Don’t you hate when you see that one kid staring at his phone as he aimlessly wanders around a sidewalk, bumping into trash cans, walls and people? Like, seriously, can’t that person leave his phone alone for five minutes so he can walk in a straight line like every other decent pedestrian out there?
Possibly my favorite weekend of the year is the opening rounds of March Madness. This particular weekend happened to coincide with my birthday this year, so when my dad suggested spending this weekend in Las Vegas, I seized the opportunity. While I did not spend my days there dazed, confused and incoherent, a la Hunter Thompson, I did take advantage of my “of ageness,” which complemented (or caused) my rowdiness when yelling at the television screen quite nicely.
As a fan of popular social science literature, it is impossible for me to escape the work of Malcolm Gladwell. As a fan of quality rap music, I could not avoid Macklemore and Ryan Lewis’ last album, The Heist. So when I gave the album its first run-through, I was enthralled with its lead song, “Ten Thousand Hours.”
Plato, possibly the greatest of all contemplators—ancient or modern—vehemently denounced the actions of his arch foes, who worked tirelessly to convince the public that eternal truths were intangible and their chase will always be fruitless. Rhetoric, the sophists claimed, prevailed over all else. Persuasion, words, diction, these were the stuff of action. These were the stuff of truth, limited as they may be.
Just as many people who partook in the Pepsi Challenge back in the day to see whether they could distinguish between the world’s two foremost colas, American citizens partook in the presidential election a few weeks back to decipher between two candidates whose political views may or may not be apparent to them. Often in life, people believe that they prefer one thing to another and hold steadfast in their perspective that they know that certain thing really, really well. However, after further investigation, their prior views are often reduced to absurdity.
It is a bit embarrassing, but I first discovered that I could ride a two-wheel bicycle when I was in sixth grade. My deficiencies in that realm did not stem from ineptitude with the handle bars, but rather from my unwillingness to try new things. “If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it” rang loudly in my ears. And since none of my arms and legs were broken as a result of bike riding, why fix this void in my life?
Recently, my friend Adam Wolf wrote a column for Page Two in favor of Mark Twain’s wry take on epistemology, specifically regarding his quote: “I never let my schooling interfere with my education.” Although I think that public and private houses of higher education are (for the most part) effective contrivances of any advanced society, I also tend to agree with Mr. Wolf and Mr. Twain that there exist certain forms of education, which are necessary to be a well-rounded individual, that cannot become manifest within a formal classroom.
About a year ago, “South Park” ran an episode in which Stan, one of the program’s protagonists, fell into a depression because he believed that everything in the world had become “crap.” New movies were crap. New music was crap. Even updated video games were crap. Indeed, all novel cultural phenomena seemed to be manufactured by ignoramuses and designed for ignoramuses.
Read on Issuu
Solutions by The State News
