Posts
Authoritarianism and group-think are two of the biggest obstacles to justice and human compassion, today.
Here's a great example of mob mentality fueled by the dangerously unstable and possibly syphilitic minds at Fox.
(found at huffpo)
Yeah. Fuck that.
I just watched a somewhat convincing TED talk on games as a positive force in the world (http://www.ted.com/talks/jane_mcgonigal_gaming_can_make_a_better_world.html) and now want to write a game about the morality and mob mentality vs. cooperation. Alas I have no computer skillz. Games seem the ideal platform for such a tale, since it's all about the decisions a person has the courage to make in the face of everyone else saying they're wrong: if someone reads a mob-mentality story, it's easier to say, "I wouldn't react that way if *I* were there." Then, when an actual situation arises, they just go along with the group.
The same is true for games, but if someone is actually making the decisions, the lesson is much more influential.
Also, I like games.
Some Stuff I've Learned
Some Stuff I've Learned:
Don't take yourself too seriously is good advice. But there's a reason the 'too' is there. If you don't take yourself seriously, no one else will either and all your hard work will just be you treading water.
You don't need anybody's permission to do things, especially not be an artist. If anyone tells you not to make art or not to be you, you tell them to go fuck themselves as part of Newton's First Law of Telling Small-Minded Douchebags What's What. For every action there is an equal and opposite reaction: in this case, someone telling you to restrict your art to their tastes is answered by a sturdy and aloft middle finger.
One of the things you need no permission for is taking yourself seriously. Take OkGo, a band whose fame came from just doing some interesting art and putting it up themselves. They didn't have anyone in "the biz's" approval, they just did it. And when they got said biz person's greenlight (signing to EMI's record label), their contract forbade them from making weird videos and putting them online at youtube-- which is exactly why they were so beloved in the first place. They didn't seek permission and they did something cool; they got permission and couldn't do the cool things anymore.
(OkGo recently stepped out of their contract with EMI, to form their own label).
Knowledgeable people always have a specific area or knowledge. If they're on the business end of the spectrum, then they will tailor how they respond towards the end of making money. Even if a knowledgeable person is simply trying to assist you, and has nothing but the most altruistic intentions, they will tailor their responses so that they can be maximally helpful, which will generally limit the solutions they advise.
All this means is that you have to help yourself, and that in a sense, everyone is an amateur. Some amateurs are more well versed than others in specific areas, but everyone without exception is just pawing around in the dark, trying to find a path that'll work for them too.
Don't seek approval; just go for it.
Don't take yourself too seriously is good advice. But there's a reason the 'too' is there. If you don't take yourself seriously, no one else will either and all your hard work will just be you treading water.
You don't need anybody's permission to do things, especially not be an artist. If anyone tells you not to make art or not to be you, you tell them to go fuck themselves as part of Newton's First Law of Telling Small-Minded Douchebags What's What. For every action there is an equal and opposite reaction: in this case, someone telling you to restrict your art to their tastes is answered by a sturdy and aloft middle finger.
One of the things you need no permission for is taking yourself seriously. Take OkGo, a band whose fame came from just doing some interesting art and putting it up themselves. They didn't have anyone in "the biz's" approval, they just did it. And when they got said biz person's greenlight (signing to EMI's record label), their contract forbade them from making weird videos and putting them online at youtube-- which is exactly why they were so beloved in the first place. They didn't seek permission and they did something cool; they got permission and couldn't do the cool things anymore.
(OkGo recently stepped out of their contract with EMI, to form their own label).
Knowledgeable people always have a specific area or knowledge. If they're on the business end of the spectrum, then they will tailor how they respond towards the end of making money. Even if a knowledgeable person is simply trying to assist you, and has nothing but the most altruistic intentions, they will tailor their responses so that they can be maximally helpful, which will generally limit the solutions they advise.
All this means is that you have to help yourself, and that in a sense, everyone is an amateur. Some amateurs are more well versed than others in specific areas, but everyone without exception is just pawing around in the dark, trying to find a path that'll work for them too.
Don't seek approval; just go for it.
Buddha Lite (Now with 0g of substance!)
It's everything a tourist trap needs. It's full of beautiful ornate stuff, and spectacle, and bursting with tradition, and the implication of purpose.
Old robed men drone in languages the tourists don't understand, into a microphone hooked up to speakers strategically designed to resonate. Gilt dragons wind around the columns, gripping perfect orb light fixtures, ripped from streetlamps somewhere. You wear pink traditional clothes that look, in the dying light, like pajamas for an enlightenment-themed slumber party.
That's what it is, after all. A slumber party for you and 39 strangers. Two days of photo-opping-- "Hey! Look! I'm doing what real monks do! I'm bowing when he bangs a block of wood! I'm sitting cross-legged and rigid through the entire meal! THIS WILL MAKE FOR ONE AWESOME FACEBOOK PROFILE PIC! *click!*"
It's the tradeoff. The monks work with the slimeball from the tourism board who point-blank tells them he's using them for his numbers. They have to babysit 40-odd foreigners with cameras and a keen eye for "What's neat." They pass out pamphlets that bury their lives and their temple in the past as "a living museum." And in exchange, they get to keep their temple. They get to eat well and add new wings to their buildings anad never worry about Lotte Co. Inc. weaseling their land out from under them.
It all feels familiar: standing and bowing to the golden pantheonic paintings that stretch to the stratosphere ceiling. Listening to old robed men speak words I don't understand. It's just like every other church I've been in (only this time, ASIAN THEMED!) Knowing that I'm supposed to be feeling something spiritual, something transcendent, tethering me to God-- but I don't.
I just spot the calculations; the eight thousand tiny decisions to sell you on an idea: You are in the presence of divinity. The robes-- there's no real REASON for them, not in terms of the religion-- but they do sell us on tradition. The multi-tiered corners-up architecture-- sure it's a symbol of... whatever; but it also looks super-neat and HEY! We should go THERE. And look at the bell and that huge drum, and how about all those tiny Buddha statues behind the glass cases. All that detail work, they MUST be on to something.
They weren't designed to snag tourists and make money. They were designed to snag non-believers and maybe hook them in long enough to get to some actual philosophical or spiritual case. The robes aren't an integral part of the faith, they're a social tool-- at first, they were not that much more outlandish than the other garb of the times, but just a new layer onto the symbolism of a fledgling religion. But that layer froze, and time moved on. Styles adapted, but not the monk-robes. Those stayed the same. They are not for the monks-- a way of bringing them closer to the divine. They are for us-- a way of separating them from the rest of us: "Why's that guy dress the way he does? Oh, he's devoutly Buddhist? Oh, well I'm picking up on so many social cues right now that influence my superficial perception of him and Buddhism."
And that's what this whole experience was: We weekend Buddhists only get the trial version, with ads made of grave men and big echoey rooms, and the implication of grand, arcane wisdom.
Old robed men drone in languages the tourists don't understand, into a microphone hooked up to speakers strategically designed to resonate. Gilt dragons wind around the columns, gripping perfect orb light fixtures, ripped from streetlamps somewhere. You wear pink traditional clothes that look, in the dying light, like pajamas for an enlightenment-themed slumber party.
That's what it is, after all. A slumber party for you and 39 strangers. Two days of photo-opping-- "Hey! Look! I'm doing what real monks do! I'm bowing when he bangs a block of wood! I'm sitting cross-legged and rigid through the entire meal! THIS WILL MAKE FOR ONE AWESOME FACEBOOK PROFILE PIC! *click!*"
It's the tradeoff. The monks work with the slimeball from the tourism board who point-blank tells them he's using them for his numbers. They have to babysit 40-odd foreigners with cameras and a keen eye for "What's neat." They pass out pamphlets that bury their lives and their temple in the past as "a living museum." And in exchange, they get to keep their temple. They get to eat well and add new wings to their buildings anad never worry about Lotte Co. Inc. weaseling their land out from under them.
It all feels familiar: standing and bowing to the golden pantheonic paintings that stretch to the stratosphere ceiling. Listening to old robed men speak words I don't understand. It's just like every other church I've been in (only this time, ASIAN THEMED!) Knowing that I'm supposed to be feeling something spiritual, something transcendent, tethering me to God-- but I don't.
I just spot the calculations; the eight thousand tiny decisions to sell you on an idea: You are in the presence of divinity. The robes-- there's no real REASON for them, not in terms of the religion-- but they do sell us on tradition. The multi-tiered corners-up architecture-- sure it's a symbol of... whatever; but it also looks super-neat and HEY! We should go THERE. And look at the bell and that huge drum, and how about all those tiny Buddha statues behind the glass cases. All that detail work, they MUST be on to something.
They weren't designed to snag tourists and make money. They were designed to snag non-believers and maybe hook them in long enough to get to some actual philosophical or spiritual case. The robes aren't an integral part of the faith, they're a social tool-- at first, they were not that much more outlandish than the other garb of the times, but just a new layer onto the symbolism of a fledgling religion. But that layer froze, and time moved on. Styles adapted, but not the monk-robes. Those stayed the same. They are not for the monks-- a way of bringing them closer to the divine. They are for us-- a way of separating them from the rest of us: "Why's that guy dress the way he does? Oh, he's devoutly Buddhist? Oh, well I'm picking up on so many social cues right now that influence my superficial perception of him and Buddhism."
And that's what this whole experience was: We weekend Buddhists only get the trial version, with ads made of grave men and big echoey rooms, and the implication of grand, arcane wisdom.
My student
I wanted to blog this before I forgot all the weird little details.
So I have this student. He roams around the school, and my class, looking perpetually pissed off. His eyebrows are furrowed, he doesn't smile, he hates talking to the other students. His hair is buzzed-short. He never takes his coat off in class, and he doesn't participate (he didn't even want to go trick-or-treating, so my coteacher sat in the classroom with him).
The other teachers talk about him as a problem student. The other students avoid him.
But he's a good kid. He loves to come into the classroom when I'm lesson planning, and listen to my mp3 player. He tries to fit the wrap-around earphone on the wrong ear, every day, stands around and pokes at my player for 10-15 seconds, and then runs off.
Yesterday, he came in with another one of my students. I showed them my new player, and he grabbed the earphones off my desk and slapped them onto the wrong ears. The song turned over from the indie music it was playing, and into Take the Power Back by Rage Against the Machines (courtesy of KP). The kid stopped. His head started bobbing, little hands went up around the earphones, and he vibed until his friend got bored and pulled him away.
Today, he came in alone. He pulled the headphones on, and I showed him how to change songs (yay good UI), and off he went. He listened to The Kill by 30 Seconds to Mars, and I showed him where the player displayed the title and artist; he practiced writing it on the board.
It's just so terminally stupid how this kid is labeled a 'bad' kid by the other teachers and the other students. He's not bad. He's an audiophile.
So I have this student. He roams around the school, and my class, looking perpetually pissed off. His eyebrows are furrowed, he doesn't smile, he hates talking to the other students. His hair is buzzed-short. He never takes his coat off in class, and he doesn't participate (he didn't even want to go trick-or-treating, so my coteacher sat in the classroom with him).
The other teachers talk about him as a problem student. The other students avoid him.
But he's a good kid. He loves to come into the classroom when I'm lesson planning, and listen to my mp3 player. He tries to fit the wrap-around earphone on the wrong ear, every day, stands around and pokes at my player for 10-15 seconds, and then runs off.
Yesterday, he came in with another one of my students. I showed them my new player, and he grabbed the earphones off my desk and slapped them onto the wrong ears. The song turned over from the indie music it was playing, and into Take the Power Back by Rage Against the Machines (courtesy of KP). The kid stopped. His head started bobbing, little hands went up around the earphones, and he vibed until his friend got bored and pulled him away.
Today, he came in alone. He pulled the headphones on, and I showed him how to change songs (yay good UI), and off he went. He listened to The Kill by 30 Seconds to Mars, and I showed him where the player displayed the title and artist; he practiced writing it on the board.
It's just so terminally stupid how this kid is labeled a 'bad' kid by the other teachers and the other students. He's not bad. He's an audiophile.
