Societal Alzheimers

Does anyone remember the wide-spread pseudo-panic that swept the country this time last year? The vehemence with which we all mercifully chattered about the inevitability of our fates? I do. And I find it quite odd that staring at the same date that two years ago would spin our country into a societal meltdown brings only a smile to our faces. Allow me to elaborate, as the Mayan Calendar supposedly predicts, the world and all of its wrongdoings will meet a swift and violent end come December 21st 2012. When this theory came began to become publicized by the media the peoples interest morphed into gut wrenching fear. Maybe this theory no longer fell under the category of a simple conspiracy? The thought crossed my mind more than once, and rightfully so. Within days of comprehending the apparent severity of the situation I along with millions of others contributed to "December 21st apocalypse" as the most searched term on google for 2010. As I scoured scores of websites I came across methods of our demise ranging from planetary collision to zombie infections. What crushed my dismal hope of survival further came with the release of John Cusack and all his glory in the cinematic flub of the century 2012. This film lit the fuse, turning an already impressionable mentality into a cacophony of despair. Millions searching for this event turned into hundreds of millions, including myself and it got to the point of absurdity that NASA began releasing articles disproving the theory in order to calm the public. However, their release only calmed the those skeptical of it in the first place and for the most part, those plagued with concern found no solace. With all of the internal chaos swarming around for the weeks after the film I can still remember my little cousin coming to me teary eyed asking about the verity of his certain end. At that point a realization struck me that only have us as a people created this mad theory to the point of ludicrousy. As I sat there explaining the scientific and archaeological evidence in as best a way a nine year old could comprehend I found myself feeling more relaxed than him, even though he simply smiled and went to finish his hot wheels track. With my explanation of the impracticality of such a stellar end I found myself feeling elated, on a higher tier of thought than everyone else still frantically searching for reassurance. However, this great catastrophe of panic and outrage fizzled as quickly as it detonated, exemplifying an overdone theme in life: time, does in fact heal everything. Within weeks conversations never even contained a hint of the subject, as a matter of fact, when I brought it up to see what reaction I would net, all I got was an indifferent shrug. To this day this mystifies me. How could those who seemed so ignorantly humble in the face of the “ apocalypse” now hold less interest and fear than I? Well, maybe the answer lies in the overdone theme of time healing all wounds, or quite frankly, the lack thereof, honestly, all this shows: society gets bored. Yes, this profound absence of emotion over an event so turbulent that it prompted thoughts of suicide among pockets of our population all boils down to societies innocent boredom, the passing of a trend. Quickly our minds rerouted themselves from fiery death to Justin Bieber and Selena Gomez kissing at the beach, which I suppose acts for the better. Society seems to function much better when they sit panting over their computers fretting over the ending to Gossip Girl rather than purchasing the deeds to underground bunkers to ride out a solar flare, hurricane, earthquake, tsunami storm. Thus, the beauty of our society resides in our ability to move on when necessary, and never look back, thankfully. Because if we did not possess this ability then our town of Chagrin Falls would most likely find itself in a frenzied destruction over our judgement day this Friday, which on the bright side would mean no school. I mean, if we had a hurricane day already who says a pre-apocalypse day seems like too much to ask?

Envy: A Fuel For Inspiration

The pompous, the wealthy, and well, those just shy of royalty, we all stumble upon their lairs every once in awhile. Sometimes we just observe their affluence from the road in a solemn wonder, staring at the fruits of capitalism. In no way am I critical of the extravagancy these people enjoy, for the most part they earned their living and consequently elicit respect from my envious gaze. Living in the area we do, Chagrin Falls, upper-middle to upper class living hardly makes me bat an eye anymore, just a way of life. However, this past spring break I traveled to the epicenter of the one percent, ground zero of  opulence, pinnacle of the american dream: Malibu, California. Mansions and Porsches that left me in envy here gave way to oceanside villas and Bugattis there. Hence, I found myself in a bit of a stupor driving down the Pacific Coast Highway getting passed by Ferraris with massive sprawls of gated estates and the pristine beaches competing for my attention. I sat there picking up my jaw from the floor so frequently my arms became sore. These people have, with no exaggeration, everything. Now I understand the implications of this claim: "Oh but I'm sure they are not truly happy", or "They could have depression". Surely their lives must lack some aspect that could help alleviate the sheer jealousy of those driving past the massive sprawls of their beachfront property. Yet, when I went for a stroll on the beaches, passing by the owners of these lavish palaces and fast cars, all of them had a vitality in their eyes that only a sense pure contentment could bring. These people possessed this incredible lack of worry and consternation to my sheer disbelief. However, where most find themselves cringing with jealousy, prying their perfection for a downfall, a kink in their armour, I found myself studying them, their mannerisms, the way they carry themselves. Yes, instead of envy my consciousness honed in on interest, instead of disgust I felt inspiration. The CEO’s, entrepreneurs, and inventors walking alongside me on this beach did in fact have it all. But, they took the same strides as I, they kicked up the sand the same way I did, their hair blew in the wind the same as mine. This parade of success on Zuma beach struck home a precious thought: these people are only human. Sure, I do not know their life story, how they acquired their profound achievement, but I do know that within myself awaits a lustful ambition much akin to what must reside within their own minds. The only thing standing in between my life at a desk job working a nine to five, and diving into an infinity pool overlooking the Pacific: the key to unlock the ambition stowed away within my mind, within all of our minds, and forge it into fruition. To find the key, one must simply find a motivation, an inspiration, and for me that rests within my memories of staring in awe at the vigor of the successful. Thus, I do not look back to the shores of Malibu with a passive longing for the lives of those I walked next to on that beach. But rather, I think back to that pristine shoreline confident that someday I will strut through that same sand which instilled in me inspiration, with a smile of contentment upon my face, knowing I made it. Does that sound a little overconfident? It might, but it not matter, for I have found the key, and the journey starts here.

The Great Gatsby: A Great Conspiracy

Hardly ever do I encounter profound epiphanies, they seem quite rare in their timing and presence, but then again that probably constitutes their profundity. Furthermore, the categorization of an epiphany varies for many and usually encompasses a life altering revelation, maybe at lest a temporarily ameliorating or devastating thought. However, today during the last thirty seconds of my ever awakening first period AP English class an epiphany struck me with the force of a Mack truck t-boning a Smart car. What if Nick's luck of moving into a proverbial "shack" so seemingly different from all other houses in the area, mansions of sorts, took place at the hand of the mysterious Gatsby himself? Does not it seem suspicious that this man with no prevalent reputation lands a house right next to the vast estate of the fantastic Mr. Gatsby? However outlandish this may seem, and however idiotic I may look to many of my peers who unlike myself have read this classic already, it may just come to fruition. For instance, a questionable deal lands an astray Nick Carraway next to Mr. Gatsby in the first place reflecting on how an unnamed young man "suggests [they] take a house together" (3). Normal, yes, but at the last minute "a firm ordered him to Washington" (3). Thus, I believe Gatsby played a hand in that young associate of Nick's convincing him to move right next to him, where he would remain at the disposal of Mr. Gatsby, who we found out in our last reading desperately needs the help of Nick. How seemingly perfect to have Mr. Carraway, the key to reaching Daisy, quite literally at his doorstep. Now, before jumping to conclusions that all of this seems a conspiratorial claim one must account for the resourcefulness of Gatsby as seen in chapter four. He feverishly searches for Daisy, cutting out newspaper clippings of her in the Chicago newspapers, eventually moving into an incredibly expensive mansion just across the bay from her. Therefore, Gatsby obviously has no reason not to do research to find a connection with Daisy in the form of Nick he could use to bridge the abyss that grew between him and his lost love. The idea that the same man that has cities like "Chicago calling him on the wire" and "lived...in all the capitals of Europe" (48, 65) possess the ability to pull strings in such a manner to track and influence an average man from the Midwest does not seem so brash. Finally, the finishing touch on my pseudo-revolutionary epiphany comes with the motivation that backs his drive to perform all of theses tasks to get to woman across the bay. What more could a man with seemingly everything, money, cars...hydroplanes want? Maybe he wants the one material possession that can complete structure of his happiness: love. The one thing he can not purchase with money or influence he can not have, and thus he channels his ambition, I would say more-so than greed, to put Nick under his influence, and acquire that which lays just beyond his reach, the green light across the bay, his own american dream, love.