bell - a verbalization of consciousness

Space as Luxury.

Since when has “Space” become popularized as such a luxury? It really seems to be the case. Every house should have more square footage. Every car, from its frame, to its wheels, to its engine, is measured by its size. We compare, and compete, and covet because of this standard. Our freeways should have wide lanes, and many of them. We should have huge yards, just to have, and even the clothes on our bodies could fit three people in them. Space. We try to own it, possess and control it, and to what good? And and why is it so prevailed?

I had a friend once insist that the “automobile” single-handedly ruined American Culture. It came up during a discussion about whether one could blame conservative suburban types for being so out of touch with the social struggles of lower classes. Can you blame them for doing everything they can within their means in order to protect and stabalize their children’s upbringing? Ignorant, yes, but malicious, or inconsiderate? No, we just need someone to tell everyone’s story in a way where everyone else could understand. Couldn’t one say that the white-picket fences and the twenty-minute commutes were the fall of American Culture? No, he remarked, “It was the rise of the car.” I said, “How so?”

I’ve come to understand his position. The car brought about the isolation. We lost our aptitude for casual conversation and confrontation. The idea of communal went out the window. Even traveling together in the masses was quickly considered too slow, and inefficient. The destinations were too general, the travel time wasn’t fast enough, and the atmosphere was never the way you’d prefer it. Like any hard-working, communal culture, we were just waiting to be swept up by our feet, and to be given the opportunity to go wherever we want, and to leave whenever we choose— and innovation was our savior. Soon, we were in cars, locking ourselves up, and shutting the world out. We began to lose our way amongst eachother, and the social paranoia took root. We’ve been living in our own worlds for so long that we’ve forgotten how to pass a stranger on the sidewalk. We’ve become skeptical of the man behind the drive-thru window, and the teenager at the corner crosswalk. From behind our seatbelts, we sit, and stare and judge all those we passby rolling +35mph, while the TV only confirms our suspicions.

I understand what my friend was suggesting. We’ve tried to create the perfect environment with our autos— the right sound, the right smell, the right temperature— and our world’s natural resources pay the price for the social status it delivers, while accident victims pay for the effective distractions (ie., radio, phone, food, cigarettes, etc.) marketed to us while we travel ‘on the road’. Ok, shameless shot at our culture’s irresponsibility, I know, but I had no where else to squeeze it in. The truth of the matter is that we’ve been addicted to having our own space in such a way that we’ve become too concerned with drawing the line between what’s mine and what’s yours. We’ve tried to hard to seperate. “Don’t touch.” “I’ll get my own.” It seems so silly.

But ‘cars’ as the cause seems so recent. Hasn’t space been a privilege for centuries before this? I almost want to assert that ‘space’ was at least considered a luxury for the royalty of past. A small minority by far, but quite a privaleged one. From the Egyption Temples, to the many European Castles, I envision long, long dining tables with hundreds and hundreds of guests. “Come! Feast at my castle, dine with my china, and dance in your gowns!,” roared the typical King of Kings. Regardless, the standard was set: space is luxury. And who doesn’t want to live luxuriously if they could?

Since those days of yore, the ability to acquire space, especially in our nation, has become a priority for the masses. Maybe the car opened up the can of worms, but from the moment we looked out across the midwestern prairies, we’ve become so adamant about owning and occupying ‘space’ that many of us don’t even talk with our neighbors. In our ignorance, and in our pretension, we’ve forgotten what it’s like to be human, and that we’re basically surrounded by decent people, all trying to make a life to live. Don’t we realize that our everyday luxuries are strangling our culture’s last breath?

I once heard that people who live with extended family live longest… I at least know this to be true of those with spouses, and even pets. I have so much more I could say; about the loss of etiquette, about the giant population of retirees, and about the privatization of our personalities, but I’ll work it out in chunks. For now, I just needed to admit outloud that our nation has much that it could change, and the problem of ‘space as luxury’ as a standard, stands between us and our ability to inspire more impactful change. Before we can agree which way to move, we need someone or something that can make us pay attention to eachother, make us recognize and be real with eachother, make us roll down our windows, …and then our sleeves.

Self-Portrait

Self. December 27th, 2005.

Jammin'... oooh yeah...

We’re jammin’, and I hope you like jammin’ too…

They think that jammin’ was a thing of the past,
We’re jammin,’ and I hope this jammin’s gonna last.

Holy Mount Zion… what a month. Time flies when you don’t pay any attention to it. I’ll say, times like these have been a long time coming. I’ve had moments in life that seem to fly, but never so discreetly as february ‘06. It’s gone. What happened to it?

I’m in Tacoma today. It’s raining outside, and every twenty minutes it gets cold enough for the rain drops to bundle up and put on their winter outfits. The drive up from Eugene last night was snowy-slushy, low visibility, and cluttered with timid PNW drivers. Needless to say, I put on some good tunes, and made good time, and next thing I know, I’m at the frisbee house, a day early for a winter weather tourney in the name of PLU Alumni.

I made use of my time today and allowed the nostalgia of PLU to come over me in full fledge force. I saw the same old UC, and the same old campus aesthetic. I saw some familiar faces that seemed to not have aged a bit, and others that I remembered but couldn’t place for the life of me. What a rush. I shared my latest stories with Wendy during office hours and accused me of being in a ‘developmental stage’ in my life. Ha! I tried to defend, but what could I say…. she caught me. I’m yet again, on the verge of transition. So what does that mean?

This blog has been so good to me throughout such transitions. My latest, and largest life turns have taken place in some proximity to anize.org, and here I shall return. My hiatus was shortlived, but deeply indulged, and I recognize that I’m found once again in the straight-away of another dream finishline, the last leg of a tremendous ride. College ultimate is reaching its dawn, its peak. And then what? I can’t imagine. I just keep telling myself: one season at a time.

One year left in the philosophy program. One year left in Eugene. One year left with my social world. One year left with this routine. And then I’m out. Then I’m off? One season at a time.

Gotta finish strong…