Why You Should Be Freaked Out By the Stars

SPACE. The Final Frontier.  A vast expanse of stars and mystery strewn across our miniscule vision, far past the reaches of our imaginations. A cold, seemingly lifeless void, stretching into infinity. A dark crevasse glaring into our souls, and us, gazing back in awe at the blackness as if facing the endless, judgmental, all-knowing vision of the hollow eyes of death itself.

Kinda neat, right?

Up to this point in history, the study of space has been the leading cause of the utterance “da fuh?” If taken in large doses, space may cause repetitive existential crises, loss of/lapses in faiths of all kinds, and confusion amongst blind people ("Wait, so it looks like what I see all the time? I don’t get it.") If administered to children, it may cause extreme boredom, blindness in those who don’t take instruction well (see warning label for "the sun"), and wedgies in those actually interested in it (similar effects seen due to interests in dinosaurs, reading, and musical theatre.) Ask a doctor, priest, or homeless UFO enthusiast/heroin addict if space is right for you.

Bottom line, space freaks us out. But often the reason why is misconstrued. Sure, scientists don’t know what’s out there, and as educated laymen, we can only speculate. But then again, we are also the species that believed putting hydrogen in blimps was a grand idea for a long time.

 

So maybe our speculation isn’t worth much.

It isn’t so much what we do not know about the form of space that knocks our helmets off. It’s big, dark, quiet, and lonely. Sort of like Michael Oher from the movie “The Blind Side.” What should really twist up our oxygen tubes is what space tells us about ourselves. For example, are we a self-made species, struggling to understand nature and develop our own technology and tools of survival? Or have we been assisted over the generations by something… unidentified?

Now stay with me here…

So maybe it’s a bit crazy, but let’s be honest, we all know they’re out there.

 

In 1561, in the dawning sunlight of a new day, the inhabitants of Nuremberg, Germany awoke to an enormous ruckus. In the light of the rising sun, massive cigar shaped metallic objects were hurling various other shapes at one another as smaller cross shaped things dodged in and out of the conflict. When one of the crosses, spheres, or cigars was struck, it would hurl into the earth and vanish in a plume of smoke. It was a battle of epic proportions, and no one had any clue what the hell it was they were watching. The picture above along with a description of the event was put in a broadsheet, which was basically a newspaper of the time. The battle persisted for hours, and was actually so easy to follow that the townsfolk could tell which side was winning. The struggle drifted further and further from the Earth until one side attempted to flee, and the other pursued, driving the anomaly towards the sun.

Ok, so it is questionable WHAT exactly happened, because obviously the 16^th century German people interpreted this battle as an event of religious significance. It's just the way things were back then. That would explain the religious iconography with the crosses and the lights, which today we might more readily compare to a fuselage with wings and firearms. But something definitely happened. What does that mean for us?

The Ancient Egyptians cut stone blocks with precision we WISH we could accomplish today. So what?

The Incas developed perfectly aerodynamic flying machine models and buried them with their kings encrypted with the words “I want to fly.” Alright.

Hundreds of paintings and testimonies from the Renaissance and Middle Ages contain stories and images about beings in flying machines, most of which look the same. Who cares?

Justin Beiber’s music is still popular.

If you can believe that one, you can believe the rest.

What I am getting at is this: there is a whole lot of evidence pushing sideways at what we believe to be true because we have opted for the information that makes US the center of everything. We’ve done it for thousands of years. Earth is the center of the universe, WE were created to rule, God is our father, the universe is our oyster, and if there is anything else out there, they must be allergic to shellfish. Us, us, us. We, we, we. Nothing else matters.

If we admit there is something else out there, it means we might not be the best, the most important, or designed for any purpose. And maybe if we were designed with a purpose, maybe it isn't the one we would like to believe in. Just a bit more dust floating through space with the rest of the dust. We have survived and thrived based off the idea that we are bigger than we really are, and we are afraid that shooting lower would be an insult to what “we can be.”

I don’t want that responsibility, and I’m not sure anyone else really does. So I say, screw it. Let the aliens be in charge, because whether it’s God, a flying spaghetti monster, or Liam Neeson that is calling the shots, the only universe I am important in is the one in my head. So yeah, space scares me, and I think it should scare everyone. But when it comes down to the existential wire, I don’t die, the world ends. The things I do, the people I love, and my longstanding effects will peter out eventually, so for now, my lifelong fulfillment and that of others is my focus. Let's revel in our minuteness, because it isn't about to change.

So why is MY universe so great and worth living in?

 

The Odenternet

I suppose the thing I appreciate the most about my presence on the internet is my authenticity. By being relatively strict about what I put out on the internet, my own personality seems to shine through instead of some manufactured E-Keenan. Granted, I do not have any enemies creating fake Facebook accounts, photo shopping me onto nude photos of Oprah, or blogging nonsense about my pregnancy status. I mention these only because I realize those who become well-established on the net tend to create friends and enemies alike with their networking superpower. They are exposed to scrutiny constantly. Divulging free information about oneself can get out of hand quickly. Thankfully my Mother had a neurotic fear of our e-dentity being e-hijacked by e-bandits when I was an e-baby (that is, roughly, 12 years of age). So, if you see anything about me on the internet, it is there because either I put it there, or gave someone permission to post it.

            This all being said, as I look over my various posts I realize I have actually put work out. There are credits to my name that I am proud of that were worthy to be placed on the world’s largest information sharing system. These consist primarily of information from websites such as milesplit and athletic.net, which show my times and accomplishments in Track and Cross Country, as well as my theatrical work on the pages of various newspapers and review websites. I know that these forums say only good things about me, and I am glad they found their way onto the internet.

However, this remains horribly underwhelming to me. Why? Because of ol’ Uncle Bob.

It seems like a silly thing to complain about, but peppered in with my accomplishments are those of my professional actor, writer, comedian, and overall superman of an uncle who has roughly 25 years of headway on me in terms of work worth viewing. I don’t actually mind this, but it made this assignment a little complicated to complete, because right next to the link to my Facebook account is a link to an article regarding Maynard James Keenan’s documentary about making wine. My Uncle makes some weird stuff.

            So what does this do to me? I have been driven by nothing but fear when it comes to the internet by my Mother who, God love her, was always badgering us to be careful about what we would say or do on the web. Even after ensuring her of the security of the websites and using bulletproof rhetoric like “all my friends have a Facebook,” she wouldn’t budge for many years. I know this is a rational fear, but it’s like driving a car. If you don’t do it because it’s dangerous, you’ll never leave your house. And let’s be honest, the world really is just squished down into the internet.

            I hope that someday my e-dentity won’t just be heaped in with that of e-Bob. Then again, as of right now, I cannot really say my e-dentity has any real life effects on me. Certainly not in any negative way I can think of. But as I continue to make these blog posts and create work that is worthy of viewing by the citizens of the internet, I realize there may be a new version of me emerging. I realize the sharing power of the internet, and the importance of being a good participant in it. Regardless of who I appear to be on the internet, I realize it is informed heavily by who I am in reality, and it is that person who deserves the most of my attention. For now.

The Five Faces of a Guy Who Was Born With Five Faces and He Doesn't Like It When People Mention It So Please Stop

My fellow Americans,

I could not, contrary to the instruction of the assignment, find one form of media or literature that I partake of that displays any more signs of oppression than any other. We have hit what can only be referred to as cultural rock bottom. I am convinced that most books, magazine articles, DVD’s, smoke signals, home videos, candy wrappers, or songs written by anyone other than Randy Newman (praise be his name) here in America are rife with racism, sexism, ignorance, bias, and somehow, ironically enough, communism.

Figure that one out.

But, I think we own it pretty well. And by that I of course mean we ignore it utterly and completely and hope it goes away.

Tragically, as much as I mourn this unfortunate set of circumstances, I still wake up every day. In America. As an American. And what helps me sift through the madness with an upturned chin? Well, comedy. Possibly the worst offender.

Comedy takes all of the stuff that it is scary for us to address and throws them out in the open for everyone to see. Typically this is considered hideously inappropriate by those who are said to “not have a sense of humor.” They cannot take a joke. They’re buzzkills. Curmudgeons. Sourpusses. Malcontents. And perhaps worst of all they are completely, utterly justified.

Comedy makes a mockery of our worst situations. It brings them up unceremoniously and suddenly, typically with a force so direct that you laugh purely because you’re taken unawares and shocked that the comedian, sketch, or TV show would “go there.” So, is this oppression in the sense that Young articulated in ‘The Five Faces of Oppression”? At first glance, it can seem like it is completely intentional and therefore not simply the byproduct of some classic cultural construction. A hallmark of Young’s ideas is the ignorance towards the oppression by the oppressors. However, I would argue it falls in a grey area.

People write and perform comedy for plenty of different reasons. They are quite diverse, so I will not list them here. However, the least common one that spawns any comedy we actually see is comedy that attacks. Sure, there’s some that brings up an issue and has bias, but very rarely is it designed to truly ream one camp or the other. In fact, it is quite widely accepted that the best comedy sprouts from a mockery being made of both sides of an issue simultaneously. In the end, I think it makes a lot of sense that truly excluding or damaging any one group from a joke will earn you less laughs, and that, ultimately, is what any comic wants.

Does that mean no one gets their feelings hurt? Of course not!

Someone will always be just a little too touchy. Not educated enough, not in the right mood, not in the right situation, or even just plain hungry. God knows I don’t find anything funny when I’m hungry. But the point is, when you’re manipulating the content that many writers from all disciplines (comedy or no) are dealing with, you will receive pressure from all sides.

So, is the oppression intentional? I say no. However, what makes comedy a grey area is its self-awareness. Namely, the writers’ knowledge that they will unintentionally “oppress” someone. That creates a new question: why bother? The answer is what inspires my fascination with it.

When we engage in comedy that deals with hot button issues (Ferguson, legalization of marijuana, gay marriage, the color/style of Justin Beiber’s new haircut, etc.) we enter the discussion through a very a unique outlet. Comedy is one of the only forms of writing that people prepare themselves for true contemplation. This is because they are promised an immediate and gratifying sensory reward, one of the few things left that truly motivates people to do anything. In order to understand a joke, you have to do some thinking. The better the joke, the simpler it is, but in the end we understand and accept intrinsically that we must engage in some actual thought to earn the payoff of laughter. So, when you do this with fart jokes, humanity doesn’t really get anywhere. When you do this with our shortcomings as human beings, than you’re getting the world involved in itself.

Everyone engages in some form of comedy. Poor, rich, old, young, the diabetic, paraplegic, and obnoxious. We all get it from somewhere, and when we do, we think. That is the bottom line.

So, I believe comedy is both the most innocent and the most egregious oppressor of them all. It upholds all that we hold to be evil and damaging in this world by virtue of its own need for content. However, if it didn’t, I wouldn’t want to imagine where we would be.