The Consumer Mentality is Bankrupt

I've been reading some interesting things lately, and I'm not sure how much they have influenced my thought on the topic of the day, but I thought it was important to mention them right off the bat.

First off, billionaire Mark Cuban's weblog. I think the idea of my blog referring to his is funny, because it would never happen the other way around (never say never?). He writes about the stuff he knows best - entertainment, business, success, etc. I love his account of his rise to success.

Second, Altucher Confidential, written by entrepreneur James Altucher. While he has many striking ideas that I appreciate because they seem to go against collective wisdom, the most fascinating thing about his blog is Altucher himself. He comes across as eccentric, which again is probably why I like him. He reminds me of me. Rough edges abound. Anyways, check him out. I guess his post on "8 Alternatives to College" sparked some thinking on the topic for today.

What I've realized lately is that my approach to life has been largely inadequate due to the hyper-prevalence of one major ideology - that of consumerism. I've approached life, people, education, the search for a career, everything, from a consumer mentality.

By this I mean, I have expected the "product," whatever that may be, to be presented to me, to be brought within easy reach for my easy consumption. In terms of life in general, this means that I've falsely expected to have the sort of life I want to live laid out for me like in a 30 second commercial, and all I would have to do is "sign up," purchase the product. As if my life was already out there somewhere, and I just had to select the correct one from a store shelf.

In terms of relationships, this has meant that people are largely there for my enjoyment, emotional satisfaction, etc. It means that I haven't given enough of myself (I realize I'm being overly critical, and many would disagree, but I'm trying to trace this out in stark terms).

I've viewed my education largely as the process of dumping as much merchandise into my mental shopping cart as I think I can manage. I've never been good at contributing to class discussion (often because I feel like I have nothing to say, which I know is wrong). But as a consumer, I'm not there to give, I'm there to take. If knowledge is a commodity, I want to purchase as much as I can (but hopefully get it for free). This consumer mentality has probably kept me from truly engaging with ideas, with texts, and with my classmates.

My search for a meaningful career has probably suffered most from this way of thinking. The right job, the right career, should present itself to me, with all the warm glow and feel-good sentimentality of an insurance commercial with soldiers and American flags. It's out there, it's just on a shelf I can't quite reach, or in one of those pricey warehouse clubs I don't have a membership to. The problem is with the marketplace, not my attitude. The "economy" has failed to plunk into my lap my next thing in life. I'm a consumer. This is what I've been taught to do, trained to do. I've been waiting for life to happen to me, to give me something to work on and with. The market will weed out any weak or bad options, and I'll only be left with the best, which will be presented to me in all its shimmering glory.

Clearly, this is all so wrong, so crippling. But it's hard to see the subtle workings of forces that inundate us, hammer away at our sub-conscious, and turn us into drones. If we're ever going to be anything more than the "hive-mind" (another post I want to write soon), we need to make the important leap that I want to make, which is the move from a consumer mentality to a producer mentality. And since I'm still working that one out, check back for subsequent thoughts on the topic. Right now I thought it was important to identify the problem before constructing the "solution".

What are your thoughts on this? Does this resonate with you? Do you have suggestions for moving to a "producer" mentality? Comments are most welcome.

Reader Request: Spaceships

I don't know what it's like at your house, but around here, it's whatever Jim wants, Jim gets. So I'm most happy to pander to one of my few readers and oblige his request that I write a post about "spaceships," as he so eloquently put it. Well, here goes.

Where to start? There's a lot of angles to this one. A lot of ins, a lot of outs, so to speak. But instead of making grand claims about broad topics and stuff I don't know about like I usually do, I'm going to write about my personal experience with spaceships, which is fairly extensive. Here goes.

When I was a youngin', whenever I saw a commercial on Nickelodeon or an ad in one of my Boy Scout magazines for Space Camp, I was like, man, I really want to go to Space Camp.

I never went to Space Camp.

Then, I saw an ad for a model rocket kit, and I was like, I want that. So I got one for a birthday or Christmas present, and then I opened it and took out all the pieces and looked at the instructions and I was like, wow that looks hard to put together. So it sat in pieces in that dust-laden box for some time, until my dad and my uncle helped me put it together. When it was complete, shining in its glory, launch day arrived. We went to a soccer field by an elementary school and my co-builders made me stand much farther back than I wanted. After the obligatory countdown, I pressed the button and that sucker launched. It was inspiring and patriotic, not unlike the 4th of July.

Somewhere around that time I saw Apollo 13, and I was like, man, being trapped in a failing spaceship is stressful.

But there were good times, too. Like Space Mutiny, a thrilling MST3K rendition about, you guessed it, mutiny in space. Yet as the gang is quick to note, most of the spaceship looks like parts of a giant warehouse/basement. In that same vein, there's Prince of Space, who flies around in a tiny spaceship, and cannot be harmed by weapons of any sort.

So all in all, spaceships aren't so bad, really. They can be fun, they can help you destroy asteroids hurtling toward earth, they can go into warp speed, they can basically help you travel through space. They can even travel through time to snatch up some humpback whales that you can take back to the future to solve earth's impending doom.

Originally I was going to discuss the ethics of funding a space program when there are millions without health insurance, but who's to say, really?

So Jim, that one's for you. Any other reader requests?

Still Questioning My Education

Hey ya'll (I can say that now, I'm legally a Southerner). Though in some ways this is a continuation of the thought I was working out last October in this post, I read a great article this morning that put another spin on the issue of the value of higher education.

Sarah Lacy profiles Peter Thiel, Paypal co-founder, who offers some profound insights on what he perceives to be the "bubble" of higher education, transferred most recently from the housing market. Lacy argues that the almost sacred power of our belief in higher education stems from a sort of pact we make with the universe, one which is ultimately based on our need for safety: "Do this and you will be safe." 


I couldn't agree more with Lacy and Thiel. I think they identify a potent root of my current vocational disorientation. I worked hard. I went to one decent school and one great school. I am entitled (another concept she argues is the result of our incorrect thinking about higher education) to some sort of meaningful work. Of course, we know this isn't true. No one is entitled to anything. But this is a middle-class American ideal that I find hard to shake. 


I think it also has to do, philosophically, with a love of causality. I want the universe to operate by rational principles, cause and effect. I have worked hard, therefore opportunities should miraculously present themselves. I know cognitively that this isn't true, but it hasn't reached my gut yet. I still feed on the illusion that my "hard work" should matter to others, and not just myself. I need to kick the habit, but it's ingrained pretty deep. 


Yet reading articles like the above help me to deconstruct the half-truths that can result in one's own person "stagflation" scenario. Whatever that means. It's a cool word, right? 


Anyways, check out that article, and comment on your own thoughts/feelings of entitlement and causality, and how you combat them. Happy Monday!

It's All About You, Faithful Readers!

Hello, thank you for visiting. This isn't so much a new entry as it is a desperate (okay not so desperate) plea for your comments and questions. I want to know what you'd like me to write about! Is there anything I've already written on that you'd like to hear more of? Do you have other random questions you'd like me to try to address?

What would make this blog more user-friendly, to you (the user)? What would keep you coming back and make you subscribe?

Unbelievably, I actually want to write about what interests other people, and not just myself, so any feedback you have would be most appreciated.

In the meantime, keep it real, and thanks in advance for your comments/questions.

Not Your Grandma's Solar Lighting

Well, it's Thursday, and you know what that means. Time to confess a horrible, dark (light?) secret about my life. I'm kind of obsessed with all things solar-powered, but especially solar lighting.

My obsession began in my youth, whenever I decided to turn off my video game system or the TV with the Nickelodeon logo burned into the screen, I watched it so much, and actually went outside. I noticed a bright glowing ball in the sky, and it felt hot. Little did I know then, that glowing thing can be used to power solar-powered things.

My first experience with solar power was building an awesome 4 foot tall (or so it seemed at the time) K'nex ferris wheel that turned with a motor powered by a solar cell. I'm not joking about that, guys. It was sweet.

More recently, however, with the "green" movement in full swing, major companies are getting on-board the solar bandwagon (hope they don't have leather seats, ouch!), which is great because hopefully higher demand for solar cells will create more innovation and cheaper prices (see here for an article on solar's amazing growth).

Sure, those goofy solar landscape lights are fairly cheap and ubiquitous these days, but they have some serious drawbacks when it comes to practical indoor solar lighting, which is what I'm most interested in. Their main issues are: 1. they lack an on/off switch, so you have to toss them in a closet and shut the door when you want to go to sleep, and 2. they come with the cheapest rechargeable batteries possible, so they don't really last long enough/output enough power to really count as indoor lighting.

And then Ikea came along, stole my heart, and rekindled my solar obsession. They have a wide range of indoor solar lighting solutions, but I'm just going to review one I actually own and have experience with. Hopefully as I add more to my collection I'll review them too.

In case you're getting bored and are about to click away, hang on, here's the good stuff. Ikea's Sunnan Table Lamp (I think Sunnan can be roughly translated as "solar power is great everyone should buy one of these seriously) is a great "gateway" product to get into the world of indoor solar lighting. It has an easily detachable solar cell/battery combo pack, which you can place either outside or in a sunny window, and then easily snap back into place when you're ready to use it. It's reasonably priced at $19.99. And it really is super bright, with white LED's. Adding to that, it's got a flexible neck, so you can position it however you want to light whatever you want. I use it as a reading light at night, but it also works well as just a general lamp. A great bonus is that it uses Ikea's own brand of rechargeable batteries, which they recommend requires replacement every two years or so. Not bad, folks! Not your grandma's solar lighting indeed - by that I mean actual sunlight, opening a curtain, you get the drift.

Feel free to comment on whether you think it's reasonable to incorporate solar lighting into your indoor space. Or if you think my obsession is weird and dumb.

One Name, Five Syllables

That's not funny. Or is it? I think humor is one of the most fascinating aspects of human culture and human existence generally. Like all aspects of what we like, which is an impossible science (cf. aesthetics), humor is so interesting because of the many variations in what people think is funny. Somehow, there are different genres of humor. There's "stupid humor," which is a misnomer because it's often so intelligently done that such a title is entirely ill-fitting. There's "dark humor," which is really those things that we're all thinking in the midst of life's most terrible moments, for the purpose of making the situation seem a little less bad, but have been socialized not to communicate generally. There's "oddball" humor, which is random and crazy and appeals to the more creative faculties of the hearer or viewer, because one must actively construct the ways in which the absurdity is meant to be funny, and then said content actually becomes funny. Of course, there are many other different "types" of humor. You get the idea.

People even draw the line on humor, saying that something "isn't funny" because it addresses a particular taboo we hold sacred. Jokes can come "too soon" after a tragic event.

But what I'm really interested in is how people construct their sense of humor. Of course, this is getting into a hairy "nature vs. nurture" debate, and I guess aesthetics overall, but I'm wondering if within a single (more or less) culture, something can be objectively funny, or if humor is entirely subjective, just like everything else we like in life.

A particular experience brought this question into focus. I recently watched Zoolander with some friends, and let me tell you, this is my favorite movie of all time. Many times you may ask someone, "Someone, what's your favorite movie?" and they'll equivocate six ways from Sunday (especially if that Sunday is the Oscars). "Oh, I don't know, I have a lot of favorites, I guess..." they might say. Not me. Zoolander. Forget the fact that I secretly want to be a male model, there are just so many things in that movie I find funny. I thought it was funny when I first saw it in high school, and I still think it's funny more than 10 years later. Maybe I have a "dumb" sense of humor, stricken as I am with extended "Arrested Development," producing a seemingly endless adolescence. And yes, things can become funnier over time (how does that work?) or after repeated viewings (I've probably seen Derek work his magic at least 20 times), but still. Some things are just funny, I propose.

Yet there was a member of the audience that night who just didn't think it was funny. Not having it. And even though I disagree, it made me more curious than defensive. How can this be?

I have more questions than answers on this one, so any funnymen/funnywomen out there who want to weigh in, please do. Give me your best Blue Steel, and if you think it's ready to let out of its cage, drop the Magnum on us. I hope it doesn't melt our faces off. Then again, I kinda hope it does.

Simplicity for Simpletons

This morning I'm pondering how writers avoid overwriting. I've been reading Einstein's Dreams by Alan Lightman, and while I'm struck with the weight of the ideas, I'm almost more enthralled by the simplicity with which he presents them. Simplicity is such a misleading term, in general but especially when referring to writing. I guess what I mean by simplicity is saying what needs to be said, communicating, in short, in the most precise yet meaningful way.

It seems that it's so much easier to err on the side of too much writing, garrulous word diarrhea. Overwriting is blatant, a flagrant foul against the sensibilities. I just don't understand how the best writers slim down their verbiage to create that stark impression of sweet simplicity. "Let the club do the work," I was always told when trying, and failing, to develop a solid golf swing. Well, just as I try to knock that little dimpled sphere screaming out of the park every time (ouch mixed sports metaphor), so too I find it so tempting to use more words than less to say what I need to say.

Take "The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock," by Thomas Sterns Eliot (T.S., to the uninitiated), for example. It's so "simple" that it seems like anyone could have written it. Of course, not just anyone did, which opens up the huge snarly gnarly debate about whether a work of art is good because it has merit somehow in and of itself or only because it was created by someone we have attributed cultural value to as being an artist who creates great art. Anyways, my point is - how did he do it, and others? How does one show restraint in the written word?

But all this is not to say that you can't be ornate and simple at the same time. Faulkner miraculously achieves this, and of course Henry James (I can't speak on Joyce - full disclosure - I've never read Ulysses). There's a balance somewhere in there that I can only point to as existing but can't really hope to describe. Somehow the layers upon layers of detail and description and probing inner worlds do not take away from the overall sense of simplicity they impart.

Perhaps I'm thinking of simplicity in terms of wholeness, a unity, a measured evenness that is consistent throughout and gives the impression that everything is in the right place, that everything belongs. Overwriting sticks out, stabs the mind, feels out of place.

Anyways, here's to those great artists who say what they say and do what they do and write what they write and do not overwrite for the sake of overwriting and keep things simple and always are true to their vision and never affront the reader by saying too much or too little but just say enough.