My Other Point

I have a friend who is ultra-conservative politically, and one day when we were talking he told me that the difference between conservatives and liberals are that conservatives are realists, while liberals are idealists: liberals want to enact plans that would work in an ideal world, while conservatives see that they would fail in the real world and act accordingly.

I'm pretty moderate. Socially more liberal, I guess. I blame college. Haha. Though according to my friend, blaming others and not taking responsibility is also a liberal attitude...but anyway, my point is, I decided today that I was totally designed for utopia. Or a vacuum.

In 20th Century American Foreign Politics today, the topic was liberal internationalism. We talked a lot about World War I, Woodrow Wilson, the Bolsheviks' October revolution, and the rise of Lenin. We spent a lot of time on Wilson's Fourteen Points, reviewing each of them, why we thought he thought they would lead to a perfectly peaceful world, and why Lenin shot them down. Most people said that they thought that the Fourteen Points weren't bad - just not realistic. In a perfect world, they would work - they worked on paper; just, they probably wouldn't in practice.

Some people are incredibly well equipped to succeed in the real world. They have the kind of mindset it takes to survive in the competitive society we live in. They're positive yet realistic; cynical yet happy. Then there are the people like me who were just made to live in a perfect world. The idealists who are capable of accepting the Way Things Are, and who can survive perfectly well in the real world - they're just forever frustrated that the Way Things Are isn't the Way Things Should Be.

That was fairly simple and kind of banal but oh well.

And now the marvelous Chris Ayer:

I don't mind being alone
I don't mind seeing that I'm here on my own
It's the choice that I've chosen
And maybe we're all opening our eyes
To wisemen inside
Who give answers to questions
And make life a lesson
In hoping to the point of denial...

I don't mind being scared
Don't mind seeing that I'm under-prepared
For the life that I've chosen
And the way that it's going
Shows that I ought to give into my thoughts
The philosopher's prayer
Please show me I'm here
So I can be okay to go

All the way to the earth from the sky
Newly made today so I sink when I fly
It's in the way that I walk crooked lines
Gaining strength all the time
And by the ocean I'm told that we'll all be the same
A thousand pieces of an ocean, arriving and changing
We'll wait for the day when we'll evaporate

Evaporate...
We'll change...
Someday.

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Now playing: Chris Ayer - Evaporate

The Russian Spirit

If there's one thing I love about my courses here, it's how interdisciplinary they are. Half the stuff I learn in one class ends up being relevant in another one. It gets redundant and frustrating some times, but overall, it makes it more interesting.

Like last year. So much of the stuff my crazy liberal Social Issues professor brought up was explored (more rationally and less extremely) in my Intro to International Studies the next semester. Some random topics from my Intro to American Studies class came back in my Immigration to America class, and things from there are coming back in my 20th Century American Foreign Policy class now. As are bits about Russian culture from my Literature and Film class. And in that class, stories from my freshman seminar last year (though we didn't do much of anything there) are being used again, and we're also watching a film that relates to my Technology and Culture in America class. And stuff I learned from the Smiths comes back in everything.

Anyway, in Literature and Film the other day, we watched this Russian film called The Barber of Siberia. It was fantastic, mostly. There was one specific part about the ending that I hated, but other than that, it was great. Compelling plot, good acting, sufficient cinematography and technical stuff. 3 hours long, but you don't even notice. It's the story of this American woman, Jane, who goes to Russia in 1885 to help her father, an inventor who's created a machine called "The Barber of Siberia" that will chop down trees at an amazing rate. He needs the Tsar's help to get the funding to complete it, and Jane is to help him get a meeting with the Tsar by going through one of the generals, Radlov, who happens to be the head of the military academy in Moscow. While there, one of the young cadets, Tolstoy (no relation to the writer) falls in love with her. Most of the movie is about the destructive nature of his love for and relationship with Jane, highlighting the cultural differences between the American woman and all the Russians she meets. It balances comedy, drama, and romance, with a bit of tragedy thrown in. It's really great. Definitely see it if you can ever get your hands on a copy; it's kind of hard to find it with English subtitles, apparently.

We talked about it in class today. I mentioned how the film rather subtly comments upon the cultural differences all throughout the film. At one point, the week before Lent begins, Jane is at a carnival celebrating; at the week's end, it will be a day of forgiveness - everyone, full of good will, shall beg everyone else's pardon. She notes how extreme the Russians are: at the carnival, she witnesses a giant fistfight, where dozens of men are beating each other up, knowing that at the end of the week they will all forgive each other. She says how they can't do anything in a small way: it's always one extreme or another; all or nothing. Though she observes this in retrospect, (spoiler alert! haha) it's her lack of understanding just how much this notion pervades the Russian spirit that leads to her downfall - as well as everyone else's.

A lot of the other people in class hated her for ruining other people's lives - for not giving up her business transaction. I didn't like her for it, but I understood why she did it - or, I suppose, the writer had her do it. My Russian professor said the same thing - that she understands her, and therefore doesn't hate her. We also talked, though, about how Jane is intended to be a symbol of Western culture, and a criticism of it, too. I found it really interesting that everyone hated the person that symbolized the American state of mind, and everyone loved the young, naive Russian cadet.

When I noted Jane's observation of the Russian tendency to go to extremes, Professor Ivushkina told us that this is very true, that that's how things in her country are. She pointed out, every time there's a revolution, their government is completely eradicated and they start over from scratch - they can't do anything partially, or half-heartedly. This idea is also common throughout Russian literature, she told us.

She also said, but not condescendingly, that there's no way that we can fully understand the Russian spirit - that passion, the intensity that drives them, or the camaraderie that is still incredibly important to them in a way that has gone out of vogue in America. There, still, friends put everyone else before themselves; and they're just very warm people in general. My other professor, who visited Russia for the first time in 25 years last summer, told us how she experienced this first hand - she would meet people on the streets, and start talking to them, and after only a few minutes, they would be asking her what she's passionate about, what is important to her, and other questions that people here rarely ask those close to them, let alone people they've just met. Here, she said, people will ask you what you do - not what you love, what's important to you.

Not everyone there is like that, of course, but it was still interesting. It's a shame people here aren't more like that. At least, in that they talk about that stuff. I think I'd go crazy if everyone I knew always went to extremes like the people in that movie did. In a way, though, it was beautiful. In a way, it was right.

I'll get to my other point later.

"Ideologies separate us. Dreams and anguish bring us together."

So today I had to read an excerpt of Russia: A History. I bet you can guess how much I enjoyed that. Once I woke from my coma-like stupor, I processed the fact that most of the...one page...on literature and arts in pre-WWI Russia discussed how they were a departure from the civic-minded stuff of tradition and a move towards modernism. My assignment was to write a "reaction paper" on this excerpt (for my Lit and Film class...go figure) and find parallels and contrasts between the two. The two what, I have no idea. So I started skimming a Wikipedia article on modernist literature, which cites "disillusionment" as one of its major thematic characteristic. This made me think of two things.

1) When Sam and I studied for the APUSH exam with the SparkNotes study cards, we decided that if there was a question on the exam that was about the early 20th century and we didn't know the answer, when in doubt, the answer was "disillusionment," because the word came up on every other card. It was ridiculous.

2) I feel like people like to use the word "disillusioned" with the word "alienated." If you're disillusioned, the general consensus probably is that you're alienated, too. So disillusionment and alienation were big modernist themes. Discontentedness was so common, it might as well have been trendy. Everyone felt society was fragmented and disconnected and everyone was trying to make sense of the whirlwind world of progress and industry and change. And so on and so forth.

Really, though, it's not uncommon for people to feel alienated from others and disillusioned with the world and socially isolated from everyone else and so on and so forth. But why is that? It seems like that shouldn't be a problem at all.

"Everyone is less mysterious than they think they are."
- Claire, Elizabethtown

At the core, everyone is human. Everyone shares the same basic foundation. People tend to go around thinking they're unlike everyone else, they don't fit in, etc. (guilty...) - even when they do. Everyone thinks that no one "gets" them, that no one understands or can understand. Really, we have no excuse for that. We all share the deep, innate connection of existing together as humans - it's so deeply buried, that we forget it exists. What is it about us that keeps us so guarded, that makes us completely disregard the common ties we have with everyone else? And what is it that makes us so afraid when we find "kindred spirits," people with whom we connect? Maybe that's just it: fear.

Uh, yeah, those last two questions don't really have anything to do with each other; I'm not really sure how I made that leap. But fear is another subject completely, and now, I have work to do.

Peck: We're just the gatekeepers, Cor, I'm telling ya...

...We're just the gatekeepers. We spend four years scaring you about college, and then when you go away, you realize, it's really not that bad - it's just like high school.
Me: No. You spend four years getting us excited for college, and then we go, and we're disappointed that it's just like high school.

Oh, the "wisdom" of Mr. Peck. What a nut.

Though I'm not quite as cynical as that conversation with Peck makes me sound (stop laughing!), I do always laugh when people go on and on about how "different" college is from high school. Especially the ones who insist that in college, cliques are nonexistent. False. "Drama" gets left in high school? More false.

I was talking to an old friend about the latest drama in a circle of people that I'm on the outside of now. He says to me, "Why are we even talking about this? This shouldn't even be brought up. Aren't we supposed to be hearing about GOOD things happening to people we know? New jobs, career choices, being in love, engagements, that sort of thing? Isn't that supposed to be starting now?"

That's what you'd think, isn't it? And I guess it used to be true. Back when people married younger, and undergraduate school meant more. These days, fewer couples marry right out of college, or right out of high school. And for a lot of jobs, where you earned your bachelors isn't nearly as important as where you got your graduate degree. It's strange, how the timeline shifted like that. Even more strange are the implications of that shift.

"It used to be that you came out of school, and you got married - those who were going to get married. But my peers are getting married in their early 30s, so now there's like this extra 10 years of that angst."
- Zach Braff

He makes a good point. It seems like teenage angst is no longer reserved just for teenagers. It's extending into our twenties - throughout college, and beyond. But why exactly is that? What is different about twenty-something year olds today than twenty, thirty, forty years ago? Since that angst is extending past our teens, has our rate of maturity decreased? And if it has, why has it? What separates our generation for those before us?

I think responsibility is a factor. How it's taught, how much is given. I feel like people often "grow up" when they are forced to - when they are dealt responsibility and must accept it. The concept can be taught, but I guess it's really a more hands-on thing. And with an increasing number of kids going to college, that's another four years that they delay entering the real world. Another four years where they only need to take limited responsibility for themselves. In theory, I guess college is, in part, supposed to teach you to take responsibility for yourself and your actions and whatnot, but it's really just another sheltered environment where, if you don't actively choose to accept your responsibilities, you can skate by. It's hard to actively make that decision, when the alternative is so convenient. Who really wants to be an adult, with responsibilities and obligations? I prefer the Peter Pan route.

And now I'm just rambling. Shutting up now.

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Now playing: Chris Ayer - We Are Birds

"Wanna go get a drink?" "Yeah. I've had a shit day." "I've had a shit year."

1) I've been awake since 5:06 a.m., and I think that's completely unreasonable and unfair. I should be asleep right now. My brain should be asleep right now. Sleeping is my escape time. I guess that's wrong and probably a sign of clinical depression or some other psychological condition, but whatever. How I choose to get through life right now is my own business and I am perfectly capable of handling everything.

2) The title sums up my week. I don't even want to think about it. I just want this week to be over.

3) I was thinking the other day about how arrogant so many people are, and it made me really wonder. What is it that gives people the idea that they are better than others? Why do so many people think that because, say, they're slightly more intelligent than the average person, that makes them better human beings? Or more entitled to being happy? It sounds ridiculous that people think that way, but they do, even if it's subconsciously. It's annoying, because it's so completely wrong. But how do they arrive at that point? Is arrogance an inherited or acquired trait? If it's acquired, I'm inclined to think that it comes in part because somewhere along the line, we're being taught it. Like, for instance, in being praised by adults for being smart, intelligent children aren't learning the distinction that while it's something to take pride in, it doesn't necessarily make them better than others. They're not taught that there's more to being a good person than being smart. That might be a completely "liberal" attitude, but whatever. ( ;

I'm also inclined to think that in many people, arrogance is facade. It's a defense, a mask to hide insecurities, a lack of self-confidence, etc. I suppose that's understandable, but is it acceptable? I don't know why I just asked that question. I don't even think it's a relevant query. It doesn't really matter, does it? And I also have to think that arrogance can also be falsely attributed, that other traits/attitudes can be misinterpreted as arrogance. I mostly just have to think that as I've been told my shyness has been considered arrogance. It's annoying, but I suppose it's my own fault, and I don't care enough to change my behavior just so that people I don't know or care to know don't automatically assume I'm arrogant because I'm quiet. I have no idea what most people think of me, what kind of person / who they think I am, and I've given up trying to figure it out. Apathy is a bitch. Haha. Or maybe not in this case. Is it still apathy if you clearly take the time to think about it? Whatever. Again, irrelevant. And annoying.

Speaking of annoying, this is a complete digression and departure from the previous topic, but another thing that bothers me is when people argue with you about how you feel, and imply or state right out that what you're feeling is "wrong." That really gets me, that people feel like they have the authority to tell you that you don't have the right to feel the way you do, or that they feel like they can argue with you about how you're wrong in feeling the way you do, and win the argument. Sure, they may be right in that you would be a better person if you felt another way. But they can't tell you that you shouldn't feel the way you do. You're allowed to feel however the hell you feel, and you should never have to justify that. The moment you start letting other people dictate how you feel, is the moment you start to lose yourself, and lose everything you are. Letting others control how you think is bad. Letting them control how you feel is worse.

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Now playing: The Verve Pipe - The Freshmen