Rose/Concrete

We are a miserable race of insecure, bitter, and lonely people. We all feel ourselves terrible, inadequate, we live in fear of the scrutiny that would reveal our deficiency. I am especially aware of my faults, I hold myself to impossibly high standards and condemn myself for every flaw. There are precious days when my hyper awareness of my own base and vile nature drives me to noble if unsuccessful attempts at self-improvement.

But most days I hover between lethargic futility and outright depression. Recently I've been at a record low but a recent conversation with my younger sisters has revived me in the way that only they can. My sisters demonstrate infinite grace and nuance in dealing with an older brother so prone to self-indulgent whining and misery. They always manage to put things into perspective for me.

The gist of the conversation was that, for someone of my background, I'm really much less of a failure than you would expect. I don't use my upbringing as an excuse for any of my failings, but when I am beating myself up it helps to reflect on how far I've come just to stave off feelings of self-hatred. As the child of two heroin addicts, born into a family of poor white trash, growing up in a house that was frequently without electricity or running water, I could have turned out much worse.

I could have turned out like my older siblings and cousins. I don't want to be too harsh on my parents who I think had wonderful qualities despite their obvious failings, but when I think about my origins it's easy to see why my family is full of alcoholics, drug addicts, all with tons of kids that they're too poor to support and too stupid to raise properly. They're just being exactly what they were raised to be. They're a simple product of their origins. If you knew my parents, you would expect their children to be exactly like my older siblings. My half-sister's mother smoked through her pregnancy, and in turn she smoked a pack a day through two pregnancies.

Once again it should be said that I'm not singing my praises, simply accounting for factors beyond my control. If you knew my family, my neighborhood, and the schools I attended you would know how much of a miracle it is that I'm alive, literate, childless, in decent health, and a non-smoker/drinker/drug user.

It's amusing to note that while most of my friends and current peers think of me as white trash, an uneducated, rude, and tactless philistine my family and my peers from childhood think of me as an arrogant sophisticate, a sellout dandy with no street cred who thinks he's better than everyone because he spent two semesters in college. A change in perspective makes a big difference.

Having my little sisters say all this to me has helped me get through a rough period. I'm writing this with one hand as my right hand is broken, leaving me out of work for a month with hospital bills, no income, and a scary level of uncertainty in my future career.

All of this has also prompted me to notice that almost everyone I know is more or less who they were born to be. All of my friends who are rich and successful come from rich and successful families, neighborhoods, schools. All of my educated friends come from families of educated people, and all my artistic friends come from families of artistic people.

This thought makes it especially insulting to be consistently patronized and condescended to by the products of the artsy, affluent, liberal upper crust for not meeting their standards of civility, education, or success.

I started the week thinking that I was worthy of nothing but contempt, wondering if I would ever be a worthwhile person, and as hokey and sentimental as it sounds, the words of two people I love were able not just to give me a little bit more faith in who I am, but to take a lot of my detractors down a peg.

I have to remember that while you're who you are because of where you came from, I am who I am in spite of it.

"You try to plant something in the concrete...if it grows, and the and the rose petal's got all kinds of  scratches and marks, you not gon' say, "Damn, look at all the scratches and marks on the rose that grew from concrete." You gon' be like, "Damn! A rose grew from the concrete?!" Same thing with me...I grew out of all of this...That's what they should see...All the trouble to survive and make good out of the dirty, nasty, unbelievable lifestyle they gave me. I'm just trying to make something...You see you wouldn't ask why the rose that grew from the concrete had damaged petals. On the contrary, we would all celebrate its tenacity. We would all love its will to reach the sun. Well, we are the rose - this is the concrete - and these are my damaged petals. Don't ask me why, thank God nigga, ask me how!"-Tupac Shakur

Past Year's Accountability 2011

In December of 2009 I started a new tradition in my life, of doing a recap of my new year's resolutions from the preceding year. I really enjoy the tradition of making new year's resolutions; I think it's one of the few positive traditions -- if not the only positive tradition -- associated with the new year. Even if most people don't follow through with their resolutions, it's still infinitely better to think of the new year as a time to improve yourself and your life instead of a cheap excuse to get drunker than usual.

That being said I have started trying to keep up with my resolutions at the end of the year and hold myself accountable for my successes and my failures.


My resolutions for 2011:

1. Get three stripes on my white belt.
At the beginning of 2011 I was still training in Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu and had hoped to be able to have three stripes on my white belt by this time. However I had to take an indefinite hiatus from training when I started my apprenticeship to become a hairstylist in March of this year. I simply don't have the time to train anymore. I can't give myself any credit for this resolution.

2. Become conversational in Spanish.
Learning Spanish has been something I've wanted to do for a couple years now, and while I did get Rosetta Stone for Spanish this year and have started working with it, it wasn't until the past few weeks here at the end of the year so I can't give myself any credit for this.

3. Publish issue three of Litmus Test.
This is one of those resolutions that requires of a lot of money and given that I was laid off for the first quarter of the year and have been making minimum wage since March I wasn't able to make this happen.

4. Publish book of my dad's writing/photographs.
This is another creative project like Litmus Test 3 that got put on a shelf for the time being. I've been working way too much to start work on this yet.

5. Publish book of my own short works.
We really are off to a bad start with this. The first five resolutions got no credit whatsoever. Once again I didn't have much time for creative endeavors because my apprenticeship took up most of my time this year. I'm currently working on revising some stuff but I can't give myself any credit for this resolution.

6. Not reactivate my Facebook.
Even though I did reactivate my Facebook a couple of weeks ago, I am going to give myself full credit for this resolution for two reasons. 1. It was inactive for an entire year, December to December. 2. I only reactivated it for professional reasons, to find people to let me practice on their hair. Last year I deactivated my Facebook because I was frustrated with how much time I spent online arguing with people, lurking weirdos, and hitting on girls. Since I reactivated my Facebook I've removed all my personal info and use it primarily for work stuff. I think it's fair to give myself full credit because I followed the spirit of the resolution even if I didn't follow the letter of it.

7. Convince my mother to go Vegan.
No credit here, my mother is bull-headed and obstinate.

8. Use Warehouse to benefit arts community outside of Hardcore.
No credit here. I had plans for using the space to do some interesting things but never followed through with them before the space was shut down.

9. See Earth Crisis.
Sadly I didn't get a chance to see Earth Crisis this year. No credit.

10. Read 20 books of intellectual worth.
I'm gonna give myself half credit for this resolution because while I didn't hit the number mark, some of the books I read this year were dense and intelligent enough to count multiple times. Reading "Of Time and the River" by Thomas Wolfe took up a big chunk of the year. That book in and of itself counts for ten in my opinion. Additionally "The Moral Landscape" by Sam Harris was especially enlightening.

11. Take a college course.
I'm gonna give myself half credit for this resolution because while I didn't take a college class, I am taking a cosmetology class in a classroom as well as one online. I think it's conservative and fair to count two tech center-esque classes as half of a college class.

12. Study a subject that is outside my normal realm of interest (math, science, economics).
I'll give myself full credit for this resolution for reading two books that dealt with math or science. "The Moral Landscape" by Sam Harris and "The Golden Ratio" by Mario Livio.

13. Write a novella.
I'm gonna give myself half credit for this as I finished a 28 page short story in 2011. I would give myself full credit but I only finished it in 2011, I started writing it in 2010.

14. Start a band.
I always talk about starting a band but never do it. No credit here.

15. Finish watching all of Star Trek.
Full credit for this one. I have now watched all of The Original Series, The Animated Series, The Next Generation, Deep Space Nine, Voyager, Enterprise, and all of the movies at least once.

16. Finish my sleeves. Tattoo hands/neck.
No credit for this one at all. Other than letting my friend tattoo Christopher Hitchens' initials on my arm I didn't get tattooed at all this year. This is actually the longest I've gone without getting tattooed since I turned 18.

17. Visit London/Hawaii.
No credit for this one either. Other than traveling to DC and North Carolina to see Eisley I haven't traveled at all this year.

Overall my success rate for this year was 4.5/17 or 26% success. In 2009 my success rate was 43%, and in 2010 it was 29%. That means I have gotten progressively less successful on my resolutions every year. It's a discouraging fact but I have a very optimistic feeling about 2012. I'll check back in with y'all at the end of 2012.

Without a Hitch

Last night, December 15th, right before I was to go to sleep, I happened to glance at my Facebook newsfeed and saw an old friend post a status update that simply said the name of Christopher Hitchens, sandwiched by several heart symbols. I knew without further elaboration that Hitchens was gone. I remembered the announcement of his cancer diagnosis, and had watched miserably as pictures and videos of the man featured a progressively more weak and skeletal figure. I knew he was dying, and to see his name pop up in so plain a way I knew meant that he was gone.

I knew immediately that I wasn't going to get a decent night's sleep. Hitchens' death was something that I had to process. The first step of Kübler-Ross model is denial, and my immediate reaction to hearing of Hitchens' death was to get out of bed and watch videos of his interivews and debates for an hour on YouTube. Seeing him alive, talking, allowed me for a brief moment to deny that he was gone.

It goes without saying that I felt furious at a world without Hitchens, saw the futility of trying to bargain, became depressed and have stayed so for the past 24 hours.

I spent my day at work alternating between holding back tears and desperate attempts to explain to my coworkers who exactly the world had lost, only to have them simply say "oh, he was that atheist." It was crushing. I spent my lunch break hidden in the storage closet because it was the only place in the entire building I could go to get away. I listened to Pistol Bitch in my headphones and read articles by Hitchens on my phone. It felt appropriate to listen to Pistol Bitch because I remember after Jerry Falwell's death, the two people I had heard denounce him publicly were Greg Edmondson, the singer of Pistol Bitch, and Christopher Hitchens.

The two will always be linked in my mind because while Greg and Hitch are two very different people, they were always at their best and most in their element criticizing a hateful, disgusting bigot like Falwell.

Hitchens' "The Trial of the Will" was not only a powerful piece but resonated for me -- as I'm sure it must have for many -- as someone who cared for a loved one dying of cancer. Hitchens' description of his cancer treatments and its psychological effects on him aren't the first time that he has reminded me of my father. As his weight and hair were stripped away from him by his cancer and the treatments he was receiving for it I often noticed that he was starting to look like my father.

I never met Hitchens personally, so I leave the job of memorializing him to better equipped men. Christopher Buckley does an amazing job encapsulating a man that I am miserable to say I'll never know and I can't recommend enough reading the piece.

I'm not depressed because I've lost a friend. I'm not even sad that I've lost a favourite author. Hitch was prolific -- it's unlikely I'll get around to reading his entire body of work before I die -- so it would seem silly to be miserable that he won't be putting out more material when I may never finish I am sad that the human race has lost of a voice of reason, truth, and beauty. By his honesty and his power Hitch elevated the consciousness of our species. He was a rising tide lifting all boats.

It goes without saying that I disagreed with Hitch on many issues. As someone who abhors drinking, smoking, and eating animals, I often found myself grossed out by his unabashed indulgence in all three. I was opposed to the invasion of Iraq, and believe that the United States cannot advocate nuclear non-proliferation until we take serious steps to dismantle our own nuclear arsenal, both points on which he and I would disagree.

My occasional disagreements notwithstanding, I do not think I could praise Hitch highly enough. This isn't because I can't find the words, but because I am not good enough to give him his due. I would need to be half the man that Hitch was in order for my praise to be worth offering up, and I don't know that I would be half the man that a cancer-suffused 62 year old Hitch was if I lived to be 602 years old. Who am I to judge Hitch? Who am I to praise or laud him?

So when I say that Hitch was a rising tide I'm not really speaking to Hitch himself; I'm just trying to tell the story of a boat on that tide. I could never speak to Hitch's character, to his grit, his backbone. I have no more authority to praise him than I do to give out A+ grades on particle physics papers at MIT.

But for my own part, I can say that Hitch represents all the virtues that I could ever hope to have. He never spoke anything except what he had every conviction to be the truth, he never let himself be bullied. But more importantly, he never lowered himself in order to make his point. He answered ignorance with erudition, emotional shrieking with cool reason. He refused to speak to people as though they were as stupid as they actually are, but spoke to them as though they were smart enough to see the truth that they often weren't smart enough to see. He was the embodiment of human intellect, razor-sharp criticism, logic, precision, and the perfectly timed, immaculately delivered polemic takedown.

I am not worthy to say anything except, rest in peace Hitch.

"Beware the irrational, however seductive. Shun the ‘transcendent’ and all who invite you to subordinate or annihilate yourself. Distrust compassion; prefer dignity for yourself and others. Don’t be afraid to be thought arrogant or selfish. Picture all experts as if they were mammals. Never be a spectator of unfairness or stupidity. Seek out argument and disputation for their own sake; the grave will supply plenty of time for silence. Suspect your own motives, and all excuses. Do not live for others any more than you would expect others to live for you."-Christopher Hitchens

Buy "God is Not Great" on Amazon
Watch some of Hitch's best debates on YouTube. Part One. Part Two.

I tattooed Hitch's initials and date of death on my wrist.

In Defense of the Tough Guy

If you spend any amount of time with hardcore kids, especially vegan or politically active ones, you'll hear the phrase "tough guy" thrown around a lot. If you aren't at least somewhat involved in the hardcore punk scene, this might be somewhat confusing, partly because it might not necessarily be clear who these tough guys are, and why exactly everyone is so resentful of them.

Of course even someone who's never listened to a single punk record can easily glean the meaning in a general sense. Everyone has dealt with aggravating hyper-masculine men in some context. In high school it might have been the athletes, in college it might have been the frat boys. The annoying alpha male knows no bounds, he's everywhere.

But that vague sentiment doesn't really do justice to what a phrase like "tough guy" means in the context of the hardcore scene. It's not just a physical description, it's not just an attitude or a behavioral pattern, it's not just a philosophy. Those are all things that are easy to quantify and describe, but there is a tough guy aesthetic, tough guy melodies, tough guy rhythms, and tough guy musical intonations. You can tell a tough guy band by the sound, not just by looking at the dudes in the band or even their fans. One of the biggest "tough guy" bands a few years ago was made up of people weighing less than 150 pounds, who were some of the quietest, kindest people in their personal relationships. There's more to "tough guy" than being a tough guy.

And as much as I agree with some of the criticism aimed at that particular brand of music, I love a lot of tough guy bands, and at times I'm pretty unabashed in my tough guy behavior.

I know that most people would think that the world has more than enough hyper-masculinity, violence, intolerance, and exaggerated alpha-male dominance rituals. But I think there's something to be said for tough guys (even if they're not such tough guys).

For example, the most common response I ever get when I talk to people about veganism is "I could never give up chicken/beef/cheese/eggs." And my response is always the same, "yes you could." Of course it annoys me to constantly hear negative feedback about what is a very important moral issue, but it also is like nails on a chalkboard to hear people openly admit their weakness without shame.

Always in that moment I feel like a tough guy. It might be the result of 13 years of listening to Hatebreed, Judge, and Earth Crisis, but I feel an appropriate amount of shame whenever I have to openly admit that I am afraid of something, or too weak to do something. Of course there's a downside to that mindset, but I can never feel comfortable saying that I would never do something I know to be for the best simply because I am not strong enough to do it.

I encounter people constantly who "care about" animals or any number of issues who say that their own lack of willpower is what keeps them from changing their lifestyle or bad habits. "I know that cigarettes are bad for me, I know that they hurt the environment and that they test on animals, but I can't bring myself to quit." My inner tough guy is disgusted by statements like this.

As awful as it may seem, I do see weakness as something to be ashamed of. I speak from personal experience that the fear and shame of having to admit weakness has kept me from slipping up in some of my own commitments. Of course I'm not perfect in my commitments, and my tough guy attitude has sometimes gotten me into far more trouble than it's been worth. But you lose out when you become too comfortable saying "I'm afraid, I'm weak."

Maybe I've internalized too much of the tough guy rhetoric, but maybe other people haven't internalized enough.

We're all weak, we're all afraid sometimes, but maybe if we were more ashamed of our flaws that shame might push us to not accept our shortcomings. We let our shame guide our decisions constantly, we're made to feel bad about our belongings, so we live beyond our means, we're made to feel bad about our bodies, so we diet and get gym memberships. There are tons of people benefiting from our insecurities, but if we were neurotically insecure about our own weakness, what would we become?

What if every time you felt like you couldn't do something, Jamey Jasta punched you in the face and told you to have discipline and determination, and to cultivate your pure strength in solitude?

And At My Funeral, You Will Sing the Requiem

I think about my own death a lot. Often, though not necessarily always in a way that people would associate with depression. I've gone through one genuine suicide attempt and have had a few brushes with death that varied in their seriousness. In addition I have had a lot of close friends, sworn enemies, and casual acquaintances die at very young ages. I'm a very introspective person already and an unexpected death is enough to make even the biggest idiot pensive for a time.

Anecdotally I would estimate that I have had more experience with death than your average person in my socio-economic/lifestyle/age group. I certainly wouldn't say I've had a lot more experience, but more than average for whatever demographic you want to place me in.

By definition that also means that I've been to my fair share of funerals. I realize that once again I'm speaking from inside of a very limited cultural microcosm, a white American working class Judeo-Christian view of death, dying, and funeral rites. I admittedly have very little experience with funeral rituals in other religious/cultural/ethnic settings. So it should go without saying that some of my experiences and opinions here are more insular than usual, perhaps bordering on ethnocentricity. For that I apologize.

Depression is by definition self-indulgent, so it should come as no surprise that the only character trait that defines my personality more than my misery and discontent is a nauseating degree of egocentricity, introspection, self-conscious obsession, masturbatory psychological self-diagnosis, and a general lack of concern for other people's feelings or ideas.

The convergence of all of these traits is that I am not only obsessed with dying, but with my own legacy, especially with my funeral. Part of this is of course due to my own vanity; I want whatever ceremony that follows my death to represent the depth of my character in a way that satisfies my own self-indulgent nature.

Additionally - and I think this is more important - I think that a bad funeral does a disservice to mourners. A powerful and appropriate funeral has the ability to act like a flashbulb on the best parts of a deceased person's character, giving you the best picture to remember them by. A cheesy funeral, an insincere eulogy can muddle our memories of a person.

I've sat at funerals and been crushed by the failure of a speaker to do justice to the person who had just died. As much as I want to be remembered well, I want my loved ones to find closure and connection in my funeral.

It would be hard for me to relate how it feels to be so vain that an appropriate funeral is one of the biggest concerns in your everyday life.

All of that introduction to say that I would like to outline some very important instructions for my loved ones to consider when I die and preparations are being made for my funeral.

First, so there is no ambiguity on legal matters, everything that I own will be left to David Phinney. David Phinney alone will have the final legal say in all matters relating but not limited to my body, property, creative work, funeral arrangements, &c.

Second, I have two older half-sisters that I do not consider family, so under no circumstances are April or Casey to be listed as my sisters in my obituary or any other memorial information, funeral programs, &c. The only siblings who should be listed are my older brother Michael as well as Hannah and Emily.

Third, I don't have a preference for where my funeral is held as long as there aren't any religious messages in the actual proceedings. I'm an atheist so it seems rather silly to talk about my going to heaven or whatever other nonsense people would like to think. Make sure that whoever gives the eulogy is someone who is very eloquent, hopefully at least as eloquent as me. Greg Bennick is an obvious first choice, Joseph Green would also be good. Whoever you get, make sure they're good.

Fourth, use the following picture of me as the official picture on display and in my obituary. Don't use any dressed up nonsense to represent me.

Fifth, make whatever use of my body you can - donate my organs or even my whole body to science if it can be of any help. If you want to dispose of my remains, make sure that I am either cremated or if you wish to bury me only do so in accordance with natural burial guidelines. You can read more about natural burials here. This is not a point I am particularly picky about, plus the circumstances of my death may have some bearing on how best to dispose of me. I'll leave this up to David's best judgment.

Sixth, the following are suggested songs that can be played at my funeral. Otis Redding - Sitting on the Dock of the Bay. Converge - The Saddest Day. Tupac - Unconditional Love. Tom Waits - Dirt in the Ground. Eisley - Combinations. Gillian Welch - I Dream a Highway. Trial - Reflections.

Seventh, if you plan to use any of my writing in the service, try to make sure it isn't something I would have been horribly embarrassed to hear read out loud. Certainly nothing I wrote in high school should be read out loud, ever.

Eighth, when you remember me, make sure that Veganism and Straight Edge are the first things you think of.

Ninth, I fully endorse my friends using my death as a way to get free things, get lots of attention, get out of work or school, and make out with people they find attractive. I try my hardest to help my friends get things they want while alive, so if my death can help my friends get things they want I fully endorse that.

Tenth, I realize that it might be a very long time before I actually die so many of these suggestions may become either outdated, irrelevant, or contradictory. To that end I once again authorize David Phinney to make whatever changes he feels best represent the spirit of what I was trying to get across. Also he's authorized to make whatever changes he feels would make my funeral more powerful, endearing, or amusing to himself.