A Case for the Average

Well, it's 1:30 and I kept tossing and turning which means that I was thinking. So instead of just lying in bed I thought I'd blog my thoughts and feelings, then edit them to make sense in the morning.

Anyway, this is kind of a continuation of a paper I wrote in high school about mediocrity, and why it's not so bad. Lately I've been feeling--you guessed it-- mediocre. Average. Lackluster. Nothing awful, but nothing special. Unabashedly and unapologetically right in the middle. But is that such a bad thing?

I put it to you that it's not. I mean, look at the world around us. For you math people, you study averages like crazy. Ever since third grade we've been finding mean, median, and mode. The unspectacular, average numbers of a series of numbers given to us. As we grow older we are taught to find outliers; these extraordinary numbers that we are supposed to look out for. I couldn't tell you what outliers are because, to be frank, math and I are not on speaking terms. I don't talk about it unless the circumstances dictate, and it does the same courtesy to me. Thus far, the air of professionalism has been appreciated by both sides. But I know that more often than not, we look for averages. We're looking for bunches, groups of things, and the spectacular become suddenly ordinary.

But those are just numbers, right? What about people? I'm the first to admit that I don't like grouping people and numbers together. As I said, I'm not a big math person. I'm a touchy-feely right-side-brained person. I think that assigning numbers to people alienates them and hurts their feelings and makes them worse and blah  blah blah. But I think that in this situation, a case can be made that the same rules apply, and here's why.

We live in a society of averages. We look to actors and astronauts and politicians and sports stars and crazy people to feed our curiosity. We live our boring, mediocre lives. We trudge through the mundane, dreading the boring, and seeking excitement in the unfamiliar. So we look to these human outliers-- exceptional people to spice up the boring day-to-day. But for the most part, 99% of us move through our lives never impacting another 99% of the population. We go unnoticed, and just sit in the middle.

Kinda depressing, right? Well, sure, I guess it certainly could be if you're a glass-half-empty kinda person. Me? I'm not too interested in how much is in the cup-- full empty or otherwise. I figure "hey, I've got this cup with stuff in it. Is it delicious? Is it nasty? If I throw it on somebody, could that be funny? If I freeze it and lick it, would it taste better? Is there a way to market that to any audience and make money?" And that's why I don't sleep at night and instead end up blogging.

Anyway, I think that if you want to be depressed because you're not special, go for it. But here's why you shouldn't be. Ordinary people are those number averages. People focus on them the most, because they comprise most of our human population. I mean, when's the last time you met a famous person? Were they awesome? Did they blow your mind with their self-actualization and wealth of life experience? Or did their breath smell because they didn't brush their teeth and had a bit too much coffee?

But average people, we meet them every day. We pass them on the way to work. We sell them clothes, flip their burgers, celebrate their birthdays, mourn their deaths, babysit their kids, enjoy moments, and makes memories with these Average Joes. All without the notice of 99% of the human population. I've never met a truly famous person, so props to whoever has, but when/if I do, I'm sure I'll tell my kids all about it. I'll show them pictures of me making a funny face next to their exceptionally handsome/beautiful faces, or tell them about how funny this one thing they said was. But you know what else I'll tell my kids? I'll tell them all about my grandparents, my parents, my friends. I'll show them pictures from my high school years, my college years. I'll tell them the story of how I met their mother, the stupid things I did with friends, the sad times, the fun times and the just plain weird times. And you know what? In two or three generations, I'll bet their grand kids won't care less what famous person I ever talked to. They probably won't care much about my high school years, or about my parents or grandparents. But the values that were instilled in me by these average people? They transfer generation to generation. They are branded into our DNA, in our upbringing and how we think.

That's the thing about being average. We as the average are just as essential, if not more so,  those spectacular people. Think of it as a clock: with hundreds of cogs and screws and wood parts and a winder. Most of us have the calling in life of being a cog, just a little piece of the machine. But some of us, a very few. have the lucky life calling of being the guy that gets to wind the clock. They're extraordinary. They make the clock work, right? Because without one of us cogs, the machine would probably be fine. We are replaceable. But without all of us, the winder has nothing to wind. Without many of us interacting together, helping each other, lifting each other up, bein' all average and junk, the winder is sitting there looking like an idiot putting a piece of metal in a non-functional clock. Suddenly, that spectacular dude is looking pretty dumb, right?

So you. Go follow your dreams. Be all awesome and change lives and fix the world and end hunger and stuff. But if you don't... if suddenly you find your world becoming unbearably average, just remember how special being average is. Remember that without us normal cogs, we've got a bunch of stupid clock winders.

All those special people can have their special lives. They can go out there and be voices, and have people look up to them. They can be idolized by millions, and have people hang on their every word. They shoot for the moon, because even if they miss they land among the stars. They jump from the stratosphere and fall to Earth at ungodly speeds. They fly airplanes and dream of great, lofty things. They invent jet packs and hover boards (still holding out for these, actually) and fly with the birds.

Me? I write a blog that 9 people read. I fear the unexamined life, and instead live the thoroughly-examined life. Both my feet stay on the ground, right where they belong. I smile and wave at people I don't know, and have good days and bad days. I tell stories that people laugh at, and laugh when people tell me stories. And you know what? I'm just fine being a cog. Because I'll sit here and work and go unnoticed than to wind a broken clock any day of the week.

If you're not moving forward...

Hello to all! I hope you all find yourselves well. I hope that you have come with minds open, because I'm about to drop some philo (what the kids are calling "philosophy" nowadays") right on your dome (what the kids are calling ones' "head") nowadays. You ready? Alright, here we go:

So, as many of you are aware, I'm in this really strange point in my life. And not just because I'm 19 and the world's my oyster and all that jazz, but because I have been put in an extremely unique position that I would dare anybody to find me another person in the history of the universe who has been in this position. Now, I realize this is a bold statement, but I say it with confidence. Because right now I am planning to donate my kidney to my brother.This procedure has only begun to become possible through modern science, probably in the past 40 or 50 years. I am also going to serve a mission for the Church of Jesus Christ of Ladder Day Saints. As many of you know, we as Mormons will typically serve missions when we're 19. Well, as of this month, men can now serve when they are 18, and women when they are 19. So now, as a 19 year old male, I am sitting around, waiting for a date on when I can get a major organ sucked out of my body and implanted into my brother, and had to postpone serving my mission to do so. Meanwhile, almost every male friend I have is now serving a mission, and now I am watching all my female friends begin the process to leave.

I mean, honestly, there may be 1 or 2 other people in the existence of time who have even had a situation comparable to mine. But this isn't a post about the expanse of the universe, the meaning of life, or any of that.

No, what this is about is a realization I have come to over the past week. And that's if you're not moving forward, you're moving backward. See, I've realized that life is a muscle. Life must be flexed, moved, strained, pushed, hardened, expanded, and used, in order for rest to be worth it. Otherwise, life becomes obese, extravagant, and begins the process of regression, like any muscle. For instance, you can work for years on the perfect body, but lose it in a matter of months if you stop utilizing those muscles that make it up. I've seen this in almost every aspect of my life.

The problem is that I have had very little to motivate me the past few months. I've lived in a state of limbo--of not knowing--for such a long time, that I began to regress in my habits. I wasn't acting like I was in college. I gained a year's worth of knowledge, wisdom, worldly awareness, habits, thought patterns, routines, and maturity (well...). Now, after sitting on my butt for 6 months, at home, doing little to nothing, I've moved backwards.

I can't say it's entirely my own fault. I mean, I'll take responsibility, but it's not. If I'd known that the process to get tested and scheduled for the kidney donation surgery, I would certainly have pursued another/better job. Right now I'm selling Cutco and setting my own schedule (which I've also slacked off on, to be honest...) and if I had known I would have sought out better employment. I could have earned 4 or 5 month's worth of minimum wage. Nothing to shake a stick at.

If I'd known how long this process would take, I would have done another semester at college. I wouldn't be sitting at home, twiddling my thumbs and wasting my time. I would have given it a shot to try and get tested out there, and to get myself ahead another semester. I would have met more people, gained more knowledge, and made another 6 month's worth of "mature responsible" (I'll use those words loosely) Tommy habits and routines.

But instead, I just sit around. I do what I can around the house. I surf the web for hours on end, stare at Facebook statuses and tweets I've read at least a dozen times, play video games, try to hang out with whoever isn't in school, maybe earn some money if I can, or if I feel like it. But most of the time, I lack the motivation. Because I haven't flexed my "responsibility" muscles for a while. So instead, I sit around and think. I ponder, and I get myself into trouble.

But I'm trying to get better. I'm trying to jump back into my good habits and routines. Fortunately, unlike working out, you don't tire quickly after a hiatus of not working out your good habits and routines.


So yeah! That's what I've been thinking about the past few days. I hope maybe this helps somebody. If not, well you'll be rewarded for reading all the way either way. Because if you like good music, you should listen to Cloud Cult. They have really good music, and I haven't stopped listening to them since I discovered them. They're kinda strange, but I like almost every song they make, and I hope you do too!

'Til next time, stay classy San Diego.

A Topical Post about the Friend Zone.

Say WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAT? Blogging about something I think about a topic? What am I relevant?

So about a week or so ago, my friend posted this picture on Facebook. (Here is her blog. She's awesome and cool and awesome so go read her blog. http://itsmelissak.blogspot.com/ )
And here is the picture: 

I personally hate this photo and think it's false and stupid and tacky and I hate it. So I shall explain my position on it and maybe it changes your view, maybe it doesn't. Either way I hope you find what I say entertaining and enlightening. Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaandgo (Keep in mind, this is not an essay, and even if it was it would have no organization of thought because I have no organization of thought. So you probably won't follow the logic. But I promise it'll come together in the end in my head.)

So here is why I disagree with it. I would venture to say that between 90-95% of the time, it is the guy complaining about being in the "friend zone". It does happen to girls, but I'm speaking strictly from a male perspective because between 90-95% of the time I am male, so I can only go based on my own thought process. But here's how I figure it. I have been in the friend zone by people before. I have also broken out of the friend zone after several years. However, that did work and kinda made a friendship rocky. I have also been turned down by a date by girls without reason. Perhaps these are exceptions to the rules though?

Well here's the biggest problem that I have with this picture. Barney Stinson would never ask a girl out on a date. They'd ask him on a date. I mean, he's Barney Stinson. He'd lie to you to make you ask him on a date. Cheeky little guy.

And my other biggest problem with this picture is that the reason guys complain about the friendzone are because they finally work up the courage to ask a girl on a date, or even confess how they feel, and the girl turns him down. Something that girls don't understand is that asking you girls out on dates is scary. It doesn't matter if we've known you a while, or if we're just meeting you, asking you on a date is terrifying. Asking you on a date makes us vulnerable, a feeling we aren't comfortable with. That's why we punch each other, because that's super tough and makes us feel invulnerable. We feel tougher and manlier when we aren't vulnerable. So asking girls on dates and making our emotions known is tough for us.

Also, something you ladies should know, is that there is no such thing as going on a date as "just friends", at least not for guys. We say we're going as "just friends" to try to take some of the edge off of one of us, Because for whatever reason, if we've ever liked you, we still like you. We can't just turn it off, box it up, and put it in an attic to find years later and be like "wow, that was dumb." Our crushes are like tattoos, we wear them openly, try to get rid of them once we realize how stupid they are, then the second somebody brings up what a good idea it was you go get it redone darker and thicker than it was before. Okay, not the best analogy, but it got the point across. Probably.

Another problem that I have with this picture is that it tries to take the blame off of the girls. If you are made aware that you have friend zoned somebody, then that means you now have a situation where you have somebody you only consider a friend who has finally mustered the courage to confess their feelings for you. Should they have asked you on a date sooner? Certainly. But why didn't they? Perhaps because you had a boyfriend? Perhaps because they were intimidated by you and were too scared to ask you out? Perhaps you were sitting around waiting for some other dude to ask you out, and putting this other dude all up in our grill whenever we tried to talk to you. Personally, I think all three are valid reasons why not to ask a girl. But even if you rule out the middle one as stupid (which, admittedly, it probably is. But I've totally been that guy too scared to ask a girl out. I still am that guy.) But the other two are other valid candidates for why I wouldn't have asked you out on a date, and then when I tell you how I feel you're like "Oh, well, I totally think you're awesome, but you're just a friend, so if you don't mind I'm gonna pee on your feelings by continuing to tell you about how badly [generic douche name] treats me. But he's better looking than you so I'll just throw you in the friend zone that we girls invent to make ourselves feel better and to avoid telling the less attractive guys we don't find them attractive now, in the past, and we never will."

Well, that escalated quickly. Probably some emotions I haven't dealt with in there somewhere. But that's cool, because I'm just gonna learn to reproduce asexually. Current task, learning how budding works.

BUT IN ANY CASE: LAWYERED.

In conclusion, I counter argue that this picture only applies to a very few situations, where while the guy was stupid, the girl is even more stupid for making up this friend zone to keep people in in the first place. And in the other case, it is not the guy's fault at all, because the girl just put him there to cover up her real feelings.

Boating!

I went boating today. If there's one thing you should know about me, it's that I LOVE boating. Like, lovelovelovelovelove it. I need to find adjectives in the dictionary. No, I need to be like Shakespeare and make up words to describe my love for it. Or just be like Shakespeare and write a hundred ambiguously gay sonnets about it. Something like that. Because I FREAKIN' LOVE BOATING.

And honestly, whoever doesn't like boating is probably like a serial child killer or something. Like, if you meet somebody who is even on the fence about boating, cut them out of your life and make sure you lock your doors man. Because something is seriously wrong with that person. Being out on the water, a soft mist sprinkling your face, the hot sun zenning you into bliss as yin and yang, heat and water, play their ongoing feud on the skin 9/10 times you're hoping will tan but it ends up just burning.

I've been able to boat about twice a year since we moved back to California. We go once with my uncle, who is incredibly fun to tube with and who I went with today, and once with my neighbors the Thackers, because they have a boat and we've been friends forever. :D



Anyway, I've gotten pretty good over the past few years with wakeboarding and such. I've learned to jump pretty well (just bunny hops, I can't jump the wake or anything.) Today while I was trying that I ate it HARD though, and got pretty bad whiplash. My neck's hurting pretty bad right now. But hey, it comes with the territory right?

However, my FAVORITE thing to do while boating (minus just enjoying the overall experience) is tubing, especially the way my uncle does it. He makes it so fun with how much he whips you around and bounces you and such. Plus it's one of those fears that I conquered because of a near-death experience associated with it (I'll put another post about it probably. Also I started another one the other night trying to catch you guys up on my summer thus far. It's a draft, so I'll finish it at some point.) Anyway, I'm really proud of myself every time I tube because it's me getting over that fear. It's one of those things that I let myself be proud of myself for. Which was a poorly constructed sentence but I'm blogging late at night again so SHUT UP.

Anyway, I just love boating. The only downside is that I lost my CTR ring. It ripped off the first time I was tubing. I've had it for like a year and a half, and it wasn't spinning much anymore because of beach sand and such. But I still miss it. It's seen a long year and a half. RIP CTR ring.

Anyway, when I get home I'll probably finish that other post about what I've been up to, and also that other one talking about my near death experience. Or maybe not. I dunno. 'Til then, stay classy San Diego.

Physical quirks

I was reading a blog today from a man whose left eye is completely blind. He went on to explain, in full medical (and, admittedly, humourous) detail, what had happened to his eye. He wrote a series of four different blog posts about his different medical problems etc*. I found it extremely interesting, and thought that I would explain my big deformity physically, my smile.

Now some people will say that they don't notice that my smile is crooked, but flip through any of my pictures (seriously, don't, finding a picture of me in my own albums is like playing Where's Waldo in the red and white shirt factory) on Facebook. The entire left side of my smile is EXTREMELY crooked. It barely turns up, and doesn't expand outwards.

The reason for this is simple: a golf club; a putter to be exact. When I was no older than six years old (I know this because when I was six we moved from this house to a larger one in order to make room for my youngest sister, Sarah) I was playing out front with a neighborhood friend of mine. Funny, I can't recall his name. I just remember that he was black-- sadly I can identify his house in relationship to mine because in our cul-de-sac of six houses there was only one African American family. I know he was a little bit older than me, probably only 8 or 9 though. Anyway, when I was younger I thought golf was pretty cool. Not something I loved (like now), but back then I thought it was neat. When we went to my grandpa's house, we did mini putting contests inside with a metal giblet that recieved the ball from all angles and trapped it in. I loved this especially because my grandpa would give me a dollar if I could out putt him. It was always rigged though, because somehow I always got that dollar whether my shots were further away or not.

So one day at the ripe old age of 6, I decided to practice with this friend whose name escapes me. I brought out a comparable contraption to what my grandpa had, and grabbed a putter. As any good host does, I allowed my friend to go first. However, I noticed him holding my putter incorrectly. So, without thinking I went up behind him to help correct the grip. Right then, without knowing that you don't do this putting, he reared the putter back in a full arc. The two pounds of mixed metals collided with the left side of my face and sent me on my butt, crying instantly. He dropped the club and, as any 9 year old does when he accidentally does something wrong, ran home to tell his Mom, leaving my on my front yard, for my Mom to come out and see what was the matter. She checked my out and assured me that I wasn't bleeding, and that I would be fine. But alas, I wouldn't.

As time went on, I developed a dimple from where the club had hit me. It wasn't too deep or too noticable, but it was there and it was cute on my 5 foot frame. My smile was still straight though, because I wasn't doing much growing. However, when I started growing at around 12 I began to notice that my smile was becoming less and less straight. The left side wasn't extending as far as the right side, and the dimple was becoming deeper and deeper.

What happened is that somehow being hit in the face with that putter had damaged/killed much of the muscle in that side of my face. I have very little control of that side because the muscles didn't grow with the rest of my body, because most of them were now dead. It now extends up towards my eye too, that's why in most pictures while I try to smile I partially close my left eye. Which I absolutely love because it makes me look like I have a lazy eye. But in the morning I check and so far my eyes still track properly.

So, woe is me, I am left with a crooked smile and an eye that likes to trick people into thinking it's lazy. That's why I don't like taking pictures. I feel as though my smile is strange and I hate having to take them over and over. That's why usually I try to make a funny face, or I won't show my teeth (somehow I think it looks better like that.)

Anyway, that's the story of my physical deformity. For my next one I'll talk about the Wii accident that resulted in a permanent, thick scar on the back of my hand. 'Til next time!




*I did a great job summarizing it I know, but if you're interested in reading a really funny blog/series of posts, then check this guy out. http://www.joshweed.com/2010/10/body-deformities-part-ii-creepiest-face.html

Guilty pleasures

Let's be honest, we've all got 'em. Those little things in life that just make us go "ahhhhhhhhh". Those refreshing things that we fall blindly loyal to and others just don't seem to understand. It's these little things that we turn to during those times when we've had a genuinely crummy day and we just need something that'll perk us up a bit.

I have many, many of these. A few that I'm willing to admit to are British humour (along with spelling things as if I were British), and basic cable television shows. Oh the joy that these low budget shows bring into my life. I love them despite the often shoddy acting, incongruous writing, and often strange cinematics. I love them all the same. One of these loves that I have developed is Psych, and the reason that I love it is because while it is a basic cable show, it does not have the flaws I listed above. The acting is wonderfully refreshing, the writing is witty, quick, and genuinely drawing, and the cinematography adds onto the unique and quirky feel of the show. This show is truly spot on, and it is easily one of my favorite comedies on television and-- I would venture to say-- one of the best written comedies on television.

Now, to satisfy this strange need to low-budget entertainment, I often must go by word of mouth. I'll check Sundance for independent films to enjoy, and general recommendations for television that I can get a fix from. But recently I stumbled upon one all on my own that I have come to love very quickly. As I was searching through Hulu for some television shows, I got an advertisement detailing a British show about a lame, clumsy, and all around awkward man who becomes a spy. I was instantly intrigued and went to go watch the Pilot episode. Upon doing so, I've fallen madly in love with the show. The acting is truly hilarious, the characters are solid-- my favorite is the super-genius, smart mouthed 9 year old that knows more than his Dad does-- and it contains some truly memorable moments. The best part about it? It's all on Hulu. All 6 episodes of this show are free to watch, any time you want. And while the first season was only six episodes, season two will return come fall, and I can hope that it will return with more than 6 episodes. If you're interested, and have 3 hours to kill, go on and watch the first season here: http://www.hulu.com/spy . I can almost guarantee that you won't regret it.

Now, speaking of returning for season 2, I am counting the days until February 12th. (3 more weeks come Sunday). Why you may ask? It's simple, really. Just a little show called THE WALKING DEAD. Oh my goodness. This show has had me captive since day numero uno. And now, a year later, I can't wait for the return. They did that truly obnoxious thing that cable shows tend to do where they start a season, then halfway through take a 2 month break, just to pick it up again. It's a budget thing, and I get it. But I hate it. I really do. But anyway, I can't wait. This show, while it is great for a nasty zombie killing and gruesome fights, has some spectacular acting during the "human" parts of it. It's an interesting look into humanity in a world of inhumanity, and really makes the audience member question "what if". And the best part is that the characters are all unique. They all respond to this horrific situation in different ways, and I love it. They each have their own unique identities, struggles, personas, hopes, dreams, and emotions. And as the show has progressed, each person's identity has come forth more and more, developing them into unique people and now pulling them in polar directions. The show's done a wonderful job, and I look forward to the 12th, and the subsequent 6 Sundays that follow.

So, if you all need me, I'll be in front of a television, enjoying my obscure shows and laughing at jokes many find stupid.