Ben Stein Explains His Holiday Confession

Hello, I’m Ben Stein. You may know me from minor roles in Ferris Bueller’s Day Off and The Wonder Years as an unenthusiastic teacher. You might know me from Win Ben Stein’s Money as the unenthusiastic game show host, or from my role as the unenthusiastic shill for Clear Eyes eye drops.

Or, maybe you know me from my enthusiastic condemnation of the politically correct terminology used during the holid---CHRISTMAS season. My Confessions for the Holiday has turned into a meme that gets passed around during the CHRISTMAS season since 2005. In it, I mention the absurdity of the politically correct terminology we use during this season in America. Why should people feel obligated to say "Happy Holidays" isntead of "Merry Christmas"? Even the White House has stopped calling their obvious Christmas Tree what it is, a Christmas Tree, and instead they are calling it a Holiday Tree.

Well, to be perfectly honest, I did not write my Confessions for the Holiday piece in response to that decision by the White House. The "White House Holiday Tree" part of the meme/email was added in 2009. I don’t even know who added that, but I love it.

Even though it’s definitely not true. The White House still calls it a Christmas tree and the Obamas very openly celebrate Christmas and wish others a Merry Christmas every year they've been in office.

But doesn't it feel like something the ultra liberals would do? It sure does. And when a well-respected eye drop spokesperson like myself speaks up about it, it causes a righteous fury in a certain segment of the population who enjoy viewing themselves as victims being persecuted by a secular horde. Or a Muslim horde. Or a Hindu horde. Some kind of horde, to be sure.

Which works out great for me because I get to sell books and go on talk shows exploiting that righteous fury. Merry Christmas, indeed.

Now, the rest of the meme/email is 100% true. Ok, maybe like 55% true. At least, true in the sense that I, Ben Stein, actually wrote it. Unfortunately, I didn’t write much of the text that is being passed around these days. That whole thing about Dr. Benjamin’s son committing suicide? Not true. But using a well known doctor’s son to manipulate people’s emotions and religious beliefs during the holiday season is my idea of fun!

The part that I really did write was about the offense people take to the term "Merry Christmas." All of this "happy holidays" nonsense. Why should I have to embrace everyone who might be celebrating any number of religious or non-religious holidays between November and New Years? Love and acceptance is not what Christmas is all about. It is strictly about celebrating the birth of Jesus.

Ignore the fact that everyone still says Merry Christmas, from your Korean atheist neighbor, to the sales clerk wearing a turban, to my Jewish relatives, to the exchange students at the local university, to basically every commercial on tv around this time. Forget about the serious issues we have as a society with the extreme commercialism we exhibit at the holiday season. I could talk about that, or the fact that Christmas constantly overshadows all other religious holidays and the ramifications of our overly Christian-centric worldview, but none of that draws the same emotional reaction as saying "happy holidays" instead of "Merry Christmas."

If I discussed serious issues like commercialism, getting riled up would require people to actually confront their own attitudes and do something about poverty and other social ills. By constantly invoking this War on Christmas nonsense, people can get all riled up, and all they have to do is...get riled up. There is literally no solution to their indignation because there is no real problem.

This is a trick I learned as a speech writer for Nixon and Gerald Ford: strongly denounce some nonexistent controversy and people will focus on that instead of the real issues. It's why I vilely slandered Michael Brown as a scary thug instead of addressing any very reasonable questions surrounding police brutality in Ferguson and around the country. It's a trick the media and the government have essentially perfected at this point, so why shouldn't I get in on the act? I lost a lot of money in that damn Comedy Central game show and the only one who benefited was Jimmy Kimmel. And he doesn't even return my calls anymore.

Well, now it's Ben Stein's turn. Time to start looking out for myself.

Merry Christmas. Buy Clear Eyes.

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I Love You All...Class Dismissed. 

A One Act Review of Vonnegut's First Play

Act I

Scene I

SILENCE. Pitch blackness. A door opens and a light switch is flicked, illuminating the small room. A 35 year old man looks at the bookshelf near his bed, overflowing with books he has sworn to read in his lifetime. Gifts, spontaneous purchases, long-sought after novels, all stacked together to create a seemingly infinite abyss of words and ideas and stories.

Among the spines of all colors and sizes, a name sticks out: Vonnegut.

Man

Hmm. Haven't read any Vonnegut in like 6 months. It's about that time.

He picks up the thin book with the soft, black cover. Printed in bright yellow letters are the words HAPPY BIRTHDAY, WANDA JUNE. A quick perusal of the back cover lets the man know this is the first, and one of the very few, plays Kurt Vonnegut ever wrote.

He opens the cover and flips through the first pages. After a few stage directions, a character named Penelope opens the play:

Penelope
This is a simple-minded play about men who enjoy killing, and those who don't.

The man closes the book.

Man

Good enough for me.

The man sits down in his recliner and finishes the play in 3 hours. As a composition instructor at the end of a long semester, it is a pleasure to read professional, interesting, clever writing. Vonnegut's writing is typically sparse, simple, yet elegant. He doesn't give overly descriptive stage directions, so there is a lot of room for interpretation from the actors, which means there is a lot of room for interpretation as a reader.

The play deals with identity, post-war masculinity, and social conceptions of a hero. Harold Ryan is a retired soldier and an old school adventurer. After serving in World War II, he immediately went to the South American jungles to explore, leaving his new wife and young son at home in New York. The wife, Penelope, has tried to accept his disappearance and move on with her life, but her son, Paul, envisions his heroic father coming home every night. Everybody knows his father as a hero and Paul has heard all the stories. Even his mother's new suitors admire and fear the very idea of Harold Ryan

In fact, Harold does return after 8 years. He is the stereotypical alpha male. He demands his wife serve his every need. He knows his reputation as a heroic soldier and he makes sure everyone else does, too. He brags about killing hundreds of men. That number is only eclipsed by his good friend Looseleaf, who was the pilot that dropped the bomb on Nagasaki. Looseleaf is less enthusiastic about the lives he took.

Things eventually fall apart for Harold upon his return home, culminating in him smashing the prized violin of Penelope's neighbor and friend. Upon seeing the damage and the turmoil Harold's return is causing, Looseleaf opens up to him:


HAROLD
You're an imbecile.

LOOSELEAF
I know you think that.

HAROLD
Everybody thinks that.

LOOSELEAF
Anybody who'd drop an atom bomb on
a city has to be pretty dumb.

HAROLD
The one direct, decisive,
intelligent act of your life!

LOOSELEAF
(shaking his head)
I don't think so.
(pause)
It could have been.

HAROLD
If what?

LOOSELEAF
If I hadn't done it. If I'd said
to myself, "Screw it. I'm going to
let all those people down there
live."

HAROLD
They were enemies. We were at war.

LOOSELEAF
Yeah, Jesus--but wars would be a
lot better, I think, if guys would
say to themselves sometimes,
"Jesus--I'm not going to do that to
the enemy. That's too much." You
could have been the manufacturer of
that violin there, even though you
don't know how to make a violin,
just by not busting it up. I could
have been the father of all those
people in Nagasaki, and the mother,
too, just by not dropping the bomb.
(pause)
I sent 'em to Heaven instead--and I
don't think there is one.

The man underlines this section of the dialogue and puts the book down. He gets up from the chair in which he had been tirelessly reading the book and walks to the closest window. The moon sends its pale blue light through the curtains onto the man's solemn face. He looks out longingly. A single tear falls down his cheek.

He returns to his chair and finishes the play. He then finds a pen and paper and begins to write:

Vonnegut has captured an idea I've tried to articulate for years now. Vonnegut, through Looseleaf, envisions a world where those who kill the most people in the name of war are not looked at as heroes; a world where those who decide to not retaliate are seen as heroic.

One of Penelope's suitors, the neighbor with the violin, is a doctor who considers himself a healer. He is a pacifist who says "peace" all the time. Harold constantly attacks his masculinity and mocks his speech. He considers the doctor "unmanly", but this is the exact type of person Looseleaf envisions as a true hero: the type of person who meets hatred and violence with love and compassion; the type of person who seeks to understand and comfort even the worst among us, like the teacher who stopped a mass shooter with a hug.

Society generally recognizes the heroic nature of this kind of act on an individual level, but as a whole, we are a society that still romanticizes deadly force. We cheer when we drop bombs on an entire country in retaliation for the actions of a few. Even though those bombs achieve absolutely nothing, the "civilized" world wants--needs--the show of force and destruction. We need to satisfy our thirst for revenge. We idolize soldiers with the highest kill counts, despite the fact those kills occurred in wars that the majority of us see as unnecessary. We may disagree with the war, but we still celebrate the warrior.

Happy Birthday, Wanda June questions the role of a hero (defined by violent, hyper-aggressive masculinity) when the wars end. It examines the place of this "traditional" masculinity in times of peace. As Harold discovered, soldiers are often lost in a peaceful environment. They end up abusing their offspring or significant others. They alienate themselves from their friends and family. They kill themselves. 

If the goal of war is to create peace, how do we reconcile our perceptions of violence as heroic when we reach that goal? The loss of traditional ideals of masculinity is widely believed to be a major cause for much of the violence we see today. As aggressive as it can be, masculinity can also be very fragile. It feels threatened by change. Masculinity prefers black and white, binary definitions of truth, so it doesn't understand the fluidity of gender roles and identities, or terms like "transgender." Widening the definition of "man" means that the traditional view of masculinity, that hyper-aggressive, violent machismo, is no longer the only accepted view.

People who define themselves by the old traditions and definitions struggle to accept these changing views and feel as if they are losing power and relevance. That was Harold's problem. He was unable to adapt to a peaceful world. He did not recognize as "Man" anyone who refused to kill or aggressively take what they consider theirs. He identified pacifism as weakness, as an emotional problem, instead of an ideal, and he couldn't accept the fact that the entire world no longer idolized his type of masculinity.  

Harold was unable to adapt to society's changing views, so he lashed out. As a society, and as individuals, we need to continue to re-examine our traditional notions of heroism and manliness; otherwise, fragile men who believe the only masculinity is a violent one will continue to express themselves violently in an effort to attain the masculine identity they so desire.

The man puts down his pen and paper, satisfied. Time to choose another book.

End.

I Love You All...Class Dismissed. 

Reflections of a Vaguebooker

I was guilty of vaguebooking the other day. In my defense, I wasn't looking for pity or attention. I swear it was an honest mistake.

On Facebook, I posted "Fuuuuuck Cancer" randomly with no context. In hindsight, I can see how this could be misconstrued, but when I posted it, I really didn't think of all the ways it could be interpreted. In general, it was an expression of frustration at the pervasiveness of cancer. Specifically, it was a reaction to hearing that a good friend's father was diagnosed with cancer at a relatively young age. It was also a declaration of determination. He will beat it.

Maybe with a paddle?

After posting it, I had dinner and went to see Creed so I forgot all about it. A few minutes into the movie (before Rocky is *SPOILER ALERT* diagnosed with the same cancer as my friend's dad...there is literally no escaping it) my phone's text message notification goes off. I put it on vibrate and checked the text. A good friend asked if everything is ok. I had no idea what he was talking about. Then I see another text almost simultaneously. Again, "are you ok?" The second message continued: "I just saw your post."

Oh shit. I checked Facebook and 5 people had already commented, some to express their agreement and their own experiences with it (these were the types of responses I had anticipated) others asking if I was okay and telling me to keep my head up.

I immediately felt horrible. People thought my family or I was sick. And in a way, it is my family, but I'm not affected so much by it that I need sympathy or even concern. I'm not going to act like I'm directly impacted by it more than I really am. I just feel real bad for my friend.

So it was not my intention at all to get pity, but it was really moving seeing people's reactions. The comments. The texts. That was all truly unexpected and heartwarming. It reminded me that some friends, no matter how often you see or talk to them, will always be there for you. And it showed me that some friends that you really only communicate with via social media can be just as supportive and caring and important as any other friend.

I have ridiculed vaguebooking before, and after doing it and seeing the reaction, I'm even more against it. Most people are really caring, and if they see a post that vaguely alludes to sickness or something troublesome, they will worry. If something is really wrong, it's best just to talk to someone. Even sharing it on social media is fine (and you will clearly get support, as my post just proved) but just tell us what it is, don't make vague references to it. That's a cheap way to get sympathy or start a conversation.

But damn if it doesn't work. At least I know if I ever do get cancer people will like my status.

Thanks?

In all honesty, the comments, and even the likes, feel good. They are ultimately the least you can do to support somebody, but so what? I hope that when the situation arises, I will check on my friends as they did for me. Even people I had just gotten into heated debates with liked the post and checked on me. It's always important to remember the humanity in everybody, even those you vehemently disagree with. And its always good to let your friends and family know how you feel about them every now and then, before the inevitable news of their eventual cancer diagnosis.

Sorry, I meant to end on an uplifting note. Here's Aunt Bethany singing the National Anthem. Hey, she didn't die of cancer!

It was alzheimer's. Sorry again.

I Love You All...Class Dismissed. 

In Defense of Social Media Activism: A Counter to Malcolm Gladwell's "Small Change"

(Read Malcolm Gladwell's The New Yorker article, "Small Change: Why The Revolution Will Not Be Tweeted" here.)

World-renowned author Malcolm Gladwell does not have much hope for the social movements of today’s generation. According to his article, Small Change: Why The Revolution Will Not Be Tweeted, social media is a tool that promotes “weak-tie activism,” which does not have the same powerful effects as the “strong-tie activism” of successful social movements in the past. However, it seems Gladwell sold social media short in 2010 because it has proven to be a powerful tool that is changing the status quo in many ways. The means of controlling and disseminating information have been drastically changed; social media takes information, modes of expression, and authority out of the hands of the establishment. Gladwell acknowledges that social media efficiently spreads information, but throughout the article he works to demean the effectiveness of internet activism, and an entire generation as a whole. He continuously discredits any movements spawned from social media, stating, “We seem to have forgotten what activism is." Despite his feelings on it, social media is the main mode of communication and main tool of activism for millennials, now and for the foreseeable future. Millennials are able to effectively use this tool in ways that are revolutionizing traditional forms of activism and communication. There certainly are “still lunch tables that need to be integrated” as Gladwell points out, but what he doesn’t acknowledge is that social media ensures that people know about those tables and gives them the ability to galvanize enough people to do something meaningful about them.

Gladwell states that social media advocates have sold us on the belief that, "with Facebook and Twitter and the like, the traditional relationship between political authority and popular will has been upended, making it easier for the powerless to collaborate, coordinate, and give voice to their concerns." This is a more accurate reflection of social media’s power than anything else Gladwell says. The traditional relationships between authority and the people have indeed been redefined; Gladwell even admits the power social media has as a vehicle of expression, yet he denies its power to coordinate and effect change. He states that social media, “makes it easier for activists to express themselves, and harder for that expression to have any impact.” Yet how could that expression have any impact if it were never heard in the first place? The fact that the opinion of any ordinary person can be heard around the globe is revolutionary in and of itself. Yet according to Gladwell, only the "existing social order" will ever benefit from social media: “the instruments of social media are well suited to making the existing social order more efficient." He refers to a social media campaign to find a bone marrow donor as an example, believing it only succeeded because of the existing hierarchical structure of the donor match program.

Although it is true that social media can benefit existing systems and organizations, it can also challenge those systems by giving more people a chance to express themselves. Plus, social media does not limit the impact of that expression, certainly not any more so than previous modes of expression and communication. Letters to the editor are an example of a traditional mode of expression that ordinary citizens used to challenge the authority of existing systems. Martin Luther King, Jr., who Gladwell constantly references, saw the benefit of writing letters to editors and congressmen and encouraged his supporters to do the same. Unfortunately, to get published or heard, these letters had to be selected and approved by certain people, often the very same people the letters were challenging. Now, people can express their opinions on Facebook or Twitter or start their own blog. Sure there are some less informed opinions than others, but at least we have a chance to hear these opinions and let our own be heard. Social media is not much different than methods of communication in the past, it is simply more efficient and allows for a broader scope of viewpoints.

However, Gladwell consistently refuses to grant the internet its level of importance and omnipresence in our society. Gladwell quotes a former US State Department discussing the War on Terror: "Al Qaeda was 'eating our lunch on the internet.'" Gladwell responds somewhat incredulously, "Why does it matter who is eating whose lunch on the internet?" He dismisses outright the significance of an online social media presence and the effectiveness of a network. He claims that there are many things networks can not do well, such as design cars or organize movements, explaining: "How do you make difficult choices about tactics or strategy or philosophical direction when everyone has an equal say?" For someone who began their journalism career writing for a conservative magazine, that sounds a lot like he’s questioning the merits of a true American democracy. Are we meant to be equal, or should some people have more say than others? The status quo has been that most people, especially women, people of color, and other minority groups, have not had an equal say. He claims that social media is “not the natural enemy of the status quo,” yet if social media allows for more equality, is that not challenging the status quo?

As far as networks effectively accomplishing their goals, networks may not be able to design cars efficiently, but his example of Al Qaeda has not stood the test of time. He claims, "Al Qaeda was most dangerous when it was a unified hierarchy. Now that it has dissipated into a network, it has proved far less effective." The reality is that terror networks have continued to spread. Al Qaeda has given way to ISIS, whose heavy online presence has provided a boost to its cause and created urgency in other country’s online response. Besides being an abstract concept, terrorism is impossible to stop precisely because terrorist groups form in a network. With a hierarchy, the people at the top can be taken out and things inevitably fall apart. But when there are many different cells and no clear leader, who is targeted? What voice can be stifled to end the movement? Networks’ lack of hierarchies may make certain, specific tasks more time consuming since a consensus is needed before action can be taken, but networks also ensure that the mission continues despite the absence of a clearly defined leader.

In addition to expressing his belief that networks are not capable of enacting real change, Gladwell also implies that activists who use social media—in other words, millennial activists—do not desire real change and seek only petty goals: "The drawbacks of networks scarcely matter if the network isn't interested in systemic change--if it just wants to frighten or humiliate or make a splash--or if it doesn’t need to think strategically.” A significant percentage of people use social media simply to “make a splash,” but to imply that most people using social media as an activist tool don’t want real change is bizarre. Millenials are quite possibly the most socially active generation since the Civil Rights movement. To use his own example of terror groups, although their methods could be described as “making a splash,” their intent is to drastically alter the current system of living, and they are very strategic. At the other end of the spectrum, many activists online are working for real, positive change as well, from fundraisers and awareness campaigns to protest movements. A strong network, online or off, is a vital resource for promoting change as well as plain old survival; many people living in areas affected by ISIS, or living in war zones, oftentimes literally rely on social media networks just to survive.

Yet Gladwell believes that social media activists are unorganized and inevitably unproductive: "Social networks are effective at increasing participation--by lessening the level of motivation that participation requires." He points to the Save Darfur campaign as an example, focusing on the minimal amount of money raised by that specific group as a sign of its failing. One Save Darfur Facebook group had a million followers who gave on average 35 cents. According to Gladwell, this reflects just how far away we are from "the lunch counters of Greensboro" and the high risk activism of the Civil Rights Movement. It is true that donating 35 cents is hardly a real sacrifice, but giving money isn't the only way to make a difference. As a spokesperson for the Save Darfur Coalition said, "We wouldn't necessarily gauge someone's value to the advocacy movement based on what they've given. This is a powerful mechanism to engage this critical population. They inform their community, attend events, volunteer. It's not something you can measure by looking at a ledger." Spreading awareness has a powerful effect. Besides, there is a bigger issue with Gladwell's example: how would the goal of "saving" Darfur even be accomplished? What would it look like? The situation that Darfur finds itself in is largely because of the existing hierarchical structures of that country and the militants within. The fact that a social media campaign failed to effectively “save” Darfur is not a failing of the social media campaign, but a failing of humanity in general and a lack of clearly specified goals. If this campaign is a symbol of the failures of modern day activism, there are two more recent campaigns that reflect positively on the galvanizing power of social media: the Ice Bucket Challenge and the Black Lives Matter movement.

The Ice Bucket Challenge was a monumental success for the ALS Foundation. It worked because it used the power of the social network to spread a message and encourage people to donate or simply continue spreading the message. Gladwell would most likely compare this campaign to the bone marrow example he discussed, in which a campaign was started online to find a bone marrow donor for one individual and 25,000 new people were registered, eventually leading to a  match. Gladwell claims the campaign was successful because they didn’t ask too much of people: "Donating bone marrow isn't a trivial matter. But it doesn’t involve financial or personal risk; it doesn’t mean spending a summer being chased by armed men in pickup trucks. It doesn’t require that you confront socially entrenched norms and practices. In fact, it’s the kind of commitment that will bring only social acknowledgment and or praise." Gladwell seems to believe the only way that activism matters is if people give money or face bodily harm. The Ice Bucket Challenge successfully achieved the former, and it would be interesting to hear his opinion on the Black Lives Matter movement since they achieved the latter. Agree or disagree with their message and tactics, Black Lives Matter activists have put themselves in harm’s way. Activists from Ferguson and Baltimore faced heavily militarized police forces, not to mention the scrutiny and judgment of journalists, politicians, and other authority figures who enforce the status quo. They also face constant harassment online, something Gladwell ignores. Is an online death threat any less “real” than a hand written letter? Many people rely on the internet to make a living or get their message out, so it’s not as simple as logging off (especially when many activists' personal addresses have been illegally obtained and published) and why should they have to? That’s similar to telling Martin Luther King and other Civil Rights activists to stay home if they didn’t want to get attacked by police dogs; it makes the victim responsible for the actions of the persecutor.

Despite the evidence to the contrary, Gladwell does not believe that social media can help with the “lunch tables that [still] need to be integrated.” He believes that social media will not revolutionize the system, but even the Civil Rights Movement only influenced the system, it didn't completely revolutionize it. The movement worked to change government legislation, not change the government itself. In fact, if these metaphorical lunch tables are still in need of integration, that speaks to the failure of these past movements. We are still dealing with these issues today because they were never fully addressed. Gladwell seems to have selective memory. He makes the point that "If Martin Luther King, Jr., had tried to do a wiki-boycott in Montgomery, he would have been steamrolled by the white power structure." Apparently, if King tried to use social media to advance his message, he would have been stopped, or worse yet, killed. There's just one glaring problem with that theory.

Gladwell succumbs to the common fallacy of glorifying the past. Nothing will ever compare to the Civil Rights Movement. Yet, in many ways, even Gladwell's glorified Civil Rights Movement bears a striking resemblance to current social movements. When speaking about the Freedom Summer movement in the 60s, he mentions that, "a quarter of those in the program dropped out." Many people were vocal supporters but in the long run did little to help the movement. That sounds a lot like the social media campaigns that he lambastes. Yet in a social media movement, even if only a small percentage of the supporters engage in “high risk” activism, more people can be reached, so that small percentage will still represent a significant number of people.

In the Freedom Summer movement, it was discovered that more important than a person’s dedication to the cause was, “an applicant's degree of personal connection to the civil-rights movement." People are more dedicated to a cause if they are closely connected to someone fighting for that cause. This is what Gladwell refers to as the “strong tie phenomenon.” He believes these strong ties can not be formed on social media, but this belief is just a byproduct of his condescension of the younger generation. He claims: "The platforms of social media are built around weak ties…The evangelists of social media don’t understand this distinction; they seem to believe that a Facebook friend is the same as a real friend and that signing up for a donor registry in Silicon Valley today is activism in the same sense as sitting at a segregated lunch counter in Greensboro in 1960.” Besides not understanding relationships as well as Gladwell does, millennials apparently equate signing an online petition with marching in Selma. The combination of his unbridled reverence for the Civil Rights Movement and his blatant scorn for the new generation eventually leads to his bias being fully revealed here. Most people understand that all 1000 of their Facebook friends are not friends in the truest sense of the word, and no sane person considers signing an online petition an incredible act of bravery. But Facebook friends can’t be completely discounted either, and online petitions can get results.

Overall the most effective activism incorporates social media into what Gladwell describes as high-risk activism. Millennials understand this. Young activists have effectively organized online and put themselves in danger both online and off. Gladwell believes that "activism that challenges the status quo--that attacks deeply rooted problems--is not for the faint of heart." He is right about that. Social media activists are constantly berated on social networks and by the mainstream media. Many are currently being monitored by the FBI, much in the same way Civil Rights activists were. If Gladwell’s measurement of success is facing bodily harm, that has been achieved. If it is passing legislation or sparking conversation, activists have been successful in that as well, from enacting body camera laws, to instating citizen oversight committees. We just saw another example of the power of social media activism when the President of the University of Missouri stepped down after black students protested his inaction on racist incidents on campus. One student started a hunger strike, the football team and many faculty showed support publicly, the protest went viral on social media, and the national outcry forced action by the school. After the President resigned, the Chancellor stepped down, too. That is the effect of social media: it puts high risk activism on a national, oftentimes global, stage.

It is hard to understand Gladwell’s dismissal of social media and modern day activism. When discussing the Civil Rights Movement, he states, “of what use would a digital communication tool be in a town where 98% of the black community could be reached every Sunday morning at church?” The problem becomes apparent here: Gladwell is using the same parameters of successful activism from the past to judge the present. The world has changed and it doesn’t seem that Gladwell wants to accept that fact. Church attendance is down drastically (and in many cases, the church represents the very status quo that activists are challenging) housing is more spread out, and in general, more people are staying inside. Our common meeting places are now mostly online and because of this, we can connect across the entire world with people who share our passions and world view.

Social media can be incredibly useful for social activism, but it is just a tool. Gladwell states that "activists were once defined by their causes, they are now defined by their tools." However, that focus on the tools of activism is a definition of modern day activism that he himself imposes. The people and the cause itself have always been paramount. If the cause is just and the people fighting for the cause are persistent, it doesn't matter what tools they use. It is true that social media increases the overall ease of activism, but that should be seen as a positive trait because it results in an increase in visibility and an acceleration of progress. Social media just happens to be the biggest source of news and information and the main mode of communication in today's world, and Millenials have found a way to make it work to suit their needs. The Civil Rights activists that Gladwell so highly revered (rightly so) would have probably been impressed with the potential of social media and most likely encouraged millennials to continue fighting for their causes online.

Because in 2015 and beyond, if the revolution isn't tweeted, will it ever happen?

I Love You All...Class Dismissed.

Hell's Market: My First Job As A Metaphor For Life

When I was 16 years old, I got my first job at a local grocery store. The best thing I can say about it is that it helped me realize certain things I didn't want to do with my life. I can say that about most jobs I had through my 20s, though, so I guess the best I can say is that it could have been worse. 

Then again, this was my worst job ever. Huh. Well then.

Every experience is meaningful and imparts a certain amount of wisdom if you can appreciate it as a learning experience. It was hard to do that with this job, but if I couldn't find a deeper meaning in what I was doing, all of that miserable shit would have been for nothing. 

So here we are. 


Below are a few things I did at my first job that either have a much deeper meaning than what appeared on the surface, or they were simply awful experiences of a young teen being taken advantage of by a cutthroat business owner. It may not matter to you, but believing in the former helps me cope with the latter. 


Dumpster Jumper

[Hell's] Market is a small, family owned grocery store with a great deli section and an excellent selection of fresh fish, veggies, fruits, and salads. A cherished, adorable little neighborhood market in West Hartford. Fanfuckingtastic. 

The local landmark had one dumpster in the adjacent parking lot. It was emptied once a week. It should have been emptied at least twice. But that would cost money. So, along with whichever other minimum wage teenager was on shift with me at the time, I spent late afternoons jumping on and stomping down the week's garbage. Garbage pick up was usually Thursday mornings, so Wednesday evenings were the worst. 

Me. Every Wednesday. 5-6pm.

And this was trash from a market, so all the discarded fish and veggies and cheese and everything else was in there, for a week, piling up. 

To save our shoes and some of our dignity, we would lay large pieces of clean cardboard down on top of the pile. Standing on the edge of the dumpster like it was the top rope in a wrestling ring, we then jumped onto the cardboard and stomped the yard out of that pile of garbage until we could fit the rest of the day's garbage on top without it overflowing.

Deeper meaning: Life is full of bullshit. Just keep stomping that bullshit down. And always have a designated pair of work shoes. 


Cockoach Killer

A week into my new job, I was told I would have to work every other Saturday morning, when the lowest workers on the totem pole (me...always me) had to help organize and clean the basement. A lot of that involved taking items from storage and restocking shelves. Sometimes we had to clean out the basement meat locker. Most of the time, though, I spent every other Saturday morning of the summer of my 16th year spraying Raid cans into dank corners and stomping hundreds of fleeing roaches. 

It was never this much fun. Jack Blanchard, you lied to me!

Incidentally, I came to dread Saturday mornings. Sadly, weekdays weren't much better, as the roach raids occurred on a daily basis. To be fair, the owner called in exterminators once a month to help stem the tide of roaches. But they were either incompetent or incapable of accomplishing that mission, so any time an employee was working, part of their job was to spot any roaches and remove them before customers saw. The aisles, the produce, the register; no place was safe. 

One day when I was working as cashier, a roach ran across the register, onto the counter, and down to the floor. I don't know how, but the woman purchasing her groceries didn't see it. Or she was just used to it. She might have been a regular there. 

Deeper meaning: Job descriptions are never complete. You will be asked to do some disgusting, degrading shit that will make you reconsider the entire concept of work in exchange for currency.


Meat locker/Fish shelf Cleaner

There were two meat lockers in the building; the aforementioned basement locker, where most of the meat was stored, and the upstairs cooler, where meat was brought before it was prepared to sell. Both were cold as hell, obviously. Downstairs had the bonus of cockroaches. Well, there were roaches upstairs too, but downstairs was ground zero. We cleanes out the downstairs locker once a week and the upstairs locker at the end of every day. 

I used to be a voracious red meat eater but I had never been so close to so much uncooked red meat. The bags were tightly sealed yet blood always managed to find a way out, onto the shelves and eventually the floor. The stench stayed on my clothes well after my shift ended. It was like crawling up a frozen cow's asshole. I finally understood how Han Solo felt. 

There was a wet-vac that we used to clean up the blood,. Emptying the wet-vac was proof that people are punished for things they did in previous lives. Nobody in this lifetime deserved experiencing that stench. 

Cleaning the fish shelves at the end of the day may have been worse, though. The shelves had a drain system, so once everything was removed, we took a hose and sprayed down the shelves and protective glass. Then we had to clean the trays that held the fish all day. The hose didn't work on those so that was done by hands. 

I love fish. All types, all styles of preparation. Sushi. Grilled. Fried. Shellfish. Whatever. And I've been to docks and fish markets so I've encountered pungent fish aromas. Nothing prepared me for the pungency of these shelves and trays at the end of a long summer day. There was no amount of scrubbing that got the fish odor off my fingertips. They smelled like I fingerbanged a dead mermaid.

Deeper meaning: Some things that you love can hurt you. 


Financial Abuse Victim

As this was my first job, I wasn't cognizant of the ins and outs of contract negotiations. I started working at $5, which I believed was minimum wage at the time. It may have been for a little while. But at some point, the minimum wage rose to $5.50. Unbeknownst to me, of course. When I finally found out about 6 weeks later, I asked a few people, and miraculously the next paycheck reflected the increase.

If this was the only case of cutting corners and taking advantage of employees, I would have chalked it up as a simple oversight or accounting error. But this was intentional. The owner knew I wouldn't confront him directly. If I never mentioned it to anybody, I would have never seen the extra 50 cents an hour. And the only reason word ever got to the boss was because the whole family worked there. The wife, at least three daughters, and a few cousins and aunts all had key jobs. The older family members basically set their own schedules, too, so they would go long stretches without showing up, then return whenever cash was low. 

The owner was rich, and he stayed rich because he barely paid anyone else. Half of the employees were teenagers working for minimum wage. These kids, including myself, were the hardest workers. We truly kept the place running because we didn't want to lose our jobs, plus the owner and manager ensured we were always working diligently. The other half of employees were the owner's family members. He didn't have to pay these employees very much, on the books anyways; he would just give them a "company" Benz or a handful of undeclared cash.

Deeper meaning: You will be taken advantage of if you don't pay attention, ask questions, and assert yourself. 


All in all, I'm not bitter about the experience. I mean, I did just write a whole blog post about it, and I have never set foot in the place in the 19 years since I left, but I'm not bitter. 

Nope, it was a learning experience and I'm glad I went through it. Not bitter at all. 


I Love You All (Except For My Former Boss Who Can Lick the Bottom of My Dumpster Jumping Shoes. I'm Not Bitter)...Class Dismissed.

Mildly Traumatic Childhood Events

Childhood is traumatic. 

And not just because of the hats.

Even the best childhoods are rife with embarrassments, injuries, heartbreak, or a combination of all of those. The world is terrifying as a child...and not much better as an adult to be honest, but hopefully by the time you reach adulthood you have learned some ways of appropriately dealing with the terror that is daily life. 

We create sayings like "what doesn't kill you makes you stronger" to ease the burden on children and make them feel like all this suffering is actually benefiting them. The truth is, sometimes what doesn't kill us scars us for life, but try breaking that to little Jessica as she's looking for a reason why her older cousin threw her pet hamster out the 4th story window. 

Children are amazingly resilient though, and sometimes they easily shake off what should seemingly be a traumatic event. Other times, some event that seems rather meaningless and minor is the very thing that shapes them as a person. 

The following incidents didn't necessarily shape me, but I do remember them clearly, and that says something right?  

Thankfully there was nothing too traumatic (that I can remember). In fact, these can all be summed up as "first-world problems." I come from a loving, middle class family, so my privilege was very high from the beginning. Hartford wasn't the greatest city (still isn't) but I lived in a nice house in a safe neighborhood. Regardless, there's always incidents that leave their mark on you no matter how great your life is overall. I wouldn't say I was traumatized or defined by any of these events but they definitely made an impression. 

The first one happened on a cross country trip with my family when i was about 11 or 12 (again, privilege on high). At Bryce Canyon in Utah we went hiking in the canyons. At one point I was near a cliff, which dropped down hundreds maybe thousands of feet. There was one area where the ledge was on an incline. I walked up and looked over the edge, acting carefree. As I started to come down the incline, my foot started to slip. I crouched down, yet kept sliding, so I dropped on my ass. I continued to slip downwards, towards the edge. 

I envisioned a long fall to my rocky demise.

I probably stopped 5-6 feet away, but that vision of slipping over the edge  stayed with me long after I had stopped all movement. I didn't tell anyone and I tried to forget about it, but the memory never left. I was shook. It was traumatic in the same way touching a hot stove as a child is traumatic. It didn't give me a fear of heights (I've gone sky-diving several times after all) but it gave me a new respect for heights. 

The next moment was traumatic in a different, grosser way. Lying in my bed in Hartford. In the state of consciousness right before sleep sets in. I hear a "poof" next to my head. A few seconds later, I hear another one, as if something light was landing on my pillow. In my dream state, I pictured Tinkerbell or the Indian from The Indian in the Cupboard jumping up and down on my pillow. The beautiful naivete of youth.

Something tickled my ear. I brush it away. Then something falls on my neck. This wasn't fucking Tinkerbell. I jump up, throwing my arms around, slapping my neck, and shaking my entire body. I jump to the light switch. 

When the light turns on, I look on my bed to see big, black, squirming ants. 

As I swallowed hard to hold back my dinner from spraying all over my room, I rubbed the skin off my entire body and ran to my parents room. These were unacceptable living conditions. My room was above the garage so the ceiling was sloped, and a wooden beam at the apex had become infested with ants. There were so many they had started to fall out, right on to the sleeping adolescent underneath.  

I have flashbacks to this scene any time I feel something on my body at night or if I hear some slight noise near my head. Not only that, this experience completely ruined Honey I Shrunk the Kids for me.

That scorpion is a hero.

Absolutely traumatizing.

Finally, probably the most traumatizing event from my childhood. I think I actually repressed it for a good portion of my life. 

My family was at our friends' house up the street. The kids were playing while the parents hung out and talked. As the sun started to go down, my brother and I were still playing around outside with our friends. For whatever dumb kid reason we had for it, we started jumping on the outside cellar door. 

It was an old, rusty metal door that we had run over and jumped on many times. Nobody bothered to tell us to stop because it was so common. What was not common was crashing through the doors to the concrete stairs beneath, tumbling and falling all the way down to the landing. 

Dazed and confused, we sat there while our parents came rushing down the stairs. My parents, caring individuals that they were, took one look at our beaten, bloodied bodies and said, "Ok, time to go home!" So instead of the ambulance ride to the hospital and several stitches that we should have probably received, we walked down the street and went home, screaming our heads off the whole time. To their credit, our friends' parents asked my parents if they were sure we didn't want to go to the hospital or treat the wounds at their house. Nope. We'll just walk the 300 yards home, go to sleep and forget it ever happened.  

I'm not one of those "if that happened now" guys, but...if that happened now, we would have sued, DCF would have intervened, and I would have owned that damn house. Instead, I have mental scars and an irrational fear of cellar doors to this day. Thanks mom and dad!

I Love You All...Class Dismissed. 

You Might Not Mean To Be Racist...

...but you are.

Nothing's funnier than watching a racist get mad for being called a racist. And if you let them talk long enough in an attempt to defend themselves, you'll see just how racist they really are. The denial always makes it worse.

The fact is, we all have subconscious or unconscious biases. Test yours now! Racism is and has been rampant in this country since its inception (and even before that). It is not just individual racism either; the most insidious form of racism is institutional. The pervasiveness of racism over time seeps in to everyone's conscious, somehow someway. Even the victims of racism can internalize racist beliefs. 

That's called "Uncle Ruckus Syndrome."

Having these unconscious biases is not wrong necessarily; even when we have good intentions, we often act on our unconscious biases. The problem is when we deny their existence and continue to act on them, consciously or unconsciously. If large groups of people are offended by what you say or do, figure out why, apologize, do better and keep it moving. 

Overcoming these biases takes a conscious effort. People need to acknowledge these biases first, and then consciously work through them. What makes me laugh/cry is when people deny the possibility that their views could be taken as offensive; they get offended that anyone dare to be offended and they completely miss the irony in that perspective. Or worse, they just deny that racism even exists, which takes a cognitive dissonance that I will never fully understand.

A lot of the actions I describe in the videos below are micro-aggressions. Taken as a single, solitary incident, a micro-aggression (an unintentionally racist/sexist/homophopic statement or act) is, well, exactly what it says: micro. Not that big a deal. But imagine being on the receiving end of these acts, multiple times a day, over the course of your entire life. Any single act could be the proverbial straw that broke the camel's back. That's why it is important to be conscious of your thoughts and beliefs and especially your actions. 

These acts in and of themselves don't make you a bad person. Ignoring or denying them does. You should understand or at least make an attempt to understand the reality of what you're doing. And if you still think you're doing nothing wrong, then yes, you are a bad person.

The purpose of this series of Vines is to bring awareness of those unintentional, subconscious moments of racism and discrimination. Honestly, it has turned into one hell of a social experiment. Check out the comments on some of the vines to get a better look at the mentality of "The Unconscious Racist." It's funny, sad, scary and pathetic all in one!

Actually, the real purpose of this series of Vines is to make me laugh and hopefully a few other people laugh, too. It's good, and necessary, to laugh at ourselves and at serious issues; that is, if we can learn from it and attempt to do better. 

Some of the acts or beliefs described are much more serious than others. For example, calling the children of immigrants "anchor babies" is way worse than saying, "I don't see color," but both stem from a similar mentality of reasserting the status quo. "You don't see color" means you don't see the realities of racism, which in turn means you must think people complaining about racism are liars. Calling people "anchor babies" is clearly more hateful, but denying the existence of the different treatment of people with darker skin in this country is insulting. 

Although I take this subject seriously, it's all in good fun and it's all love. Enjoy!

 
I Love You All...Class Dismissed.

The Bigotry Industry and Its Diminishing Returns

Kim Davis and Annie Wilkes. Wait, no. Annie Wilkes and Kim Davis. Or is it...

One of the best things about the social media era is people's ability to identify with groups of like-minded people and take down other individuals and groups they believe to be immoral. We see some piece of shit like Kim Davis (the Kentucky county clerk who refused to process same sex marriage licenses) trying to impose her beliefs on others and deny them their civil rights and we can unite against her.

One of the worst things about the social media era is people's ability to identify with groups of like-minded people and take down other individuals or groups they believe to be immoral. People see a person like Kim Davis standing up for her beliefs in the face of an unjust, immoral government, and they can unite in her defense.

This happens all the time. Some horrible person does something horrible, the internet and the majority of society at large is outraged. We get them fired or jailed. We shut down their business. We make their life miserable for a little while. A few days (sometimes hours) later, a group of people comes to their defense, claiming it is actually their rights being violated.  Davis is being championed by some as a Civil Rights hero, on par with Rosa Parks. Certain Republican presidential candidates have flocked to her side. Mike Huckabee said God came down in the form of Kim Davis. 

Damn, God, you couldn't choose a more flattering vessel?

As an American, you have a right to be an asshole, but not if it impinges on other people's rights. That's a very basic principle. Your rights and beliefs are no more important than anyone else's. Kim Davis has a right to feel any way she wants about marriage. She can claim she is defending the sanctity of marriage despite being on her 4th marriage. She has a right to be an idiot and voice her opinion. She does not have a right to deny other people's rights. This is not a case of "an unjust law is no law at all" and the fact that someone would think to compare her to Martin Luther King is disgusting. She is upholding the unjust law that we, and the Supreme Court, overturned; the one preventing gay people to get married.  Davis has every right to disagree with it, campaign against it, and protest it, but as a civil servant, it is her duty to follow through with it. Do your job. And don't take a job you know you might object to. If I'm Muslim or Jewish, I'm not going to work on a pig farm. 

That sort of sounds like I'm comparing gay marriage to slaughtering pigs. Not cool, man. Point is, if you feel that strongly about something, don't take a job that will require you to go against your beliefs. 

The reality of this situation is that Kim Davis was happy to become a martyr for her bigoted, misguided cause. She knew she would receive plenty of support. This was her one chance to do something meaningful with her life, even though it was illegal, hateful, and essentially pointless. How else could she make it on tv and come out to Eye of the Tiger and meet presidential candidates and receive thunderous applause from hundreds of people?
  
This is far from the first time a horrible person has been hailed as a hero. Davis is essentially Pennsatucky in Orange is the New Black, the hillbilly who killed abortion doctors (after having several abortions of her own) and became a hero of the Pro-Life/Anti-Choice crowd.

Anti-Choice Christ.

Memories Pizza in Indiana caused a national outrage when they said they wouldn't cater gay marriages. People bombarded the store with calls, emails, and probably angry letters and tweets or something. We made life so very difficult for their little business. 

So difficult that 29,000 people chipped in and raised damn near a million dollars for their bigoted little business. 

No matter how you feel about Mike Brown and Darren Wilson and Ferguson, it's hard to justify raising over half a million dollars for a guy for killing an 18 year old, particularly when that guy was already in a Union that paid his legal fees and was on paid leave after the incident.

There will always be a diverse array of ideas in the world, including hateful ones. Any activism for one side of a cause gets balanced out or overpowered by the other side. Progress is always met with resistance. Hate is powerful, and hateful people are usually the loudest and most persistent. 

Although it is an unintelligent, backwards way of thinking about the world, bigotry can be clever, too. This new ploy of claiming "religious freedom" is definitely a clever response to the changing social atmosphere, but it should be called out for what it is: an excuse for bigotry. Kim Davis, or Mike Huckabee for that matter, is no Martin Luther King. Or Martin Luther for that matter. Huckabee is trying to score political points and Davis is trying to score a payout from gofundme or a future speaking tour at megachurches all over the country.

So what do those of us with a modicum of empathy and humanity do? Stop calling out bigotry? Every time bigots get called out, some will rush to their defense, yes, but that just lets us know who the other bigots are! Despite great progress, we have a long way to go, and calling out the ones holding us back is the only way we will move forward.

In Kim Davis's case, the group Survivor is threatening to sue for unauthorized use of their song, so maybe this time the asshole won't get her payday. She has become a martyr, though, and that is enough for most of these bigots. They finally feel like they matter.

On a larger scale, though, what it really means is they don't matter anymore. Their bigoted way of looking at the world is becoming less and less common, which is why she became such a big story in the first place. That's actually a sign of progress.

If a few bigots benefit from their outrage inducing hate, we are still better off as a society for calling them out. Even though she has become (the ugliest) poster child for her outdated cause, the people's lives she was interfering with are happier now, and that's all that really matters.

William Smith, Jr. and James Yates after finally getting married in Rowan County, Kentucky, on their 6th attempt.

I Love You All...Class Dismissed. 

Through Sickness & Health & False Assumptions

We all have moments when we question the sincerity of others, especially when it comes to sickness and health. I've learned that when most people say things like, "I don't understand why I can't lose weight, I work out all the time and I barely eat!" it really means, "I occasionally walk around the block and skip the 8th piece of pizza." I know this because I do this. When really thin people say, "I eat all the time!" what they usually mean is they nibble on a small amount of food throughout the day or eat a normal amount and exercise obsessively. We all share these slightly fabricated visions of our own realities at some point. 

A similar thing happens when it comes to sickness. I usually tend to think people exaggerate their conditions, especially when I've never had that condition and don't know what the fuck I'm talking about. A friend's mom used to have wrist pain and carpal tunnel syndrome from her job as a secretary. She'd miss a lot of work because of it. I always thought she was being dramatic. When people complain about migraines and miss work because of them, I always used to think that was bullshit. It's a headache. Go to work. That was of course until I experienced my first migraines and wanted to crawl out of my own skin and jump off my balcony to ease the pain. 

You just don't know until you've gone through it. Even then, it may affect someone else in a completely different way. As I experienced more, I learned not to judge and that I really don't know what others are going through. I still had (have) moments of stupidity though. A while back, one woman I worked with had a hypersensitive sense of smell. She always complained about barely perceptible scents in the office and she once asked my boss to tell me to never wear cologne. I took offense because I barely wore it and who was she to tell me I couldn't smell how I wanted? It was not like I had a cloud of Curve following me. Get over it. 

That was the mentality I had going into an adjunct instructor meeting a few years back. A woman in her 50s comes in and sits close to me. She was holding up a white duster mask over her nose and mouth. She explained to another adjunct that she had a hypersensitive sense of smell. 

Here we go again.

She said how difficult it can be when there is a class full of students, all with different chemical compounds in their hair and on their body and clothes, in poorly ventilated classrooms. And some of them with their damn cologne!

Ugh. I hated her immediately.

She went on to explain that she had worked for a company that didn't properly protect its employees from a certain chemical they used and she was basically poisoned. The chemical got into her system and caused her allergies to go into overdrive. She was currently in a lawsuit against them. She had to quit her job and could only work part time as an adjunct. There were times when she could barely breathe. 

Huh. This didn't sound like the whiner at my old job. In fact, it sounded like I rushed to judgment. It sounded like I was an asshole.

As the reality of my assholeishness started to set in, she said the name of the company that poisoned her. It sounded familiar. I had seen it somewhere. 

I looked down at the bag containing my books and other school supplies laying by my feet. There on the bag, I kid you not, was the logo for the same company that had poisoned this woman. 

What. The. Hell. 

I slowly moved the bag underneath the table with my foot as I continued to nod my head, listening to her awful story and wanting to disappear.

 

Kinda like this.

So that incident helped me realize that I can't possibly judge other people's health situation. I still have doubts about that lady at my old job (she called out and complained constantly) but even then, how do I really know? After the poisoned lady shared her story, there were still times I doubted people who complained about allergies. Recently I discovered the horrors of many allergies, in particular Lavender allergies, and I now thank the Flying Spaghetti Monster everyday for not giving them to me. I get bad headaches sometimes and I think about how much of a jerk I was for questioning other people's toughness in dealing with headaches. Yes, there are certainly some people who blatantly lie about their conditions, or play up their conditions for sympathy or financial gain, but for the most part, there's no way to know how a sickness or an injury affects each individual.

I see this a lot with mental health especially. People with severe depression are told to "get over it" or "shake it off." People don't understand it is a chemical imbalance. The brain is just another organ, and sometimes it doesn't work properly. You don't tell someone with kidney failure to get over it. You tell them to get treated. People who have no experience with depression have no frame of reference. Just because you were sad once when a family member dies doesn't mean you know what depression is. Same with anxiety. Just because you get nervous before you have to speak publicly doesn't mean you understand what someone with an anxiety disorder goes through. It's not something you can just think about real hard and will it away. 

I guess the point I'm trying to make is, don't be an asshole? Yeah. Don't be an asshole. Stop judging or trying to "fix" people's illnesses. 

And don't ever carry bags with any type of logo, ever. Just to be safe.  


I Love You All...Class Dismissed.