Today is certainly a historic day for the United States, but I have a lot going through my head. There are three of me all thinking different things at once, I really want to take this opportunity to clear my thoughts by putting it in writing. Plus, as a hipster, I have to believe that my opinion is the only one that matters and that other people want to hear it. So, I will drop some personal inquiries on you in the name of hipsterosity.
The first part of me that is really tugging at me isn't my homosexuality--it's my military upbringing. I've heard everything, including my own father's ideas on Don't Ask, Don't Tell. I understand a lot more about the military than most. So, I know that the issue surrounding DADT is not homosexuality, but sexuality in general and how it affects combat readiness. Men and women live in separate barracks because any sexual contact would cause unneeded distraction from the mission at hand. What do we do with gay men and women? Putting them in separate barracks would be the equivalent of putting men and women together. So, the military has no option but to keep living quarters integrated, which brings me to the next point. Yes, it's repealed, and yes, gay service members can serve openly, but, quite frankly, it doesn't change jack squat. When was the last time you observed a heinous act of racism or heard on TV about one committed? If you can say "in the 20th century," I applaud you for your success in living in a cave full of rainbows for the last decade. Even though slavery was officially abolished more than a century ago, and segregation ended almost 50 years ago, black people are still discriminated against. Why? Because Americans are ignorant, judgmental, egocentric, and prejudicial. And no matter how cynical I am being, we all know it's true. We are never going to be able to change the mind of the man living deep in the hills of Arkansas who has a Confederate flag hanging on his barn. And this is why I understand that gay service men and women will never be able to "openly" serve until every service member in America stops being prejudicial and ignorant. Which will take a long time.
Don't get me wrong, I have the utmost faith in our military to make this transition smoothly and to educate our troops against discrimination against homosexuality and continue to punish those who commit hate crimes against gay men and women. I have faith that service members will learn that homosexuality has nothing to do with career ambitions, and will not stop gay men and women from being fantastic service members.
The second part of me speaking out is my inner Public Relations/International Relations geek. I feel like sometimes we cling to this ideal that America values liberty more than anyone else, and we forget that we are not a progressive nation. We value the freedom to be ignorant more than the freedom to exist. We are not the first nation to allow gay men and women to serve openly. The only reason it's a big deal today is because we were one of the few countries (including Saudi Arabia, Iraq, and North Korea) to enact strict laws banning homosexual service members from serving. In 2009, when talks of repeal started, there were 25 other countries (including Israel!) waiting for us to repeal it. We may be the most powerful military, social, and economic entity in the world, but we always lag behind every other developed nation in the realm of personal liberties. Kind of ironic for the country that was the first to aggressively defend the rights of the individual. It's good PR for the US for now, but it's more of a "you're finally doing something right; don't screw it up" kind of publicity. It needs to become a non-issue and become a part of our everyday culture. Everything else will follow.
The last part of me to speak up is my homosexuality. And for him, it's a big deal, but he's outspoken by the other pieces of me. I'm excited for all those who can finally be who they are while serving the country they love, just like Obama said. I'm glad that we are slowly absorbing the sub-culture of homosexuality into mainstream acceptance. I'm overwhelmingly relieved that gay men or women who are discriminated against or abused won't have to make the choice between being silent or being discharged. But I still hold my previous views.
So, in true hipster fashion, I'm going to end this with a broad, overarching statement that is supposed to be excellent advice for humanity.
Instead of rejoicing in our "success," we should realize that we are not achieving anything revolutionary, but rather fixing a wrong that was made 17 years ago. We are back on track, and we need to just keep marching forward.
Tucker
20 September 2011
15 September 2011
Sampling Two: The Rose Amongst the Daisies
As promised, I'm revealing some of my writings as a sort of catharsis. I actually really enjoyed writing this one, so enjoy, I guess.
The rose amongst the daisies stands in a field of yellow,
its thorns are sharp, its petals soft, it's regal but it's mellow.
The daisies ask the rose each day: "Why be so defensive?
When someone dear takes you from here, then it's all the better.
See rose, the clouds, the sun above; why must you be so pensive?
Rejoice in life, in love, in laughter; give up your pointy fetter."
But the rose just sits and sheds a petal, crimson, limp, and torn,
wondering why the Earth's so bright and why it was even born.
"The daisy," it mutters in tones a-wearied, "knows nothing of my plight.
They dance, they sway, they giggle and play, with nary e'er a fright.
If only they knew of the dangers in store, of pain, illness, and death,
they, the gleeful contended ones, would feel naked with thorns bereft.
They turn their faces to the sun, make petals bright and sunny,
they understand only happiness, bees, and honey.
They forget the world, its cares, its woes, and turn their backs aloof,
maintain their naive children's dreams in the face of dreary proof.
Their life is as short as their attention span, they can't be bothered with suff'ring,
They bud, they grow; then, doom: a holocaustal off'ring.
"I've lived before," the rose warns aloud, "and I know what is in store;
it's fast, it's cruel; they chop you down, then you are no more.
You daisies, with your visage fresh, your countenance clean and bubbly,
are packed in vases a dozen abreast, even more than doubly.
No resurrection is in store, and by this time next year
I'll say this adage to new-born daisies here.
And while you rot in houses, I'll mourn with dry eye,
for my like end will be approaching nigh.
But I will bloom again, my friends, for I am more resilient;
Once you are faded, dry, and bald, I will bloom more brilliant.
It's happened to me times before: death and then rebirth,
and every time I get cut down I double in heart and girth.
"You, my children," the red rose coos, "will never know of love
until you've suffered and pruned a hundred time with solace only from above."
The daisies keep on dancing, gaily twirling, whirling, and flailing,
while the rose resumes its melancholy weeping and wailing.
The rose amongst the daisies stands in a field of yellow,
its thorns are sharp, its petals soft, it's regal but it's mellow.
The daisies ask the rose each day: "Why be so defensive?
When someone dear takes you from here, then it's all the better.
See rose, the clouds, the sun above; why must you be so pensive?
Rejoice in life, in love, in laughter; give up your pointy fetter."
But the rose just sits and sheds a petal, crimson, limp, and torn,
wondering why the Earth's so bright and why it was even born.
"The daisy," it mutters in tones a-wearied, "knows nothing of my plight.
They dance, they sway, they giggle and play, with nary e'er a fright.
If only they knew of the dangers in store, of pain, illness, and death,
they, the gleeful contended ones, would feel naked with thorns bereft.
They turn their faces to the sun, make petals bright and sunny,
they understand only happiness, bees, and honey.
They forget the world, its cares, its woes, and turn their backs aloof,
maintain their naive children's dreams in the face of dreary proof.
Their life is as short as their attention span, they can't be bothered with suff'ring,
They bud, they grow; then, doom: a holocaustal off'ring.
"I've lived before," the rose warns aloud, "and I know what is in store;
it's fast, it's cruel; they chop you down, then you are no more.
You daisies, with your visage fresh, your countenance clean and bubbly,
are packed in vases a dozen abreast, even more than doubly.
No resurrection is in store, and by this time next year
I'll say this adage to new-born daisies here.
And while you rot in houses, I'll mourn with dry eye,
for my like end will be approaching nigh.
But I will bloom again, my friends, for I am more resilient;
Once you are faded, dry, and bald, I will bloom more brilliant.
It's happened to me times before: death and then rebirth,
and every time I get cut down I double in heart and girth.
"You, my children," the red rose coos, "will never know of love
until you've suffered and pruned a hundred time with solace only from above."
The daisies keep on dancing, gaily twirling, whirling, and flailing,
while the rose resumes its melancholy weeping and wailing.
12 September 2011
Month Two: The Ends Justify the Beginnings
This past month has been a personal revolution. I have delved into a world completely new to me, even though I have thought about it a lot. This world--the world of the art student--is inviting, challenging, exhausting, titillating. I have learned that I am really not the only one who listens to Andrew Bird or is obsessed with Renee Magritte. I have found more people who, like me, are willing to break convention because they are unconventional, who wear what makes them feel comfortable as an individual. I have learned to see the world not for what I think it is, but for what it truly exhibits. In short: I have learned a lot in the past month.
Perhaps the most important thing I learned in relation to my journey into hipsterdom is the difference between making art and what the average hipster (who isn't an artist) thinks of art. Before I started taking drawing and design classes, I thought that art was the portrayal of "individual truths" that need not be derived from reality and didn't need to be understood by anybody but the creator. If I am correct in saying so, I think that's the off-mainstream/hipster view of art. Each piece of art is intended to make a message held by the individual; no one needs to actually get what's going on. The whole process is personal and completely introverted. I could be really wrong, but it seems like that's the prevailing philosophy among those who claim to be indie and believe in the power of one.
However, my extremely brief exposure to art has taught me that art is about portraying the world around us. Regardless of whether or not the finished piece resembles anything in nature, each and every piece of art portrays a human emotion, and it's not the subject matter that determines the emotion, but rather the way the artist renders his subject. Even a box, or a chair, or an onion can have emotionality if an artist is emotionally attached to it and exudes that attachment while creating his artwork.
Even though I am probably wrong about my assumptions of the hipster philosophy of art, it's an irrefutable fact that hipsters love art galleries and modern art. Thus, I am glad to know more about art so that I can pretend to be knowledgeable about it in front of other people in public.
And when I get people to notice that I am deep and can interpret art abstractly, I'll be a hipster off the mainstream.
...right?
I guess I'll find out by the end of the year, when I can actually call myself an art student. Until then, I'll just keep drawing chairs and boxes.
More updates to come as I tackle some do-it-yourself projects!
Much love,
Tucker
Perhaps the most important thing I learned in relation to my journey into hipsterdom is the difference between making art and what the average hipster (who isn't an artist) thinks of art. Before I started taking drawing and design classes, I thought that art was the portrayal of "individual truths" that need not be derived from reality and didn't need to be understood by anybody but the creator. If I am correct in saying so, I think that's the off-mainstream/hipster view of art. Each piece of art is intended to make a message held by the individual; no one needs to actually get what's going on. The whole process is personal and completely introverted. I could be really wrong, but it seems like that's the prevailing philosophy among those who claim to be indie and believe in the power of one.
However, my extremely brief exposure to art has taught me that art is about portraying the world around us. Regardless of whether or not the finished piece resembles anything in nature, each and every piece of art portrays a human emotion, and it's not the subject matter that determines the emotion, but rather the way the artist renders his subject. Even a box, or a chair, or an onion can have emotionality if an artist is emotionally attached to it and exudes that attachment while creating his artwork.
Even though I am probably wrong about my assumptions of the hipster philosophy of art, it's an irrefutable fact that hipsters love art galleries and modern art. Thus, I am glad to know more about art so that I can pretend to be knowledgeable about it in front of other people in public.
And when I get people to notice that I am deep and can interpret art abstractly, I'll be a hipster off the mainstream.
...right?
I guess I'll find out by the end of the year, when I can actually call myself an art student. Until then, I'll just keep drawing chairs and boxes.
More updates to come as I tackle some do-it-yourself projects!
Much love,
Tucker
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