A timely discovery

I could not have asked for a more timely discovery than happening upon the website 'Everything is a Remix.' It's a video series, of which there are currently three, but there's a fourth on the way. It explains the questions I asked in my recent post (Good Artists Borrow, Great Artists Steal), about 1,000 better than I could.

It examines how creativity does not occur in a vacuum, but how all creative works and inventions copy, borrow, outright steal, or just combine previous ideas.

I was continually amazed and impressed by the series, but one of the bits that stood out to me was this:

"Hunter S. Thompson got started by re-typing "The Great Gatsby" just to get the feel of writing a great novel."

Wow!

Anyways, you gotta watch these, they're absolutely fascinating.

http://www.everythingisaremix.info/watch-the-series/

I would not be a fit mother. AKA: The Butter Incident

I have spent a lifetime wondering WHY women actually CHOOSE to let a parasitic being grow in their belly for nine months, expel itself via a life-threatening, bloody and violent ordeal, spend years in constant slavery to its every basic need, including regularly wiping liquified feces from its rear, only to have the thing get more mouthy as it gets taller, and eventually repay your incredible sacrifice by resenting you and blaming you for all of its personal problems before it leaves you.

The only two times I can see this experience as being somewhat rewarding are 1.) when they're between about 3-5 and they're being cute, and 2.) The photo op if/when they graduate college.

Despite my lifelong confusion about other's desire to procreate, as I get older (and the fertility window gets smaller) I occasionally.... rarely... see some cute kid and feel a teeny, tiny little microscopic pang of.... something. Not sure what. Indigestion? Fear? Loathing? Desire? Jealousy? A little pre-programmed line of code in my monkey DNA that says "go home right now and have unprotected sex"?

Since I have yet to experience a mini-human exploding out of my nether regions, I cannot fully comprehend motherhood. Once in a while, it seems like a good idea in a dreamy, far-off, romanticized kind of way.

Then, my dogs eats an entire stick of butter and I am reminded that I am not a fit parent to animals, never mind potential human beings.

I love my dogs. I love most animals in general. I believe that if you CHOOSE to become a pet parent, then you owe the animal(s) the best care you can possibly provide. It annoys me when I hear people complaining about having to take their dog to the vet and that it cost them a whole HUNDRED dollars or whatever. What did you think would happen if you got a pet? Sometimes a pet will get sick or hurt, or need daily medication, or some kind of special accommodation. Dogs in particular need training, daily exercise, they need to go outside several times a day, they need attention and decent food and toys to keep them occupied. If you aren't willing to provide all those things, then you shouldn't get a pet of your own.

I really do try to be a good pet parent. I do. But sometimes I'm negligent, and do stupid things like leave a whole stick of butter out in a place they can reach.

I'm not sure WHICH dog ate the butter, or if it was a joint effort. I'm hoping that they won't get diarrhea or start puking, but that might be wishful thinking. I will consider myself lucky if I don't wake up in the middle of the night to find shit everywhere. If it misses all carpet and fabrics entirely, I will jump with joy. (Unlikely, as both cats and dogs seem to strongly prefer expelling bodily fluids on soft surfaces.)

Worst case is that the dog(s) could get very sick from the butter... pancreatis. I don't think this will happen as they are both fairly large dogs, about 60 lbs, but you never know.

At least I'm lucky that it was an organic material, not something like equine de-wormer. I'm sick of giving the Animal Poison Control Hotline $60 per call.

Tomorrow I am returning to college after a six-year hiatus and I am not going to be happy if my beasts keep me up all my night with their butter shits.

I worry so much about my "kids" and they're "just dogs". I don't see how I could possibly handle being a parent of another human being.

Good artists borrow, great artists steal

"Good artists borrow, great artists steal." - (No definitive attribution; some refence T.S. Eliot, or Picasso.)

"There is nothing new under the sun" ( phrase adapted from the Book of Ecclesiastes 1:9)

-----------------------------------------------

These phrases are ubiquitous, and seem irrefutable and wise.

What is an artist to do?

And by artist, I mean anyone who strives to create. Whether it be written words or the visual arts. It doesn't have to be high literature or fine art. Someone who wants to start a personal finance blog is in as much of a creative pickle as someone who wants to illustrate a children's book. One has to create something.

I think creating is the easy part. Creating something, anything, can flow easily for many with a little practice. Brainstorming is creative. Freewriting is creative. Sketching is creative. Creativity can be coaxed along with a little encouragement, whether it's in the form of praise, or prompts, or even "mind-expanding" stimulants like alcohol or drugs.

Craft is more difficult (the skill set that makes it good, or passable - whether it be writing skills, drawing skills, acting skills, etc.). But craft also improves with practice. Craft can be taught.

The most difficult aspect of creating is originality. One can practice vomiting out some creative content, and one can also work to hone the craft of one's expulsion. But is it all just regurgitation?

If all artists borrow or steal, if there is nothing new under the sun, then are we really "creating"? Or are we just recycling?

"No man is an island." - John Donne

The irrefutable truth is that no one can fully escape the influence of society upon one's "art", whatever the art form may be. We have all had a certain upbringing, we have had a certain kind of schooling and education, we have certain social mores installed in our brains. We are influenced by media, by what we read, by how others behave around us. We come to the table with a certain set of pre-installed beliefs about what our creations "should" be like. We would all like to think that we are free beings without own wonderfully independent and creative thoughts, but in reality, we are thinking in a cage. We can only create with the limited palette we bring to the canvas.

No one like that idea. We want to think we are independent thinkers. And we like to point to other independent thinkers as examples of how genius can override the status quo. But there are severe limitations to how far one can push the envelope. For example, Jackson Pollack would NOT have been recognized as an "artist" if he had existed in the 16th century alongside Michelangelo and Da Vinci. The idea that paint splatters constituted art just WOULDN'T fly then.

The other point I'm trying to make is that, had Jackson Pollack been alive during that time, he wouldn't have even had the IDEA to present paint splatters as art.

"If I have seen further it is only by standing on the shoulders of giants. " -Isaac Newton

Modern art was a progression. It began when a few daring artists actually left noticeable brushstrokes. Artists became more and more daring; Picasso, Pollack. Artists who drew a single line on a canvas. Artists who copied ads and called it pop art. (I do love Warhol, by the way.) When the minimalist extremes of visual art were exhausted, artists began to extend beyond the canvas; artists like Marina Abramovic who used herself in an installation, where she invited spectators to use items on a table to manipulate her body. One of those items included a gun.

I would speculate that a performance artist like Abramovic would not have been "accepted" or displayed even back in the earlier part of the 20th century, when it seemed that the boundries of "what is art" were beginning to be constantly explored. It was too early, and the boundries of static visual art were not yet exhausted. So it would seem to me that artists who wish to be truly original can only push so far, and must be careful to go only so far as just beyond the already accepted perimeter. If they succeed in going just so far, they will be heralded as original, as genius. If they fall short of the boundry, too far within the safety zone of "it's already been done", then they're a hack; if they go too far outside the accepted perimeter, they will be regarded as a freak, as a weirdo, as a bad artist, perhaps disgusting or vulgar. They may also be regarded as a hack for trying to pass off their "weird" work as "art."

It seems to me that artists in the previous centuries did not have to worry about such things. They only had to worry about being good at their craft. They only had to worry about creating things that were beautiful. They did not have to also worry about being original.

Does an artist have to be original to be successful? Yes and no.

There are many writers and artists and other creative people who aren't making anything ground-breakingly different, yet are successful. They fall into a genre. They produce an expected kind of content. It follows a formula or a pattern or contains enough of the right kind of material to appeal to the right kind of audience. And no matter the genre, there is always a demand for more new content. It is just different enough to be considered an original, stand-alone work, even though it doesn't introduce any new concepts, newly coined phrases, new kinds of visual ideas.

It's like when famous clothing designers decide that this fall's line is going to be 70's inspired. And what's interesting is that the designers seem to be working arm-in-arm. They all come out with things of roughly the same kind of theme at the same time.

So, for people who are trying to make a go at being creative; how important is it REALLY that we be "original?" For those of us who just want to follow our passion and make stuff while also making a living off it, for those of us who don't delude ourselves into thinking we're going to be Pulitzer Prize winners or Oscar winners.... should we even really be that concerned about originality?

Should we just go ahead and creatively regurgitate, and only worry about originality in as far as we don't tread on other's copyright?

I am constantly amazed at the amount of "borrowing" or perhaps outright stealing that goes on in fiction. I don't purport myself to be the most widely read person and yet I often identify authors who seem to steal other modern writer's ideas. I am also surprised how entire genres of music seem to pop up overnight who seem to be outright copies of other bands.

No one else seems all that concerned about how their art imitates others. So maybe I shouldn't be either?

Anytime I create anything, when I review it I realize immediately who/what influenced it. I think "this is too much like X writer" or "this drawing is a rip-off of X artist". If I didn't consciously recognize who my influences who, would I be less guilty? If I was more arrogant, would it matter? For the reasons I've already argued, is it even really possible to create something entirely new? I've already acknowledged that creativity cant' happen in a vacuum, so should I just regurgitate what comes naturally and accept it?

"You have to honor your vomit." - Lady Gaga

You ungrateful son of a bitch

I was feeling pretty sorry for myself today. I had an appointment at the dentist, which I knew was going to be a marathon sitting. I thought I was getting five fillings done, some of which were replacements for old, decaying fillings.

Turns out I was getting four filling and one crown preparation. Ick. Since I just had a crown put on a different tooth a few months ago, I knew what it involved. (Preparing for a crown involves shaving down most of the tooth until it's just a nub ready to accept the crown cover, and also cutting away gum tissue to make room for the adhesion of a crown.) I was internally panicking a little ...about the cost as much as the procedure... and I was feeling awfully sorry for myself.

Poor me.
Why is this happening to me?

Why have I been cursed with dental problems all my life?

I do everything I'm supposed to do, and this STILL happens to me?

This is so expensive, how will I afford it?

I'm going to be paying down dental work for the rest of my life.

I'm scared.

I don't want to sit through all this.

What if I have a panic attack in the chair?

I hate getting bad news!

It seems like I am always getting horrible news about how everything is horrible!

It really sucks to be me today.

And then, I overheard a conversation one of the dentist's assistants was having on the phone.

(Note that we had a snow/ice/sleet/freezing rain storm today in our area, and apparently I was the only patient to show up in the office this particular morning. )

Dentist's Employee, on the phone: "What happened? Where ARE you? What? Oh my god, Dan. Did you call 911? You need to get off the phone with me right now and call 911. Where are you? Are you on the road or off the road? What? You lost consciousness? Oh my god. Do you know where you are? Where are you right now?"

The other employees started murmuring "he was in a car accident.... he hit his head.... lost consciousness...."

Suddenly I felt really stupid and pathetic for feeling so sorry for myself for facing a DENTAL PROCEDURE.

Things easily be a lot worse.

There's always someone out there who has it worse than you, and you don't have to look very far to find that someone.

Later that day, I was at the bar, since I had been very pious for well over a week in anticipation for my marathon dental work. I had told myself I could go out and have a few drinks once I made it through. And I did exactly that.

The bartender (who happened to be my fiance) made a comment about feeling old, simply because a former student of his was in the bar, drinking. Legally.

I scolded him. "When you're 80, you're going to look back at yourself at 35 and hate yourself for thinking you were old. You're supple and strong and healthy and free of major ailments. You are young. When you're 80 years old and wrinkly and infirm, you can complain about being old. Not before."

I was giving a speech aloud to someone that I could/should be giving myself.

I'm still young. I'm healthy. I am blessed in many, many ways.

I shouldn't complain/bitch/whine about anything.

I should wear a rubber band around my wrist and snap myself every time I complain about something. Because I don't want to be an ungrateful S.O.B.

We aren't thankful because we're happy. We're happy because we're thankful.

Be thankful for something today.

Serenity Now. Insanity Later.

I feel like there is so much going on right now, I can't even think of what to write about. I'm in a sort of mental limbo right now.

I gave notice at my job to go back to school.

I gave a three week notice. I have two more days left.

You'd think I'd be happy, but I'm just stressed. My plan for this week has been to try to keep my head low and not get involved in any messy conflicts. This has not worked well. I'm involved in many messy conflicts between customers and the family members who own the company.

It has become exceedingly clear that everyone above us has NO idea what we do, what we have to suffer through, or how we handle our aspect of their business. It has become exceedingly clear that they do not value our opinion, or think very highly of us in general.

And I should be thinking, "Who cares, I'm leaving, this won't be my problem anymore". Yet, somehow I don't feel that way.

I feel ANGRY.

I'm supposed to go out for drinks with the gang + bosses after I leave work for the last time on Friday. I don't really want to. What will I say?

If I were honest, I would say the following:

- It offends me that no one respects what we do here.

- You often cite the need for "communication", but you don't communicate anything to us, and we're the ones that need to know, since we're the liason between you and the customer. The customers expect us to know what's going on, and we're kept in the dark.

- It offends me that you never asked my opinion on anything.

- It offends me that when I take initiative to solve a pressing problem everyone else has simply ignored, you act like I'm overstepping my bounds.

- This has been the most stressful four years of my life. I have stress-related health problems I didn't have before.

- It deeply offends me that you act as though any dumbass could do this job well.

- You have no idea what my day to day struggle here entails. It's a lot harder than you perceive it to be.

- This job made me so depressed about life that at times I felt suicidal.

- I hate this job so much that I hope and pray I never have to do anything like this ever again.

- This job has made me hate people even more than I already did. That's quite a feat.

- You should tell new hires that they had better be good liars, since we have to lie through our teeth to the customers all day, every day.

- You like to think you're good to your employees, but in many ways you treat us unfairly.

- You make my job so much harder than it needs to be.

- You constantly throw us under the bus.

- There is zero upward mobility here, so I'm getting out while I still can, to seek a better life.

But. I don't want to leave on a bad note. So I will say none of that. I already feel like I wasted 4 years of my life there. I don't want to burn the bridge.

Instead, I will smile and drink heavily and try to be merry and polite.

What is bothering me right now is that I wasted four good years of my life in that place, wasted tears and brain energy, stressed out of my mind, and I won't get any CLOSURE. I won't get closure because I won't be able to tell anyone what I really think. I'll just have to smile and nod and say "BYEEEE", and I'll probably have to HUG everyone. *shudders*

There is also the pressure of re-inventing myself once I leave. For the last several years I have been blaming all of my personal flaws on my job.

Feeling depressed/anxious? It's because I'm overworked and underpaid/undervalued.

Social phobia? All of the horrible customers at my job make me leery of people in general.

Unproductive? I'm too tired and wiped out, physically and mentally, after a day on the job.

Stagnating? It's because I'm trapped in this underpaid job.

Low self-esteem? I'm just an office worker, why should I feel proud of myself?

Hating the world? It's my horrible job. The horrible lowlife customers. If I did something more meaningful, I would have greater self-worth.

Alcohol abuse? It's because I'm so stressed after work, I need something to wind down.

Fat/unfit? It's because I'm forced to sit 8 hours a day. Also my coworkers pressure me into ordering takeout with them for lunch. Yeah, that's it.

I've convinced myself over the years that all of my problems are work-related, and if I could only escape that place, I would be productive and fit and feel great about myself and the world. I would be able to stop drinking completely, and I would just enjoy being alive.

Of course, now that the deadline is looming... will I really be able to start to blossom into a different, better person two days from now?

I'm trying to be more optimistic, so..... I will answer YES. Yes, life will be better after I leave this job. Serenity now.

I'm afraid of Americans. And the Internets.

I'm always scared when I look at my blog's "stats" page, because it shows you where traffic came from. There are always some really RANDOM links in there. And I get scared because I think, "Omg... why did this site link to me? Who came here because of that?" Is it because they thought I was laughable? Because I was a pathetic loser?

In my life, I have this pervasive belief that people are always out to get me. For no reason except that I'm alive. I'm sure it originated from being ruthlessly teased as a kid, for no reason apparent to me, since I was just going about my business being a kid.

I really don't know why I was teased and bullied so much. I think it just started with one mean kid and kind of snowballed; since I had no idea how to handle myself in response to being teased, it just got worse.

Because when I look back, I know I was a smart kid. I always aced everything even though I missed the maximum amount of days possible every year, just because I could. I just wouldn't get up some days, and my mom would ask me if I was going to school, and I would say "Naw", and she'd call me in sick. Since I got good grades, she didn't care if I missed days. So I wasn't being teased for being stupid.

I was only into horseback riding, not other sports, but I was fit and skinny as a rail. I did great in gym and such. So I wasn't teased for being fat.

I vividly recall some kids shouting at me that I was ugly, and I grew up thinking that, but looking back at my school pictures, I can tell I wasn't ugly at all.

The things I *can* see myself being teased for:

- Being smart/nerdy. For being a teacher's pet.

- For being a goody two-shoes. I never got in trouble for anything. Why would I?

- For being different. I liked weird stuff like horses (nobody else in school rode horses). I wasn't interested in New Kids On The Block or any of that other shit that was big in the 90's.

- For being passive. I didn't know how to handle kids teasing me, and I never stood up for myself.

- For not having the right clothes. I was a lot more interested in buying some new horse stuff than the latest fad clothing or shoes or snappy-bracelets.

- For being OK with being alone. I didn't mind being ostracized. I didn't desperately try to make friends with anyone just to have an ally. I'd sit alone at lunch and happily read a book. I didn't mind being alone at all (even though I have a sister, she's ten years older than me, and left the house early. I think I had more of an only-child experience, and I was used to having to amuse myself.) I didn't mind being alone; but I hated being teased.

I wasn't always bullied. It kind of happened overnight. I was doing fine and dandy until... in 5th grade, the most popular boy in school decided we were boyfriend and girlfriend. It didn't involve dates or even kissing or hand holding. It basically meant that you declared yourselves to be "going out". The most exciting thing you might do was awkwardly slow-dancing at the semi-annual middle school dance. Maybe passing a note in class.

I'm not sure what I did or didn't do, but he decided one day that he was "dumping" me and we were no longer boyfriend and girlfriend. OK, fine by me. But that seemed to initiate a cascade of ostracism by other classmates. I didn't really care. As I said, I didn't mind being alone. But apparently that was weird, and I should have prostrated myself for acceptance at the mercy of my ruthless little classmates. Near as I can figure, it was my inappropriate response to being shunned by a boy that snowballed into gangs of children rounding me up to be harassed. I think for the first time in my life, it had become apparent that I was an "easy target." I didn't talk back. I didn't fight back. I just kind of stood there like a doofus, unsure of what to do when kids hurled insults at me.

From that point in 5th grade until early in 8th grade, I was quite the outsider. Previous "best friends" shunned me completely. Like I said, I didn't care about being alone, and I had my own all-encompassing activities outside of school (like being thrown on the ground daily by an evil pony, until I finally learned how to bribe him into submission), but it wasn't the isolation that bothered me. It was the fact that these kids went out of their way to taunt me, insult me, corner me, bully me. They called me on my home phone after work to tease me.

Thank God there was no internet or Facebook back then, or I'm sure I would have killed myself. There was a daily escape, an "off" button; and it was the day's final school bell. How kids do it these days, I have no idea, and honestly it doesn't surprise me that young kids are committing suicide from bullying. With constant connectivity, you can't get away. I had asked my mother to transfer schools somehow, but that was impossible in our small community. Unless we actually moved out of town, which was financially impossible, I was stuck there.

Interestingly, the teachers must have noticed something was not right, because I remember being sent to the guidance counselor a few times, who asked me how I was doing, blah blah blah. She commented on the number of days I missed school. I didn't really get it. *I* was fine. It was the other kids who had the problem. THEY were causing the problem. My mother knew there was a problem with the other kids, since I talked to her about wanting to go to a different school, and missed school as much as legally possible. If they ever talked to her, I don't know about it.

To this day, I have no idea why they sent ME to counseling when I was just trying to mind my own business. Why didn't they sent the other kids to counseling, or punish them, for bullying me? I think today it would be different. There's some awareness of bullying now, thanks to the kids who killed themselves over it. But when I was a kid, the teachers and counselors and adults were in the same line of thinking as the kids. They wondered what was wrong with me and focused on me for not being able to make friends. They should have asked what was wrong with these other kids, for being compelled to gang up on one helpless child.

There was an incident, once, where I did fight back. When it got physical, I ceased to be passive. I'm not sure why I suddenly became so bold. Maybe it's because I was into horseback riding and understood something about body language and having to react when stuff is going down. I don't know, but I was glad for it. It started when a former "friend" of mine called me one night.

I think it was fall, or maybe early winter. She lived two streets over from me. She asked me to come hang out in the field behind our houses. Being naive, I thought that sounded great. It was after dark, but back then, kids could roam around their neighborhood at any hour and parents didn't care. We met on a hillside overlooking the field. The moon was bright and lit everything up with a cold glow.

Unfortunately my "friend" showed up with her brother, who proceeded to push me down onto the ground. When I tried to get up, he pushed me back down again.

I grabbed a stray branch laying near me and when I tried to get up again, and he came towards me, I lashed his shins with the branch. It was thin and flexible, and made a perfect whip. (And in my dealings with the evilest of ponies, I knew how to wield a whip.) He yelped and continued towards me, so I whipped his legs again, harder. I don't remember how many times I lashed his legs, but all I remember is that I did it several times, as hard as I could. His sister, my "friend", was screaming in panic, and yelled at me for hurting him. I thought that was awfully ironic and I just remember laughing in triumph. (I'm quite sure that was my first evil laugh.) My feelings were hurt, for sure, that they had gone to such lengths to set this twilight trap for me, but I had won.

In early 8th grade, I met a new classmate who also seemed smart but sort of awkward, and we banded together to scare the other kids into leaving us alone. We started dressing in black, and metal-band t-shirts, and random cheap jewelry. Like the single snake-wrapped-around-a-cross earring I favored. We bestowed confidence in each other's bad-assery and while we never broke rules or did anything bad, we did talk about hanging out with boys after dark, going to concerts, drinking and shoplifting. We never actually did any of that stuff (well, not most of it), but it seemed to convince the other students that we were dark rebels and they promptly left us alone. I don't think those tricks would work today; the kids would probably just be bullied even harder for being goth or emo. But it worked, for that short time it worked, and it felt good and powerful.

I left to go to a small private high school on scholarship, which was the most wonderful 4 years of my life, filled with amazing friendships and support and happy experiences. But I faltered as I entered adulthood. The specter of low self-esteem and fearfulness of strangers often paralyzed me. A string of loser boyfriends and stupid jobs left me feeling hopeless.

In my poorly paid jobs, I encountered so many angry people. People who were probably angry about things out of my control, angry at the company, but who took out their frustrations on me. It felt, and still feels, as though it's personal. I can feel my hands start to shake and my blood begin to boil when I get into an uncomfortable conversation with an unhappy customer. I am not the kind of person who has a thick skin, or who can just leave all their worries at the workplace when they walk out at 5 pm. I end up taking it all in. I've tried my best to convert this feeling that I'm being personally attacked into a belief that people are just stupid and uncivilized, and I try to just laugh it off. But it sticks.

It permeates everything in my life. This belief that people are mean, and they will suddenly be mean to you for no good reason. Even when you're just going about your business.

Although most of my life has been blessed, I spent several of my formative years being ostracized, bullied and harassed. It left a lasting psychological mark. It cut deep, and it seems as though no amount of ointment can ever heal those scars. I tend to focus on the negative. I remember vividly every negative remark, every insult, every slight.

I remember the day I moved to NYC. I was 18 or 19. I was wearing a black outfit which included a close-fitting jacket, and my hair was short and black with a red streak in it. I thought I looked pretty sharp. I decided to go out and walk to the grocery store to get some supplies for my empty apartment. On my way out, my gay RA told me I should try an eyelash curler. Three minutes later as I walking down the street, somebody in a car drove by and yelled "FREAK!" out the window. I didn't stay long in NYC. I don't remember much besides that initial day and the insults. That's how my memory works. It does overtime on filing and backing up the bad memories, and essentially forgets all compliments and other positive experiences.

It doesn't matter how many times my fiance tells me I am beautiful. It doesn't matter how many times I'm hit on by strangers. It really doesn't seem to matter how much validation I receive from anyone or any source. I still FEEL, deep down, as though I am ugly.

Thanks, kids.

In reality, I do OK. I have friends, and I can manage to be surprisingly charming with strangers if I have some booze to help me along. But the dark passenger lingers (Dexter joke). I often interpret innocent encounters in an excessively negative way. I will presume that someone is insulting me, but if my fiance was there to witness it, he interprets the situation completely differently and makes it clear to me that the person in question was not slighting me in the least. This has both comforted me (ok, they weren't talking down to me) and confounded me (why do I keep interpreting things like that???)

The internet doesn't help, oddly enough. The internet is supposed to be this faceless place where you can make friends with other misfits. But places like Youtube comments continues to bolster my belief in random hatefulness. (Like when people thumbs-down a vaguely complimentary comment, or reply things like "UR GAY" for no discernible reason.)

And so that is why I fear the internet. Why I feel compelled to post my most personal thoughts and experiences for everyone to read.... well, I really don't know why.

Everyone wonders, from time to time, what their purpose in life is. I'm about there right now.

Some days it feels like my purpose in life is nothing more than to push some papers around and be a punching bag for angry customers. I was not hired for my brains, exactly, just a minimal level of competence. I am not expected to think. I am not expected to contribute ideas or improvements. I am like a cog in a machine, which may occasionally be tweaked, or asked for input in a "Print Report" kind of way.

I wonder why we expect all children to go through so much intensive schooling in reading, writing, mathematics, history, etc. if most of us, even the supposedly "smart" ones, are in reality going to end up in mediocre, dead-end jobs. Of course, some will excel and go on to do important things. But I wonder, if adults know that life is so soul-crushing and you will not need calculus in your cashiering job, why do they insist that all children go through grammar school, high school, and college? A college degree is like a high school diploma was 25 years ago. You can't do much without one.

Why force all this over-education on everyone? Isn't that... counterproductive? If only a few will make it, why not just select the few that are above-average and put the rest to work at say, 16? Wouldn't that be more fair than expecting all kids to go into debt for college, when so many will end up with low-paying jobs anyways? Is it fair to string along the kids who will never be a major success in the workforce game, letting them think they have a shot at the big time if they can muddle their way through college?

Let's be realistic. Colleges are graduating students who can barely read or write. They can't fill out a simple form about themselves. Mommy and Daddy have to do everything for them.

WHY BOTHER?

I'm not saying people can't be successful in life if they aren't great students. They can. There are countless examples of rich, famous CEOs who started their own businesses who never graduated college.

What I'm saying is, why force education on those who aren't suited for it? Why delay entry into the real world for so long? Isn't it unfair to people to keep them sheltered for so long that they can't function once they encounter life?

If you have a specific goal, a specific need for training, then college is absolutely imperative. But there are so many bullshit college degrees. The colleges themselves are running scams. They offer degrees which they know are useless. They accept students they know aren't excellent, but they want their money. Don't even get me started on the textbook scam. The college shouldn't ask you to take piles of electives. Wasn't high school for general learning about a variety of subjects? Why in the world would I need to take college-level biology if I'm going to school to learn writing?

College should be way more specialized. Either you spend the 4 years becoming an expert in the ONE thing that you're there to learn, OR.... still focus full time on your major and get out of college in 2 years. Because an undergrad degree is STILL not specialized enough for success in your field. Oh, no. You have to go to GRAD school for that. Let's see... you spend the equivalent of 2 years in college focusing on your major subject. Then you spend 2 years in grad school focusing further on your major subject. Uh, why not just throw away all the bullshit classes and get students graduated in FOUR YEARS who are experts in what they've chosen to study???