Super Bowl Craze

“Fear never but you shall be consistent in whatever variety of actions, so they be each honest and natural in their hour. For of one will, the actions will be harmonious, however unlike they seem… Your genuine action will explain itself and will explain your other genuine actions. Your conformity explains nothing” (Thoreau 217).

I don’t mean to sound like a wet blanket, but football is really stupid. As I walk down the streets of Oakland, literally every passing comment and conversation I hear has to do with the Steelers. The shops and restaurants along Forbes (the ones that want business, anyway) all have black and yellow decorations. It seems like for every Pittsburgher doesn’t hope for victory, they expect it.

Before I go to far with bashing the city’s unified religion, I do want to point out that the Steelers are a topic of conversation that unites people from all different socio-economic backgrounds. People seem to remark that everyone is friendly and approachable if the Steelers are having a good season. I can only imagine what this city is like when the Steelers don’t make the playoffs.

I can’t blame the fans or the city for what transpires after their football team plays a championship game. Win or lose, I guess there has to be some destruction of public property. I don’t know if Thoreau would call a riot “harmonious.” In fact, it may pertain to conformity, which Thoreau looks upon negatively. As I walked down Atwood St., I picked up a flyer that had been pinned to a nearby telephone pole that read: “A Message For All Students! Celebrate Responsibly. Sunday’s anticipated victory celebration will be limited to Bigelow Boulevard between the William Pitt Union and the Cathedral of Learning, with the postgame celebration lasting for one hour after the game… City and University police will be on hand to help ensure a safe celebration… Be smart and don’t jeopardize your future.” I found this announcement to be somewhat laughable, mostly because the police try to make it seem like they have complete control over any sizable population. The fear tactic they employ in the leaflets is also quite humorous, as they warn that one’s future employment could be affected by an arrest.

I think my apathy toward football is, to use Thoreau’s term, “genuine” because I do not hate it simply for the sake of hating it. I simply dislike the football hysteria that can consume people, and how it can distract them from real-life social issues that are much more important to their lives. I know my view has been expressed numerously by other Debbie-Downers, but isn’t the Super Bowl one big capitalist advertisement? Does it really warrant the overturning of cars and the destruction of bus stops? (Now when it comes to the NHL, I am a complete hypocrite –but then again, I don’t live in Canada).

EDIT: *this last section was written after the Steelers lost the Super Bowl.

For my final entry, I wanted to stroll the streets of Oakland and observe the rioters rejoicing. Now that the “unthinkable” has happened, I guess I feel a bit disappointed that I didn’t join in on the festivities two years ago. Instead of rioting, I had to do my economics homework. I guess I do, in the end, want to conform and be a part of something. Maybe I’ve always wanted that platform on which to join and relate to others. The TV room in my dorm was packed with students from all different countries –would I ever join those people and take part in such an even again? Maybe conformity that is modest can be meaningful… just as long as it doesn’t become a mental disorder.

The Corruption of Man and the Window Experiment

“The best thing a man can do for his culture when he is rich is to endeavor to carry out those schemes which he entertained when he was poor. “
Civil Disobedience, p237
“…and I saw that if one stayed there long, his business would to be look at the window.”
Civil Disobedience, p240
I really enjoyed reading Civil Disobedience and decided to focus my last journal on 2 of my favorite quotes/moments in the piece. The first quote struck me because Thoreau emphasized culture. I have always associated money more with the individual spiritual corruption of a person rather than a poison to culture. I completely agree with this section about wealth. I think money complicates things unnecessarily and has a tendency to place people in morals dilemmas that shouldn’t have existed in the first place. The above quote made me question my associations between money and success. The American Dream is marked by a big house, a cushy job, and lots of money to spare. I have been pushed my entire life to eventually reach that goal. But what will lots money actually gives me? The answer to this question, and I believe Thoreau would agree, is nothing but an unsatisfiable greed for more material possessions. However, I believe that Thoreau’s idea of what a rich man can do for his culture may be almost impossible to do now. American society values the flaunting of wealth. Reality television is filled with people who spend too much money for luxurious items or people envious and desperate to get to that wealthy state. The first thing a lotto winner does is usually buy a house, and then most spend it too quickly and left with nothing once again. I agree that a man should continue to live somewhat thriftily and give back when rich, but the temptation is far too great now. America today is a grotesque consumerist society. This puts my life slightly into perspective. I don’t yearn for endless wealth, just happiness and a comfortable enough living where I am no struggling for food. The “endless want” Americans possess has become second nature. Although I was essentially already aware of this, Thoreau has sparked a renewed interest in me to be aware of the corruption I could face.
I found Thoreau’s description of his night in prison very intriguing. I had come accustomed to imagining Thoreau emerged in nature that it was somewhat jarring to imagine him in any other circumstance. After doing the “nothing” exercise I found myself sympathizing with Thoreau and his thoughts regarding the business of window watching. This inspired me to do an experiment. I did not spent 45 minutes just staring out the window and just thinking about my own beliefs and about Thoreau’s writings. I found this much more enjoyable than the “nothing” exercise. My window faces a courtyard with trees and a small pond, so this was actually a very positive experience. I used to be able to see squirrels running through the trees, but unfortunately this is not the time of year for that. To my surprise, I found some sort of peace and it gave me time to actually ponder what Thoreau was saying. Despite his tone of voice, I feel that Thoreau had some good points and values. Although I could never personally reach the level Thoreau did, I’m going to try to separate myself from cultural prison I have allowed myself to be imprisoned by.

Walking with my imagination

I had allotted myself an hour and a half today to go for one of my nature walks. I have been feeling a little overwhelmed with work lately and working out hasn’t alleviated much of that stress. I decided to talk an “urban walk” this time, hoping to clear my head while getting away from campus and all the stress associated with it. I started by walking down Forbes Avenue to the Cathedral of Learning. I stopped by the small, grassy park area and rested for a bit. It was bitter cold, but it surprisingly felt really nice in combination with the sunshine.

I observed people milling about while other clearly walked with purpose towards some unknown destination. This got me thinking about how most people always have a destination and purpose in mind. It is increasingly difficult to simply meander about without heading in some planned direction. Even in this walk I couldn’t help but plan where I wanted to go, no matter how general the direction.

This unconscious planning is most apparent in my family vacations. Every exotic country or far away state we travel to, my father always schedules every minute of our time there. There is immense pressure to “see everything” and “do everything.” There is no time to wander the streets of a new and exciting place, to become fully immersed in the foreign culture. I can barely enjoy my vacation; we do so much sight-seeing that I’m usually always exhausted by late afternoon. I understand my father’s idea of truly experiencing a country, however I think there should be some balance. When I travelled to Germany, I loved visiting the Reichstag and seeing firsthand where so much infamous history occurred. However, I also would have appreciated the freedom of wandering the streets of Berlin without any plan to see famous landmarks. I find I get the most enjoyable memories from spending my day in a foreign country as I spend my days in America.

This thought reminded me of Emerson’s feelings on travelling: “Travelling is a fool's paradise. Our first journeys discover to us the indifference of places. At home I dream that at Naples, at Rome, I can be intoxicated with beauty, and lose my sadness. I pack my trunk, embrace my friends, embark on the sea, and at last wake up in Naples, and there beside me is the stern fact, the sad self, unrelenting, identical, that I fled from. I seek the Vatican, and the palaces. I affect to be intoxicated with sights and suggestions, but I am not intoxicated. My giant goes with me wherever I go” (Emerson, 227-8).

I disagree with Emerson’s theory. I cannot fathom why he would be content staying in his natural habitat. Imagination is one of man’s greatest friends, however actually experiencing someplace new, especially a foreign country, is incredible. Seeing the people, the architecture, the culture; tasting the food; hearing the native language are all indescribable. They are experiences that cannot be created within the mind; they must be felt in real life.

labors lost?

We stand and look at these hard working men and women hurrying in all directions and ask ourselves, where go the proceeds of their labor?

When I read this in Brownson I knew that he was talking about the physical sort of prophet that is made from the very demanding work done by wage laborers during this time period, but the image of bustling men and women immediately brought Carnegie Mellon to mind. I couldn't help it. The tired dirty wage laborers were nothing compared to exhausted and burnt out students, hyped up on caffeine just to get through their last class, and their labor at least seemed more fruitful.

I don't mean to say that the conditions of the laborers were superior to or more desirable, or in any way more sort of affluent than the lives of students at CMU. I know that they were subjected to terrible practices in the same ways that sweatshop workers today are mistreated. I know that, even as broke college students, we are better off than they probably ever were or ever would be. What I mean is that the actual work that the laborer did produced a tangible result, and in that aspect was better than college life is now. A laborer could look at a bolt of cloth and say to himself “I made this cloth. It is an extension of my self and is also a beautiful and useful thing.” Students, and especially students in the humanities, don't take anything home with us on break. We don't point to our essays and say “Look mom and dad, I made that and it is a useful and beautiful thing.” Our product is all in our heads.

This grueling labor is preformed with no physical reward, and so it's often perceived as wasted effort. From the outside looking in there are a few thousand students in a university and all of them study like little hamsters on their wheels , eventually spinning off into the real world with various large job offers for carrots and layoffs for sticks. It certainly seems like that to those of us on the inside as well. There is sort of this ambiguity about how exactly what we do here leads to a concrete job. In this way, the certainty of the laborer's finished product provides more motivation to succeed that the intellectual, hard proven,.

I also want to clear something up about the disparity between my last blog post and what I said in class about the food portion of my meditation experiment. My initial experience was very positive, the way that I describe it ins my blog post. It was after I got done eating and had to look at food I was finished with that my experience turned sour. Sorry for the confusion.

Modern Reliance

As I sat debating how to begin this post, I could think of no better way then to just dive in. After all these nature walks, self-reflection and thinking about the past, I had an interesting revelation. I continuously tried to compare myself to Thoreau and the Transcendentalists who thought deeply about nature and its relationship to our spirituality.

My thoughts took me to a place where I understood, or so I thought, where they were coming from. I could see how nature sparked their minds to think of a higher power, or a god. Then I got even more confident thinking that I was on the same plateau as these great thinkers of the 19^th century. That was, until I looked deeper. I thought “awesome! I’ve done a few walks in the woods while having deep thoughts.” What I did NOT think about was how two of my walks I had been fortunate enough to do further than 15 miles from where I live here at Carnegie Mellon. After my third walk is when I really got a sense of, “so, this is what Thoreau did on a daily basis.” But, then it occurred to me that it in fact was nowhere close to that.

How could my maximum time of 3-5 hours in the woods compare to him living there on a daily basis? Also, for my walks I was in different places thanks to the use of vehicles and public transportation. He walked the same beaten paths day in and day out. He wasn’t fortunate enough to be able to travel such great distances with such ease. My trips were planned on short notice; if Thoreau, or any person in his time, wanted to travel, the arrangements would need to be made well in advance taking into consideration many factors including weather, health, means of transportation, etc. For us, we can log onto the internet, book a flight and hotel and be gone in the morning.

Generally, I consider myself someone who does not rely on technology or modern luxuries in my everyday life, but truly comparing myself to these authors made me realize that having lived with all these things, I am not sure I could live without them. The cell phones, computers, mp3 players, DVD players, etc. While they did not have these things available to them, they seemed to survive just fine without them. I’m not sure I could have. And while I think of myself as a deep and thoughtful person, I have to wonder is it truly me having these thoughts? Are they actually original? Or are they just a product of readings, sights and other outside influences? While I understand that certain experiences and people of the past have obviously helped shape my thoughts, it still scares me to wonder if they are sincerely mine or just today’s version of repeated sentiments.

I don’t mean to say that nobody has previously shared any or all my beliefs, but more I am questioning the idea of us completely lacking the ability to think for ourselves in our current world based on the fact that we have so much information available to us and being given to us at any point in time thanks to the sophisticated technologies around us that were not around 150 years ago.

Thoreau Singing in Jail

There were two quotes in Thoreau’s “Resistance to Civil Government,” that really stuck out to me. Both were in the passage describing his night in prison. One was, “I believe that most of [my neighbors] are not aware that they have such an institution as the jail in their village” (272). This quote reminded me of conversations about privilege that I’ve had before. In this context, privilege would mean having certain advantages because of a trait you were born with: your race, how much money you grew up with, your sex, your gender identity, your looks, your health, your physical ability, etc. We aren’t always aware of our privileges, and we aren’t always aware of how they affect others. Sometimes, we aren’t aware that other people don’t have these privileges.

Thoreau was a pretty privileged guy: he was white, male, middle-class, and educated. He lived in a time when these traits—especially being white and male—validated his metaphorical parking. He had huge personal freedom, and he took full advantage of it. I’m not saying that’s a bad thing, actually it’s amazing. He did what he wanted to do with his life, which is not easy, especially because what he wanted to do was so unconventional. What I really like about Thoreau is that he was aware that, by virtue of his race and sex, he had rights most of the population couldn’t even dream of. That isn’t a common thing. I’m not sure I would feel comfortable saying the same for about Emerson, for example. For one thing, he renamed his wife because he didn’t like the way her name sounded when New Englanders said it (I’d love to know how she felt about it. If she supported the change, then I withdraw my criticism). But Emerson also seems to address all his speeches to academics and clerics—positions held almost exclusively by men. He seems unaware of all kinds of jails—the ones entrapping poor people, uneducated people, and women, for example. Thoreau can be a little self-centered, but this essay makes it very clear that he was aware of other people’s jails, was committed to calling attention to them and trying to abolish them, and was equally aware that his own jail was not nearly as difficult to break out of.

I also loved the line, “I was shown quite a long list of verses which were composed by some young men who had been detected in an attempt to escape, who avenged themselves by singing them” (271). This is what Thoreau is doing: trying to escape and, because he cannot ever really rid himself of the parts of society he feels angered, saddened, or entrapped by, making art to speak out against it. So much resistance is about singing, literally and metaphorically, so that the people who are trapping you know that you’re still there and that you aren’t complacent. Many forms of resistance can be classified as singing, even if they aren’t beautiful. From Thoreau’s cranky essays in the 19^th century to anarchists in the 21^st shaving half their heads, diving into dumpsters for dinner, and never taking baths: it’s all a form of singing.

Deep down in the ditch

My friend DJ asked me to meet him on the top of flagstaff hill.

Early last week, I had told him about this journal assignment and how I had to take several ‘walks’ and record what I experienced on a class blog. He was particularly excited by this, as he is a hiking/camping enthusiast and has always been very open about his affection for the outdoors. When I told him that so far in my two years of Carnegie Mellon I had yet to explore Schenley park except form a single ice-skating adventure last year, he was shocked to say the least.

“You have no idea what’d down their do you?” I didn’t know what he was talking about.

On a map, Schenley Park seems so simple. A large plot of green on an urban background. I had often visited flagstaff hill, for sledding adventures and spring picnics, but I was unaware of what the rest of Schenley was like. When I arrived to greet DJ at the top of flagstaff hill I had imagined that we would walk to find a place that resembled that green plot on my map, a golf course or something that looked like one. DJ had another place in mind.

As DJ led me deeper in deeper into a random wooded area just off the back of the hill I began to get scared. He was leading me into what looked like a large gorge, or for me, a great fall. The snow that I broke with my steps was untouched and pure—this was uncharted land, no paths, no stairs, no nothing.

Eventually, DJ had led me to what appeared to be a series of paths and stairways, all leading deep down into the ditch. As I climbed down the multiple stairways, I kept looking up, imagining how exhausting it would be to climb back to the top. When the pathways seemed to end, we continued on.

DJ grabbed my hand and guided me over the snow covered rocks. “This probably isn’t the best time to do this,” he said, “but if we wait much longer the snow will melt and these rocks will turn into a river.”

We made our way over dead logs, muddy waters, and as we made our way deeper and deeper into the gorge it only seemed to get quieter, more still, “further” away.

DJ and I didn’t speak much; it didn’t seem natural in the deafness of the snow. The sounds of our boots crunching through snow and ice created a soundtrack that was more desirable than any spoken word.

It kept getting darker and darker. At one point, I looked up to see what had happened to the sun and realized that we were under a humongous cement archway, a structure that presumably held up the bridge by Phipps. At the sight of this daunting structure towering over me, I was immediately brought back to the ‘real’ world—made aware of the presence of society.

Aware of the situation, I was immediately upset, “We’d better go back now,” I said. I couldn’t help thinking that this archway, this large structure casting a shadow over my escapade, had defeated the purpose of my trip.

Regardless, I had felt ‘it’, whatever it was, for a brief moment.

It was worth it.

Cheers,

Meela