We Gathered

We gathered under the sputtering neon lights, under the tattered striped awnings. We gathered outside the boutique stores, outside the plate glass windows protecting electronics, records, and porn. We gathered huddled under our sport coats, trenches, and hoodies – huddled together in a homogeneous mass of New Yorkers. The evening sun was blotted out; night had come early today. And when the sun would return, days later, its rays would not be cast upon the same city.

Realization came slowly, with the first signs an abnormal rush of cars from the parkways of Long Island: backups and accidents on the Triborough and Throgs Neck bridges – then an even more disturbing absence of cars. When a city’s lifeblood is traffic and you a commuter, the red Civics, yellow taxis, and black Mercedes are your compatriots, your comrades in this capitalistic current. Their absence is not silence, no. Their presence becomes your silence, your white noise backdrop. Their absence rings louder than the klaxons that should’ve been alerting us.

As usual, the news channels were the last to know. By noon all work had been abandoned. The island, were it on a fulcrum, would’ve tipped over into the East River. The FDR was packed with businessmen, students, and grandmothers, the Williamsburg a pedestrian walkway. Every vantage point was taken: fire escapes, rooftops, streets that opened onto the river: Grand, East Houston, 23^rd. We didn’t see the police. I assume, now, they had been called onto LI. That’s the direction all the helicopters were going: the news reporters, the troop carriers, the rescue choppers, and the occasional light Bell.

And when the fires started, far off on the horizon, the smoke rose into clouds that must’ve been pulled out over Nantucket by the Gulf Stream. It was deceptive, then, that by the time we could see the fire on Long Beach and Garden City, it was coming too fast for us to escape. Most stood shocked and curious. We were New Yorkers, after all. We had survived 9/11. A fire couldn’t drive us out of our homes that easily. Why had there been such a furor leaving the island? Why were we greeted by coagulated mobs still traveling west? Why did their rambling mayhem claim such ridiculous things?

By three o’clock the sky was black. The sulfurous toxins were beginning to make our heads spin. If you ignored the looting, it was eerie how calm we were. I will eschew the usual metaphor. If you’ve been in a situation where panic drives the brain into calm nirvana, then you already understand. So the first yells we attributed to tiredness, hallucination – and then the pointing, the questions, the guesses. The shifting darkness out over Long Island that seemed to be getting larger: what was it? Its black was blotting out the smoke like the negative of an angelic white, an ink stain on a ruined painting in a smoker’s study.

If the lack of vehicular traffic out of the island disturbed us (and it did), then when the refugees stopped coming we knew it was time for us to leave. We were too late, by then, but who would’ve not tried? We hadn’t made it halfway across Manhattan before the first buildings started toppling. No runner could’ve made it fast enough. What marathon could prepare you to flee the gaping maw of hell? The army must’ve failed – or given up. We were lost, a sacrificial warning for the rest of America. And as Washington Square Park filled up with debris, concrete shrapnel, and corpses, it was as though our darkest nightmares had escaped the bounds of sanity and leapt onto the torn pages of reality.

Above the Legal Limit to Dri… Vote

As a United States Citizen we are granted a series of rights and civil liberties based on the morals of our founding fathers. Right to bear arms, right to assembly, etc… etc…

I question whether this is actually something that we should all innately be given simply because we were fortunate enough to be born here (or spent long hours in line to immigrate while studying esoteric facts about the country that it’s own citizens don’t know).

My wife and I had a discussion the other night about this after watching a show interviewing people on the street and much to my surprise she posed the idea that all citizens interested in voting would need to take an aptitude test. This was partly due no doubt to the fact that so few people seem to know the name of our Vice President, the 3 branches of government, or where we currently have troops stationed for war.

The answer the person gave to the latter was France. Yes, we are at war with France. Damn those French always causing a ruckus, we’ve moved in to hold the country forcibly with our armed forces…

So I’m now intrigued with the idea of a standard aptitude test for all United States citizens.  A test which is voluntary and only needed if the individual decides they would like a say in our political system.

The test would cover numerous topics though revolve primarily around US history and current events.  Personally I don’t want someone voting for my president when they still believe that the confederacy has a chance to win or that Barack Obama is related to Saddam Hussein.  I can answer the questions posed to these Americans of varying ages and ethnicities after drinking half a handle of Jack Daniels bringing my consciousness to nothing beyond a steady stream of whirling colors and distorted sounds.

When I posed the option for debate at work I received mixed reviews.  There are of course obvious problems with the system with the biggest being who writes the test.  The fact that a group needs to be created and put into a position of power somewhat breaks the idea.  When a single group of individuals is formed to make the test they effectively choose who will be able to vote as they would have the power to gear questions towards specific members of society, making the test “easier” to those who share the same views as them.

My take on this is that while sure, the possibility exists, the possibility exists for our president to take us on an unjust war through the middle ea…. oh wait.

Theoretically the idea is sound as the test will be composed of facts, but everything at some point is twisted.

I fear that this will come off as elitist, but I’m far from it.  I don’t care who votes as long as they have a certain level of competency.  We used to assume that our schools would have our nation’s children educated to a solid level by voting age but that time has come and gone.  Quality education is a thing of the past and our youth can’t find the time to care about the events that transpire outside their small sheltered lives.

For those that want to remain in their bubble by all means continue to do so, but likewise don’t expect to have a say in the larger world around us.

\\drew

When life isn’t worth living

I consider myself a preeminent pessimist. If it is possible to be professionally pessimistic I would have coined the term and added it to my business cards years ago.  They would read something like this:

Drew
Professional Pessimist and all around Curmudgeon
Designer
Vicarious Visions
“It’s not a beautiful day outside, it’s sunny.”
“Get off my lawn you pesky kids!”

With that said I read this little piece of priceless insanity over at Overheard in New York.  Here’s the quip from a local Starbucks.

[Skinny girl takes box of equal out of her pocket and puts half the packages in her coffee.]
Friend: What are you doing? You’re going to get cancer!
Equal girl: Yeah, but I won’t get fat.

Yes, that’s right, dying horribly from a debilitating disease is much more suitable than living a life with a few extra pounds.

For as jaded as I feel I am I still derive some sick sadistic pleasure from existing.  My mindless day to day tasks hold some merriment.  I have a wife that I love, a supportive family and a group of friends that (heaven help them) enjoy my company enough to still invite me around despite my rather bleak outlook on the world.

But this girl at Starbucks, so consumed in something of apparent importance has valued physical appearance over her very existence.  Last time I checked there are many overweight women and I’m willing to wager most of them still live successful and enjoyable lives despite their bits of extra them.

Are we really that base of a people that being physically attractive is more important than health?  I’m at a stage in my life where children are on the horizon.  Am I concerned with if they’re going to be hot or not?  No, I am hoping they will come out safe and healthy as that is better than a lot of parents get.

So shame on you nameless girl from a NYC Starbucks for having your priorities muddled.  Well, in my mind at least.  Perhaps I have it wrong and my values skew in the wrong direction.  Maybe my lack luster attempts to look presentable are actually detracting from my life and those around me.  It’s a thought I haven’t given much consideration to, but I suppose it’s possible.

But then again anything is possible.  Like, we may all die tomorrow from an unseen meteor careening to earth through the intergalactic highway, or the nearby center for infectious disease may release its contagions much in the style of the Umbrella Corp and we’ll need to deal with a zombie apocalypse.

Are those things likely?  No.  Does it mean I should have a shotgun in the trunk of my car to defend myself and my loved ones from vapid trendy women who need a sandwich? *cough* I mean… zombies.  Sorry, those buttons on the keyboard are like right next to each other.

\\drew

A verbose, nauseating, and too common occurrence.

Office based conversations are a strange thing. Very few people go to work and consider themselves among friends yet most people find a common link between each other that brings them together to discuss any number of awesome inane topics over the proverbial water cooler.

Having worked in many fields in my relatively short existence I’ve heard all sorts of banter, ranging from problems at home and work to perceived “clever” banter to attempt an office romance.

What I would like to address here however is the change in dialog based on where you are. It is an odd thing to see conversations shift so drastically from workplace to workplace.

For a time I was working as a staff writer for one of the largest higher education teacher’s unions in the US and some of the things that were brought up boggled my mind (and baffled my sense of work ethic at the length of the aforementioned chats).

I sat next to a particularly attractive soccer mom who was the “Bell of the Ball” with all the men swooning over her footsteps. Through my stay there I learned, unwillingly, all about her life as she had near constant conversations with half the office on a daily basis. She was in a loveless marriage, her children were spoiled, she wasn’t raising in the ranks quick enough, she couldn’t seem to make her and her husband’s 6 figure incomes make ends meet, etc…

Different men would approach her desk at the same times every day, I could have set my watch to it assuming that I felt the need to track the ebb of time pass as her conversations were precious minutes of my life that I would never get back.

Day in and day out I overheard the drivel spewing from her mouth that was eagerly absorbed by the voracious ears of her gentlemen callers.

This level of casual work conversation in this setting prompted me to leave for bigger and brighter pastures. But I myself am no saint, which is where the dichotomy of my rant begins.

I now work for a major video game publisher and we have a fairly laid back work environment, no dress code, flex hours, did I mention we make video games?

I’ve found myself in my time here engaged in all sorts of heated debates of all natures. I never would have thought that in a professional environment (which we attempt to maintain despite the casual nature of what we do) I would be having a full fledged argument with my peers over who would win in a baby eating contest, Superman or Wolverine. This topic stands out particularly in my mind as it involves mythical characters, unspeakable atrocities, and harks to my early days as a comic aficionado (see: fanboy).

I sided with Wolverine having a distaste for all things Superman under the umbrella that Superman, while he could physically eat more babies and at a faster rate, would be less likely to eat babies than Wolverine who would effectively do anything if it were for the better good.

Without digressing further into the troubling jaunt that spawned from that conversation I’ll simply say that it went on for a good hour or so and involved double digits worth of employees as they passed by, heard, and then joined in with their two cents.

So here I am, in all of my hypocrite glory. But is it hypocrisy if I take the environment into consideration? I would have never discussed eating children at any prior place of work. That kind of conversation should be reserved to gaming companies and early 1700s Irish meal plans.

So then is office chatter a positive? Is it a negative? I dislike the fact that I have fallen into the icy grip of mindless colloquy but perhaps there is a place for it in the workplace assuming the correct topics are discussed given those around you. It does serve to raise general moral, especially when working a long series of 12 hour days, and as studies have shown we as Americans spend more waking hours with people at work than we do with our families which in turn makes our human interactions at work that much more important.

\\drew