Perspectives on "Occupy Wall Street"

Lately I've had the opportunity of experiencing the "Occupy Wall Street" movement and its spread to the Ft. Collins area. On Thursday, I participated in a university walkout at CSU, which gathered almost a hundred students together to protest and then walked over to the main protest at the intersection of College and Maple in the downtown area. The demonstration inspired cheers and jeers from onlookers and passing cars while we all chanted "This is what democracy looks like!" It was great to see a group of Americans demonstrating their voice despite the many that may disagree with them. I plan on doing a blog post filling in more of the information on the protest later on.

Meanwhile, this is an essay I wrote concerning an article on the "Occupy Wall Street" movement. It compares the "Wall Street" movement with an new opposition movement, and also its affect on the "American Dream".

Essay on “Occupy Wall Street”

Recently I read an article on BBC website that was titled “Is Occupy Wall Street Bad for the American Dream?” The piece attempted to understand what the effects of the protest movement could be on the “American Dream”; an underlying concept holding that if one works hard enough, one can make a better, more successful life for oneself. In many ways the “We are the 99%” movement is against this concept, saying that the system has allowed the über-successful to take advantage of the rest of the working population – controlling the government with money and hoarding all the wealth for themselves. On the other side, the article spotlights a new movement called “We are the 53%”. This group claims that the "Occupy Wall Street" movement is a bunch of lazy people looking for government handouts and that hard work is all they need to get ahead. They also claim that the economic system is fundamentally fair.

The article attempts to take the two arguments and show how they are more similar than they think; that they both want to work hard and be productive members of society, and that they both believe in the American dream. I totally agree with the article on this point, and I believe that the “53%” is falsely accusing the “99%” of being lazy and wanting handouts. All the “99%” want is a fairer system where more people can be successful and fulfilled in life, which includes a better distribution of wealth and more corporate accountability. A great example being used in many articles is that since 1980, executives make five times the salary, while the average worker makes about the same. The “53%” movement is wrong because they have not taken the time to truly understand the “99%” movement, and because they believe in a system where some make it while many others are left behind.

Song of the Day: David Benoit - One Dream at a Time

Remembering What You Said

"It's you," he said. "It's you I've been waiting for all these years . Is that why I've been so miserable? So this moment could feel that much better? If that's the truth, then I wholeheartedly agree."

Sweet just ain't as sweet > Bitter

Today will feature another excerpt from the novel/novella, Last Dance. This distinct section will be one of the most inspired parts of the book, where the main character lashes out in a tirade of seemingly endless good intentions. But what is he looking for/escaping?

Before Fisher steps out of the cab, an idea strikes him. He acts.

“Hey, you want to come eat with me inside? I’ll need some advice on the best items, you know.”

The cabbie, who for just a bit will remain nameless, is shocked. No one ever asks him to do stuff after cab rides, not even in his wildest dreams. But it just so happens that this is the end of his shift and part of the reason he mentioned the bakery was that it was close to the cab station and his home. Though tired from a day of driving, he isn’t the kind of man to turn down an interesting opportunity like this. He parks the cab and gets out.

“The BEST… is what I’m sworn to deliver.”

Fisher chuckles and smiles. The cabbie chuckles and smiles. They head inside.

Fisher hangs back while the cabbie orders them each a vegetable roll stuffed with an assortment of, well, vegetables. During this, he notices a tattoo on the back of the cabbie’s left arm. It is the ocean, featuring a sinking ship with Japanese and American flags intertwined in a design on the hull. The colors are beautiful and vibrant. They seem to invoke the image of a sunrise: the end of the night and the new beginnings that follow. Soon enough, the cabbie finishes the order and leads Fisher to a table while carrying the food. They sit down at a booth.

Dennis. Good ol’ Dennis. That is the cabbie’s name, and now that Fisher gets a clear look at his face, he can tell that he is in fact half-asian, half-european. He’s not too old either, probably mid-thirties, wearing a v-neck complete with a pocket and a notebook sticking out of it. Not exactly someone you’d expect to be a cabbie. The two unlikely dining partners don’t talk for a while, busying themselves with bites from the vegetable roll and drinks from glasses of Cheerwine. Occasionally they make eye contact but quickly glance elsewhere. Finally, the silence is broken by Fisher.

“Your tattoo. What does it mean?”

“Oh… yeah. But don’t you want to know my name first? It’s Dennis.”

“Uh. Yeah, guess that’s important. I’m Fisher.” They shake hands.

Enchante. The tattoo represents my two grandfathers who fought in World War II against each other - One on the American side, and the other on the Japanese. They both died in the same battle, sinking into the ocean with their comrades and never knowing their families would be one day united in love. This tattoo is a testament to human’s ability to forgive, forgetting the sins of the past and uniting as a race. That is beautiful to me.

The novel is almost at 7,000 pages and still rambling along. I have some short stories ideas I would like to start working on soon, too. Rest assured, there will be some writing.

Adieu, mon ami.

The Day of Magical Thinking

Once upon a time, Peter Pan thought "happy thoughts" and learned to fly. But is it just that easy, Peter? Can we all just do the same thing and fly to wherever we want to be, to some life or career we desire, or some kind of fulfillment found in everyday existence? It sounds great, though I worry by focusing too much on happiness people can become blind to the injustice and pain in the world. We can not be ignorant, but we also can not live in sadness and pain.

Perception is the key. There are positives and negatives in every life - even ones that seem perfect to an outsider. We can't choose that, it seems. What we can choose is to focus on joy and what we can bring to other people. Be careful, though, not everything that feels good ends well. Think outside the box of peer pressure and know that only something filled with love is worthwhile. You can make the best or the worst of it, they say, so make the best of it.

I have a simple challenge: Pick a day, and choose to not listen to yourself. Don't listen to the doubts, the fears, or the laziness inside. Listen for the part of you that says "Go for it." No, this is not like "Yes Man" or anything, I just want to test who've we become over the years and what we are blocking out of our lives. Talk to people, believe in what you say, and become Passionate for something, even if that means having the courage to say "no, that's not right." Try it, and maybe for a second, anything will seem possible in this muddled world of ours.

Girls - Lust for Life

An Excerpt: Last Dance

Lately, I have been trying to work on a novel/novella in my spare time. I started it around May but didn't get much of a chance to write over the summer. Lately, though, I have gotten some good opportunities to put some thought and ideas into the story line. Right now I am at about 5,000 words, with a goal of getting to at least 30,000.

The novel follows the life of 25 year old Marine Biology student Fisher living with his artist girlfriend in a New York City apartment. Life is good, that is, until vivid, unnerving dreams and random blackouts swirl his life into chaos. And that would be alright if he didn't have a mysterious local songwriter following him around, appearing in unusual spots and giving him ominous warnings. Will Fisher put the puzzle pieces together and figure it all out?

Here is an excerpt from the novel:

The night rolls on, the night rolls off. Fisher lies in bed and stares at the stars, sparkling down from above. What stars? You may ask. Because, of course, the fact that he is lying in bed INSIDE a building. And you would be right in that assumption, because the stars are not real stars, but glow-in-the-dark plastic ones that handily stick to any ceiling, furniture, or wall. Most people would probably consider these stars to be tacky and childish, but Fisher and Caroline like them. So stop judging,

Fisher seems troubled by the events at the concert. It felt so real to him, so sense-filling and tangible that fakeness seems a foreign concept. Despite this, he quickly drifts off to sleep under the sparkling star ways above. But this is only the beginning of Fisher’s adventure that night; for dreams may come that take his breath away.

The dream begins. But of course, Fisher’s mind doesn’t realize this, and believes it is still living real life. The day is soft and beautiful, and he finds himself somewhere in the European countryside, but he’s not sure what country or place to be exact. He is too distracted by the wind whipping his face as he rides in a pristine Ford Model T through a bright green field dotted with daisies and purples. It is a hot day, and the breeze feels absolutely wonderful. Framed by the vanilla sky, the car streaks like a mad bull across the landscape, while his friend John screams with delight as he pilots the car around bushes and other annoying obstacles.

“Slow down!” Fisher yells, keeping his fedora down with his right hand.

“I refuse! I know how bad you want to see her! Aha!” John responds with a unabashed fury.

As if cued by John’s words, a beautiful landscape appeared to them as they crested the last hill. But the landscape wasn’t the only beautiful thing. There she was, sitting in front of a large white tent, reading with a feather in her hair. Meadows, flowers, mountains, nothing compared to her. Fisher’s eyes lit up as he stood tall in the barreling vehicle, losing his hat and his inhibitions all at once. At first just one side of his mouth raised up, but the other side soon followed, forming a large smile on his face. And that wasn’t it, either. His eyes lit up, hands tense with anticipation as his heart threatened to beat out of his chest. The sun seemed to shine brighter in the distance as he raised his arms in joy and love, fighting the wind as the car whipped across the field. Strangely, the light didn’t come to a stop. It kept getting brighter and brighter. Brighter and brighter. Fisher didn’t get one more second to think as the light enveloped him and his consciousness.

Anyway, that's the excerpt. If you have any criticisms/ideas/praise for the novel, please let me know. It would be much appreciated.

David Benoit - Sailing Through the City

T. Summerlin: A new, EXCITING author

Bonjour. Today I happened to stumble upon a writer that has evaded my reading scope for a long time, T. Summerlin. And now that I have read some of his stuff, I am hooked like a bass in fishing season. Apparently, this guy has been on the writing scene for years now, but no one has really picked up on his stuff. Hopefully he'll get recognized soon, because he deserves it.

To go along with his writing life, he also seems to be quite the adventurer, globe-trotting and involving himself in some interesting stories. Here's an example: I found some odd news reports from Thailand about an incident involving a writer named Summerlin (must be him, right?). Anyway, he supposedly fell asleep in a tube out in the ocean and got netted by a group of fisherman at night. When they discovered their prey, a scuffle broke out and the boat ended up crashing onto the shore. No one seems to know what happened on board, and Summerlin refused to comment on the incident. Nothing else ever came out about the strange event. ? ?

Who is this guy? And why can't I find many of his so-called books? I am determined to find out more.

Here is an excerpt from one of his first novels: The Outlier Vision

Slowly the light shifted; white to cream, cream to beige. The evanescense of his surroundings caused the automatic lights to flick on, bathing the room in an unnatural light, soft and alien to the man's face. He was starting to cry, realizing he was losing the miraculous sunset before his eyes, never to be seen again. This is how it was every night, though, sitting before the gigantic window and trying to hold on, knowing it never lasts. He would try to dry his tears but his arms were binded by the straightjacket confining his body. But, as the doctor said, it was for his own safety. His own DAMNED safety...

I hope you enjoyed the excerpt. See you next week!

Back, But I'm Not Bringing Sexy With Me

Oh hi.

Yes, I'm back after a long hiatus and I've decided to get back into the whole blog scene and stuff. It had been so long that I forgot I ever did a post called "Sonic You Snowboarding Champ". I definitely laughed when I saw that. Hope you did.

Anyway, I just got done working as a Ridge Leader at good 'ole Sanborn Western Camps for the Summer and now I'm back in Tennessee for a wedding. Yah. Today I got a smoothie from McDonald's (Who knew?), went to goodwill and bought a vintage golf polo and George Benson CD, and attempted to thwart evil and all that while I played some video game from the deepest darkest recesses of my youth. Am I weird?

And by the way, I have a moustache now. It's black... thanks genetics.

I am trying to learn French now to go along nicely with my 'stache, so I will hopefully make an attempt to do a blog post in French one day. Oui. Tres bien.

Song of the Day: George Benson - Weekend in L.A.

The New Post

Sonic you Snowboarding Champ

Hi

Ha

Song of the Day: Alvin Band - Vanilla Dome

Been a while. A long while. I have just returned to Knoxville from a place called Aspen, CO where I spent the last 3 and a half months. Heard of it? Quite a trip. Snow. Boards. Hot Tubs. Mountains. These were all included, and somewhat enjoyed. But that's another story. The one I have to tell today is a novella I have been working on starting approximately 11 hours ago. Though it may have never have the joy of being finished or subsequently reviewed, here at least is an excerpt from what I have so far:

You are floating. I am floating. He is floating. Floating in some undefined cosmic space, some result of an expanding universe or black holes and event horizons or whatever the top thinkers of our age enjoy talking about nowadays. No light. All he knows is infinite darkness, and no theory can describe to you what that’s like. No hope. No point. No fluffy animals. Just floating.

Fisher wakes up. No longer floating in the traditional sense, now floating in covers and blankets and unusual stuffed animals possessing a strange resemblance to Ewoks. He hugs one cause he feels lonely, but the Ewok doesn’t hug back. He hopes one day it will. That would be nice. Ewok hug.

Deep in the cavernous blanket cavern he hears a vibration. Have the Ewoks come alive? No. it’s a cell phone, the ring tone a fanciful MIDI interpretation of some Burt Bacharach song from 2,000 years ago or something like that. With no rush in mind, he dives under the covers in a desperate attempt to locate the phone, fumbling his hand around in little nooks and crannies only cell phones have the ability to find. Quicker than usual, his fingers grasp the metal receptor. He quickly hit’s the talk button and raises it to his ear. Trained Dog.

“Hello”

“Fisher, hey…”

Images and ideas flash through his brain. Caroline. Green eyes. Stars. Penguins… Girlfriend.

“Hey Caroline.”

There she is. She’s pretty, isn’t she? Dark hair, curly. No, wavy. You could get lost in it. Fisher hopes there are no poor Ewoks lost in her hair. What else? Pretty smile, full set of teeth. Caroline.

“Are you at home Fisher? I left some paint I needed there, bring it to me?” She might as well have batted her eyelashes over the phone. Nice eyelashes too, if you’re into that.

“Uh..” For a second, he has the strangest sense that he’s out of place, a foreign man in a foreign land. Gypsy. Traveling Salesman. Buy this stranger!… Composure. “Of course, but only if the Ewoks aren’t using it.”

“Ewoks?”

“Uh, never mind.”

“I’m assuming that’s a yes.”

“Yes.”

“See you soon then.”

“See you in 31.8 minutes, you know, the approximate time it takes to deliver explosive paint.”

“Its not explosive.”

“I’m not taking any chances.”

“In that case, be careful, and hurry.”

Click. What a strange conversation. Fisher wonders if they have always had strange conversations. Oh well. Then he thinks about the paint. Caroline, artist, creator extraordinaire. Canvases fill the bedroom, explode out the closet, fall on the cat, etc… Some people think the Mona Lisa is a fine work of art. Fisher thinks Caroline is a fine work of art.

And End.