You're terminal and I'm telling everybody

Here's some micro-essays that I jotted down today:

The media feeds today’s youth culture the dream of freedom. Defiance and liberation are proffered wholesale to young people in music, film, television, and in print. And yeeeeeeeet, when they grow up and receive their Bachelor’s, suddenly these post-teens are sloughed into a system in which one must set a good example, be professional, accrue credentials, and set to work with drive, determination, and perhaps most importantly, direction. This gear shift is difficult for those youngsters who believed the illusion that the media was creating. All of a sudden, life is not a celebration, life is a measurement of time from now until death, the landmarks of which are set by socially inherited milestones such as: professional achievement, engagement, child bearing, deaths of one’s parents, divorce, child departure, and retirement. Don’t misinterpret, I do not think that the current model for life in America is necessarily a bad one. In terms of standard of living and potential for enjoyment, our system is superior to many previous modes of living. Like the Feudal system. My point is that lies in the form of fantasy are being disseminated to today’s children. And these lies are assumed to be facts. I argue that America should aim to resemble Japan’s or China’s system of youth indoctrination. One in which young people are instilled with a sense of work ethic and obligation to fulfill a role in society. It is an unromantic existence, perhaps too harsh for the spirits of many, but it is a more real system. One that will not lead to the quarter-life-crisis phenomenon that many young adults experience.



“I’ll be damned if I’m going to listen to you anymore!”

And then Joseph swung his backpack and bitch-slapped Dr. Mendelssohn across the face with over two hundred and seventy five dollars worth of books. The Theatre 875 classroom leapt to their feet in applause, and if they had confetti or rice to throw at that moment it most certainly would have powdered the air. Joseph adjusted his waistband and took a slight bow of gratitude before exiting.

“That was great.”
“Yeah.”

From the depths of Dr. Mendelssohn’s ear, a serpentine dribble of red escaped into his notes. To-do lists neatly separated by decorative paper clips sucked up their creator’s fluids and clung together as if troubled by his passing. Denise Brook, that chic costume designer from Tuscarawas County, tugged at the herringbone tweed of the senseless professor’s collar.

“Hey, I think Joseph killed him.”
The class performed a symphony of drooping of smiles accompanied by the widening of eyes and furrowing of brows. Alexandre, who always rode his bicycle to class, vomited slightly into the back of his mouth. He would maintain this secret until 11pm that same night when he would tell a woman in a noisy bar the smelliest joke of her life.