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Track Tales Tuesday: Dream Catcher

I discovered Set It Off on the most recent entry in their “Punk Goes…” series, Christmas. Their contribution to the compilation was “This Christmas (I’ll Burn It To The Ground)," a soaring, operatic telling of Santa skipping out on the holiday. I’ll admit it took me awhile to adapt to the style. Pop punk bands don’t typically have that level of musical pageantry. It’s an approach that sets Set It Off apart.

Every one of their songs sounds like an epic, sweeping narrative, and “Dream Catcher” is no different, as the band attempts to teach us how to be one of the titular people. The track begins with a bit of exposition that anyone who‘s wanted their life to be more than it is can identify with:

“I’ve been sitting here for hours
As I wish for this to start
I set my standards high in hopes
They will not fall apart”

When you’re stuck in one place in that doesn’t satisfy you, your mind races to find ways that could bring that satisfaction. Your wishes turn into a new set of standards because you realize that the ones you’ve been living with have brought you here. The problem is, you’re still afraid of failing again, so you aim higher and higher until you have no idea how to make anything happen.  You want it so badly, you just don’t know how to get there.

Rather than filling in that gap with their story of success, presumably in an attempt to appeal to a broader audience, the band seems to jumps ahead in the narrative:

“It’s almost like I fell asleep
My doubts have seemed to fade
Because I’ve opened up my eyes to see
I’m right where I plan to be
Today
Today”

Suddenly, there's no wishing to be somewhere else anymore. He’s where he plans to be because he opened his eyes. Clearly he means he’s come to understand something, but what is it? How did he come to understand it? Why do we need to understand it? These are the questions the song answers as it moves forward by teasing the first half of the chorus:

“Cast your net, cast it out
And I hope to god you’ll scream and shout
It’s everything you want and maybe more”

Alright, so we’re getting a bit of the how. Own your dreams and standards. Make them real by doing more than giving them lip service, proclaim them from the rooftops so everyone hears. Tell them that it’s not just something you’re saying, it’s something you actually want to do. The band explains why you should do this with the next verse:

“Anyone can dream through the night
But only some can dream with eyes wide
There lies the fight inside
It resides in everyone
They will proclaim you a fool
And it reminds you to do
Anything and everything to prove them a liar”

This reinforcement is what separates the achievers from everyone else. It’s how to win the fight that everyone else has lost. The first step is to realize it’s internal—a struggle with yourself to find the motivation. Then the insults of the naysayers will be fuel for your fire of determination rather than chains weighing you down. Victory within yourself is summed up in the final line of the chorus:

 “Cast your net, cast it out
And I hope to god you’ll scream and shout
It’s everything you want and maybe more
Does it seem out of reach?
Hit the ground and run with both your feet
Here’s a lesson that I hope to teach
Believe, you’ll be a Dream Catcher”

Believing is more than giving lip service to something. Just because you say you accept something as true, doesn’t mean you actually do. True belief affects your entire life, how you live every day. It’s strong enough to overcome any fear. Why? Because it manifests in physical events. The only way to truly win the internal struggle is to move beyond affirmation to action.

I realize the last paragraph may seem like a religious statement, but it’s not, and that misconception is why it’s especially important to consider what you believe in. Do you believe in things that are external to you or do you believe in yourself? Both beliefs will affect what you do every day with the latter causing you to take steps toward your dreams. Set It Off explains it best in their final verse:

“Cry out loud and take the stage
And don’t let skeptics slow your pace
With every forward step you’ll take
Their breath away
Their breath away
Believe, believe they’ll spite your words
And some will say it seems absurd
But devour the critics, dismiss the cynics
And mark my words, they’ll regret it when”

(The rest of the song's lyrics are a repetition of the chorus.) 

True belief in the self manifests in real things happening. The only danger presented to these things is people’s repetition of non-actual words. Sure, statements and words occur, but what is their physical nature? There is none, and that’s the difference here. That’s the lesson that Set It Off hopes to teach. Actions trump words, and if you truly believe in yourself, you'll do something instead of talking about it.

The final line of the chorus can now be seen in its true form—a double entendre:

Believe you’ll be a Dream Catcher. Believe that it is possible and act on it.
Believe and you will be a Dream Catcher.  If you truly believe in yourself and act on it, you will achieve what you dream.

It’s a stunning beautiful artistic statement that can only truly be understood by hearing the song itself. Delivery makes so much of a difference here. That fact more than anything points to the talent and artistry of Set It Off, of what they've done to catch their dream.

Track Tales Tuesday: So Positive

There are some bands that I listen and don't understand why they aren't bigger. Their music is catchy. Their lyrics are identifiable. Their brand/style is unique. It's the perfect combination of elements that makes an act popular and iconic. Down With Webster is one of those bands.

The first time I heard Down With Webster's "Time To Win Vol. 1" I was blown away. It's a celebratory combination of classic rock and hip hop that hasn't quite been done before. The lyrics, as the album title would suggest, are about succeeding and partying. The songs mix rap verses with anthemic choruses, of both the crowd chant-along and riff-heavy rock variety. There's even a sample/modern update of Eddie Money's "Rich Girl." In short, there's a lot of talent and a lot of smart decisions on it.

When I hear an album like that, I'm impressed and inspired, and groups like Down With Webster become a personal passion, a poorly kept secret from the rest of the world that I imagine hipsters would ironically scoff at. I play their songs on repeat incessantly. I memorize their lyrics, rap along with their verses, and make one of their hooks my ringtone, all the while wondering why the band hasn't blown up yet. Then they release a song or album that unintentionally answers the question I started with

For Down With Webster, that album is "Time To Win Vol. 2." While many of the songs on it could probably stand sufficiently as my answer, "So Positive" particularly rises above the rest. The closing track of the album, it's a mission statement of sorts, revealing the psychology behind the band and their approach to their lives. That approach, while being what makes me them so spectacularly appealing to me, is likely what distances them from the rest of the world. Quite frankly, it's too positive (and mature and rational).

The first half of the hook perhaps best captures what I mean:

I'm so, I'm so positive
and I know that I'll be alright, now
I'm so, I'm so positive
and I know that I'll be alright, now

It's not just about being "positive." A lot of popular songs claim that perspective. It's what the partying and "fun" are supposedly all about, enjoying life while you can. Here, the second line shows us there's a lot more going on. The surety of singing that they'll be alright is rare in our culture. The rest of the song shows us how they arrive at that demeanor (and just how different it is from most people).

The first verse frames the song's focus:

The grass is greener on the other guy's lawn
but I'll mow mine now til' it looks right
I'm lookin' at my glass and it looks half empty,
I'm still gonna chug that shit tonight
Wanna go places, tryin to pack
But I'm stuck in my basement, tryin to rap
Fell down once, but I'm climbing back
and I can see my dreams in a shiny plaque
Sometimes dreams play hard to get
You can't believe in those promises
When you out for the bread and condiments
cause' you can't pay your bills with compliments
I know where I'm going, I just wanna get there
Gotta lot of shoes, and I'm runnin' in my best pair
But my mind's on the next pair
and where I'm gonna be next year

What's so incredible about this verse is in the first four lines conventional sayings are turned on their head in order to render them impotent. You only know if the other guy's grass is greener than yours if you're trying to compare. You only know if your glass is half empty if you're worried about how much you have. What should you be focused on? The verse builds beautifully to show us it's about where you want to be with your life, not living by comparison or based on how much you have. That approach is where the band's positivity comes from and where they diverge from the culture at large.

This perspective becomes more explicit in the next verse:

I'm not thinkin' bout the words that I can't write,
I'm singing all the words in my head
I'm not thinkin' bout the girls that I can't get,
I'm thinkin' bout the girl in my bed
I'm not worried that I'm going with the crowd,
I'm too busy worryin' about going it alone
I'm not thinking bout the lineup at the club now,
I'm thinkin' bout how I'm getting home

It's not about thinking about what you don't have. It's about thinking about what you do have. A focus on yourself is slipped in here too with the dichotomy of going with the crowd versus going alone. Most popular songs would encourage you to go with the crowd.

The final verse is split into two, each delivered by one of the band's three vocalists, and adds the final piece necessary to understanding and holding this perspective:

Cause' life ain't a movie role
and you didn't write the script
So there's no way that you could know
what you're getting out of it
And the love is the truth you know
the money is counterfeit
Put it all on a million to one
I'm likin' the sound of it, yeah 

I'm not a superhero, and that's all I can say
cause' when the times get tough, the tough don't fly away
It's almost over now, but back in the beginnin'
we had nothing to lose, it was time we started winnin'
Escape the underground, suns out, star shine
Not that we're all stars, just that our stars align
And you can do it too, and hold your own hand
Just keep on doing you, follow your own plan!

The only way to describe these lines is reality-centric. Each starts out by denying the conventional way people try to envision their lives--characters and events that can't possible exist. They then continue by stating what facing reality force you to do--accept that you don't control the world and can't quit and hide when that lack of control presents you with difficult situations. And just like we saw with The Good Fight's "A Perfect Storm of Self-Satisfaction," each vocalist culminates his parts by turning his focus away from money and to himself and his dreams/plan.

The hook is repeated to close out the song, and now I want to highlight the second half of it that I neglected before:

I don't mind, I've been going through this my whole life
And I know I can't fly, but I close my eyes and I try
I don't mind, I've been going through this my whole life
And I know I can't fly, but I close my eyes and I try

Positivity is learning what your life is and limits are, dreaming about how you want it and yourself to be, and then pushing yourself to change it and yourself.  Down With Webster is incredible because their music is infused with this positivity. Their songs are about making life better, truly enjoying themselves, and celebrating what they have. Unfortunately, their perspective means they'll probably never reach the level of popularity they deserve.

It doesn't matter though. I'm so positive that it's awesome to be down with them.

Track Tales Tuesday: A Perfect Storm of Self-Satisfaction

Cause even though we don’t have a thing
We live like fucking kings

On "The Perfect Storm of Self-Satisfaction," the second song off their debut EP, The Good Fight attacks the commonly held idea that money defines your worth. They contrast "sales reports" and "dollar signs" with "self-satisfaction" simultaneously reveal and undermine why "being punk" is so often associated with "being poor."

The song opens:

I’ve been wading through this sea of gray
For over 3 years now
And the only place it’s got me
Is in over my head with their constant judgment
Cause I know that
My yearly figures are a joke to them
So I figure
That I’m just no good for nothing

The "sea of gray" is the opposite of self-satisfaction. It's what I wrote about in last Tuesday's Track Tales when I discussed wasting away at a job (and a subject you'll see me take on in another coming project). It's a common metaphor, the color in life being removed by following the plan given to you by other people. The result is no different here. If you follow someone else's plan, you're never going to be able to measure up to their standards because their plan is meant to help them succeed, not you.

The commonly held standard in our culture's plan is your "yearly figures." Most people accept that your salary, and what you buy with it, defines your worth. Since the singer isn't being successful by that standard (his yearly figures are low) and he's accepting that plan, he has no choice but to concede that he's "no good for nothing."

This line of logic, while correct, rests precariously on one premise like a block tower near the end of a Jenga game. The band is aware of this and pulls it out in true pop-punk style--swiftly and aggressively. After some succinct screaming over a a breakdown, the second verse gets all punky (but not brewster):

So don’t tell me what I’m worth
Like I’m just some fucking sales report
Cause no man, you won’t
Break me down so easily
Cause I’m not concerned with you dollar signs
Or meeting times, you see
My pockets may be empty
But I feel complete
Cause I refuse to break my neck
And waste away for a goddamn paycheck
So you can take what you want from me
But you’ll never take my dignity 

This is the attitude most commonly associated with punk. Fuck the man. Fuck money. I won't buy into the bullshit. Except, there's something more here. While most punk equally flirts with nihilism or hedonism, The Good Fight is simply saying that they have a higher value than money--their dignity. That sea of gray was them wasting away for the sole reason of earning money, and they decided it wasn't worth it anymore because it made them feel undignified.

Why are some kids in a band (presumably most people would call The Good Fight's members that, I don't know how old they actually are) concerned about dignity? Shouldn't they be concerned with surviving, with eating, with paying rent? Dignity is for kings, right? How arrogant are they? These objections and characterizations, this "tradition," is exactly what the band takes on in the chorus, which culminates in the last two lines that are repeated at the end of this song (and were used to start this blog entry):

It’s a perfect storm of self-satisfaction
They’re breaking at my walls and
They dare me to follow their tradition
But the life I lead,
It leaves no room
For the stupid bullshit that they buy into
Cause even though we don’t have a thing
We live like fucking kings 

Yes, dignity is for kings. Yes, the band members are concerned with survival. Here's the difference between their perspective and the tradition they're flouting though: their highest value is themselves, not wealth. Back in the days of feudal kingdoms serfs certainly didn't have the opportunity to have dignity. They had to "waste away" and "break their neck" not for a paycheck but the good graces of their lord (a social ladder that extended all the way up to the king and queen). So if that tradition is followed, then yes, the band members are being arrogant for thinking they can "live like fucking kings."

Except pop punk isn't about arrogance, and neither is this track. They're both about self-satisfaction. The difference between arrogance and self-satisfaction is what the genre and this song is about--and is what makes what The Good Fight has done here, both musically and lyrically, a superior example of pop punk. It's not about chasing money. It's about living your life in a way that makes you satisfied. And no, you don't need money to live (money is a tool for living). What you need is that feeling of surety that comes with a sense of purpose that the band repeats over the bridge:

We know what we’re fighting for
And it’s something that’s worth dying for 

Find your something and fight for it and you'll live like a king (provided that you understand that a king's most valuable possession was his dignity, not his wealth).

Track Tales Tuesday: So Much More To Give

Currently I'm sitting in a company's office (I won't say which one) at a desk plopped in a hallway literally doing nothing. People are whizzing by me frequently, presumably scurrying about to complete important tasks. Of course, other people are standing around talking about irrelevant things. 

I've heard numerous conversations about the playoff football games this past weekend. Someone mentioned that he worked on King of the Nerds (believe me, I almost started an inquisition to find out who it was exactly). It's a swirl of pointless prattle and purposeless prancing that provides me with the perfect place to pontificate about the past like City Lights sings on their track "So Much More To Give:"

As I look back on all the events of last year
I wonder what the hell was I thinking
And I've got so much more to give
And I'm not giving up just yet

What the hell am I thinking? Today feels like a remnant of last year, of the mud I was stuck in, unable to move due to fear, indecision, and confusion. To be honest, I'm still confused, and that's the feeling City Lights captures so well. They're a band that is sure of their identity, it just seems like they are unsure of how to assert it in the world. It's why they continue:

Please tell me
I'm not just wasting time
Just wasting time

I'm not sure who in this office is wasting time, nor do I really care. I just know I've been here for two and a half hours and I've been given one direction that took literally a minute to complete. I understand people are in meetings. Yes, it's nice not to be micromanaged. The opposite isn't really enjoyable either. It's a waste of my time, leaving me aimless to confront my fears.

If I run my farthest, do you think I'd be okay?
Leaving it all behind and changing my name
Or should I stay and face my fears

Nothing has made me feel more useless in the last three years than (most of) the jobs I've held. Most of the time at them has been spent at desks, twiddling my thumbs, waiting to be told what to do. I've tried asking for stuff to do. I've tried coming up with stuff to do. None of it gains me any traction. Instead, I'm here writing this blog post. I'm tremendously enjoying the process even though there's a pit in my stomach. What if writing meandering introspective posts is all I'm good for? Is it even possible to get paid for it? If so, how? I can't figure it out, yet still, everyone scurries about around me. It leaves me feeling:

The world moves so quickly when I can't pick up the pace
I just keep telling myself, slow and steady wins the race

The only conclusion I can come to is that most people burn out quickly. They plow full steam ahead into something and fall on their face. The other alternative is that they do everything half-heartedly, not really investing, just going through the motions, eventually causing themselves to cease caring like a toy when its batteries run out of juice. Either way, the result is the same--a face plant or bruised limbs due to a collapse.

I know because I've been there. I've jumped into something I had no idea about and failed miserably. I've pushed buttons like a monkey at a job, counting the seconds on the clock. Both times I ended up feeling like a fool and hating myself. Those experiences give me the resolve echoed by the song's closing lyrics however. They're what motivate me to never experience that again.

I'm stuck in a rat race
But I won't let myself fall down anymore
No I won't let myself fall down anymore
Won't let myself fall down anymore
Anymore

Digesting Community 501/502

Last night saw Dan Harmon's return to Community and Community's return to television. Upon their arrival, the line between what makes a television show good or bad became a little clearer. Harmon may have a derisive personality, but his skills as a writer and showrunner can't and shouldn't be denied. He has an ingenious writing process. His actors, crew, and fans are rabidly loyal. His episodes, well, they're streets ahead all the others.

Even if we just look at Harmon's approach to episodes 501 and 502 of Community, we're forced to acknowledge how creative, and honest, of a thinker he is. The mess of Season 4 seemed impossible to clean up and bring back the show he started and loved, so he didn't clean it up. He admitted that he contributed to that mess with his work in Seasons 2 and 3 and started over. That's right. Last night wasn't really the fifth season premiere of Community. It was the pilot of Community 2.0. And here are the five most important things you need to know about it.

5. The Dean is still a one-note character.

Arguably the only thing that was right in Season 4 was also prominent and annoying--the Dean's obsession with Jeff. Maybe the showrunners focused on it so heavily because they knew it was the only part of Community they "got." Maybe they genuinely thought it was that funny. Either way, the Dean's love of Jeff has always been a part of the fabric of the show and it still is.

In 501, it was once again a major plot point, explaining why the Dean was so eager and quick to hire Jeff as a teacher. In episode 502, it returned to a more tolerable level. The gag of the Dean attempting to learn Excel was clever and inserted into the story at the perfect points. Maybe you could argue the Dean trying to learn something is him attempting to improve himself. I'd reply that he did it at Jeff's behest and used it to try and get Jeff's attention. With Jeff critiquing how bad of a Dean the Dean is, maybe the series finale (or movie) will see Winger taking over as Dean. Great, now I'm saying the D-word as much as the character.

God Dean it.

4. The meta-ness is calibrated properly again.

If there's one defining characteristic about Community, it might be how meta it is. Usually through the character of Abed, the show takes shots at itself and its place in storytelling and television. When properly approached, the writers tell you what they're doing while they're doing it, letting you in on the process. In a way this technique supplements Harmon's theme. We, the audience, are part of the community of Community. In Season 4, we weren't. We were outside observers, just like with most shows. It didn't make the show bad, just different than what we were used to, and ironically off-putting to a large contingent of fans.

Well, that meta-approach that is off-putting to everyone else in the world has returned to "normal." In episode 501, Abed not only compared their repilot to Scrubs Season 9, a Scrubs S9 Zach Braff voice-over was included near the end of the episode. Additionally, Donald Glover's imminent departure and recent bouts with sadness were worked into the episode. The funniest meta-joke of the night may have been Troy's contribution when all the characters described how their lives weren't awesome post-Greendale, "I'm much sadder than the rest of you. I'll figure out why later." Talk about commenting on real life. In episode 502, Jonathan Banks' Buzz played off of his character from Breaking Bad, using intimidating tactics on the students and intimating that hits should or had been executed on them. Also like Mike, Buzz was shown to have a noble reason for how his actions and became one of the gang to start Season 5.

3. Episodic characters arcs are back.

What makes Harmon's writing so strong is that his "formula" helps him craft precise episodic arcs for each of his characters. He understands that fundamentally things at the end of a story must be different from the beginning and that each episode of a television series is a story. That knowledge is why each episode of Community during his tenure was new and exciting. It wasn't just a retread of all the weeks before. In Season 4, the episodes were those retreads. Most of the episodes, though containing different trappings, felt like a repeats. Thankfully, Harmon has started the character growth again.

"Repilot" and "Introduction to Teaching" mainly focused on the growth of Jeff Winger, and that's alright because he's the main character and there was a lot of legwork to do for the retooled premise. They had to show why Jeff would become a teacher rather than a lawyer, not just plot-wise but psychologically. They had to show why he would care about teaching. If these two whys weren't established, the new premise wouldn't be, as Abed likes to say, "earned." Other characters earned their way into the new season too. Abed's growth was jumpstarted with a Nick-Cage-centric plot mechanic and Buzz learned that students weren't the enemy. Shirley had a tiny bit of growth, and I'm sure we'll see Britta become more complex again soon.

2. Jonathan Banks is the prefect replacement for Chevy Chase

The departure of Chevy Chase at the end of Season 4 left the a hole in the group. Besides Shirley, the rest of the group was young and hip in their own ways. (Ok, so maybe Britta isn't hip, though I would argue she's the most hipstery.) There needed to be someone from an older generation who was a bit burnt out about how the world had changed. Chase was right in the reasons for his departure. Pierce had ceased being that voice, instead being used for throwaway racist and sexist one-liners.

The addition of Banks is a stroke of sheer genius, especially coming off of his Breaking Bad role. Buzz is the same as Mike and different from Pierce in all the right ways. He's rough and abrasive enough to still cause tension in the group, but his kindheartedness shines through more than Pierce's ever did, integrating him into the group more easily. He also started as Jeff's friend because he's a teacher, so he straddles the teacher-student line better than Pierce ever did. Remember how early in Season 1 Pierce was the first person Jeff connected with? I'd expect more of that dynamic from Banks and McHale.

Of course, maybe I was the only one who laughed at a lot of Banks' line delivery in Breaking Bad, so I'm inordinately excited about his inclusion here. If we want to go the appropriate meta-route, Breaking Bad's Vince Gillian is guest-starring this season and the perfect direction for his rumored Better Call Saul spinoff would be comedic considering the acting stable of Bob Odenkirk, Bill Burr, and Lavell Crawford. Could there be in-jokes about Buzz actually being Mike? Please, Harmon, make this happen.

1. This is Season 1 Community, not 2, 3, or 4.

Actually, it's not technically any of those seasons. It's, as I wrote earlier, a whole new show that's based on Community (if Harmon weren't running it they'd be forced to include "Based on Community Created by Dan Harmon" in the opening credits). Jeff is a teacher. The study group is the Save Greendale Group. Pierce has been replaced by Buzz. It's Community 2.0.

Still, thematically and tonally it's most similar to Community S1. This story is about how helping other people is the most important thing in life, not individual journeys of self-discovery that subvert our understanding of the world alongside the characters'. In this light, Buzz's 502 arc is easy to understand. He went from seeing students as the enemy to working with them. Jeff and Abed's stories on the other hand are a bit more complex, and revealing of Community's (1.0 and 2.0) and Harmon's underlying philosophy that shapes its themes. (Though if you really want to understand how Harmon thinks, all you have to do is read this analysis of one of his own episodes.)

The group's first blow-off course of the year is "Nicolas Cage: Good or Bad?", a subject that immensely appeals to Abed. The problem is that he can't derive an answer and has a Cage style freak out of his own. The subsequent conversation Shirley has with Abed wherein she essentially counsels him pushes the show's focus forward.

Abed: This (film) was my religion. I thought the meaning of people was somewhere in here, then I looked inside Nicolas Cage and I found a secret. People are random and pointless.

Shirley: Well, in my religion, the whole point is that you can't understand every little thing and, you know, there's a world for people that remind you that you're not god and invite you to try a little harder.

Abed: Prophets, messiahs, Kung Fu Pandas, so Nicolas Cage is Jesus?

Shirley: Uh, no, but he clearly works in mysterious ways, and maybe that's just his job.

Abed: And that's why critics can call him a genius or an idiot and be right no matter what.

Shirley: A demon to some and an angel to others.

The answer to the question Abed has been asking, according to Shirley and the show, is that there is no answer. Different people will think of Cage in different ways. And what direction does that turn Shirley in, and thus must turn Abed? To the people that remind you it's not possible to know but to try a little harder anyway. Ignoring the Sisyphusian contradiction of exerting effort at something that is pointless, Abed learns here that people are random and pointless and that's ok.

What could he have learned instead? That the answer of Cage being good or bad is never going to be the same for everyone, but it is clear and definitive for Abed himself. Maybe Abed's assessment of Cage will change from movie to movie depending on the value he is trying to get out of Cage's performance, but it will still have a defined and comprehensible value to it. This scene isn't making that point though. It's telling Abed to stop finding truth and start finding other people.

Why does the show turn away from truth? The answer to that question, and yes there is a definitive answer, is found in the scene where Jeff realizes he has something to teach.

Garrett: Mr. Winger, how did you do that?

Jeff: Do what?

Garrett: You won an argument against Annie Edison.

Jeff: You don't argue with Annie, Garrett. You let her argue with herself until she loses.

Ski Cap: You can win by not arguing?

Jeff: Yes, Ski Cap, anyone that tries to argue has already lost because they pick an argument to lose. I mean, that's why I never lost a case. Prosecutors beat themselves because they--they draw a circle around something called "the truth." And they say that everything outside it is a lie.

Here Jeff is subtly and implicitly teaching his students that there is no truth and if you accept one, you are setting yourself up to lose. It hearkens back to Jeff's line from the original Pilot.

I discovered at a very early age that if I talk long enough, I can make anything right or wrong. So either I'm god or truth is relative. In either case, booyah!

This idea, that truth is relative, is what Jeff has been meant to be teaching the other characters all along. (Alternately, in his dark moments he swings back toward acting like he is god.) In return, they are meant to be teaching him the value of other people to give him something to believe in--just as Shirley did for Abed in this episode. This conflict, God-Complex vs Relative Truth, is the basic conflict of Community. It is was gradually slipped out of the show over Seasons 2 and 3 and disappeared altogether in Season 5. Now that Harmon has returned, he's reinstalling it. That in itself makes it interesting to see where the series will go from here.

Though I don't think a regression to a Season 1 approach is the way for Harmon and the group he's created to Save Greendale, it should be a clever, hilarious, and unique ride either way.

Covering Cover Letters

Reader,

Thank you, as always, for stopping by The Midside, the place where I hold a critical lens up to life and the world. Whatever's happening to me personally or in the culture at large becomes fodder for analysis. Today the topic straddles both those realms--cover letters.

Generally, I'm able to write well in any form. Cover letters are the exception to that rule. I loathe them. That feeling isn't an exaggeration. Every time I sit down to write one, my mind goes blank like Cody Banks trying to talk to a girl. Despite possessing a Masters degree and experience in a multitude of jobs, I can't think of one thing relevant to the specific position to which I'm submitting an application. Instead of the usual swirl of words and ideas that are in my head mid-composition, my stomach is filled with anxiety and dread. Nothing I've done seems impressive. If I emphasize my history, won't I be transparently embellishing or, worse, lying? What employer would want an employee like that?

The most ridiculous part is that when I taught Business Writing at Clemson University the syllabus included a section on cover letters. I know the form. The issue isn't technical. It's content. As I think back upon the different majors of the students I taught, I wonder if skill type is the issue. If you're an accountant or engineer, can't you just list your credentials and the jobs/projects you've worked on? Writing is a skill that everyone seems to thinks they have when very few actually do--but how do you prove you're one of the able people in four short paragraphs? Then there's the meta-concern of a cover letter essentially being a work sample for a writer. If you're an accountant or engineer, a poorly written cover letter doesn't necessarily disqualify you. If you're a writer it does, immediately, perhaps even with one sentence or word.

As we enter this new year, I hope you'll consider me as one of your favorite writers. I have some exciting plans that I'd love for you to see and be a part of. You know where to find my Twitter, Facebook, and The Midside. If you'd like to let me know about any areas I can improve on or expand to or you just want to give me a compliment, please don't hesitate to contact me.

Kind respects,
Justin M. Lesniewski

Track Tales Tuesday: New Year's Day and Negative Pop Punk

Most people probably haven't heard of the short-lived pop punk band 5 Days Ahead. Hailing from Pennsylvania, they released one EP and one album, in 2001 and 2002 respectively. Those years were the first in my college days, which weren't exactly easy for me, and near the beginning of the mainstream success of the genre. 5 Days Ahead fit nicely in that niche. Their music was aggressive and energetic, and their lyrics and vocalist channeled the emo influence that was huge at the time. They were honest, passionate...and negative.

In my younger years, negativity wasn't a big deal to me. It was something I lived with. I'm not sure if it was due to the culture I grew up in, my upbringing, my experiences, or the ideas I held. Likely it's a combination of all of those factors. Still, the older I get, the less I'm able to deal with negativity, especially in the arts. 

5 Days Ahead are a memory of a time where I couldn't find a way around the obstacles in front of me or any hope that I'd ever find that way. The songs I remember by them all fit that theme. Some are linked with holidays. One is titled "Valentine" and features the lyrics:

It makes no sense to tell someone you love them
just because it's Valentine's Day.
I'd rather hang out with my friends
and bomb couples with chiclets till they run away.

Not exactly the model of happiness or a well-adjust psyche. Other songs such as "Another Wasted Year" show other manifestations of their perspective. I turn to this song on New Year's Eve because it's about the holiday and the pain of looking back, two things I am dealing with very immediately. However, I don't agree with the band's conclusion in their lyrical culmination: "It's just not worth it/It was all just a waste of time."

As is often the case in pop punk, this track is about heartbreak and dealing with the pain that accompanies it. After starting by setting the scene with "Toast your glass up high to the new year/I'll pray for better days," the singer pours his heart out, almost quite literally:

12 months, a crush I couldn't kill
I said one thing now I'm wiping tears from my eyes
You're damn right I feel stupid
Retarded schoolboy crush
Dreaming about you every night

Though unrequited love is admittedly painful, spending any amount of time loving or admiring someone is not a waste. By doing so you are admitting, whether intentionally or not, that you identify good in that person. That identification is a celebration of life, as it is, as you see it, as you want it to be. That positivity is impossible to escape in pop punk. The problem occurs, in this song, in the genre, and in life, when it is coupled with a focus on the feeling of hopelessness.

What should i say?
It doesn't matter anymore it all faded away
I'll tape up my heart
One minute, you didn't care and ripped it all apart

 I know it's been said a billion times before. I'm still going to say it again. Never let one person (other than yourself) affect your sense of self worth so greatly, no matter how well you think of him or her. It can take less than a minute for things to get, let's say, wacky and him or her to reveal a new side you haven't seen. More importantly, if the person isn't going to show you the same reverence back, why do you want him or her to be a part of your life, even if just as a motivating idea?

I'm going to stop for a minute here to clarify something. I'm not writing only about romantic love or love in general. What I'm discussing applies to any situation where you deal with other people--family, work, school, in the store, performers you enjoy. Each of us decides who we let become a part of our life, from a thought in our head to a spot in our bed. It's just as important to make that choice responsibly as any other.

Over the coming year, but especially the next month of Track Tale Tuesdays, you're going to see a focus on positivity become a theme in The Midside. I understand the focus on a feeling of hopelessness. It's why I've been able to stomach that side of my favorite genre for so long. I just can't dwell on it any longer. Those bands and songs bore me now, bringing a sluggishness to my brain and a soreness to my brawn.  Those pains are no longer ones I care to suffer.

As long as I'm breathing, nothing is a waste of time as long as I know why I chose it.

Happy New Year!

Upcoming Track Tales
A Perfect Storm of Self-Satisfaction by The Good Fight
So Positive by Down With Webster
Dreamcatcher by Set It Off

The Family Man: Growing Good

Every once and awhile I can annoy one of my friends enough that he'll watch a show a movie I've been raving about. The past couple of weeks has been one of those victories, as my friend finally binge-watched The Walking Dead and texted me his thoughts. He was most impressed with Shane and The Governor, the two main villains of the series so far, summarizing his thoughts:

"Contemporary media is so much better at portraying evil than it is at portraying good."

The observation is astute. As a culture, we're kind of obsessed with evil characters, at least on television. A few recent villain-cum protagonists are Dexter's Dexter, House of Card's Francis Underwood, and, of course, Breaking Bad's Walter White. They share similar personalities and plots, and viewers rally around them for some reason, hoping for their redemption. The question is why? Why are we, as a culture, so good at portraying evil and so ready to embrace evil characters? It's a topic so worth of heavy consideration that I intended to sit on for awhile.

Then I saw Nicolas Cage's 2000 Christmas drama The Family Man. The story of Cage's every-man Jack Campbell is nearly the same as Bryan Cranston's White, right down to the cynicism towards American empire-building, Capitalism, and living to maximize your own talents and desires. The similarities between the two made my viewing of the movie equally as uncomfortable as my viewing of the show--and revealed the answer to my friend's question.

Whereas White turns himself from a family man into the king of a meth empire, Campbell starts at the top of the finance mountain and works his way down it. He's the president of a company who lives in a Penthouse on Wall Street and thinks he has everything he needs. The only "problem," according to the movie's universe, is that he lives alone and is so wrapped up with work that he calls for an emergency strategy meeting for a $130 billion merger on Christmas Day. One chance meeting with a magical Don Cheadle and Campbell finds himself where White was in the first episode of Breaking Bad (minus the cancer).

In the suburbs of New Jersey, Campbell wakes up on Christmas morning in bed with his college sweetheart and current wife Kate, a character so close to Skyler (White's wife), I would've thought she was ripoff if not for the fact that this movie was released nearly a decade before the series about meth-making. Lacking memories of his marriage and the two children that came as a result of it, Campbell rushes into the city to return to the life he knows, only to be thrown out of his apartment and office buildings because the doorman don't recognize him. Magic Cheadle confronts him again, telling him he must accept his situation and learn from it.

What Campbell learns from the situation is what makes the movie so disturbing. The difference between his lives is extreme. His neatly organized and modern penthouse has been replaced with a messy, chaotic suburban home. His challenging and exhilarating job has been replaced with a retail sales position at Kate's father's tire and auto-parts store. His free time is spent participating in a sport he hates, bowling. This issue isn't of kind, it's of quality. If the movie portrayed a man learning the values in a different type of life (which it may have been trying to), it'd likely be enjoyable. Instead it portrays a man learning to accept a life well below what he desires in exchange for love.

The most revealing scene in the movie follows Campbell's hard-fought effort to regain elements of his empire-conquering life. His other-life-boss randomly ends up in the tire shop and Campbell sweet talks his way into a job. He then brings Kate to the city and reveals his plan to move there, double both their incomes, and send their children to private schools where they'll receive a better education--a completely reasonable proposition. The family would stay together and have an improved quality of life.

Kate doesn't respond as if it is reasonable at all. In true Skyler style, she hysterically objects to Campbell's plea, demanding he explain why he'd want to rip their daughter from the school she loves and doesn't care that she pictured them growing old in that house in New Jersey together. Campbell attempts to argue, but eventually acquiesces for some reason I forget.

The rest of the movie progresses predictably. Campbell comes to love his family and  realize he's lonely, wakes up in his real life, and rushes to pursue a still-single Kate. It's all lovey-dovey rom-commie (pun intended) and meant to demonstrate that the character has finally become good. In fact, he even spurns the emergency strategy meeting (and trip to Aspen to woo the merge partner) to reveal his loneliness to the love-of-his life. At this point the plot is propelling purely on emotion because if you stopped and examined Campbell's situation, you'd realize that he's throwing away a life that stimulates and challenges him in favor of the life that literally destroys everything he prides himself on (unnecessarily!) in favor of someone else's (namely Kate's) happiness.

That realization reveals a hidden definition of "good:" suffering for the sake of the people you love--and no one with an ounce of self-respect would enjoy watching a character who allows himself to suffer unnecessarily. The Family Man likely only survived on the fumes of love and the Christmas spirit of giving, two things which can be enjoyed without harming yourself. Breaking Bad thrived on White's self-empowerment. Though it was ultimately used to kill and corrupt in a misguided quest for wealth and power, viewers witnessed a defeated man attempting to break free of the straps his wife (and other circumstances) had tied him with. In that sense, White's end was much more victorious than Campbell's.

The reason contemporary media can't portray their definition of good is no one would watch. Watching someone intentionally lose is too painful and depressing of an experience. Imagine a Die Hard where John McLane has to sacrifice his life at the end to prove to his wife he's not a jerk, a 300 where Leonidas agrees to kneel to Xerxes to stop the bloodshed, and a Man of Steel where Superman gives himself over to Zod for the greater good of the Kryptonian people. If any of these heroes did as I described, they'd be throwing away what they think is right in favor of someone else's worldview.

I'm not suggesting what makes a character good is sticking to his ideas no matter what. That stubbornness can quickly turn any hero into a villain. Rather, sticking to the right ideas no matter what makes a character good. McClane refuses to die because doing so would see the elitist robbers get away with the money, Leonidas won't kneel because doing so would mean accepting an oppressive dictatorship, and Superman won't surrender to Zod because doing so would mean the end of a world and culture based on self-determination and freedom.

In Breaking Bad, White turns evil because his bitterness towards to the world causes him to embrace an any mean's necessary approach in building a meth empire. In The Family Man, Campbell turns "good" because his newly found loneliness causes him to embrace an any mean's necessary approach (which includes flouting the empire he built) in pursuing Kate.

Like Two-Face, these characters two sides to the same coin, and if we flip it, there's no real difference. Either way, we lose.

Track Tales Tuesday: What are your Blank Pages?

As a genre, Nerdcore is usually pigeonholed. The most frequent culprit is, unfortunately, the artists who identify with and accept the label. Their songs tend to be: video game, movie, television, video game, etc. Or, as intellectual-diss rapper Kabuto the Python spits in his song "Reference Desk:"

"Refer to shit that nerds like and you're the best in they mind
so the references are effortlessly peppered in mine." 

While Buto's outlook may be cynical, it's also true, and he manages to do something in those two lines that the large majority of nerdcore artists fail to do--fill the trappings they repeat with meaning.

Creating on a high-level requires more than outlines and mimicry. To a certain extent, what's inside the lines is what's lost in our culture. Nerdcore is just another form of this issue. Most people can roll with references, quoting lines and sometimes seeing parallels to their everyday life. Very few can understand what those quotes or parallels mean. It's the difference between Family Guy and American Dad. While both can be deathly amusing, American Dad is consistently funnier because the references add depth to their conflict. In contrast, Family Guy seems as random as manatees and beach balls.

Due to this tension, the more talented nerdcore artists are sometimes at odds with their ascribed label. Voice artist and rapper mc chris once created a controversy for trying to distance himself from the genre. Stanford graduate and nationally recognized MC Lars stirred another by declaring "Nerdcore Died." Beefyness, the self-declared crown prince of Nerdcore, questioned whether the genre was worth defending. The most recent artist to join this list is San Diego resident Dr. Awkward.

Like most nerdcore debuts, Doc's first album Unlimited featured video game reference after video game reference. One song was about meeting a girl at a LAN party, another was a love-song ode to three female Final Fantasy characters. While the album was enjoyable and had some shining moments (such as Timid and Geekquilibrium), it mainly felt like the labor of a quest for approval--the key word being labor. Since that album, Awkward has gained a loyal following, shed a record label, and re-evaluated his reasons for writing raps.

Blank Pages is the title track off of Dr. Awkward's second album. While the album still contains songs about cartoons, Star Wars, and superheroes, it also has songs about the difficulties of expressing love, the power of forgiveness, and yearning for a better world. Through it all, Awkward exposes the irony of his first album's title--"Joshua [his given name], truly you are limitless." On display is a man's fight to live the life he wants. He opens the song:

I feel this isn’t who I’m supposed to be
According to expectations of those close to me
This isn’t how I make the most of me
The man in the mirror is nothing but the ghost of me

Nerdcore carries with it a host of expectations. Awkward is talking about much more than that label however. In the first verse he delves into the expectations we place on ourselves due to family, culture and society, "Go to college, get a wife, and live the bored life." He ends the verse by turning to blank pages as the escape from that formula. The hook then declares that he's "breaking free of who he's supposed to be."

The second verse is a mediation on how to find direction when you're staring at nothingness. Cleverly he points out that there's no use in considering yourself as lost because happiness isn't a destination. He follows it up "Don’t have to search for happiness, it’s born of your creation." Part of the reason what's inside the lines is lost in our culture is we accept that the lines themselves have already been defined by other people. Doc is challenging that assumption, and us, when he ends the verse, "Don't let those be your blank pages."

The final verse, split in two by repetition of "I'm looking to these blank pages," is a declaration of motivation and passion. In it, Awkward lays out in a few lines what can only be truly understood through the process of constantly creating:

Take what you want this life is for the livin’
It won’t be handed to you, only death is givin’
Shake it off, shake it off, self-pitying is useless
There’s no endgame in your excuse
If you want something, it is you who must create it

Mimicking, repeating, referencing, these tactics can only get you so far--where everyone has already been. Don't misunderstand my point. I'm as big of a fan of a references as anyone. I love integrating them into my work. I do so though mainly as a source of humor, to point out the absurd parallels in our lives. Ultimately, despite all our similarities, we're each unique, so the lives we want and need haven't been lived or written out before us. That fact means we have to create our own paths.

With his second album Blank Page and its title track, Dr. Awkward is declaring "these are mine." He's proudly and admirably making the album he wants to, as he recently revealed, "I love everything on Blank Pages because it represents my life now wonderfully."

With the statement, he's also challenging his listeners: What are your Blank Pages?

Call Me Casual (Not an Apostle of Tyson)

Survivor: Blood vs Water threw me for a loop. The season was the tale of the pain brought about by bringing deeply personal relationships into the game. The players who suffered the most became the focus of the story, yet the player who turned his pain into the fuel for victory was relegated to a footnote, especially in the finale.

Each episode was "these two are struggling because of their love #bigbadwolf." Yes, #bigbadwolf was an actual Twitter hashtag the editors put on screen. If you used and followed that hashtag, you would've been right in the middle of a conversation about how great of a game eventual winner Tyson Apostol was playing. Yes, it's almost like they were leveraging the "superfan" community to write that part of the story.

Or were they letting them write their own?

I'm not a fan of Tyson. It's nothing personal. I don't know the guy, only his edited character on television. I've followed him on Twitter since Heroes vs Villains and felt the same way about most of his tweets that I've felt about his confessionals. Every once in awhile I chuckle, usually I shake my head and appreciate the intent.

As a communicator, the way Tyson says things intrigues me. He works hard to create an ethos of nonchalant investment through subtly deriding some absurdity of what he's doing or likes. His favorite target of these quips is himself. The day of the finale he tweeted, "Pretty sick on the day of the #Survivor finale. Similar, I would suspect, to Michael Jordan during the '96 NBA finals." Surely it's meant to be taken in jest because there's no way he'd be calling himself the Michael Jordan of Survivor...except he is calling himself the Michael Jordan of Survivor. Saying it in jest makes it easier for the audience to accept it. It's a clever approach that I enjoy a lot more than the content inside of it.

My favorite moment from the finale was when Tyson broke down and cried after the vote reading. Most winners whoop and jump around. The moment is the realization of a joy they knew was possible and made happen. For Tyson it seemed more like a release. He openly admitted at the Final Tribal Council that he didn't think he had a chance at winning at the start. Many of his confessionals echoed that belief, as he discussed the game getting away from him in previous seasons. As he wept, he seemed to let go of all the frustrations and apprehension that I'm accustomed to seeing from him. I enjoyed the moment because I finally understood and appreciated what the victory meant to him, I just wish that I was told the story of him building to that release.

The story I was told was a Culpepper sandwich with the Morretts and Baskaukases between the bread. Early on, we saw Brad Culpepper struggle to become the shield he promised Monica he would be (and surely has been during their entire marriage). His aggressive play and claim on a leadership position thrust Monica into the spotlight until he left. Similarly, Vytas Baskaukas excelled in letting others take the spotlight and the axe but it was his brother Aras' strong leadership skills and history of success in the game that did him in. Post-merge, Laura Morrett saw her game end when her daughter Ciera decided she couldn't win as long as her mother was there attracting attention to the two of them.

At the end of their games, each pair was given a catharsis by the editors. The Brothers Baskaukas seem to have worked through their rivalry to a new found respect. Laura witnessed her daughter blossoming into an independent and confident woman. What happened to the Culpeppers? Their dynamic became the subject of the finale.

As the numbers whittled down, Monica became the swing vote and only player who could possibly stop the Big Bad Wolf from blowing houses down. Over and over she asserted that she was playing for Monica, sometimes following up that claim with a contradictory assertion of selflessness. All her posturing culminated at the Final Tribal Council when the jury forcefully confronted her with a seemingly basic question, "Who is Monica?" In her own way, Monica admitted that she didn't know. It was truly compelling, and sometimes difficult, to watch.

I completely felt for Monica. I wanted the jury to lay off of her. I didn't understand what more Laura wanted when she asked for "vulnerability" after Monica had just bared her soul about her role in her husband and son's lives. I was relieved when Hayden had the class to explain to Monica what they were all confused about (and pained when Monica took it as another attack when it wasn't). At the end of it all, I wanted Monica to win so she could have the title of Sole Survivor to start building her independent identity on, but she was never going to. Regardless of my feelings on Tyson, this season was his and the story should've been his too.

Many of the "superfans" (a self-ascribed label that seems to mean a much-deeper-than-typical engagement with the show) did see the story as being Tyson's from early on. Similarly, they saw One World's story being about Kim and Redemption Island's story being about Andrea early on. Two out of three times now, they've correctly uncovered the winner. Zero times have they done it by taking the show as it is.

Tyson's win, like Cochran's the season before, is a superfan's dream come true. The game has had a huge impact on his life yet he never thought he'd win it. Hell, host Jeff Probst never thought Tyson would win it. He said as much pre-game, asserting people wouldn't respect Tyson enough because he is mainly about having fun. That persona is exactly what he cultivates to belie what it all means to him.

Just like superfans, Survivor means more to Tyson than I suspect we'll ever know or understand. It's why they wanted him to win. Before this season, he wasn't a historic Survivor legend like Boston Rob Mariano. His inclusion in his second season Heroes vs Villains was curious and his performance in it short lived. Now after his third season, he is a legend and a victor--and it took him one less season than Rob to become the latter. That fact is what the superfans will remember this season for.

Me? I'll remember Aras and Vytas' parallels with Jacob and the Man in Black on LOST, Laura's struggle to balance her desire to win with her desire to see her daughter win, and Monica's tears that came with her fight to assert herself. All of it taught me what helped Tyson win--you have to make sure your relationships in life fuel you, not cause you anguish.

That was the story of Blood vs Water. Maybe I'm a superfan for analyzing the editing on such an in-depth level to uncover themes (and for meeting players like the tall-as-fuck Aras). Maybe that means I'm supposed to be happy Tyson won. Though I tip my hat to and congratulate him on the feat, I'm still glad I'm not glad. Maybe that means you'll call me a casual derisively under your breath (or in secret Alcohol, Tobacco, and Firearms groups).

Say what you will. I love the balance I've found. Twice a year I'm told a story that enriches my life on a professional and personal level--a story that shows me what it truly means to survive.

There's Something Wrong with Donald Glover, and That's OK.

I listened to Donald Glover's new Childish Gambino album "Because The Internet" yesterday. There's some stuff I really liked. There's some stuff I didn't. I'm not going to attempt to judge whether I think it's good or not because I got the impression he didn't make it for us. He made it for himself.

The album is constructed almost like a bunch of EPs strung together, each having its own tone and topics. As you progress deeper into the tracklist, the mood becomes darker and the verses shorter. For me it felt less like a man trying to create for the audience's enjoyment and more like a man trying to capture his emotions in music. A lot of people may not say there's a difference between those two things, but there is. The creation of art is necessarily a self-aware process. You are creating it to be consumed. You just have to decide who your audience is.

I still think we're Glover's audience on this album. He's just not trying to entertain us. He's trying to connect with us. As he's always done, he's using his abilities with music and the written word to reach, he's just doing so on a different level than before because of how his life has changed.

It's well known that he left his beloved role as Troy Barnes on "Community." It's an action that's confusing from a distance, but makes more sense upon a detailed look. Recently, Glover released pictures of a series of handwritten notes on Instagram. Some of his statements are pretty innocuous. Others are revealing.

I didn't leave Community to rap. I don't wanna rap. I wanted to be on my own. 

I've been sick this year. I've seen a bunch of people die this year. This is the first time I've felt helpless. But I'm not on that.

And

I feel like I'm letting everyone down.
I'm afraid people hate who I really am.
I'm afraid I hate who I really am.

 And (underline his)

I got really lost last year.
But I can't be lonely tho.
Cause we're all here.
We're all stuck here.
I wanted to make something that says, no matter how bad you fuck up, or mistakes you've made during the year, your life, your eternity. You're always allowed to be better. You're always allowed to grow up. If you want.

These admissions, mixed in with insecurities about his parents, relationship, and future, point to a deep-seated loneliness that stems from feeling unimportant/invisible. I know because I've been there. I struggle with it every day. The first excerpt reveals what triggered these feelings. The second demonstrates how he's taking them out on himself. The third reveals why he's taking them out on himself. He doesn't think he has a right to say there's something wrong with him because "we're all the same."

Unfortunately, the feedback Glover is receiving is only going to reinforce this idea he holds. The first comment on the article I linked to has 56 likes and normalizes Glover's experiences:

This is heartbreaking. If it's possible though, I love and respect Donald Glover even more because of it. He has written down and shared things that most of us are afraid to even admit to ourselves.

The older I become the more I hesitate to say what I feel and go through is what most people feel and go through. I'm not in other people's heads. I have no way of knowing their experiences. I'm sure other people have similar experiences to mine or Glover's, but I've learned the more I said they did, the more harm I caused to myself.

By repeating these are the "things most of us are afraid to even admit to ourselves," I made myself feel as if I didn't have a right to complain that I felt invisible, which made me feel even more invisible.

Random commenters on the internet certainly aren't the only people trumpeting this normalization either. ThinkProgress has an article titled "Is Donald Glover Cracking Up? Or Having A Normal Reaction To The Pressures Of Fame And Being 30?" The author writes:

But what’s struck me most about the messages that he posted isn’t anything Glover is feeling in particular. It’s how confusing it is to watch a star act like an actual person in public.
...
We’ve become so used to unnaturalness, or to a studied facade of naturalness, that when we encounter the real thing in all of its contradictory insecurity, we mistake it for evidence of serious problems, rather than a healthy processing of legitimately complex emotions.
...
No wonder Glover’s openness is so confusing. But as he put it to People, “If I’m depressed, everybody’s depressed. I don’t think those feelings are that different from what everybody’s feeling. Most people just don’t tell everybody.” The real difference is that most of us don’t have so many people to tell, and so little expectation of being rationally understood.

The Glover quote the author uses further reinforce his unwillingness to assert his unique life experience. The unspoken conclusion in it is "these depressed feelings are normal, this is what the human condition is." This notion comes from a culture that says what Glover is feeling and doing is "acting like an actual person" and "a healthy processing of legitimately complex emotions."

The problem, as the author suggests, isn't that people are telling him he has a serious problem. It's that they're telling him he doesn't have one so he isn't actually "processing...legitimately complex emotions" in a healthy way. That message is why he has "so little expectation of being rationally understood." He's repeatedly being told what he's feeling isn't a big deal to the point that his only choice is to attempt to rationalize it away as "normal" by saying things like "I can't be lonely tho. Cause we're all here."

We're not all there. Even though there's overlap between what I've experienced and he's experienced, I'm not even there. I identify with him to a degree, which is how I know and accept he's struggling with something unique that runs deeper than this past year.

On his 2011 album Camp, he included a a spoken word story following the last track on the album "That Power."  In it he recounts being 13 and revealing his feelings to a girl on the bus ride back from camp. He mistakenly says the word "destiny" and falls asleep. When he wakes, the girl is gone. Some other girls are laughing. One comes up to him and says "destiny." Obviously, he's hurt. What's revealing though is how he copes with the pain.

This isn’t a story about how girls are evil or how love is bad, this is a story about how I learned something and I’m not saying this thing is true or not, I’m just saying it’s what I learned. I told you something. It was just for you and you told everybody. So I learned cut out the middle man, make it all for everybody, always. Everybody can’t turn around and tell everybody, everybody already knows, I told them.

While there's a logic in his attempt at self-protection, there's also a much more damaging flaw. Glover has taken away his own right to an identity. Rather than saying he made a mistake in trusting the girl and would choose who he trusted more carefully in the future, he decided he was just going to tell everyone about himself always, basically blurring any line between "me" and "them" in his mind.

Basically, he decided the way to make sure he never felt that pain again was to make his private self belong to the public. Except the self isn't a public property. Trying to make the choices that are necessarily yours belong to everyone else only denies the self, harms it, and distances it from everyone else--bringing about feelings of invisibility and loneliness. I know.

The bus story resonated with me deeply. I too was publicly made to feel ashamed and embarrassed for liking girls in Middle School, as if I had no choice in who I liked and would one day end up with. The difference is, I retreated inward, denying other people the chance to know me--the opposite of his choice, though no less lonely.

Glover concludes the story with an even more revealing admission about the source of his pain:

I wish I could say this was a story about how I got on the bus a boy and got off a man more cynical, hardened, and mature and shit. But that’s not true. The truth is I got on the bus a boy. And I never got off the bus. I still haven’t.

I speak from personal experience when I say, let's not underplay and marginalize this man's struggles as if they're fine. There's something wrong with Donald Glover, and that's OK because he 's finally starting to accept it and try to get off the bus.

Track Tales Tuesday: The Dark Side

If City Light's first album "In It To Win It" is an exercise in youthful hope, then their followup "The Way Things Should Be" is an ode to the determination that comes with a sense of identity. Picking one song off of the latter, which was released today, to highlight is a difficult task. Each features a number of lyrics that inspires the band's determination in the listener and are perfectly complimented by their beats and breakdowns. Still, the strength of one song soars above.

My dislike of Star Wars is no secret. It'll probably come back to haunt me at some point in my life. I'd never heard a good argument for the ideas in the films...until I heard "The Dark Side" by City Lights. Perhaps predictably, the infamous Yoda quote from The Phantom Menace is included:

I sense great fear in you
and that could only mean one thing
Fear leads to anger
and anger to hate
and this is why darkness surrounds your fate

That quote is an example of my biggest problem with Star Wars. It's underdeveloped. Yoda tacks on "hate to suffering" to create a nice sounding platitude, but none of it explains why fear leads to anger and anger to hate and hate to suffering. Even more importantly, the source of fear is never mentioned.

Maybe the ultimate issue that Yoda is ignoring is the young padawan feels alone in dealing with something which makes him feels afraid. Yoda's silence on the matter would then only increase the fear, which makes me wonder something else. Is suffering the result of Yoda's progression or the start of it?

City Lights answers all these questions by adding psychological depth around the reference. They open the song:

Everyone you hold close
is poison to your mind
Be mindful of your feelings
they may pull you from the light

Immediately the role you allow other people into your life is brought into question as well as how you treat your own feelings. There is no advocating for emotionalism here. You have to be critical of what you're feeling and consider how it's affecting you. In the chorus, the band paints a picture of this solitude:

The voices in your head
Don't listen to what they say
Just keep doing what you do
When you're doubting yourself
and it's clouding your mind
stay away from the dark side 

You must fight to endure
Fear is a disease
and hope is the only cure

Unlike Yoda, City Lights shows an understanding of what leads to fear--the negativity in your head, concretized in "the voices" of people who haven't believed in you (a running theme on the album) leading to doubt. They then go on to provide an antidote to this poison--hope.

How do you find hope? Part of the answer to that question is in the chorus--doing. Do what you want and believe is right. Actions in reality trump words, especially words in your head. The rest of the song provides the other part of the answer. After dispensing some more platitudes in the second verse, the band hits the nail on the head in the bridge:

The universe can make you feel invisible
so don't forget about your principles
Keep your friends close
and your demons at bay

An underlying theme in all of pop punk is feeling like you're fighting the world on your own. Strangely, or maybe appropriately, it's only recently that bands have started to really celebrate exactly how important independence is. As a young band, City Lights is an example of this development. Another example was With the Punches, one of my all time favorite bands who recently broke up or went on hiatus or whatever they're calling it these days.

Both bands focus on internal improvements turning into external actions. They discuss developing your principles so that your definition of "friend" isn't arbitrary and so you can take action with a surety of purpose. That surety, as well as the positivity from your true friends, is what keeps your demons at bay, gives you hope, and keeps you away from the dark side.

The world adds a lot of noise to all of our heads. Developing the principles to properly sort through it is a necessity. Without them, you suffer. What Yoda didn't realize is, it's not a progression, it's a cycle--suffering leads to fear which leads to anger which leads to hate which leads to more suffering. When you're already in the cycle, one of the worst things someone can tell you is it's all your fault. While you do have a level of personal responsibility for your feelings, being told so in such a manner makes you feel even more alone.

City Lights breaks down the noise in a way Yoda couldn't. Oh well, at least the little green guy tried, right?

For Hershel

Being on the run

for too long

plays tricks on the mind.

Dull gray walls

rusted metal bars

and leaning fences

transform safety into comfort

under the guise of life.

Too little growth

leads to stagnation,

a coffin for the soul.

Complacent

and accepting,

desires disappear

and trifles turn trivial.

We were too far gone.

Now, so are you.

We’ll mourn

in the morning.

We all have jobs to do.

Track Tales Tuesday: Nothing for Christmas

Believe it or not, it's Christmas again. Every year the holiday season and it's cultural overhaul seems to appear fast and disappear even faster. It's like New Found Glory says on their song Nothing for Christmas, "December comes in a flash then it's gone."

Perhaps the most controversial part of the culture of Christmas is the music. When's too early to start hearing it? What versions of the classic songs are the best? Hell, what are the classic songs? It seems right to start playing Christmas songs right after Thanksgiving, maybe even after Santa's sleigh slides by at the end of the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade. Pressing play then would only give you about 30 days or so with the unique set of songs though. Of course, many people would say 30 days is too many with such an annoying playlist.

I'm not one of the people who finds Christmas music annoying, though I understand the objection. Something about the style is so inoffensive and indifferent. There is almost always a lack of passion in songs that purport to portray the heartbeat of the average American. It's one of the main reasons I prefer pop punk to plain pop. Predictably, I feel the same way during the holiday season.

Nothing for Christmas by New Found Glory is the lead track on Fearless Record's latest installment of their Punk Goes... compilation, Punk Goes Christmas, and captures everything I feel about the holiday and how it fits into life in general. New Found Glory is my favorite band for a reason. Their unabashed enjoyment of life and their genre is at the forefront of their music which carries the lyrical undertone of fighting for belonging in friendships and romantic entanglements. Their song on this compilation is no different. In the second verse they pinpoint the underlying yearning of the season:

I think back to when I was younger
when everyone's together and I want you more now than ever
to not think about our troubles

No matter where you're living, you're supposed to return "home for the holidays." It's a season built on the concept of togetherness. You're not really going home though. You're chasing the feelings you associated with home when growing up. If you live somewhere for 11 months and 26 days a year, that place is home, not where you go to eat a feast, unwrap some presents, and reconnect with loved ones. I'm not saying there is no value to Christmas visits. There is and I don't know what exactly that value  is for you because I don't know what feelings you associate with the place you grew up. I only know what feelings I associate and that's what New Found Glory gets.

This year is the first I won't be going back to Massachusetts for Christmas. For the first time in 30 years, I won't be spending the holiday with my parents. If you step back and think about it for a second, it should be pretty disconcerting to do something 29 years in a row and then stop on the 30th. While I don't remember a lot from being really young, I still remember most of those 29 years. They were a lot different than I know the next 29 are going to be.

And I think back through fall, and the summer
and how it changed everything.
Let's walk through snow in the winter
and forget about our troubles

Snow not withstanding because I live in Southern California these days, I've changed a lot over the summer and fall. My brother who's a year younger than me got married in August. It was basically a big family reunion which allowed me to step back and look at my place in it in a way I never have before. This Fall I've come to realize I've never felt that togetherness. I'm not saying that I've been a perpetual outsider in my family, just that I've felt that way. It's surely why New Found Glory's music resonates with me so strongly, as their chorus on this song does:

Christmas is coming, so don't buy me nothing.
I got what I wanted, I got what I needed.
And Christmas is coming, so don't buy me anything.
I got what I wanted, I got what I needed, it's you, it's you, it's you.

When I heard that hook for the first time I immediately thought of my girlfriend and how I asked her not to buy me anything for Christmas. In lieu of spending the holiday with our families, we're taking a trip to Las Vegas to spend time away from everyone else and with each other. I asked her not to buy anything because things aren't what I want or need right now. Her money would be better spent on herself. What I want, I need, is to be here with her focusing on enjoying myself and figuring out where to go next. That's what Christmas means to me this year. That's what New Found Glory gets.

For the first time in my adult life I'm starting to feel present, and that's the only present I need.

(Punk Goes Christmas features songs from All Time Low, one of the most underrated bands in the world, genre up-and-comers Man Overboard and Real Friends, and veterans Yellowcard. Most of the songs hit the perfect balance of pop punk and Christmas.)

The (s)Words of Antonio Smith and The Governor

(Note: This article contains spoilers for Seasons 3 and 4 of AMC's The Walking Dead.)

I'm sorry to be the bearer of bad news. Sometimes it doesn't matter what you do. No amount of hard work or time investment can make you a success. Well, let me be a bit more precise. You can reach your goals and produce your desired results. Some people will just attempt to undermine, deride, and nullify you with one simple statement because they want what you have, are unable to earn it themselves, and are unable to accept that you have it.

In case you ever want to employ this tactic against the New England Patriots, the keyword to use is "spy." Houston Texans safety Antonio Smith provided a perfect example of how-to following his team's 34-31 loss to the Patriots on Sunday. "Either teams are spying on us or scouting on us," he said in a post-game interview. Why does he think that? It seems the Texans used tactics that they hadn't in their previous 11 games yet somehow the Patriots were still able to cope with them well enough to win. Smith summarized:

"I'm very suspicious. I just think it will be a big coincidence if that just happened by chance. I don't know for sure, but I just know it was something that we practiced this week."

In Smith's mind the Texan's new tactics were so powerful they could only be combated by two methods: cheating or chance. The reality of his team being 2-9, riddled with injuries, and starting an inexperienced quarterback against an 8-3 team starting a future hall of fame quarterback and coached by a future hall of famer known for his ability to out-scheme his opponents, an ability most recently put on display the previous week when his team came back to win from a 24-0 deficit doesn't matter to him. Smith believes he deserved to win and since he didn't, he's going to find a way to say the loss doesn't actually count.

In 2007 the Patriots were the center of a huge NFL scandal called Spygate. You may have heard of it. You may have also seen the South Park episode where Bill Belichick, their coach, was mocked as a cheater. Even though most people have little to no knowledge of the details of the Spygate incident, our cultural acceptance of the Patriots as cheaters because "they spied on other teams" makes it easy for anyone to undermine their accomplishments. Smith demonstrated just how easy when speaking to reporters. By merely saying "spying," he brought the legitimacy of the Patriots victory into question. In essence, he played a trump card so he didn't have to accept what actually happened.

The Walking Dead episode "Too Far Gone" saw the series most recent and ruthless villain Phillip Blake use the exact same strategy. The tyrannical Governor of Woodbury in the post-apocalyptic world, Blake saw his small town crumble and subjects escape when he encountered the show's protagonists and their community-in-a-prison. Six months later, he had seemingly come to terms with the defeat and possessed new subjects and a tank. The prison (and victory) would be his because it was the best place to survive...if he could only convince his followers that they had the right to take what belonged to other people.

In the zombie apocalypse of The Walking Dead, people are much looser with their morals. Killing becomes an everyday occurrence. Mainly it's zombies that have to be dealt with. Sometimes though other people are so dangerous that killing in self defense is socially acceptable to such an extent that Stand Your Ground laws seem mild. In spite of this moral leniency, the one rule most characters can agree upon is you do not kill people without good warrant. Thus it's easy to see how labeling someone as a "killer" could give you justification to kill them and take their stuff--a dangerous thought if someone has stuff you want or need...like a well-fortified place to live.

"The people in this prison, not all of them are bad, but most of them are thieves, murders," the Governor tells his new followers, "Now why should people like that have peace of mind when we're burying our own just about every day?" This argument convinces even the weakest-stomached member of his ground, a young woman who pretended she was ex-military when they first met. It's completely understandable why too. When other people are bad and you're good, why do they deserve to have better stuff, a better life, than you? The problem is, that specious argument is almost exclusively used by people who don't deserve what they're trying to take.

The young woman watched as the Governor revealed his true character--and that he hadn't gotten over the loss of Woodbury and the power he had there. Our protagonists in the prison offered to share their residence, suggesting they live in separate cell blocks until the two groups learned to co-exist. The Governor refused in horrific fashion sending the standoff into an unnecessary blood bath. The young woman crawled away from the battle saying, "We're not supposed to be doing this." When her girlfriend reinforced that they were, she replied, "He chopped a guy's head off with a sword." The Governor, unlike the protagonists and their peaceable offer, was too far gone. He didn't want the prison. He wanted to punish the people in it. They refused to live in line with the fantasies he tried to force on them whether by word or by sword.

Accepting defeat is often the most difficult process in life. It's also the most humbling. It allows you to honestly assess your mistakes and what went wrong. Denial, worse yet denial at the word of another person, only avoids the issue and prolongs suffering. When someone quickly dismisses another person, you have to ask yourself why it's so easy for him to do so. Why was it so easy for the Governor to call the protagonists in the prison killers? Why was it so easy for Smith to say the Patriots spied?

Smith probably thinks he's right about the Patriots and now so do many football fans looking to nullify the team's continued success. What they're avoiding, however, is the simple obvious fact that ESPN analyst Stephen A. Smith yelled on First Take, "You don't have to cheat to beat the Texans." I'm not sorry to be the bearer of that bad news, and I'm not going to listen to someone looking for excuses to pretend otherwise. You shouldn't either.

People like that are too far gone.

Picking Up Flags, Putting Down Integrity

There's an ESPN explosion of coverage on the controversial call that ended the Patriots at Panthers game on Monday night. I'll summarize it this way. The Patriots were at the end of a last gasp effort to win the game, a common occurrence in the Tom Brady-Bill Belichick era. Down 24-20, time ran out as Brady threw a pass into the endzone intended for (on a path for) Rob Gronkowski. Gronkowski was running for the back of the endzone. He was also being bearhugged by Panthers linebacker Luke Kuechly. (The use of the word "bearhugged" is not an exaggeration.) Brady's pass was intercepted near the front of the endzone. The clock expired. Game over, right? Right...except for the flag that was induced by the Kuechly-Gronkowski bearhug and then picked up following an official's conference.

That non-called penalty is the focus of all the post-game banter. Was it actually a penalty as the ball would have been intercepted anyway as there was no way for Gronkowski to get to it? Does it matter if the ball would have been intercepted anyway because a bearhug is a bearhug and is illegal? What do coaches and officials that weren't involved in the game have to say about it? All of these questions are irrelevant and are an example of the minutia that permeates the content put out by the mainstream media. What happened, happened. There is no point in speculating if it should have happened differently and what would have happened afterwards if it did. Rather, the discussion should be about why what happened, happened and if that reason is right.

In other words, this "controversy" is an example of missing the forest for the trees. The focus is so intensely on one tree, the picked up flag, that all the other ones are being missed. Other ones such as:

1. Kuechly bearhugs Gronkowski
2. Panthers Tight End Greg Olsen holds Patriots Cornerback Devin McCourty and McCourty is called for holding

Both trees demonstrate the same issue--players doing what they know is against the rules in order to gain any advantage possible. In number one, Kuechly is trying to prevent a big and tremendous pass-catcher from moving how he naturally would to catch the ball. The rules are specifically written to prevent this type of action by defenders. In number two, Olsen is holding onto McCourty in a way that makes it seem like McCourty is holding him (I wish I had a better picture) in order to draw a holding penalty. That action is, in a word, dishonest. Players, coaches, and fans sidestep that dishonesty by saying you do whatever it takes to win. "Whatever it takes" includes intentionally flouting the rules in hopes of not getting caught, apparently.

Winning by breaking the rules is an oxymoron. The rules are what make the game what it is. They are the parameters you play within. You're talking about different footballs if you score by kicking a ball into a net or if you score by moving a ball into a specific zone. Even if those rules are the only ones you play with, they are still parameters. They are limitations on reality that tell you what a "score" means. The game then is about measuring who can score in that manner the best--who has the most skill at completing that goal. Any rules that are subsequently added are intended to make sure the process for determining who can score the best is fair and correct. You want to make sure you are measuring the right things.

We could argue all day about whether the rules in the NFL fulfill that purpose (and I agree, there are many that don't), but the rule book is agreed on prior to each season by owners, coaches, players, league officials, and/or representatives of each of these groups. By agreeing to play by the set of rules, a person is agreeing that process is proper for determining who is better at a certain skill. So what does it mean when a player openly flouts the rules to do "whatever it takes to win"? He doesn't care about the game. He only cares about winning. The only problem is there's no such thing as winning without rules. Everyone works towards achieving different values. Rules ensure that a group of people are working toward the same value. That is what winning a game is. "We both find this skill equally valuable. Whoever can do it bests deserves to be honored for it."

The "whatever it takes to win" mentality is certainly not limited to football. (I would argue it's a larger cultural issue.) However, in recent years I've seen it's prevalence grow in the game. The Panthers are the most recent franchise in a series of defensively oriented teams that have utilized this approach. (The most notable would be the Ravens.) Each of these teams has been known for their mentally tough and physically brutal play--at least, that's how they're characterized. I, on the other hand, find their play to be dishonest, dirty, and dangerous. This in-congruence is an important issue. When the "whatever it takes" approach is intentionally whitewashed in post-championship exhalations by exaggerating other supposed strengths these teams possess, it devalues the entire game, season, and league.

I know, I know, how dare a Patriots fan write about this issue and continue to support the franchise after "Spygate." Honestly, I'm tired of that argument. Accepting that the Patriots were using the "whatever it takes to win" approach with Spygate requires that you accept Belichick is a despicable human being who not only used that approach but then lied about using it afterward. The evidence just doesn't support that view of Belichick, even though many people do. That's fine, of course. It's up to them to decide what they believe, but it makes me wonder, are these people the same that advocate the "whatever it takes to win" approach (I mean, everyone does it, right?) and are just mad that Belichick does it (according to them) better than them or their team?

I know, I know, I also sound like a pussy right now. I should nut up and be a man. I'm just complaining because I'm not good enough, right? Wrong. People who believe they aren't good enough flout rules because they don't think they can win within them. Men come to agreements and stick to them because they believe the agreements are right and they are good enough to succeed within those agreements. Ultimately, respect for rules (that you've agreed to) is respect for yourself.

I don't care that the Panthers beat the Patriots on Monday night. I've witnessed much worse losses in my time as a Patriots fan. (18-1 for one,) I care that I'm supposed to sweep all of it under the rug by accepting that the Patriots didn't play nearly well enough to deserve to win even though it was an extremely close game the entire time; and if I don't except that, I'm a whiny crybaby who isn't smart, mature, or masculine.

The Panthers won. The refs fucked up. I accept those facts. I also trust that the NFL is run in a manner so that most games won't end this way; and if a lot of games do end this way, the NFL will do something to fix it as soon as possible. If I couldn't confidently say any of these things, I wouldn't be a football fan. It would be a waste of my time. I just wonder why so many people who can't say these things insist on remaining involved.

There's a lot of trees in the forest. Find another one to climb.