It is truly a sad day when many have become so grossly complacent and gleeful when it comes to getting unjustly flogged. Students in these times do not seem to mind having many of their fundamental rights taken away, and only seem casually concerned about being treated as if they were pedophiles locked up in a maximum security prison. After all, this is what the modern high school has turned into; a super high security prison with education added on as an extra-special bonus.
The aim of this piece is more focused, however, on the recent decision by the school to stick its nose in activities students engage in outside of school. This school now has the power to penalize a student for doing something outside of school, whether it is in their home, at the local hang out, or what have you, which could result in the barring of a student from school activities and clubs. To an even greater extent, the Board of Education extended the rule to not only ban students from participation in various sports and activities, but also to impose a long term suspension on a student who is thought to be engaged in drug-related activities on or off school grounds. So it seems that the trap is perfectly set and students must now walk carefully or the mousetrap will swiftly catch them. Nowadays, the student is seen as the criminal, while the Board of Education acts as the Gestapo prepared to take care of any one who gets out of line.
The logic of such rules regarding participation in extracurricular activities is flawed in ways that ought to truly depress anyone who cares about their child. Perhaps the best way to illustrate my point is to present a scenario and information about the average high school student. Take the hypothetical situation of a student attending a party, which involves the consumption of alcohol by minors—a scene that has been an integral part of the high school experience since time immemorial. Let’s use the name “Jeremiah” to further develop this hypothetical situation; Jeremiah attends this party, unaware of the illegal acts going on, and some of his friends, lacking foresight, decide to take incriminating photos and post them on the social network facebook. While Jeremiah did not actually partake in any of these illegal acts, he does end up appearing in a number of photos with people who are. A few weeks later, the administration gets a hold of some of these pictures, one way or another, and sees that Jeremiah, typically thought to be a “good boy”, next to a crowd of people drinking alcoholic beverages. He is called into a meeting with the principal, the images are shown, and he is then barred from participating in the sports and activities which define his life. Such a situation is not far fetched, and one could make the assertion that many good-natured students could end up being unjustly penalized for an offense they never actually committed.
Now is that crucial time when parents and students need to wake up from their cozy slumber. It’s time to decriminalize the modern day student and treat the children of this generation with a bit more respect. Criminalization only leads to lunacy and major developmental problems that could potentially jeopardize a child’s future. None of the information presented in this piece should have made the reader feel warm and fuzzy inside. After reading this, it is my sincere hope that you are now out of the comatose state, which you have been in while this mess has unfolded. Join together and turn the focus of our schools back to proper education and development, not flagellation of innocent students.
It’s often fun to think back to the person who first turned you on to a life long passion. Most people cite their parents as the source of common hobbies like baseball or soccer, but sometimes we stumble upon things on our own ; a sort of serendipitous experience that blossoms into one of the most fantastic human emotions—passion. In my case, this life long passion was started after I read my very first book by English author P.G. Wodehouse (pronounced “wood house”), who penned some 90 books, as well as a number of short stories and plays. Reading his work today, Wodehouse’s unique voice is as witty and humorous as ever. The comical hijinks of Bertram Wooster, one part of Wodehouse’s duo Jeeves and Wooster, are still incredibly funny and relevant to the much evolved modern sense of humor. Great comedy does not go out of date, or out of print for that matter—a large number of Wodehouse’s books are still available in print. Among them, his Jeeves and Wooster stories and novels are by far the most popular, The Code of The Woosters particularly, followed by his novels and short stories set at Blandings Castle. It is a body of work that is so vast, so widespread, and so prodigious, that no other author to my knowledge (not even Stephen King), has come anywhere near the level of output and quality that Mr. Pelham Greenville Wodehouse managed to achieve in his lifetime.
Wodehouse’s incredible life spanned some 93 years, beginning on the 15 of October, 1881, and coming to an end on February 14, 1975. I would consider such longevity an achievement by its own merit, but Wodehouse’s career as an author produced 70 some-odd years of wonderful writing. He was a man who very seldom felt the need to kick his feet up and relax, and much preferred an exhaustive daily routine which focused on his life’s passion, writing. In a way, Wodehouse wrote in order to escape the realities of the world he lived in. This was especially the case during the late 1930’s when World War Two was raging, and Wodehouse immersed himself in his Jeeves novels, producing one of his finest works, The Code of The Woosters (1938). Here and there, he would mention some topical world issues, such as when Bertie describes Roderick Spode in Code of The Woosters with “His gaze was keen and piercing. I don’t know if you have ever seen those pictures in the papers of Dictators with tilted chins and blazing eyes, inflaming the populace with their fiery words on the occasion of opening a new skittle alley, but that was what he reminded me of.” This sort of mention was about as far into matters as Wodehouse cared to delve, and in general he decided to avoid the true evils of the world. For him, the worlds he created were the perfect place to spend his time, where there were no Fascists trying to take over the planet, but just the adventures of Bertie Wooster.
When I try and introduce the works of P.G. Wodehouse to people I know, the first words out of my mouth are “Do you remember that Jeeves character from the search engine?”, and most will pause for a moment and remember that funny looking butler from askjeeves. Granted, this is a poor way to introduce the world of Wodehouse to the average person, but it at least gives you something to work with. I then go on further to explain that the character Jeeves is actually part of a very large catalogue of Jeeves and Wooster stories written by and English fellow with kind of a funny name, P.G. Wodehouse. By this point, most stop paying attention because most do not enjoy talking about books that are not written by either J.K. Rowling or Stephenie Meyer. This is a sad state of affairs on its own, but that is not what this piece is about. The concept of the duo is really quite simple ; Bertie Wooster is a rich, careless English playboy who is kept in check by his venerable butler Jeeves while he participates in a number of hilarious adventures and misunderstandings. Simple, yes, but incredibly versatile and durable at the same time. This explains why Wodehouse was able to write so many short stories and novels using these iconic characters, while at the same time delivering a fresh, brilliant story every time. Even some of Wodehouse’s worst work (which there is very little of), is better than many other failed attempts at humor in the 20th century.
Nearly ever person I’ve ever talked to about writing seems to share the same obsession in finding out what an author’s routine is like. We like to think that there is some method to all of this, and that sheer genius and creativity is not the only factor. Many wonder what secret sauce, or what magical pen and stationary combination an author used that made his or her words so beautiful and affective. The wise eventually learn that there is not secret, and that the only method proven to work time and time again is to write as much as possible. Wodehouse followed this method to an extreme. Still, there were things that Wodehouse did that certainly set him apart from other authors. Take his time consuming process of drafting a “scenario”, consisting of a careful roadmap for the eventual novel, which he’d often create before he wrote even a single word of what would become the final draft. This allowed Wodehouse to produce novels that had many seemingly unrelated and insignificant events all come together at the conclusion of a work. It’s this sort of magic thing that happens in a Wodehouse novel,thanks to an incredibly well-thought out plot.
The affect of Wodehouse’s wittily crafted comedic prose can be seen in many of Britain’s finest authors and entertainers. Douglas Adams, who penned the hilarious Hitchhiker’s Guide series, was profoundly influenced by Wodehouse, one time saying “What Wodehouse writes is pure word music…he is the greatest musician of the English language, and exploring variations of familiar material is what musicians do all day.” Actor Stephen Fry, who once played Wodehouse’s character Jeeves on the BBC television program Jeeves and Wooster has said “…one of the gorgeous privileges of reading P.G. Wodehouse is that he makes us feel better about ourselves because we derive a sense of personal satisfaction from the laughter mutually created.” It seems then, with such a profound impact on literature in this century— as well as his own—that Mr. Pelham Greenville Wodehouse has very deservingly earned his spot in the great pantheon of literary achievement and excellence. Thanks for all of those laughs, Plum.
Coming to you from the sweatshop producing these posts, here it is:
Maine 2010: starring Steven P.
I set out for Maine with a very pathetic amount of knowledge on hand. In fact, there were only two pieces of information that I had acquired since I had learned I was traveling to the state where many a local will proudly remark that in Maine, there are more trees than people. Secondly, I knew that one of my favorite authors, Mr. Stephen King lived in this fine state. So, that was it. Two pieces of information, a camera, and a solid-state sound recording device. These were the tools at hand, and I was fully prepared to enjoy myself and escape the life which suburbia fostered. For me, this was the time to cure a multitude of habits acquired from living in modern times,chiefly this overwhelming feeling that without a computer and high speed internet access, life would be a miserable living hell. What I did not know, before embarking on this trip, was that there would also be no cell service—something freakish and scary to me—but I figured I would survive. And thus the trip began.
We ventured onto the roads at 7am, starting from New Jersey,and were set to go all the way to Southern Maine. I tried as best I could to picture the US map in my head, determining what states we would pass through, but I found out that my memory was spotty at best. It was interesting that the trip to Maine went so smoothly,in stark contrast to the trip back to New Jersey, which shall be discussed later on.
Anyways, the drive there was superb, adding up to about 6 hours, and we arrived much ahead of schedule all ready to enjoy our stay in the state with more trees than people. Our escape from that hum drum existence in suburbia, which was mostly filled with endless hours watching netflix movies, and poking around on the web on sites like , My Life is Bro, and of course the unavoidable cancer, Facebook. I will not deny, I had this very high and mighty notion that I would for once in my life live like Henry David Throreau, or one of the other Transcendentalists, at last connecting with nature, and finding that world which man had been once accustomed to. No one could deny my absolute fab attitude towards the whole trip, and things seemed to be set to start off on the right foot, or described with some other generic idiom. In short, things were well in the mind of Steve, and everything was planned to go absolutely heavenly. Ah, what is it that they say, the best plans are spoiled? Something like that, it’s close enough for this entry…
I have for a long time been one of those lame people who has always had a terrible time trying to fall asleep. This was something that was on my mind, before gearing up for the Maine trip. There was something about the way I worked, or rather my body, that made me come alive at night, and feel super tired most hours of the afternoon. Many a times, I have found myself looking at a nap as a fine solution to my afternoon drowsiness, and many a times I have given in. Of course, I would only find out later in the night that a nap too often leads to sleeping issues later on. The sleep cycle is one of those godly creations that a mortal should not mess around with. Have you ever thought about sleeping while trying to fall asleep? Yes, you guessed it. It is very similar to Chinese water torture. Ah, the agony of not being able to sleep. Thank God for Tylenol PM!
The sleeping issue was something I could overcome, I figured, without drugs. I’d be so exhausted from the long days of fishing, boating, hiking, etc., that sleep would be the very least of my problems. The real issue, in my mind, was the food situation,being that I am such a picky eater—things would be problematic. After all, when being put up by people not directly related by blood, the least I could do is eat what I was given. Plus, if all else failed, there was always the spit it back into the napkin method. No, this would be no problem at all.
Chicken pot pie, a meal with a meat in the name,a good start I figured, but would I like the pie part? Yes, I would indeed. This was a dish I ended up liking, despite initial hesitation. What an interesting person I am, ha, talking about what I ate(wait, this isn’t twitter is it?). I digress…
During my second day in Maine, I became somewhat situated. I knew that the food situation had been solved, the sleeping was a minor issue, so what was left? Oh, yes the activities. How would I keep myself busy, escaping that abyss which we commonly refer to as boredom, and have fun? This would surely be facilitated by endless fishing, boating, and swimming. No issue. Nature was hard to get tired of, and there was certainly no shortage of nature in this fine locale.It was like a buffet of nature(not sure what that means either).
My first trip out on the water was a marvelous experience. I felt like one of those people on the National Geographic channel, or the Discovery Channel, who absolutely live for the water, and nature in general. Nature was always present, did not go away in the blink of an eye, and had this feel of life. This was the ideal landscape to think, and the thoughts flowed greatly. I started thinking about things so insanely distant, uncommon, and simply useless that I began to wonder why I did so. The first few minutes of contemplation were upbeat and marvelous, but I soon began to think about a bunch of awful things that messed with my mood. I became somewhat morose, depressed would be an exaggeration, but nonetheless not in my usual mood. It was strange to me how happy memories from years passed could bring me so much downbeat thoughts. I had this sudden urge that I needed to see my friends, needed to be back in my crappy little town, and back at work with my computer.
The concept of “working” was something that I had been obsessed with since I was very young. I had always wanted to constantly be “at work”. Projects were and absolute must, there should never be a single moment when I was not creating something. Life, to me at least, was very boring without a routine and constant work. Early on I promised myself that once I found a job, doing something I love, I’d pursue the profession until the day I expired. Retirement to me was this gigantic, hot and humid waiting room where the elderly went to die. It seemed extraordinarily silly to wait for such a miserable day, and I thought that it would be better for it to come as a surprise. The inevitable would creep up on you sooner or later, so why sit and wait around for it?
I did promise the reader that I would return to something I mentioned earlier. It was about the trip back, and it’s prolonged nature. As mentioned above, the trip heading towards the great state was flawless ; however, our luck was not as good heading back. I suppose Murphy’s Law caught up, and all that could go wrong most certainly did. First it was traffic in Hartford, and then a wrong turn, followed by a wonderful 15-20 min train on the track excursion. I’d like to talk about this specifically, as it was bizarre and supremely idiotic. A freight train had been parked on the train tracks, in the middle of the road, naturally causing a large backup of traffic. The usual scenario would be that this train would pass through this area in a timely fashion, but such expediency did not seem to be on thus conductor’s agenda. No, not at all. He seemed to decide that a series of backing up, stopping, and then moving foreword would be a sufficient way to piss off the idling motorists. He succeeded.
With all things considered, the trip to Maine was a necessary experience. Knowledge was acquired, and in my mind that is what really matters. Certainly, there were aspects that I did not care for, but the fact that my good friend offered to bring me along in the first place was enough to ease these thoughts. I can, in fact, say that I have been to Maine, and now know a few interesting tales about the state, and the people who call it home. I’m eager to see what is next on the agenda.
I went to the mall with the anticipation of learning something about the youth of America. The youth in question were people in my age group who seemed to be all hopped up on the latest fashion trends, fads, gossip, and all of the general filth that now pollutes the television set. Nonetheless, I ventured off to the Garden State Plaza on a journalistic mission to accurately report and analyze all of what I saw. A task like this has a sort of romantic, Gonzo Journalism-esque feel, but I tried best to not imitate any particular style developed by masters who have come before me. My tools included a simple spiral-bound pocket notebook, a digital sound recording device (placed in my pants pocket), and a few dollars to spend at Starbucks. This last part is especially important because many a young hipster spends their time at Starbucks attempting to mingle with the rest of their population.
Accompanying me on this adventure was a very good friend of mine who shared a common interest in studying these so called “hipsters”. I supposes it is at this point in the article that I ought to fully explain what exactly a hipster is. Urban Dictionary, the modern-day bastion for slang, defines the term as “…a subculture of men and women, typically in their 20’s and 30’s, that value independent thinking, counter-culture, progressive politics, an appreciation of art and indie-rock, creativity, intelligence, and witty banter.” While this description is apt, a more fitting definition of what a hipster is would be to simply say that hipsters are essentially staunch individualists committed to expressing themselves in unconventional ways. They are also the progressively liberal bunch that happily listens to the programs of NPR, shops regularly at stores like American Apparel and Urban Outfitters, and also have a distinct liking for thrift store clothing.
Because of the hipster’s strong association with ragged, hobo-esque clothing, I thought that the logical place to start making observations would be at American Apparel, purveyors of fine vertically integrated clothing. Naturally, I would make my way to Urban Outfitters, and then to Starbucks, but this store was first on the list. The store itself is a sort of circus, where you find some of the most unusual people; the sort who graduated film school with a big fat B.F.A, but never made much use of it. Or the type that hold any creative degree of that sort, but still end up having their mother do their laundry and pick up their prescriptions. Such people deserve an article about just these aspects of their lives, but that is not the focus of this piece.
I arrived at American Apparel with a few goals, but my real mission was to take some notes on the hipsters who shop at the“vertically integrated” store. It’s not your typical sort of store, the design, right down to the item tag, is minimalistic and sparse; although, they do sell some rather flashy, shimmering clothing. Alas, I barely got to witness the true hipster in his native habitat because on this particular night, a Friday, the store was rather vacant. A stereo system, discreetly located somewhere on the ceiling, pumped “muzak” through the store, while my friend and I shared our fair share of laughs, seeing a pair of provocative underwear that proudly proclaimed “ Gay”. Another thing that I immediately picked up on was this trend toward making everything, no matter the level of flamboyancy, unquestionably unisex. That is, many items in the store are what some might consider overtly feminine, despite the fact that the price tag, along with the sales clerk, says otherwise. Nonetheless, I decided to take this reporting one step further; I nervously grabbed one of American Apparel’s tri-blend t-shirts off of one of the racks, and paired it with a cardigan that I had my eye on ever since I walked in. The dressing room reminded me of one of those mirror houses at the circus, and I cautiously put on the clothing that was dangling from the coat hanger in my hand. Slowly, I opened the dressing room door, not knowing what to think, when my friend reacted with a giggle, clearly communicating how silly I looked. It seems that the hipster is truly inimitable.
The adventure carried on as we entered yet another hipster Mecca, Urban Outfitters. A man, who I later found out was an employee, was stacking clothes on a shelf, giving us strange looks as I dictated notes into my portable sound recorder. It was at this point in the adventure when my trusty pen had run out of ink, making the sound recorder the primary method of taking notes. Fairly loud music played throughout the store as we tried on a number of hats, for which many hipsters seemed to enjoy, and became utterly amused by a variety of trendy sunglasses. Our general conclusion was that Urban Outfitters seemed to be even more of a hipster locale, despite American Apparel’s superior fashion models, who almost always sport a creepy mustache.
We eventually reached the mall Starbucks, which turned to be one of the most depressing Starbucks that I had ever come across. It was primarily defined by of few slabs of glass, acting as walls, and a few of those comfy, as well as the not so comfy, Starbucks chairs. Upon our initial arrival, the place was completely empty, except for one middle-aged man who may or may have not been a pedophile. I ordered my usual overpriced triple-tall latte, and decided to sit down at one of the tables until some hipsters arrived. It was one of those situations where I knew that they would come, but I just was not sure when. So, I armed my sound recording device, told my friend to be on the lookout, and prepared to take some verbal notes. Naturally, I thought I should ask my friend to describe what she was seeing and she responded to my query with “I see checkered Vans, a blue star tattoo on his wrist, a pink animal band, and an American Apparel mustache—that is a hipster.” Said hipster was sitting directly in back of us, studying some reading material that I could not identify, and I was paranoid that he would confront us after hearing us talk about him. Luckily, such a confrontation did not occur, and we managed to get out without any dislocated vertebrae.
Looking back at what I saw at the Garden State Plaza, I can certainly conclude that hipsters are very much apart of this rejection of teenage conformity. Teens always seem to find out a way to be unconventional, unusual, and outright obnoxious. Hipsters have influenced the teenage community into further exploiting and engaging in some of those rebellious ideals. There are, of course, major names and brands that cater to the hipster community, but it is still a small minority as compared to the ubiquity of conformist stores. So, in that sense, a well-minded reader may conclude that hipsters have had a generally positive impact on today’s youth, with their intrinsic belief that life is all about expressing ones individuality. Such an ideal is certainly better than the things disseminated by conformist stores, which seems to be all about perfect body image and expensive clothes. Whatever way one chooses to look at hipsters, as filthy vagabonds, or staunch individualists, there is certainly no denying their lasting impact on today’s culture, and their profound affect on today’s youth.
