Everybody is "a kid at heart". If you are not a kid at heart, it means that your heart has stopped beating and you cease to be alive. If the things we learn first are the things that are most fundamental to our existence, then "all we need to know we learned in kindergarten", right?
More accurately, though, our fundamental nature is that nature biologically given to us at conception. The first thing any human experiences is sex. A human being is bourne of this climactic outpour of endorphins and ejaculate. I don't care if you're five or eighty-five, if you are in a nunnery or not, or if you run a company or mop its floors, an orgasm still feels fucking amazing. Everything, and I really mean EVERYTHING in human culture mirrors this.
All the (good) stories we read and the (good) songs we listen to develop toward some expected climax. If they don't do this, then we get a serious case of mental blue balls. You ever had that feeling when you read a real letdown of a book that doesn't tie up all the loose ends. It is the second most unsatisfying feeling in the world. You can look at everything around you and see an orgasm. The empire state building doesn't look like a phallus by coincidence.
Why do you think the Apollo program is so symbolic of our achievements as a culture? America and The USSR aren't mortal enemies, we are frat brothers competing not to get sloppy seconds on the moon. Gemini was America's first physical orgasm, but we were just jerking ourselves off then. Apollo is when we got laid for the first time. I mean, why the hell do all our rockets launch from the tip of Florida?
That last thing is actually a coincidence, though. NASA launches from the southern tip of Florida because it is the lowest latitude in the continental United States, and it costs a lot less money and energy to put satellites into orbit near the equator.
Sex is what drives everything. As Walt Whitman aptly stated in Song of Myself, it's "always sex". It is the driving force behind everything we simple humans do. Try as we might, we can't escape our very nature, but that is not something to be ashamed of. Sex has created beautiful things before, and so has humankind. Just because one experienced great pleasure in doing something doesn't mean the outcome is bad. In fact, it is not the cultures that exhibited great restraint from pleasure that will go down in history as great. When aliens visit our world, they will see the skyscrapers of large cities and the satellites floating around in orbit. However 'noble' the experiment of the Shakers was, no one is going to harken back to those times. In fact, the death of the Shakers' culture reinforces the fact that sex is very good.
The cultures we care most about and study the most are the ones that have left their intellectual ejaculate littering the landscape. Greece, China, Egypt, Aztec, Mayan, Inca, Rome. All have their great walls, great pyramids, great coliseums, great physical achievements. We strive in all our best efforts to study and then one-up these cultures and leave a bigger mark on the land.
Well, I think I have expanded enough on my observation of a world run by sex. The case is undeniable, and it's your duty as an American citizen to fight the Loraina Bobbits in the world that are Al Qaeda. They truly have hit us below the belt on this one.
Due to a recent comment on a blog, I decided that this blog is necessary. I thought that after the episode with Jayme, people would realize they are posting on a public website that is free for anyone to look at with no restrictions.
Sometimes blogs are kept vague for a reason. It's like trying to have a conversation with a close friend when you know someone else is listening in. Sometimes you have to aviod being direct in the interest of not letting the third parties understand what you are talking about.
Just please, watch your comments and watch your blog. This site is not a lock and key diary only to be opened at your disposal. Anyone from parents to law enforcement officers to teachers and professors can read this. Please hold your tongue regarding blog comments.
The weekend had begun. Ryan, Tom, Leah, and Eric had headed down the rabbit hole. Instead of a hole, though, it was more like a pedestrian tunnel connecting the Kansas Union to the Memorial Stadium parking lot. The air in the tunnel was cold and dry, much like a November morning, and the light was dim.
Tom took out a cigarette, shifting his head side to side in a way that suggested, "Am I allowed to smoke in here?" The smoke rose slowly into the still air. All four of us stared at it as if it were going to do something momentous and unexpected. But steadily, and predictably, the smoke rose and splashed as it hit the ceiling.
It was 11:00 on a Friday night, and the four of us were secluded in this tunnel, away from the partying, away from the hustle, and away from all social tethers. We looked at and talked to each other as though we had had this sort of comaraderie since childhood.
The campus was empty, and it was our goal to conquer it. It was now twelve o'clock, and the only people in the campus buildings were security guards and graduate level engineers working on their impending projects and dissertations. We were breaking the rules of convention. We were existing in a place at a time when it just didn't make sense. The only business any student had on campus at this time on a Friday was walking back drunk from a busted party or taking the SafeRide van back to the dorms to pass out. We were vagrants contributing nothing to society or to any peer's agenda. On our own, we were completely satisfied with pondering the happenings of the week and playing with abstract ideas. While everyone else pursued their grandiose endeavors, we were content with connecting only to the other three people in the group. Waltzing around the campus ghost town for roughly four hours, we eventually joined the stream that was the exodus from parties and bars, and we made our way back to Lewis Residence Hall.
There we sat in the Lobby, both waiting for our Pizza to arrive and denying the inevitable end of the night. But the pizza arrived, and the inescapable drowsiness finally set in; we were forced to put the incredible night to rest. The feeling was between that of the conclusion of a first date and graduation. The emotional response was much deeper than an amazingly fun night of partying. The way we looked into each others eyes upon parting that night was the way you look into your friends' eyes when you leave them for the last time before going off to college.
All members of the party finally disbanded to their separate domiciles, and Wonderland was now but a shrinking image in the rearview mirror of the grey matter between our ears. And although the night was finished in a chronological sense, we knew that at anytime we could lock gazes with any of the other three, and we could be relive that moment forever.
I have been working out a lot lately--pretty much everyday excluding saturdays--and I have started thinking. What am I really doing, and who am I impressing? It's a proven fact that lifting weights often causes problems later in life such as joint pain and connective tissue damage. So am I subjecting myself to such stresses just to look good? Well, up until a week ago, yes; that was the only reason. But when you think about it, muscles are not beautiful by any means. In fact, they are grotesque.
The attractiveness of a chiseled body lies not in it's clean lines or smooth curves (obviously), but in its ability to intimidate. A well muscled body says, "I can kick somone's ass!" I hate to bring it back to the animalistic explanation, but a well-built, lean guy is likely going to be able to lead a hunt better than a large, fatty individual. Again, this guy is attractive because he can win almost any fight psychologically, even before fists start flying.
So what does this have to do with working out and me not working out for looks anymore? It has to do with the fact that I hate idle vicrtories. I also hate having tools that I am never going to use. It's like the Mustangs that have the nonfunctional hood scoop because it looks cool--it's purposeless. What I need to do is use what I have.
I need to get in a fight. I need to get in a real, unadulterated fight. None of this boxing shit either. It can't be in a ring or on a mat or in headgear and gloves. It has to be in the real world, and it has to be put to real use. I can't pick a fight either. Picking a fight is abusing power, and as all the pseudo-intellectuals that have seen Spiderman say, "With great power comes great responsibility."
Flaunting power is as bad as having it and not using it. In fact, I would say that it is worse. So I need to be in a situation where I have to fight, but I am not forcing it. I do not know exactly how I will achieve this, but it must happen.
I'm sure you can understand the dilemma. As a genius once said, "There has to be more to life than being really, really, ridiculously good-looking."