Day 470: Empire of the Sun - Walking on a Dream

Walking on a dream
How can I explain
Talking to myself
Will I see again

We are always running for the thrill of it, thrill of it
Always pushing up the hill searching for the thrill of it
On and on and on we are calling out and out again
Never looking down I'm just in awe of what's in front of me

Is it real now
When two people become one
I can feel it
When two people become one

Thought I'd never see
The love you found in me
Now it's changing all the time
Living in a rhythm where the minutes working overtime

Catch me I'm falling down
Catch me I'm falling down

Don't stop just keep going on
I'm your shoulder lean upon
So come on deliver from inside
All we got is tonight that is right till first light

Day 465: Best Thing I've Read All Year

The Best Thing I've Read All Year

Published on May 04, 2000

Sunday, April 30, 2000

By SHARON UNDERWOOD

For the Valley News (White River Junction, VT)

Many letters have been sent to the Valley News concerning the homosexual menace in Vermont. I am the mother of a gay son and I've taken enough from you good people.

I'm tired of your foolish rhetoric about the "homosexual agenda" and your allegations that accepting homosexuality is the same thing as advocating sex with children. You are cruel and ignorant. You have been robbing me of the joys of motherhood ever since my children were tiny.

My firstborn son started suffering at the hands of the moral little thugs from your moral, upright families from the time he was in the first grade. He was physically and verbally abused from first grade straight through high school because he was perceived to be gay.

He never professed to be gay or had any association with anything gay, but he had the misfortune not to walk or have gestures like the other boys. He was called "fag" incessantly, starting when he was 6.

In high school, while your children were doing what kids that age should be doing, mine labored over a suicide note, drafting and redrafting it to be sure his family knew how much he loved them. My sobbing 17-year-old tore the heart out of me as he choked out that he just couldn't bear to continue living any longer, that he didn't want to be gay and that he couldn't face a life without dignity.

You have the audacity to talk about protecting families and children from the homosexual menace, while you yourselves tear apart families and drive children to despair. I don't know why my son is gay, but I do know that God didn't put him, and millions like him, on this Earth to give you someone to abuse. God gave you brains so that you could think, and it's about time you started doing that.

At the core of all your misguided beliefs is the belief that this could never happen to you, that there is some kind of subculture out there that people have chosen to join. The fact is that if it can happen to my family, it can happen to yours, and you won't get to choose. Whether it is genetic or whether something occurs during a critical time of fetal development, I don't know. I can only tell you with an absolute certainty that it is inborn.

If you want to tout your own morality, you'd best come up with something more substantive than your heterosexuality. You did nothing to earn it; it was given to you. If you disagree, I would be interested in hearing your story, because my own heterosexuality was a blessing I received with no effort whatsoever on my part. It is so woven into the very soul of me that nothing could ever change it. For those of you who reduce sexual orientation to a simple choice, a character issue, a bad habit or something that can be changed by a 10-step program, I'm puzzled. Are you saying that your own sexual orientation is nothing more than something you have chosen, that you could change it at will? If that's not the case, then why would you suggest that someone else can?

A popular theme in your letters is that Vermont has been infiltrated by outsiders. Both sides of my family have lived in Vermont for generations. I am heart and soul a Vermonter, so I'll thank you to stop saying that you are speaking for "true Vermonters."

You invoke the memory of the brave people who have fought on the battlefield for this great country, saying that they didn't give their lives so that the "homosexual agenda" could tear down the principles they died defending. My 83-year-old father fought in some of the most horrific battles of World War II, was wounded and awarded the Purple Heart.

He shakes his head in sadness at the life his grandson has had to live. He says he fought alongside homosexuals in those battles, that they did their part and bothered no one. One of his best friends in the service was gay, and he never knew it until the end, and when he did find out, it mattered not at all. That wasn't the measure of the man.

You religious folk just can't bear the thought that as my son emerges from the hell that was his childhood he might like to find a lifelong companion and have a measure of happiness. It offends your sensibilities that he should request the right to visit that companion in the hospital, to make medical decisions for him or to benefit from tax laws governing inheritance.

How dare he? you say. These outrageous requests would threaten the very existence of your family, would undermine the sanctity of marriage.

You use religion to abdicate your responsibility to be thinking human beings. There are vast numbers of religious people who find your attitudes repugnant. God is not for the privileged majority, and God knows my son has committed no sin.

The deep-thinking author of a letter to the April 12 Valley News who lectures about homosexual sin and tells us about "those of us who have been blessed with the benefits of a religious upbringing" asks: "What ever happened to the idea of striving . . . to be better human beings than we are?"

Indeed, sir, what ever happened to that?

"Sharon Underwood's e-mail is: sundervt@hotmail.com. I had the chance to speak with her yesterday. Her son is doing fine now, the first in his family to graduate from college.

If you have friends who think Jesus would have been a Republican -- on the side of billionaire Pat Robertson, et al, in opposing Hate Crimes Legislation, opposing the Nuclear Nonproliferation Treaty, and, yes, opposing Vermont's extension of economic benefits to same-sex couples -- please feel free to forward this column to as many of them as you like. Can't you just see it? Jesus arm-in-arm with the NRA trying to maintain the gun-show loophole? Stumping the Holy Land in favor of a massive tax cut for the rich, while opposing a hike in the minimum wage? Somehow, I think not."

Source: http://www.andrewtobias.com/newcolumns/000504.html

Day 462: Underachievers

"We were underachievers. That's why we came to Middlebury. Chuckle."

-C Burleigh

Day 457: Worship of the Intellectual Mind

Listening to Deadmau5 - I Remember
Feeling like time's runnin out!

Health.

My mother always told me to prioritize my own health (and among others) over schoolwork and GPA's. No matter how many times I would nod in agreement but just do my own thing, she still never ceased urging me to get a good night's rest and finish the rest of my work early in the morning. She would tell me that by overly occupying myself with schoolwork, I would lose out on the good things in life - my health would suffer, and I would miss out on precious relationships with other people. Really - who knows what amazing relationships you could have built if you have devoted more time into them.

One thing I complain too often about Middlebury College is the agonizing difficulty in forming meaningful relationships with people. People here in general are just obsessed with "success". Without trying to sound too naive, what if everyone prioritized other good things over academics? How differently would people behave, and what kind of community would we see?

Kids should listen to their parents, and even more when they have important things to say.

Day 453: One Time We Lived

One time we lived
Like the time would never leave
What time we had
The luxury to breathe
I couldn't see an end
There was no end in sight
Time has risen up time has pulled us down
Bringing darkness to the light

I remember the way you looked
The sun had set
The lights were down
I remember the light in your eyes
Do you remember at all?
Do you remember at all?

Isn't that what we wanted?
Isn't that what we wanted?
isn't that what we had?
Do we know what we need?
Now that its gone anekatips.com
Isn't that what we wanted?
Isn't that what we wanted?
Isn't that what we had?
Do we know what we need?

One time we lived
Like the time would never end
And now it breaks
Those left alone again
And while the waters course
By the old and pale light
See just what I've lost
And die into the night

I remember the way you looked
The sun had set
The lights were down
I remember the light in your eyes
Do you remember at all?
Do you remember at all?

Isn't that what we wanted?
Isn't that what we wanted?
Isn't that what we had?
Do we know what we need?
Now that its gone

Day 441: Silence Within

How is it possible to reach inner silence? Sometimes we are apparently silent, and yet we have great discussions within, struggling with imaginary partners or with ourselves. Calming our souls requires a kind of simplicity: "I do not occupy myself with things too great and too marvellous for me." [Ps. 131:1] Silence means recognising that my worries can't do much. Silence means leaving to God what is beyond my reach and capacity. A moment of silence, even very short, is like a holy stop, a sabbatical rest, a truce of worries. ...

Brother Roger

I remember the feeling of being forced to stay awake for an hour, sometimes two - even three - by voices that repeatedly resound in my head. Sleep, sleep! Where is it. Restlessness that comes to find me usually before I lay down into slumber keeps me captive, in the weakest state that it can find me. I struggle, I fight.

Will we find inner peace? Silence? Is it something achievable?

Day 426: Napalm Sticks to Kids

A viral video of a US Apache (a helicopter gunship) massacring a dozen Iraqi innocents has been going around since early this morning, thanks to Wikileaks.

We shoot the sick, the young, the lame,
We do our best to maim,
Because the kills all count the same,
Napalm sticks to kids.

Chorus: Napalm sticks to kids,
Napalm sticks to kids.

Flying low across the trees,
Pilots doing what they please,
Dropping frags on refugees,
Napalm sticks to kids.

Gooks in the open, making hay,
But I can hear the gunships say,
"There'll be no Chieu Hoi today,"
Napalm sticks to kids.

See those farmers over there,
Watch me get them with a pair,
Blood and guts just everywhere,
Napalm sticks to kids.

I've only seen it happen twice,
But both times it was mighty nice,
Shooting peasants planting rice,
Napalm sticks to kids.

Napalm, son, is lots of fun,
Dropped in a bomb or shot from a gun,
It gets the gooks when on the run,
Napalm sticks to kids.

Drop some napalm on a farm,
It won't do them any harm,
Just burn off their legs and arms,
Napalm sticks to kids.

CIA with guns for hire,
Montagnards around a fire,
Napalm makes the fire go higher,
Napalm sticks to kids.

I've been told it's not so neat,
To catch gooks burning in the street,
But burning flesh, it smells to sweet,
Napalm sticks to kids.

Day 425: Blatant Racism

As I was walking down the sidewalk from the dining hall, a guy in a passing car stuck his head out and yelled a racial slur at me.

A few minutes later, the same thing happened again, but this time, they yelled a horrible attempt at Chinese.

Thinking back to it, I didn't like it.

But, seriously, why?

Day 394: Procrastinator or Incubator?

A story that I picked up from the interwebs...

As a university instructor, the close of each academic term is always the same for me: I get a flurry of apologetic e-mails from panicked students who have put off their homework and term papers until the last possible moment. They beg for an extension.

Procrastination is a phenomenon that is familiar to everyone, even outside of academia.

Who really likes to wash laundry, balance checkbooks or fill out complicated tax forms? Most folks put these activities off in favor of more pleasant pastimes like socializing, going out to eat or reading a good book.

Procrastination is the result of having very little motivation for a boring or unpleasant activity and it is something everyone experiences. The real problem is that procrastination can sometimes overshadow a hidden strength.

Incubation is not procrastination.

I once coached an extraordinary young man, whom I'll call Mark. Mark was at the tail end of his training at a prestigious medical school. When we met on a Monday of his last week, Mark told me he felt the stress of a number of weighty assignments, all of which had pressing deadlines.

He had only a handful of days to write applications for internships, turn in final papers and secure letters of recommendation. It was a tremendous amount of difficult work to be completed in a short period of time. Mark asked me to check back with him midweek to crack the whip and make sure he was still making progress on his work.

When we spoke again on Wednesday, Mark had fallen into a deep funk. Not only was there no progress, but he had frittered away hours in meaningless pastimes like downloading music and walking in the park.

Mark uttered the all-too-familiar phrase, "I am such a procrastinator!"

He vilified himself for checking e-mail, having lunch with his wife and other activities that appeared to be in the service of avoiding his more pressing tasks.

Something about the word "procrastinator" just didn't fit with what I was seeing. Here was a young man about to graduate from an elite medical school with a flawless academic record extending back into his middle school years.

My instincts told me that it was not a lifetime of chronic procrastination that led Mark to his current situation.

On a hunch, I asked him a crucial question, "When you get around to completing your work -- and we both know that you eventually will -- how will the quality be?"

My client seemed taken aback by the question. He answered with confidence, a single word: "Superior!"

I realized, in that moment, that there may be a subtle but important difference between the "back burner" mentality I saw in my client and the traditional way a procrastinator works.

Procrastinators may have a habit of putting off important work. They may not ever get to projects or leave projects half finished. Importantly, when they do complete projects, the quality might be mediocre as a result of their lack of engagement or inability to work well under pressure.

What Mark presented was something qualitatively different: a clear sense of deadlines, confidence that the work would be complete on time, certainty that the work would be of superior quality and the ability to subconsciously process important ideas while doing other -- often recreational -- activities.

I realized I was looking at a strength, one I called "incubator." When I shared this term with Mark, he felt as if the weight of the world had been lifted off his shoulders.

What does incubation mean?

One of the greatest difficulties with identifying an incubator is that they often look like procrastinators. People with both work styles tend to put off work until the last moment, and both seem to be best motivated by external pressures such as deadlines.

Importantly, people with both work styles are likely to be hard on themselves and consider themselves lazy.

In a pilot study with 184 undergraduate university students, we were able to isolate specific items that distinguished incubators from the rest of the pack. Incubators were the only students who had superior-quality work but who also worked at the last moment, under pressure, motivated by a looming deadline.

This set them apart from the classic "good students," the planners who strategically start working long before assignments are due, and from the procrastinators, who wait until the last minute but then hand in shoddy work or hand it in late.

For most incubators, having a label that is less pejorative than "procrastinator" can be a breath of fresh air.

Incubators tend to be bright, creative people with an amazing gift to work hard under pressure. As such, they can be very dependable in work situations that require last-minute changes or tight deadlines.

The other side of this coin is that they can be frustrating to work with because they appear to sit idle for so long. For incubators, it can be as helpful to appraise friends, family members and co-workers of your natural work style so the people around you can adjust their expectations accordingly.

Setting realistic expectations for yourself can let you off the emotional hook as you appear to waste time, solid in the knowledge that your projects will be completed when they need to be.

My former coaching client, Mark, actually built in "incubation time" during which he could watch movies, listen to music or other goof-off activities, knowing that -- below the surface -- his mind was preparing for work and that he would snap into action when the time was right. As for my students requesting extensions for their term papers, they should have planned ahead!

Day 376: Pain

As humans, we are men of a myriad of things. One is a man of choice and decisions. With the exception of those affected by disorders one way or another, we all make choices.

One choice that surprises me is how we subconsciously choose our emotional state of being.... just so discreetly. We can choose to be sad, cheerful, surprised, or even fake whatever emotion we want to fake. Many people (mostly who are not yet mature enough) say that emotions are out of our control, but this is not true at all!

Think about when you were last disappointed by an outcome of an event - maybe a sudden and unexpected breakup with your girlfriend or your boyfriend. Our emotion may be of regret, sorrow, and/or loss... but remember that I said we choose our own emotions? We can totally block this out and treat it as something insignificant. It's possible... you just have to become aware of how you can control your emotions.

However, I want to express my deep sorrow in how people can be so used to controlling their emotions that they become less and less human over time. Sure, nobody likes pain - I mean who does? Pain is a part of life; it's inevitable, but remember that along with pain comes joy and vice versa. But you just can't numb your pain all the time... that's not real. And you become less real too.

.... I think I'm guilty of going far enough to judge people in order to block out at least some of the pain that I've been going through. With ability comes responsibility...

(Written two years ago)

Day 115: Consumerism. Worse than Drug and Alcohol Addiction.

My eyes feel sore
It's 4:54 PM
I'm in the library's media lab

Guest author: Tate from Freegan.info

"Welcome Oprah Fans!"

Oprah today reran the freegan show, which I only found out when I read it from Alfred over at MIMO:

On the Big O today, this woman, who was previously earning a 6-figure salary, gave up that life and started picking up food from dumpster. She even organised trash trips for people of the same interest. Such trips are not fancy trips with fancy drink but trips where you get closer to a possum or rodent, skill-wise speaking. What striked me the most, was that our society wastes so much. American, being 5% of the world population, consume 30% of the world’s resources. Madeline and her troop could find buckets of food, loaves of bread, fresh fruits, muffins, cereal, salad and canned food from just a handful of dumpsters, mostly all from grocery stores.

Have you not picked an apple and seen a small dent on it and not purchased it eventually? I have. These perfectly fine fruit are thrown away, they are not even given to the poor or homeless (due to some restrictions). And how much food have I wasted? If I remember correctly, $30 BILLION of food is wasted annually in the US. Now wouldn’t it timely if the CEOs of failed companies started embracing freegan lifestyle?

Consumerism, I think, is a more serious problem than drug or alcohol addiction.

That’s about how we feel about it too.

So welcome to everyone who saw us on Oprah. You’ll find many useful articles both on and off our site linked to through the menu on the left. If you’re looking to go diving, take a look at our dumpster directory. If you dive already and know of some choice spots you’d like to share, help us and fellow freegans by adding to the directory.

And if you’re in New York, check out the calendar and come to one of our events.

Day 109: Really, How much are you willing to put up with this bullshit

You say Yes to the world
The whole world will say No to you

How much are you going to give in?
How much are you going to resist?
How much are you going to let the world walk over you?
How much are you willing to represent yourself?

You are the only You in the whole wide world.
You will be the only You in the whole world.
You can only represent yourself.
You will only represent yourself.

You say Yes
The world will say No

You say Yes
The world will say No

You will be
The whole world will be against

Cry, weep, suffer, moan
The whole world will be against

Be but
The world will be against

Day 106.5: Middlebury College Violates Our Speech Rights?

My eyes are feeling tired
Listening to Trance channel @ Di.Fm
It's 10:34 PM
I'm at the Axinn computer lab

Guest author: Samantha Harris
May 4, 2009

FIRE announces its Speech Code of the Month for May 2009: Middlebury College in Vermont.

Middlebury's ironically named policy on Freedom of Inquiry and Expression provides that:

Student organizations bear full responsibility for arranging and financing any Department of Public Safety provisions that may be necessary in connection with controversial speakers.

The policy further states:

The Deans' offices and [Center for Campus Activities and Leadership] also have the right to specify security measures to the organizations as seem appropriate. If the College, through the offices of the deans, CCAL or the president, judges that security arrangements are inadequate and that the sponsoring organization is either unwilling or unable to make proper arrangements, the event may be canceled by the dean or president.

So in spite of the fact that Middlebury's College Handbook states that free speech "must be protected even when the views expressed are unpopular or controversial," the college handicaps controversial expression by charging student organizations a premium for inviting controversial speakers to campus.

The problem here is twofold. First, the policy gives the administration great disciretion to burden speech with which it disagrees. Secondly, it also allows fellow students to exercise a "heckler's veto" over unpopular speech by threatening disruptive protests, thus requiring additional security and, accordingly, additional and possibly prohibitive costs.

This policy would be unconstitutional at a public university. In Forsyth County v. Nationalist Movement, 505 U.S. 123 (1992), the Supreme Court struck down an ordinance in Forsyth County, Georgia, that permitted the local government to set varying fees for events based upon how much police protection the event would need. The Court wrote that in the case of the Forsyth County ordinance, "[t]he fee assessed will depend on the administrator's measure of the amount of hostility likely to be created by the speech based on its content. Those wishing to express views unpopular with bottle throwers, for example, may have to pay more for their permit." The Court further wrote that "[l]isteners' reaction to speech is not a content-neutral basis for regulation.... Speech cannot be financially burdened, any more than it can be punished or banned, simply because it might offend a hostile mob." (Emphasis added.)

While Middlebury College is private, its materials (including the College Handbook) make numerous promises of free speech, such that students considering enrollment are likely to believe they would have the same rights at Middlebury as they would at any of Vermont's public institutions. In addition to the provision about protecting controversial speech cited earlier, the College Handbook also states that "[s]tudents, student organizations, faculty, and staff at Middlebury College are free to examine and discuss all questions of interest to them and to express opinions publicly and privately," and that "[t]he common good depends upon the free search for truth and its free exposition."

Moreover, in his 2007 commencement speech to Middlebury's graduating seniors, College President Ronald Liebowitz spoke explicitly about what he called the "value of discomfort" in a liberal arts education. Liebowitz said:

[D]iversity is intellectually and socially challenging; it forces you to engage issues more broadly than you might otherwise. It often creates unintended consequences; and it surely can make one uncomfortable. But some discomfort, amidst all that is comfortable about Middlebury, is the best preparation for a successful entry into our increasingly complex global world. (Emphasis added.)

In light of these promises, and of President Liebowitz's statements about the importance of the discomfort that comes from hearing views that may differ from one's own, it is hypocritical and reprehensible for the college to financially burden controversial speech on campus.

For this reason, Middlebury College is our May 2009 Speech Code of the Month. If you believe that your college or university should be a Speech Code of the Month, please e-mail speechcodes@thefire.org with a link to the policy and a brief description of why you think attention should be drawn to this code.

If you are a current college student or faculty member interested in these issues, consider joining FIRE's Campus Freedom Network, a loosely knit coalition of college faculty members and students dedicated to advancing individual liberties on their campuses. And if you would like to help fight abuses at universities nationwide, add FIRE's Speech Code of the Month Widget to your blog, website, or Facebook profile and help shed some much-needed sunlight on these repressive policies.

Day 106: Nowhere to Spend Your Abilities?

Feeling really tidy
Listening to 97.1 FM Vermont
It's 2:04 AM

Someone just Googled "I have all this creative ability and nowhere to spend it."

I think this person has NO creative ability. Can you think of the reasons why?

Day 105.5: What You Can Do with Money

Feeling excited about my new job
Listening to Trance channel @ Di.Fm
It's 1:40 PM
A cozy 64' Fahrenheit

So, what can you do with money? There's bazillion possibilities, but here is one for you to try out. A good laugh.

...Reminds me of a woman I know. She was trying to reverse park her car when a young man zipped into the parking space she was in the process of getting into and yelled out of his window “This is what you can do when you can drive!”.

She reversed hard into his car and yelled back “This is what you can do when you have money!”. Her insurance had to pay for the damage, of course, but the man will probably think twice before pulling that trick again...

Day 105: Can Not

This place is too rampant of racism and frauds.

Fraudulents. Fakes.

Idiots.

Self-righteous sermonizers.

I can't take it anymore.

But I still choose to be here.

Why?

Why?

Why do I?

I still have four more years.

But do I really?

Day 104: In terms of seeking peace

Feeling tired, yet wired
Listening to Charlotte McKinnon - Love for Sale
It's 5:10 AM
Summer has officially started

So it's five in the morning, and I haven't yet been able to get even a wink of sleep. Whether it be the can of sugar-free Red Bull I drank over six hours ago or just another one of those restless nights, I don't know.

I bike my way back from the library, and I get myself ready to sleep away... but, just like he did in the past, this monster comes back to haunt me again. This monster, this part of me, always does the same thing... taking me through the same ordeal over and over again.

He: You know that you could have had different results.

I nod.

He: You know you could have had better results.

I fidget.

He: You always look back at the past and...

I: And I wish things could be different. I know, I kn-

He: Always.

I: Stop it.

He: This is who you are.

I fail to form a response.

He: You can't accept who you are. You don't want to.

I don't know what to say.

He: You are always like this. Why can't you get real?

I: Because... I am a dreamer?

He: So you are?

Silence.

He: You don't know who you are.

I: I don't know who I am.

He: Bwahaha! You lose, son, you lose.

I don't know if anyone else goes through something similar to this every now and then. I always have a tough time going through this issue, and I can't seem to find those people that make me forget about all those life problems and hide under their inspiring, empowering aura.

Oh, God.... seriously. It feels like I don't know who I am anymore. I came to this thinking, believing, maybe even fooling myself to do so that I'm going to be someone new, a reborn.

Does change in time mean a change in who we are?

What about change in our surroundings?

Can we ever change who we really are? Or are we forever stuck with this sense of self for the rest of our lives?

Mad. Mad.

Day 99: The Disadvantages of an Elite Education

Feeling pretty zoned out
Listening to Live is Life - Opus
It's 3:57 PM
Tomorrow is: last day of exams for me!

Below is an article that I've discovered while surfing the net a week back, and I found it very interesting, one main reason being the way he reflects back upon his education with a critical eye. Elite education costs upwards of $40,000 and up to $52,000 a year, which includes tuition, room and board. By the end of your four years of college, you're pretty much ready to go out into the real world and start on a career path - or at least pressured to - with this $200,000 bachelor's degree in your hand. But is that really it? Have you really won?

A little long, but worth the read.

The Disadvantages of an Elite Education

Guest author: William Deresiewicz

It didn’t dawn on me that there might be a few holes in my education until I was about 35. I’d just bought a house, the pipes needed fixing, and the plumber was standing in my kitchen. There he was, a short, beefy guy with a goatee and a Red Sox cap and a thick Boston accent, and I suddenly learned that I didn’t have the slightest idea what to say to someone like him. So alien was his experience to me, so unguessable his values, so mysterious his very language, that I couldn’t succeed in engaging him in a few minutes of small talk before he got down to work. Fourteen years of higher education and a handful of Ivy League degrees, and there I was, stiff and stupid, struck dumb by my own dumbness. “Ivy retardation,” a friend of mine calls this. I could carry on conversations with people from other countries, in other languages, but I couldn’t talk to the man who was standing in my own house.

It’s not surprising that it took me so long to discover the extent of my miseducation, because the last thing an elite education will teach you is its own inadequacy. As two dozen years at Yale and Columbia have shown me, elite colleges relentlessly encourage their students to flatter themselves for being there, and for what being there can do for them. The advantages of an elite education are indeed undeniable. You learn to think, at least in certain ways, and you make the contacts needed to launch yourself into a life rich in all of society’s most cherished rewards. To consider that while some opportunities are being created, others are being cancelled and that while some abilities are being developed, others are being crippled is, within this context, not only outrageous, but inconceivable.

I’m not talking about curricula or the culture wars, the closing or opening of the American mind, political correctness, canon formation, or what have you. I’m talking about the whole system in which these skirmishes play out. Not just the Ivy League and its peer institutions, but also the mechanisms that get you there in the first place: the private and affluent public “feeder” schools, the ever-growing parastructure of tutors and test-prep courses and enrichment programs, the whole admissions frenzy and everything that leads up to and away from it. The message, as always, is the medium. Before, after, and around the elite college classroom, a constellation of values is ceaselessly inculcated. As globalization sharpens economic insecurity, we are increasingly committing ourselves—as students, as parents, as a society—to a vast apparatus of educational advantage. With so many resources devoted to the business of elite academics and so many people scrambling for the limited space at the top of the ladder, it is worth asking what exactly it is you get in the end—what it is we all get, because the elite students of today, as their institutions never tire of reminding them, are the leaders of tomorrow.

The first disadvantage of an elite education, as I learned in my kitchen that day, is that it makes you incapable of talking to people who aren’t like you. Elite schools pride themselves on their diversity, but that diversity is almost entirely a matter of ethnicity and race. With respect to class, these schools are largely—indeed increasingly—homogeneous. Visit any elite campus in our great nation and you can thrill to the heartwarming spectacle of the children of white businesspeople and professionals studying and playing alongside the children of black, Asian, and Latino businesspeople and professionals. At the same time, because these schools tend to cultivate liberal attitudes, they leave their students in the paradoxical position of wanting to advocate on behalf of the working class while being unable to hold a simple conversation with anyone in it. Witness the last two Democratic presidential nominees, Al Gore and John Kerry: one each from Harvard and Yale, both earnest, decent, intelligent men, both utterly incapable of communicating with the larger electorate.

But it isn’t just a matter of class. My education taught me to believe that people who didn’t go to an Ivy League or equivalent school weren’t worth talking to, regardless of their class. I was given the unmistakable message that such people were beneath me. We were “the best and the brightest,” as these places love to say, and everyone else was, well, something else: less good, less bright. I learned to give that little nod of understanding, that slightly sympathetic “Oh,” when people told me they went to a less prestigious college. (If I’d gone to Harvard, I would have learned to say “in Boston” when I was asked where I went to school—the Cambridge version of noblesse oblige.) I never learned that there are smart people who don’t go to elite colleges, often precisely for reasons of class. I never learned that there are smart people who don’t go to college at all.

I also never learned that there are smart people who aren’t “smart.” The existence of multiple forms of intelligence has become a commonplace, but however much elite universities like to sprinkle their incoming classes with a few actors or violinists, they select for and develop one form of intelligence: the analytic. While this is broadly true of all universities, elite schools, precisely because their students (and faculty, and administrators) possess this one form of intelligence to such a high degree, are more apt to ignore the value of others. One naturally prizes what one most possesses and what most makes for one’s advantages. But social intelligence and emotional intelligence and creative ability, to name just three other forms, are not distributed preferentially among the educational elite. The “best” are the brightest only in one narrow sense. One needs to wander away from the educational elite to begin to discover this.

What about people who aren’t bright in any sense? I have a friend who went to an Ivy League college after graduating from a typically mediocre public high school. One of the values of going to such a school, she once said, is that it teaches you to relate to stupid people. Some people are smart in the elite-college way, some are smart in other ways, and some aren’t smart at all. It should be embarrassing not to know how to talk to any of them, if only because talking to people is the only real way of knowing them. Elite institutions are supposed to provide a humanistic education, but the first principle of humanism is Terence’s: “nothing human is alien to me.” The first disadvantage of an elite education is how very much of the human it alienates you from.

The second disadvantage, implicit in what I’ve been saying, is that an elite education inculcates a false sense of self-worth. Getting to an elite college, being at an elite college, and going on from an elite college—all involve numerical rankings: SAT, GPA, GRE. You learn to think of yourself in terms of those numbers. They come to signify not only your fate, but your identity; not only your identity, but your value. It’s been said that what those tests really measure is your ability to take tests, but even if they measure something real, it is only a small slice of the real. The problem begins when students are encouraged to forget this truth, when academic excellence becomes excellence in some absolute sense, when “better at X” becomes simply “better.”

There is nothing wrong with taking pride in one’s intellect or knowledge. There is something wrong with the smugness and self-congratulation that elite schools connive at from the moment the fat envelopes come in the mail. From orientation to graduation, the message is implicit in every tone of voice and tilt of the head, every old-school tradition, every article in the student paper, every speech from the dean. The message is: You have arrived. Welcome to the club. And the corollary is equally clear: You deserve everything your presence here is going to enable you to get. When people say that students at elite schools have a strong sense of entitlement, they mean that those students think they deserve more than other people because their SAT scores are higher.

At Yale, and no doubt at other places, the message is reinforced in embarrassingly literal terms. The physical form of the university—its quads and residential colleges, with their Gothic stone façades and wrought-iron portals—is constituted by the locked gate set into the encircling wall. Everyone carries around an ID card that determines which gates they can enter. The gate, in other words, is a kind of governing metaphor—because the social form of the university, as is true of every elite school, is constituted the same way. Elite colleges are walled domains guarded by locked gates, with admission granted only to the elect. The aptitude with which students absorb this lesson is demonstrated by the avidity with which they erect still more gates within those gates, special realms of ever-greater exclusivity—at Yale, the famous secret societies, or as they should probably be called, the open-secret societies, since true secrecy would defeat their purpose. There’s no point in excluding people unless they know they’ve been excluded.

One of the great errors of an elite education, then, is that it teaches you to think that measures of intelligence and academic achievement are measures of value in some moral or metaphysical sense. But they’re not. Graduates of elite schools are not more valuable than stupid people, or talentless people, or even lazy people. Their pain does not hurt more. Their souls do not weigh more. If I were religious, I would say, God does not love them more. The political implications should be clear. As John Ruskin told an older elite, grabbing what you can get isn’t any less wicked when you grab it with the power of your brains than with the power of your fists. “Work must always be,” Ruskin says, “and captains of work must always be….[But] there is a wide difference between being captains…of work, and taking the profits of it.”

The political implications don’t stop there. An elite education not only ushers you into the upper classes; it trains you for the life you will lead once you get there. I didn’t understand this until I began comparing my experience, and even more, my students’ experience, with the experience of a friend of mine who went to Cleveland State. There are due dates and attendance requirements at places like Yale, but no one takes them very seriously. Extensions are available for the asking; threats to deduct credit for missed classes are rarely, if ever, carried out. In other words, students at places like Yale get an endless string of second chances. Not so at places like Cleveland State. My friend once got a D in a class in which she’d been running an A because she was coming off a waitressing shift and had to hand in her term paper an hour late.

That may be an extreme example, but it is unthinkable at an elite school. Just as unthinkably, she had no one to appeal to. Students at places like Cleveland State, unlike those at places like Yale, don’t have a platoon of advisers and tutors and deans to write out excuses for late work, give them extra help when they need it, pick them up when they fall down. They get their education wholesale, from an indifferent bureaucracy; it’s not handed to them in individually wrapped packages by smiling clerks. There are few, if any, opportunities for the kind of contacts I saw my students get routinely—classes with visiting power brokers, dinners with foreign dignitaries. There are also few, if any, of the kind of special funds that, at places like Yale, are available in profusion: travel stipends, research fellowships, performance grants. Each year, my department at Yale awards dozens of cash prizes for everything from freshman essays to senior projects. This year, those awards came to more than $90,000—in just one department.

Students at places like Cleveland State also don’t get A-’s just for doing the work. There’s been a lot of handwringing lately over grade inflation, and it is a scandal, but the most scandalous thing about it is how uneven it’s been. Forty years ago, the average GPA at both public and private universities was about 2.6, still close to the traditional B-/C+ curve. Since then, it’s gone up everywhere, but not by anything like the same amount. The average gpa at public universities is now about 3.0, a B; at private universities it’s about 3.3, just short of a B+. And at most Ivy League schools, it’s closer to 3.4. But there are always students who don’t do the work, or who are taking a class far outside their field (for fun or to fulfill a requirement), or who aren’t up to standard to begin with (athletes, legacies). At a school like Yale, students who come to class and work hard expect nothing less than an A-. And most of the time, they get it.

In short, the way students are treated in college trains them for the social position they will occupy once they get out. At schools like Cleveland State, they’re being trained for positions somewhere in the middle of the class system, in the depths of one bureaucracy or another. They’re being conditioned for lives with few second chances, no extensions, little support, narrow opportunity—lives of subordination, supervision, and control, lives of deadlines, not guidelines. At places like Yale, of course, it’s the reverse. The elite like to think of themselves as belonging to a meritocracy, but that’s true only up to a point. Getting through the gate is very difficult, but once you’re in, there’s almost nothing you can do to get kicked out. Not the most abject academic failure, not the most heinous act of plagiarism, not even threatening a fellow student with bodily harm—I’ve heard of all three—will get you expelled. The feeling is that, by gosh, it just wouldn’t be fair—in other words, the self-protectiveness of the old-boy network, even if it now includes girls. Elite schools nurture excellence, but they also nurture what a former Yale graduate student I know calls “entitled mediocrity.” A is the mark of excellence; A- is the mark of entitled mediocrity. It’s another one of those metaphors, not so much a grade as a promise. It means, don’t worry, we’ll take care of you. You may not be all that good, but you’re good enough.

Here, too, college reflects the way things work in the adult world (unless it’s the other way around). For the elite, there’s always another extension—a bailout, a pardon, a stint in rehab—always plenty of contacts and special stipends—the country club, the conference, the year-end bonus, the dividend. If Al Gore and John Kerry represent one of the characteristic products of an elite education, George W. Bush represents another. It’s no coincidence that our current president, the apotheosis of entitled mediocrity, went to Yale. Entitled mediocrity is indeed the operating principle of his administration, but as Enron and WorldCom and the other scandals of the dot-com meltdown demonstrated, it’s also the operating principle of corporate America. The fat salaries paid to underperforming CEOs are an adult version of the A-. Anyone who remembers the injured sanctimony with which Kenneth Lay greeted the notion that he should be held accountable for his actions will understand the mentality in question—the belief that once you’re in the club, you’ve got a God-given right to stay in the club. But you don’t need to remember Ken Lay, because the whole dynamic played out again last year in the case of Scooter Libby, another Yale man.

If one of the disadvantages of an elite education is the temptation it offers to mediocrity, another is the temptation it offers to security. When parents explain why they work so hard to give their children the best possible education, they invariably say it is because of the opportunities it opens up. But what of the opportunities it shuts down? An elite education gives you the chance to be rich—which is, after all, what we’re talking about—but it takes away the chance not to be. Yet the opportunity not to be rich is one of the greatest opportunities with which young Americans have been blessed. We live in a society that is itself so wealthy that it can afford to provide a decent living to whole classes of people who in other countries exist (or in earlier times existed) on the brink of poverty or, at least, of indignity. You can live comfortably in the United States as a schoolteacher, or a community organizer, or a civil rights lawyer, or an artist—that is, by any reasonable definition of comfort. You have to live in an ordinary house instead of an apartment in Manhattan or a mansion in L.A.; you have to drive a Honda instead of a BMW or a Hummer; you have to vacation in Florida instead of Barbados or Paris, but what are such losses when set against the opportunity to do work you believe in, work you’re suited for, work you love, every day of your life?

Yet it is precisely that opportunity that an elite education takes away. How can I be a schoolteacher—wouldn’t that be a waste of my expensive education? Wouldn’t I be squandering the opportunities my parents worked so hard to provide? What will my friends think? How will I face my classmates at our 20th reunion, when they’re all rich lawyers or important people in New York? And the question that lies behind all these: Isn’t it beneath me? So a whole universe of possibility closes, and you miss your true calling.

This is not to say that students from elite colleges never pursue a riskier or less lucrative course after graduation, but even when they do, they tend to give up more quickly than others. (Let’s not even talk about the possibility of kids from privileged backgrounds not going to college at all, or delaying matriculation for several years, because however appropriate such choices might sometimes be, our rigid educational mentality places them outside the universe of possibility—the reason so many kids go sleepwalking off to college with no idea what they’re doing there.) This doesn’t seem to make sense, especially since students from elite schools tend to graduate with less debt and are more likely to be able to float by on family money for a while. I wasn’t aware of the phenomenon myself until I heard about it from a couple of graduate students in my department, one from Yale, one from Harvard. They were talking about trying to write poetry, how friends of theirs from college called it quits within a year or two while people they know from less prestigious schools are still at it. Why should this be? Because students from elite schools expect success, and expect it now. They have, by definition, never experienced anything else, and their sense of self has been built around their ability to succeed. The idea of not being successful terrifies them, disorients them, defeats them. They’ve been driven their whole lives by a fear of failure—often, in the first instance, by their parents’ fear of failure. The first time I blew a test, I walked out of the room feeling like I no longer knew who I was. The second time, it was easier; I had started to learn that failure isn’t the end of the world.

But if you’re afraid to fail, you’re afraid to take risks, which begins to explain the final and most damning disadvantage of an elite education: that it is profoundly anti-intellectual. This will seem counterintuitive. Aren’t kids at elite schools the smartest ones around, at least in the narrow academic sense? Don’t they work harder than anyone else—indeed, harder than any previous generation? They are. They do. But being an intellectual is not the same as being smart. Being an intellectual means more than doing your homework.

If so few kids come to college understanding this, it is no wonder. They are products of a system that rarely asked them to think about something bigger than the next assignment. The system forgot to teach them, along the way to the prestige admissions and the lucrative jobs, that the most important achievements can’t be measured by a letter or a number or a name. It forgot that the true purpose of education is to make minds, not careers.

Being an intellectual means, first of all, being passionate about ideas—and not just for the duration of a semester, for the sake of pleasing the teacher, or for getting a good grade. A friend who teaches at the University of Connecticut once complained to me that his students don’t think for themselves. Well, I said, Yale students think for themselves, but only because they know we want them to. I’ve had many wonderful students at Yale and Columbia, bright, thoughtful, creative kids whom it’s been a pleasure to talk with and learn from. But most of them have seemed content to color within the lines that their education had marked out for them. Only a small minority have seen their education as part of a larger intellectual journey, have approached the work of the mind with a pilgrim soul. These few have tended to feel like freaks, not least because they get so little support from the university itself. Places like Yale, as one of them put it to me, are not conducive to searchers.

Places like Yale are simply not set up to help students ask the big questions. I don’t think there ever was a golden age of intellectualism in the American university, but in the 19th century students might at least have had a chance to hear such questions raised in chapel or in the literary societies and debating clubs that flourished on campus. Throughout much of the 20th century, with the growth of the humanistic ideal in American colleges, students might have encountered the big questions in the classrooms of professors possessed of a strong sense of pedagogic mission. Teachers like that still exist in this country, but the increasingly dire exigencies of academic professionalization have made them all but extinct at elite universities. Professors at top research institutions are valued exclusively for the quality of their scholarly work; time spent on teaching is time lost. If students want a conversion experience, they’re better off at a liberal arts college.

When elite universities boast that they teach their students how to think, they mean that they teach them the analytic and rhetorical skills necessary for success in law or medicine or science or business. But a humanistic education is supposed to mean something more than that, as universities still dimly feel. So when students get to college, they hear a couple of speeches telling them to ask the big questions, and when they graduate, they hear a couple more speeches telling them to ask the big questions. And in between, they spend four years taking courses that train them to ask the little questions—specialized courses, taught by specialized professors, aimed at specialized students. Although the notion of breadth is implicit in the very idea of a liberal arts education, the admissions process increasingly selects for kids who have already begun to think of themselves in specialized terms—the junior journalist, the budding astronomer, the language prodigy. We are slouching, even at elite schools, toward a glorified form of vocational training.

Indeed, that seems to be exactly what those schools want. There’s a reason elite schools speak of training leaders, not thinkers—holders of power, not its critics. An independent mind is independent of all allegiances, and elite schools, which get a large percentage of their budget from alumni giving, are strongly invested in fostering institutional loyalty. As another friend, a third-generation Yalie, says, the purpose of Yale College is to manufacture Yale alumni. Of course, for the system to work, those alumni need money. At Yale, the long-term drift of students away from majors in the humanities and basic sciences toward more practical ones like computer science and economics has been abetted by administrative indifference. The college career office has little to say to students not interested in law, medicine, or business, and elite universities are not going to do anything to discourage the large percentage of their graduates who take their degrees to Wall Street. In fact, they’re showing them the way. The liberal arts university is becoming the corporate university, its center of gravity shifting to technical fields where scholarly expertise can be parlayed into lucrative business opportunities.

It’s no wonder that the few students who are passionate about ideas find themselves feeling isolated and confused. I was talking with one of them last year about his interest in the German Romantic idea of bildung, the upbuilding of the soul. But, he said—he was a senior at the time—it’s hard to build your soul when everyone around you is trying to sell theirs.

Yet there is a dimension of the intellectual life that lies above the passion for ideas, though so thoroughly has our culture been sanitized of it that it is hardly surprising if it was beyond the reach of even my most alert students. Since the idea of the intellectual emerged in the 18th century, it has had, at its core, a commitment to social transformation. Being an intellectual means thinking your way toward a vision of the good society and then trying to realize that vision by speaking truth to power. It means going into spiritual exile. It means foreswearing your allegiance, in lonely freedom, to God, to country, and to Yale. It takes more than just intellect; it takes imagination and courage. “I am not afraid to make a mistake,” Stephen Dedalus says, “even a great mistake, a lifelong mistake, and perhaps as long as eternity, too.”

Being an intellectual begins with thinking your way outside of your assumptions and the system that enforces them. But students who get into elite schools are precisely the ones who have best learned to work within the system, so it’s almost impossible for them to see outside it, to see that it’s even there. Long before they got to college, they turned themselves into world-class hoop-jumpers and teacher-pleasers, getting A’s in every class no matter how boring they found the teacher or how pointless the subject, racking up eight or 10 extracurricular activities no matter what else they wanted to do with their time. Paradoxically, the situation may be better at second-tier schools and, in particular, again, at liberal arts colleges than at the most prestigious universities. Some students end up at second-tier schools because they’re exactly like students at Harvard or Yale, only less gifted or driven. But others end up there because they have a more independent spirit. They didn’t get straight A’s because they couldn’t be bothered to give everything in every class. They concentrated on the ones that meant the most to them or on a single strong extracurricular passion or on projects that had nothing to do with school or even with looking good on a college application. Maybe they just sat in their room, reading a lot and writing in their journal. These are the kinds of kids who are likely, once they get to college, to be more interested in the human spirit than in school spirit, and to think about leaving college bearing questions, not resumés.

I’ve been struck, during my time at Yale, by how similar everyone looks. You hardly see any hippies or punks or art-school types, and at a college that was known in the ’80s as the Gay Ivy, few out lesbians and no gender queers. The geeks don’t look all that geeky; the fashionable kids go in for understated elegance. Thirty-two flavors, all of them vanilla. The most elite schools have become places of a narrow and suffocating normalcy. Everyone feels pressure to maintain the kind of appearance—and affect—that go with achievement. (Dress for success, medicate for success.) I know from long experience as an adviser that not every Yale student is appropriate and well-adjusted, which is exactly why it worries me that so many of them act that way. The tyranny of the normal must be very heavy in their lives. One consequence is that those who can’t get with the program (and they tend to be students from poorer backgrounds) often polarize in the opposite direction, flying off into extremes of disaffection and self-destruction. But another consequence has to do with the large majority who can get with the program.

I taught a class several years ago on the literature of friendship. One day we were discussing Virginia Woolf’s novel The Waves, which follows a group of friends from childhood to middle age. In high school, one of them falls in love with another boy. He thinks, “To whom can I expose the urgency of my own passion?…There is nobody—here among these grey arches, and moaning pigeons, and cheerful games and tradition and emulation, all so skilfully organised to prevent feeling alone.” A pretty good description of an elite college campus, including the part about never being allowed to feel alone. What did my students think of this, I wanted to know? What does it mean to go to school at a place where you’re never alone? Well, one of them said, I do feel uncomfortable sitting in my room by myself. Even when I have to write a paper, I do it at a friend’s. That same day, as it happened, another student gave a presentation on Emerson’s essay on friendship. Emerson says, he reported, that one of the purposes of friendship is to equip you for solitude. As I was asking my students what they thought that meant, one of them interrupted to say, wait a second, why do you need solitude in the first place? What can you do by yourself that you can’t do with a friend?

So there they were: one young person who had lost the capacity for solitude and another who couldn’t see the point of it. There’s been much talk of late about the loss of privacy, but equally calamitous is its corollary, the loss of solitude. It used to be that you couldn’t always get together with your friends even when you wanted to. Now that students are in constant electronic contact, they never have trouble finding each other. But it’s not as if their compulsive sociability is enabling them to develop deep friendships. “To whom can I expose the urgency of my own passion?”: my student was in her friend’s room writing a paper, not having a heart-to-heart. She probably didn’t have the time; indeed, other students told me they found their peers too busy for intimacy.

What happens when busyness and sociability leave no room for solitude? The ability to engage in introspection, I put it to my students that day, is the essential precondition for living an intellectual life, and the essential precondition for introspection is solitude. They took this in for a second, and then one of them said, with a dawning sense of self-awareness, “So are you saying that we’re all just, like, really excellent sheep?” Well, I don’t know. But I do know that the life of the mind is lived one mind at a time: one solitary, skeptical, resistant mind at a time. The best place to cultivate it is not within an educational system whose real purpose is to reproduce the class system.

The world that produced John Kerry and George Bush is indeed giving us our next generation of leaders. The kid who’s loading up on AP courses junior year or editing three campus publications while double-majoring, the kid whom everyone wants at their college or law school but no one wants in their classroom, the kid who doesn’t have a minute to breathe, let alone think, will soon be running a corporation or an institution or a government. She will have many achievements but little experience, great success but no vision. The disadvantage of an elite education is that it’s given us the elite we have, and the elite we’re going to have.

William Deresiewicz taught English at Yale University from 1998 to 2008.

Day 93.5: Even Better Quote from the Greatest Arts Professor

Feeling deprived of my beautiful sleep
Listening to DMT workshop directions on creating a website on Segue
It's 5:59 PM

"Where's Stephanie? .... Damn her!"

-Penny Campbell, looking for Stephanie and finding out that she's absent

Day 93: EMT FML

Feeling crazy
It's crazy
Listening to Matt Darey - Nocturnal Sunshine Podcast 7

One Feb classmate of mine, Matthew George, is an Emergency Medical Technician (a.k.a. EMT) volunteer. When he is on duty, he is required to carry around a radio so that he can respond to medical emergencies in town.

It's 6:25 AM and he's working on his homework that he needs to finish up really soon. We're actually both together in the media lab in the library.

His radio buzzes, and immediately he yells, "FUCK MY LIFE!" And he goes away.

I laugh.

Funny. Sad. Depressing.