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I own this saloon

Flying back home after a week in Washington D.C., the United flight attendants announced that the in-flight movie would be The Chronicles of Narnia. Having had a vague desire to see it when it came out, I put down my French poem to plug in the earphones and watch it. I had good expectations, hearing it was well done from friends and recalling the story I read in…third grade? But I far from enjoyed it. The thing that got me the total flatness of the whole production.

Good vs. evil dominated the movie. That’s cool, nothing new, you know the same old theme. But what amazed me was the almost-comical distinction between the two. You could tell who was going to be in the scene based on the color of the sky (Quick guide: gray→evil; blue→good). Everyone was on one side or the other. No one was ever tempted to switch sides. When Peter Edmund happened upon them by mistake, it was just a mistake. The reason he fraternized with the bad guys was ignorance; he didn’t know any better! As soon as he was enlightened as to the proper path, he was with the good guys.

Race was also scarily well-defined. The wolves were with, you guessed it, the bad guys. The beautiful centaurs: good. All of the pretty beasts were good, all of the ugly were evil. You’ve got one eye? Hmmm, that makes you…evil! There weren’t any cross-overs, mixed allegiances, nothing. Your beliefs are defined right along with the sleekness of your fur. Disgusting.

At least in works like The Lord of the Rings, evil can be tempting. The most important characters are constantly on the edge between good and evil. Their actions are unpredictable. But here, not so. Even when any of the good guys die or get injured, they’re back again in the next scene. Lame.

Now, to address the question you’re all asking (indeed, one that I asked myself after I saw it). Why can’t I just sit back and enjoy a simple children’s movie? Simply put, I can’t stand the messages it’s sending. The whole Us vs. Them thing. The way you look dictating your allegiances. The absolute purity of the good side. This kind of message develops uncooperative, uncompromising attitudes in children. You’re always right and good, so the other guys can go to hell. These scary attitudes are what have this nation on constant edge with our neighbors.

Meh, what should I have expected from Disney anyway?

This past Thursday, a good friend left my school. It came as a sad shock to me, knowing that I could have made things different.

This friend, whom I’ll keep nameless, has a lot of things going against him. When he came from Africa to America a few years ago, he had no idea he was about to be swept into the volatile young African-American male culture. Living with his dad in a “ghetto” neighborhood, he was easily consumed by the “ghetto” culture.

I knew him last year; but being in many of my classes this year made him a good friend. Early on I could tell he was different from a lot of the “ghetto” kids. I could see two sides of him, one of which his teachers failed to see. There is his “gangsta” side, buying a grill, sagging his pants, and talking about the ‘hood. But the side I see in him, the side that made me want him to succeed so bad, is his hard-working side. Beneath the bling, he tries so hard to do well in school and generally stay on the good side of things.

In my classes with him, I saw him struggle with the teacher’s stereotyping him. The work he did do was hardly ever recognized or appreciated. After awhile, he understandably stopped trying. A 0% is just as good as a 50%, and they’re both Fs. In the beginning, he would often call me on my cell, asking for help on homework. I would willingly help him, and it developed a special compassion in me to help him out whenever I could. I knew, if no one else did, that he did care about his future.

At the beginning of the current semester, the fresh start gave him a new leaf in school. I saw his Fs turn into Cs. This brought me renewed hope that he would turn out and go to college and be a great guy.

That happened for a couple weeks. Then things collapsed. He ran away from home, living at his aunt’s house. He didn’t come to school for a week. Then, when things were starting to get on track again, he got in a fight, and I didn’t see him for another week. The day I saw him again, it was with his schoolbooks in his hands, returning each one to their respective teachers. He was leaving. I wouldn’t see him at school anymore. Gone.

This entire story breaks my heart. There had been a battle, and his “ghetto” side had won. The saddest part is his story is not unique — this happens all the time. Innocence turns sour all over the place. When a different African kid came to one of my classes last year, he was honest and studious. Now he’s traded in his khakis and polo for baggy pants and a doo-rag. It’s a vicious cycle, and I feel helpless to stop it.

The saddest thing for me is the fact that I could have helped more. I know I could have helped my friend stay afloat and help him with his schoolwork - even tutor him. And now he’s gone. I know this is not the end - he’s going to another school, and that may be just what he needs. But that doesn’t stop my worrying.

I spend too much time doing the same damn thing. Every day after school, you’ll find me in one place. That’s right where I am now, right in front of my computer. I honestly don’t have any of the big commitments that all my friends have.

When I was younger, I was into everything. I was into acting, into running, into baseball, into coin collecting, into pottery, into reading, into everything. And now it’s one dominant thing - the computer. I’m good at it, better than I ever was at all of my other things combined. I certainly enjoy it too. I love coding, I love writing here, I love making five times the money my friends make. But it’s just one thing, the same thing, every time.

I’ve recently dropped into envy of my two best friends. They are complete opposites from me (and comically similar to each other). I mean, they do everything. Science bowl, track and field, otter bowl, mathletes, cross country, and countless other things I’ve missed. I often wish that I had all these things to do as well.

Everyone thinks I’ve got my hands full. The track coach thinks I got too busy with theater ensemble. The thespians think I’m too busy with other extra-curriculars. But my big cowardly secret is that I don’t have that much happening.

I’ve always got more than enough to do – I’ve got a queue of people waiting to pay me to do their websites. But that stuff doesn’t have to happen. Shit, I’m only sixteen. Why do I need to be confining myself to office work when I should be exploring the boundaries of teenagerdom. I’m sure looking back, sitting in my cubicle ten years from now, I’ll be wishing I had lived it up a lit more. With this huge future in front of me, the only path I’m looking at is straight into web development. Seriously, when anyone asks me what I’ll be doing as an adult, I can give them a straight, confident answer. Sometimes that feels good, sometimes it feels terrible.

I think the reason I ended up on the computer is, strangely, cowardice. On the web, you can’t lose at anything. There’s no competition. I don’t have to train for a race, I don’t have to perform on game day. When I was really little, I remember walking alone down the streets of Albany, thinking of how if I just poured my soul into something, I could beat everyone, everyone, at anything. It was a beautifully pure, inspiring feeling, that I’ve unfortunately misplaced in the past few years. I have since realized, or just surrendered, that there’ll always be someone to beat me. The saddest thing is, that one idea has shooed me away from getting into anything new. I’ll never be at the top, so why even try? I hate, hate, hate that idea. But somehow it has constricted me. It’s always that ugly conscious: what do people think of how bad I am? My safe place has become the internet, and its incalculably vast opportunity to be the king of anything you like.

So now I’m here, wondering what to do next. I want something new, I really do. People keep telling me to rejoin track, and I’d like that. But then I dismiss myself, I’m just not fast. Moan! I’ve recently discovered new things to love, like French. But they aren’t things I can train for, things I can work on afterschool.

I think what I really need is something to suck at. Some team sport I’ve never tried before, where I can just go in proud and not worry about making a fool of myself. What might that be? I’ve yet to place it. Of course, if there’s something I could be good at too, that would might be fun.

Everything has changed. My life is completely different than it was a year ago. And maybe even a month ago. It’s all happened since the day of my 16th birthday. This past winter break was so happy and peaceful. And while I didn’t accomplish half the things that were on my agenda the day school got out, I felt better than I’d ever felt before.

I’m appreciating many of the things I disliked in the past. I love paintings. I enjoy visiting museums. I don’t have to be dragged on walks. My ridiculous pickiness with food has lessened a lot, but I’ll admit it’s still present. Above all these though, I’ve discovered an intense love of language.

I adore every second of French class. It happens to be far and away my hardest class, but still I love it more than any other. I’ve written more essays for that class than I’ve written in English class. Often I’ll find myself translating everything I say into French, and occasionally the French comes out unconsciously. Writing a good French essay is bliss. I feel like everything that gets on paper is poetic and clever.

This feeling can be largely attributed to the staggering benevolence of my French teacher, Madame Selvin. Some of my fellow students can’t stand her - she gives out buckets of homework, and expects so much all the time. She understands her students more than any other teacher I’ve ever met. She knows we procrastinate on large projects, she knows when we are giving ficticious excuses, and she knows when we’ve put a lot of effort into our work. Every day in the past few weeks, a former student of Madame Selvin’s comes in during class and has a mini reunion with her. I know there’s something special about her when I see this daily occurence in her class, and in none of my others. It makes me feel lucky to have her at our school.

Essentially, I have finally discovered the painting that’s been hanging on my wall since I was six. For all my previous years, language has just been a tool. A method of communication, but nothing more. And now, thanks in part to French class, it’s become an essential part of my life. If you browse through the archives of my posts, you’ll be able to see some profound changes in writing style and mindfulness of language.

I’ve also had an entirely different change. This one’s in the social arena. I’ve developed an incredibly special relationship with two people. The three of us have reached this beautiful plateau where nothing is held back. Anything I feel, good or bad, can be confided in them. I don’t need to worry about their opinion. If we’re in complete disagreement over something, we don’t have to comtemptuously hold back our feelings or bicker about it. We know we’ll still love each other the next day. Not having to worry about that is fantastically blissful.

I’ll meddle in love now. All of the relationships I’ve ever been in have had something held back. And that’s obviously to be expected of middle and early high school. There was always a level of emotional intimacy that couldn’t be reached. Now I’ve penetrated a different and deeper region of my heart. This girl, she’s one of those two friends I mentioned. I don’t fancy her. I’m not obsessed with her and I don’t worship her. But I love her so damn much. And I have since that sweeping birthday that changed me so much. I used to constantly worry about every action I took with a girl. Everything had to be calculated and inspected for emotional hints. That sky-scraping barrier has been undone now. My mind isn’t nagged with tension and nervousness. Even if perhaps she’s not in love with me, I’m happy.

That’s all for now. I don’t really expect a lot of comments on this post. It’s not one of those discussion-oriented that Jalenack usually possesses. I felt like I had to write this down, if only for my own well-being. This is the most personal I’ve been here, and oh does it feel good.

Each year I look forward to Christmas. A time of harmony and togetherness. The time has come around again this year. ‘Tis the season, right?

Not for radicals like Jerry Falwell. Instead of celebrating and enjoying the holiday, he is politicizing Christmas. He has started the “Friend or Foe Christmas Campaign.” Its aim is to ensure that Christmas is endorsed by our government and corporations. If it isn’t given the attention it deserves, they’ll sue. I’m pressed to think of a more ridiculous way to spend one’s holiday.

Why do does it all matter so much? Can’t they just let people enjoy the holidays in whatever fashion they please? They accomplish no great deed by polarizing Christmas. When Tim Wildmon, president of The American Family Association, was asked about people who don’t believe in Christmas, he “They should know that they are living in a predominantly Christian nation.” Did he actually say that? I don’t understand how one can just dismiss the diverse beliefs of our nation in one sweeping generalization like that.

I’d rather not talk politics though. The holidays are a rudimentary part of the year. They let people celebrate life and the coming of a new year. Most importantly, they let families share special time together. This time is sacred. Should it really matter what banner this time is spent beneath? It doesn’t matter what holiday is celebrated, only the quality of the time it sanctions.

People like Falwell make me not want to observe Christmas. They make it sound like I have some duty to celebrate Christmas. I am not a Christian, nor will I ever be. But I have always loved the Christian holiday. I love the smell of Christmas trees, the family togetherness, and the loving memories it creates. And really, that’s all I care about. The fact that its root is Christianity is of little importance to me.

The holiday of Christmas can be appreciated in three spirits. The first, religion. It is a time to appreciate God’s gifts and renew your devotions for the coming year. That’s okay, but it doesn’t work for me. The second, commercialism. Egged on by aggressive marketing from corporations, Christmas has become as much of a giant marketing bonanza as anything else. Material desires don’t work for me. The last, as a time for family. This time is rich and nurturing, like the blood of an umbilical cord. It gives families the time needed to share their love and develop the wonderful bonds needed to drudge through another year of life. This is the spirit I covet most.

English is missing a word. I am always lost whenever I come to point where it would be necessary. When I do come up with a word, I never have confidence in it. And that sucks. It’s time for a new word to replace the void representing the third person gender-neutral singular. Here’s an example:

If an artist wants to be famous, ________ must have unique ideas.

Okay, let us examine the possibilities. If there is any context to suggest one gender or the other, you can use he or she with confidence. But if there is uncertainty, as there usually is, he is the correct choice of olde. I suppose that was the way things used to be. But as any language evolves, popular culture will change words and even the definition of correct grammar. He has become archaic, and even chauvinist. I suppose we have Latin to thank for that. Latin and its brood of romance languages use the masculine form, corresponding to he in English. But I think the English language has moved on.

Around the time of the Women’s Liberation movement, society decided that gender-specific words had to go. Equality for all words! Stewardess became flight attendant. Mailman became mail carrier. The replacement for he became he or she, or sometimes even the radical she. Using he or she became politically correct, and it still is today. It offends no one, it is neutral. But it still sucks. It is three whole words, for one thing. And it sounds very indecisive. The replacement also spawned a corollary, s/he. While you mostly see s/he in writing, it attempts to solve the three-syllable issue. But s/he suffers from a lack of eye-appeal and can take a second to pronounce. The quest continues…

The current trend is to use they, but that is by far the worst. They is just an evasion from the syllabic burden of he or she. It implies a plurality that simply does not exist. English teachers will not accept it, but most of my generation uses it without second thought. That could be remedied if a new word were to take its place.

So, what does that leave us with? We cannot use he, he or she, or they. That leaves us with precisely nothing. That is why I think we need a new word. It would solve all sorts of uncertainty problems. You could finally write in this situation with confidence, instead of rephrasing your sentences. I spent a little while brainstorming a word, and here is what I came up with: Shey.

If an artist wants to be famous, shey must have unique ideas.

It takes getting used to, but it works. It combines all the previous forms of he, she, and they. If someone can come up with a better idea, be my guest. But for now, shey is the solution!