going to suddenly become a well-regarded source that will tell you his or her predictions on the market in the next few months. But, as the name somewhat implies, these are only predictions. No one knows for sure what’s going to happen. So don’t beat yourself up trying to figure it out. There will also be these “specialists” who will tell you how to budget effectively (sans me, of course—I never said I was a specialist). Most of these specialists are saying the obvious—don’t go to restaurants as much; cut down on the spa; buy a bike if you live close to work; eat leftovers; and so forth—which is fine, but again don’t expect miraculous solve-alls. Because they don’t exist.

3. Watch Cinderella Man. Pay Attention.

4. Get used to off-brand foods. Every helpful tip coming from specialists often tells you to start buying off-brand products. This is only part true. You should not suddenly buy off-brand electronics, like Sorny or Magnetbox televisions. Chances are they’re made poorly. But you might want to consider off-brand foods. Food is pretty hard to screw up, especially something like canned corn. Compare any off-brand company to any major brand and you will see that a majority of the key ingredients are exactly the same. Usually the food tastes the same too, and when it doesn’t, well, start training your body to like it. Don’t try an off-brand product once and give up on it. Wean yourself into trying it for a couple of weeks. Chances are you’ll get used to it. The body gets used to certain foods and food brands and, in a way, grows dependent of them. Sometimes it takes a while for you to break habit from it (see any dieting 101 book that doesn’t guarantee that you’ll “Lose Weight Fast!” and it’ll probably say the exact same thing). The first few days (or weeks) of eating food brands you’re not used to may be tough on your body, but over time your body adapts. I think this is a pretty important thing to keep in mind: Humans adapt.

5. Drink cheaper booze (or no booze at all). You know why Budweiser is labeled the “King of Beers?” It’s not because of the taste (God help them). It’s because it’s one of the few brewery companies that survived the Prohibition (Stroh’s being another one, although they survived by making ice cream). That, and surviving the Depression. Cheaper alcohol is easier to swallow while considering the sorrows of unemployment. Yes, microbreweries are great, but we’ve become spoiled with them. There’s at least one in every state, sometimes several in one city alone. Over the next few months they may cut back production or disappear completely, but cheap beer will likely continue to be around. Don’t go for malt liquor, but at least give Pabst Blue Ribbon, Hamm’s, Stroh’s, or Schlitz a second chance. Keep in mind, though, that this isn’t like off-brand foods. There’s going to be an obvious difference in taste. But a 30 pack of Hamm’s for $10 versus a six pack of Oberon for $8? Save the microbreweries—and high end wines and liquor—for the very special occasions, like wedding anniversaries, or Saturdays.  Just pretend your in high school or college again. You’ll get used to the taste of warm vinegar and piss water. Guarantee.

6. Read basically anything by Dickens. If you want to be more patriotic, then Steinbeck (The Grapes of Wrath, Of Mice and Men, East of Eden, and so on). Don’t believe in buying a book? Try a library. They usually let you check things out for free.

Finally, and most importantly,

7. Don’t stop living. Honestly. Killing yourself or your loved ones due to the stress of losing your job or the economy going to hell isn’t the way to go. If it was then everyone would’ve died out during the Great Depression. But people survived that little hiccup on top of the Dust Bowl, so I’m sure we can survive a mere recession. Humans have the ability to do a lot of neat things, and one of them is to survive through tough times. If we keep that in mind, we’ll be fine.

• I tip my hat to Mr. Chesley B. Sullenberger III (aka “Sully”), his co-pilot, Mr. Jeffrey Skiles, and the rest of the flight crew, for successfully landing US Airways Flight 1549 in the Hudson River yesterday with no fatalities and minimal injury. Also, the FDNY, NYPD, EMS, and everyone else who pulled passengers onto ferries and boats and delivered them safely to land. Now…media: it was an amazing story. Miraculous, even. But please, please, please stop trying to scare the bejesus out of everyone who flies by mentioning “bird strike” every five minutes on the air, and by talking about how 1549 could have gone horribly wrong in scenario A: ice on the river; B: crashing on land; C: panicking and landing the plane too fast or awkward of an angle; and so forth. It didn’t go horribly wrong–it went exceedingly well. Let’s not jump to any other horrific conclusions beyond that.

• David Fincher did a good job directing The Curious Case of Benjamin Button. It has a different tone compared to the rest of his films (Alien 3, Se7en, Fight Club, Panic Room, and Zodiac)–innocent, and at brief moments uplifting–but it still maintained a dark and mysterious Fincher feel to it. Not sure about the political weight at the end of the film, though. Maybe it was just me but he (or the screenwriter) might have been stretching it a bit.

• Used bookstores will eventually ruin me. Over the past few weeks I bought about thirty used books, a large portion which came from Snowbound Books in Marquette and Kings Books in Ferndale. It’s grown into a Michigan pastime. And an addiction.

• There was an article in The Flint Journal a couple of days ago that talked about how a few corporate employees in the Big Three are conflicted with gas right now. Apparently since gas prices are low this winter, a few people are wondering if it’s worth it to invest in building hybrids. Here’s my two cents: Don’t fuck around. Build the hybrids and don’t worry about gas prices. They will go back up in the summer. I guarantee it. You start dismissing fuel efficiency again and you’re going to shoot yourself in the foot, get gangrene, and die a horrible death.

• Every time I re-watch Michael Clayton I like it more. I think it’s one that grows on you over time.

• My parents’ van does not have a CD player in it, and the tape player doesn’t like the CD adapter I have. So I’ve listened to a lot of All Things Considered and American Top 40 these past few weeks while traveling to Royal Oak and Grand Rapids and Marquette. I learned two things in my experience: 1) I should listen to All Things Considered more often. Even when the news is horribly depressing, Michele Norris and Melissa Block keep a calm, relaxing tone in their voices, which is a bit better than the explosive-action-packed TV news stations; and 2) I owe Top 40 an apology—either it’s getting a little better, or I’ve grown a little more accepting of it these past few years. But enough with the voice fluctuation effect already. Yes, Lil’ Wayne did it. And then Kanye West did it. But it doesn’t mean everyone and every song has to do it.

• The Sirens of Titan by Kurt Vonnegut was the best novel I read over break.

• Not-looking-for-a-fight-just-curious question: Why is it that US banks can take bailout money and say “We don’t have to tell you a damn thing on how we’re using this money” while the Big Three got yelled at for over two weeks before being demanded to present a written, detailed bailout plan? I don’t think “Because the Big Three can’t be trusted” it not a legitimate answer, considering the condition of our banks in America right now.

• Check out Girl Talk if you haven’t already. He’s an experimental electronica artist who uses sound bits from previously recorded songs from artists–like T.I., Kenny Loggins, The Rolling Stones, Outkast, M.I.A, Lil’ Wayne, and Metallica–splices them together, overlaps them, etc., and creates a whole new song out of it. Kind of like Danger Mouse’s Grey Album (The Beatles’ White Album mixed with Jay-Z’s Black Album) except with continuously shifting artists. His newest album, Feed the Animals, is one continuous song split into 14 tracks. You can listen to it on his website—http://www.myspace.com/girltalk – and can also buy the album there for whatever price you want to pay (like Radiohead did with In Rainbows).

• If Gran Torino is Eastwood’s last starring film, I think it’s a great end to his career. God forbid it is, but I like where Eastwood went with this one. It almost feels apologetic. Or maybe the rules have just changed.

]]> http://jacobpowers.wordpress.com/2009/01/16/bullet-points-the-wave-of-the-future/feed/ 3 jacobppowers http://jacobpowers.wordpress.com/2009/01/05/the-times-were-in-a-poetry-analysis/ http://jacobpowers.wordpress.com/2009/01/05/the-times-were-in-a-poetry-analysis/#comments Mon, 05 Jan 2009 17:02:15 +0000 Jacob http://jacobpowers.wordpress.com/?p=81 ]]> About a month ago, I was billed “Entertainment” for the E(nglish) M(ajors) A(ssocation) Annual Fall Banquet. The theme was “The Great Depression.”  It took me a while to figure out how I was going to make the Great Depression entertaining while somehow applying it to modern times. Luckily, the economy was tanking at the time and the US Government was on the verge of admitting that the nation was in a recession.

The obvious entertainment solution was to compare and contrast the 1930s to 2008. To do so I made a PowerPoint–because nothing says “entertaining” like a PowerPoint presentation–that took various themes from both time periods (i.e., comedy, the auto industry, the Secretary of Treasury, literature, movies, etc.) and did a side-by-side comparison. I think it went well.

I also wrote an essay, the focus of it being on a poem I found that I thought discussed the current current crisis we’re in well. I read it as a literary analysis. And I was very serious when I read it. Because it’s a very serious situation.

Anyway, here’s the essay in its entirety. Enjoy.

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“There is a timeless poem out there that I believe portrays both the 1930s Great Depression and Current Recession that we’re going through. Of course the poem doesn’t literally say that it’s discussing the economy, but using English major literary analysis, I believe I found a pretty good interpretation. One which, I guarantee you, is not BS.

We begin. The opening lines of the poem:

“Hey Girl // Is he everything you wanted in a man?”

Here, the poet uses characters to portray a female/male relationship. This relationship symbolically explains the economy and its subsequent downfall/crisis. “Hey Girl” should be read as “Hey Economy.” And “Is he everything you wanted in a man” should be read “Is the crisis everything you wanted in a crisis?”

The next line of the poem is, “You know I gave you the world.”

Here we’re introduced to a new character—“I”.

“I” equals the common man as an investor. Perhaps someone engaging in insider trading. Perhaps someone who fudged numbers a bit to make profits that weren’t there.

Thus, in this line the poet is saying “You know, Economy, I gave you the world.” The last half of this line is literal. The investor does give the economy the entire world. He or she lets it run rampant. No barriers. Of course, this is a poker chip thrown into the Game of Chance. When you give something like the economy power over everything, it’s not long until the economy makes the “I” its bitch.

Knowing now what characters represent what symbols, the poem is pretty straightforward from here.

“You had me in the palm of your hand
So why your love went away
I just can’t seem to understand
Thought it was me and you, baby (baby)
Me and you until the end
But I guess I was wrong”

The poet is again writing from a common man investor persona. This investor-man feels betrayed. He’s put so much into his relationship with the economy and it all seems to come back to bite him in the butt. Naturally, he’s a little upset with this, as shown in the next two stanzas of the poem.

“Don’t wanna think about it (uh)
Don’t wanna talk about it (uh)
I’m just so sick about it
I can’t believe it’s ending this way
Just so confused about it (uh)
Feeling the blues about it (yeah)
I just can’t do without ya
Tell me is this fair

Is the way it’s really going down?
Is this how we say goodbye?
Shoulda known better when you came around
That you were gonna make me cry
It’s breaking my heart to watch you run around
Cause I know that you’re living a lie
But that’s ok, baby, cause in time you will find”

I pause here with the reading to discuss the final line of this section of the poem, because it’s perhaps the most important line in the entire epic piece. Pay attention. I quote,

“What goes around, goes around, goes around, comes all the way back around.”

This final statement has been disputed by scholars for quite some time. Some believe that it is a warning to the reader of the economy’s moodiness. It crashed once and it will, of course, crash again. It happened in the 20s and multiple recessions throughout the years have followed, including our most recent in 2008.

Other scholars, however, feel that the poet isn’t warning the reader of the economy’s sporadic moods. Instead, some believe that the poet is sending out a warning message to the economy itself. You see, what goes around, comes all the way back around. These final words, “comes all the way back around” sheds a grain of hope into the fallen man. It is with this, then, that the poet is simply saying “Hey. Economy. You may have me by the cojones now, but someday you’ll lose your grip, and I’ll be just dandy.” We will rebound. We will prevail.

The poet did write music along with his epic poem. Another fellow scholar, a gentleman named Timbaland, was said to put some “mean beats in that dope shit.” Unfortunately records of these original “mean beats” have been lost. However, I do have an acoustic interpretation of the music that goes along with the poem, which I would like to play for you now. Of course, I will not sing the song, because singing it would simply be a slap to the poets face.”

I then proceeded to play “What Goes Around (Comes Around)” by Justin Timberlake on the piano, making sure to emphasize the line “What goes around, goes around, goes around, comes all the way back around.” Consequently, I think I made my point clear.

“To me, if the piece of music hits a right note in harmony to what’s happening on the screen–whether that ‘happening’ is a look, a move, or a landscape in general–it burns the memory of that scene in my mind forever.”

In short, I enjoy film music. It’s a genre that I can listen to repeatedly without really growing tired of it. In fact, over the past month and a half I think I’ve listened to the Road to Perdition and Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford soundtracks more than anything else on my computer. It’s something I can listen to intently but it’s also something I can put on in the background without thinking too much about it. They don’t demand my complete attention, but I can give them my complete attention if I want. Which I suppose is the point of them anyway: background music that can be brought to the foreground if it really has a strong effect on you.

Anyway, I’d like to post about a different type of soundtrack today. One that’s been a part of my life for a long time (though I admit died a bit when I got to college). One that I spent countless hours with sitting in front of a TV. One that, even though it may have been just a few blips of 8-bit wonder, got me excited or nervous or angry or happy (sometimes all at once). One that, like film, can burn memories of a scene in my mind forever. I’m talking, of course, about videogame music.

Nerd!

Here’s the thing: when I listen to a specific song from a videogame, nostalgia overcomes me. Naturally I’m not alone with this feeling. Just look at Youtube and you’ll find countless posts of old videogame music which, as comments state, bring back all the memories of sitting in front of a TV, trying to save a world that doesn’t even exist.

There’s naturally the big hitters like the Super Mario Bros. theme, which everyone seems to know, regardless as to whether or not they’ve ever played any Mario game. But there’s also the smaller, less known scores from videogames that bring me back to my childhood too. So. For my nerdish pleasure (and hopefully yours too), here are a few with comments (just click on the title to listen to the score):

Dr. Wily’s Stage One – Mega Man II – Nintendo Entertainment System

I replayed this game about a year ago and cannot believe that such a song could come from the 8-bit Nintendo system. I mean, people are still learning this today to play on electric guitar or piano.

World Theme – Pitfall II – Atari 2600

I remember playing this with my Dad a lot. I don’t think we ever got close to finishing the game.

Gangplank Galleon – Donkey Kong Country - SNES

Final Boss song. I remember how the beginning of this song made me think “This guy is going to be a pushover.” Then around 25 seconds the song completely changes, which is about the time that I realized that this guy wasn’t going to be as easy as originally thought.

Music C – Tetris – NES

You can choose from three songs to listen to while playing Tetris. This was my favorite one. Dad used to play this too, but he had a lot more patience than I did. I think he beat it on the hardest setting, 9.5, something that I couldn’t do until my sophomore year of college. (To clarify, I did not play Tetris for 19 years-I started picking it up again during finals week while in college because it was a nice stress reliever).

Simon’s Theme – Castlevania IV – Super Nintendo Entertainment System

What I remember most about this song is the section from 1:07 to 1:15. I used to actually take my time in this stage so that I could hear those eight seconds again (since all videogame music eventually loops, as you’ve probably noticed by now if you’ve been listening to other ones).

Song of Storms – Legend of Zelda: Ocarina of Time - Nintendo 64

I believe the Zelda franchise has one of the best soundtracks in videogame history (aside from Final Fantasy and several other role-playing games). The franchise’s library is vast and there are so many songs that are memorable-i.e., Overworld Theme-that it’s really hard for me to choose just one to share.

Scars of Time – Chrono Cross - PlayStation

Chrono Cross is the sequel to one of my favorite games of all time, Chrono Trigger. This song is the opening theme to the game. A lot of time was put into composing this song. I think every second of it was worth it.

Moon Theme – Ducktales - NES

This was a damn good TV show. It actually had ½ hour plots that were well written (for a kid’s show). This was probably my favorite theme in the game. It felt so futuristic, like it was the year 2000.

To Zanarkand – Final Fantasy X - PlayStation 2

This is the opening music to the game. I remember the song made me feel like I already lost (probably because in the opening scene you’re hero is standing in a wasteland and says “Listen to my story. This may be our last chance.”

Hymn of the Fayth – Final Fantasy X – PlayStation 2

This song is only 43 seconds long, but it has a hell of a punch to it. As simple as it was, it stuck in my mind permanently afterwards. This could also be due to the fact that I played this game in its entirety in one week when I first moved into Paris Earth (there was one 16 hour play day in there). So I kind of breathed this game for a while. And scared some new roommates in the process.

Fighting – Final Fantasy VII – PlayStation

From :55 seconds to 1:11. Again, one of those small segments in the song that stuck in my memory for years afterwards.

Last Day – Zelda 64: Majora’s Mask – Nintendo 64

Last Day is Day 3 in this Zelda Game, where this massive comet is hovering over the entire world. I just remember it being really good apocalyptic music. It’s not so much epic as it is damning. It kind of makes you kind of feel hopeless.

Yearnings of the Wind (600 A.D.) - Chrono Trigger – SNES

Just one of my favorite themes of all time. You should hear it on piano (click here).

Or on euphonium (click here).

Or beer bottles, for that matter (here).

It’s just a damn good song.

That’s it for now. Yes, this was a nerdy post. But hell, type in any of these songs on Youtube. You’ll find thousands of videos of fans recreating the pieces, replaying the pieces, reminiscing about the pieces, reliving the pieces.

There’s got to be power in that, right?

God knows what they were thinking.

God knows if they were thinking at all.

Whether their minds were thought-filled or thought-less, they stared out into the fast moving river with reason, purpose. I hope they were thinking of the smaller things that didn’t seem to matter before, but feel so important now.

.

Listen.

Would you rather remember the first time you felt sand between your toes;

or would you rather remember filling out a job application form?

Would you rather remember the smell a cedar forest in the fall;

or would you rather remember that deadline you had to meet ten years ago?

.

You know when people say you’re in your own world? Zoned out. Staring off into space. Not with it. Not with us. What they mean by all of this is that, at that moment in time, they cannot possibly get inside your mind, that they cannot possibly see what you see, understand what you understand, feel what you feel.

So. I ask. What’s the problem with being in your own world?

.

Two men near the Boise River. This river is their own.

I’ve been away for a while. But not without reason (or excuse). To be short, I saw a pattern occurring in many of my recent posts-that of complaint. Whining. Being Eeyore.

From my first post way back in January of 2007, a simpler time:

“To be honest, it has been a turn off to write [an online journal] because of the millions of journals out there that do one of three things: 1) Go on a day by day account on what the writer did (i.e., ate breakfast, went shopping, ate lunch, watched a movie, and so forth), 2) the writer complaining almost constantly about how unfair life is and how there seems to be no end to it, and 3) the writer being euphoric with life, claiming that everything is absolutely perfect and there’s not a thing that should change. Of course, 3 often succumbs to 2 when 1 finally throws a curveball.”

Now. Number 2 was the one giving my trouble. Because honestly when you’re at a loss of what to write about you often turn to personal drama. It’s easy to find. It’s easy to write about. It feels good to get things off your chest. But over time it can become really easy to get caught in a downward spiral-drama, then melodrama, then complaining at every single opportunity that arises, and then finally getting to the point of writing one-line blogs. And I don’t like one-line blogs-

“Everything I touch turns to shit.” Feeling: Sad.

“Sometimes I think the world is a giant play where all of the characters are trying to tear me down.” Feeling: Bored.

“People are stupid.” Feeling: Angry.

And so on. And so on. And so on.

These aren’t helpful. Nor are they very fun to read after a while, especially if the journal becomes a one-note song-”Life sucks. Life sucks. Life sucks. Life sucks. Life sucks.”  Blah blah blah. If I want to experience drama I’ll watch MTV. If I want to read one-line posts, I’ll look at Twitter .

But I’m getting ahead of myself here. Let me be clear: writing about ones personal problems is not a problem. In fact all of my friends who keep journals (or did keep journals before retiring-Dave Loven, come back!) often discuss things that they’re going through, and that’s perfectly fine. Because they don’t only address the problem and seek out sympathy from readers. They find possible solutions. They compare their problems with others problems. They post one day about the issue, then do a follow-up several days later with results/reflection/etc. This is all fine. This works. This is interesting. It shows, from a distance, how we as human beings handle things.

What becomes a problem is when the only thing to write about is how terrible everything always is. That one-note post about how life is so unfair. Because that’s probably not true at all. Especially with people who keep an online journal. I mean, you have to consider that that typical blogger will most likely has a roof over his or her head and that he or she have access to a computer and the internet. And if that person is updating every other day or so, that he or she must not be starving to death. And that even though his or her days are filled with challenges, he or she are at least able to survive just long enough to write about how awful-never good-everything is in life.

We all have drama. We all have problems. But there’s always also hope. And a journal without hope, or without humor or entertainment or a grain of honesty in it, is just plain damning. And who wants to spend their free time reading about damnation?

So here’s my promise to you, reader(s). I’m going to keep things alive here. I’m not only going to write about the bad things going down in Idaho. Nor am I only going to write pieces with humor and no meat. I’ll keep things fresh. I’ll keep things going. And I vow to stay away from that dramatic downward spiral, for the good of both of us.

I thank you for reading. I thank you for being patient with me. Let us start anew.

It’s a weird sensation. It makes everything seem like someone else’s dream, as if I’m not a part of it, as if I can’t interpret it because I wasn’t the one on the front line experiencing it. Did that party happen? Did I really have lunch with this person or that person? What did I actually feel when all that was happening, if anything at all? And if I didn’t feel anything, why was that the case? Did any of it really matter at all?

I’m not trying to be existential here. Or postmodern, for that matter.

I’m just trying to figure out what’s happened to me recently that makes it seem like I’m no longer feeling a part of my own life. As if everything has become mechanical. Cold. Unmoving.

I mean it isn’t like I want to embrace all feelings and emotions all the time, either. I’m not pursuing the emotional highs I get from making oatmeal or checking my email. I know that there are things in my life, in all of our lives, which become patterns we no longer think about. Brushing our teeth. Locking or unlocking a door. Answering the phone. And so on.

But does this mechanical nature–this sensation of floating on the outside, of watching a human being do everything like clockwork–have to happen with everything?

Like reading, for example?

I’ve read three novels this summer so far: Empire Falls by Richard Russo, Player Piano by Kurt Vonnegut, and All the Pretty Horses by Cormac McCarthy. I’m half way through A Farewell to Arms by Ernest Hemingway.

None of these novels have blown me away. I haven’t felt for any of the characters. Nor have I really set any of the books down after a chapter and was just floored with questions, thoughts, feelings. I go from one chapter to the next chapter to the next without really even thinking. And when I get to the end, I say “That was good.”

Because they are all good books. They’re well written. There are some great lines and descriptions in them. The language is strong and detailed. The authors painstakingly set up a world in each novel that can be (or is) mirrored to our own world, our own lives, and says something about it.

By all accounts I should feel something when I’ve put each book down. But I don’t. I just say, “That was good.” And move on to the next one. Mechanical.

It’s as if I hadn’t read the book at all. As if I glazed over it and got to the end without ever being in sync with the things happening in these stories. And that the actual act of reading was also simply mechanical too. Sit down. Read sentence. Read next sentence. And so on. Don’t pause to think about the sentence or what the writer is trying to convey. Simply move forward. Again. Again. Again.

It’s all mechanical. As if it’s necessary to do-be it read, watch, listen, see, and so forth-but not necessary to feel.

I’d like to come back. To not float anymore. To get that feeling of having a new day ahead of me, an old one behind. Concrete. Being here. Now. Feel for the things I experience. Feel that I am indeed standing in my own body.

If none of this makes sense–as it probably won’t because I’m trying to still figure it out myself–then I want to point you to this short story. It’s called “Bullet in the Brain” by Tobias Woolf. It is one of my favorite stories, and I think it does a pretty damn good job of explaining-in story form-what I’m trying to get at. Read it for yourself. It’s pretty straightforward and it’s only four pages long.

(Click here to read the story. Do it. You know you want to.)

And let me be very, very clear. Do not take the story as literal. That is, this post is not a cry for help. I am not intending on being a smartass to anyone with a gun anytime soon. Besides, that’s not the point of the story. The point, as you will see, is that the character lost something-feeling/emotion-and it is only after it is too late that it all comes rushing back to him.

I find it rather interesting that Woolf wrote a short story that runs in a similar vein with what I’m trying to express. It makes me wonder if, in the end, most people become numb in life. Not comfortably, either. Just numb. Without feeling.

And, more importantly, whether or not there’s a way to get that feeling back.

When I was younger, I was the kid who played videogames. This was before everyone played videogames. Before Wii or X-Box or even PlayStation. This was when it was still a nerd thing to do. Sure, the cool kids played them. So did girls. But they didn’t dare mention it out in the public. It was a private thing until about the time the James Bond game, Goldeneye, came out on the Nintendo 64, when it was suddenly okay to admit that you enjoyed playing videogames without fear of getting teased for it.

Of course it’s completely different nowadays. If you don’t play-or at least own-a videogame in 2008, something is wrong with you. This includes anyone from age 5 to age 30. It’s as odd as not owning a TV, as marginalizing as not owning an MP3 player of some sort.

Anyway, throughout elementary school, middle school, and the first half of high school, I was a videogame player. And that was basically what I was known as, so much so that when friends came over it was what we were expected to do, even near the end of my obsessive gaming years when I grew tired of it and was more interested in other mediums like film, music, and Kurt Vonnegut.

I broke free from that caricature of myself by the time high school ended and I began to have more lines on my life description besides “Plays videogames obsessively.” Lines such as “enjoys American Beauty a bit too much,” “mentions Philip Glass on a daily basis,” “Plays music from Amelie on the piano every time he passes a piano,” and “excessively belts out Simpsons quotes” (or, more recently, Six Feet Under quotes).

And, least we forget, the point of this post-“Completely enamored with Michigan.”

Anyone who knows me-including those in Idaho-know that I will talk about industrialization and deindustrialization (exemplified through the Big 3), institutionalization and deinstitutionalization (via state mental hospitals, including Lapeer’s Oakdale Center), the Great Lakes, the Upper Peninsula, Detroit, Flint, Grand Rapids, John Harvey Kellogg and his crazy enema experiments at the Battle Creek Sanitarium (not to mention, of course, the co-creator of corn flakes), James Strang and his plans for the Mormon Kingdom on Beaver Island, race and union riots, organized crime, the lumber/mining/farming industries, the Edmund Fitzgerald, origins of names, the dichotomy of extreme wealth and poverty within miles of one another (i.e., Grosse Pointe and Highland Park), films/books/songs that take place in the state, and on and on and on, excessively. Sometimes, it seems, like everyday. I even try to link whatever Michigan thing I’m taking about with another conversation in progress, but sometimes I don’t pull it off successfully.

Thus, caricature.

Crazy Jake Powers and his Michigan exploitations.

But I’m going to let you in on a little secret: I wasn’t always talking about Michigan.

Prior to taking Michigan History in 2005, I rarely-if ever-talked about my state. It’s not that I was ashamed or indifferent about the characteristics of the Mitten with the Top Hat. I just never found it necessary to talk about. I mean, hell, it’s a state. Who talks about states besides people in government who are required to talk about the State of their State, the media who are required to find something horrifying happening in a state (or multiple states), and local historians whose job it is to make sure that the state history doesn’t just up and disappear from the books? Sure, I loved living in Michigan. But why talk about it?

But something in the past few years clicked in my head where I felt like I needed to express whatever it was I was talking about with examples from my home state. Thus began the downward spiral of making people sigh every time I began a sentence with “Back home…” or “In Michigan…” Like a sick Yakov Smirnoff joke with no punchline.

It’s only in the past few months that I’ve recently become aware about how much I talk about the state. Leave it to other people saying “Where’s that on your hand?” when talking about a specific city, in which I have to point to my palm and say “there,” or “Did you know Jacob’s from Michigan?” or “So what would that mean in Michigan terms?” to make me realize just how much I used my home state as a crutch for all types of conversations. It’s even gotten to the point recently that when I say something about the state that I immediately cringe a little bit.

Because I know I’ve become a broken record.

A caricature.

A two-dimensional figure, comparable to those women you find in the Minneapolis airport, who sport finely knit sweaters with grotesque pictures of cats with sew-on button eyes and poof ball paws, who scream “I am Midwest, eh!”, who only talk of their loveable Fluffins and Whiskers at home-constantly, mind you-whose only sliver of existence is to submit to their pets, and to sacrifice their character and independence for cliché stereotypes. (A little extreme? Maybe. But man, those cat sweaters are creepy).

My point is that I’ve become “the dude who’s a bit too home state crazy.” And this is what I’m essentially known as. Just as I’m known as the guy who loves American Beauty. And Philip Glass’ music.

Is this a bad thing?

Yes.

Because the problem with caricaturization is that you only see the grotesque, exaggerated qualities of said person (or place or thing) and nothing else. It becomes two-dimensional slapstick. Depth is sacrificed for surface-level qualities.

Think about it. When I say, “In Michigan…” or “In American Beauty…” or whatever, eyes begin to roll and the deeper message or point, if there is one, is lost. “Oh, there goes Jacob again, talking about Michigan or that stupid movie again.” Depth no more.

As a result, the more serious feelings or topics of discussion that I may (or may not) have are buried. Who knows what I really mean when I say “I fear falling into a job or relationship or lifestyle that makes me miserable, but I also fear giving it up because I may never be able to ever attain anything better again?” I mean, all I ever talk about is the damn Ford Motor Company.

Maybe, like my videogame years, all this talk of Michigan will eventually fade away, never to be talked about again unless someone asks where I’m from. Maybe I’m even at the end of the line of talking about the state as I write this post. Maybe, when I finally return to the state in late July for a month, I will actually have something to say about myself rather than masking who I am with dates that you’ll probably forget, events that’ll eventually grow fuzzy, and statistics that express nothing other than the fact that yes, Michigan does indeed exist.

People grow tired. And I grow tired of making people tired.