Wednesday, March 30, 2011

QR Culture

Have an phone with a camera? Who doesn't? Download the QR Code software onto your phone and scan the Meaningful Memes QR code! You'll be linked to my blog directly via your smart phone in seconds!

Already popular in Japan and South Korea, QR (Quick Response) codes are currently increasing in popularity across the United States. It is a two-dimensional bar code (similar to those you find on store products) that you can scan with your phone and it will take you to the linked application or site.

Though originally created in Japan to track parts in vehicle manufacturing, they have proven versatile in other areas of culture. Marketers have been using them to make their products or applications more accessible. They have also been using them as a method of environmental friendliness, decreasing the act of wasting paper. For instance, when putting a home on the market, instead of using paper ads, people have been placing these QR codes on the "For Sale" signs for people to scan with their phones. They have been used for providing information on points of interest along nature trails and walking tours, providing mourners with information about the deceased on grave markers in Japanese cemeteries, and for providing doctors and emergency responders about possible health conditions, allergies and blood type through a QR code on a piece of jewelry.

I think what is more interesting is that they are being used by artists and rebels as a method of communication. Like secret codes embedded in the Mona Lisa, artists are placing QR codes in their art to be decrypted by your phone. The QR image is a little more revealing than the minuscule symbols in Mona Lisa's eyes, but their image tells a story or reveals a sentiment that is not immediately comprehended. Individuals have also utilized their initial mysteriousness to promote rebellious ideas as a somewhat less threatening act of defiance. Though posting QR codes may seem less jarring than intended, the benefit is that they will probably be posted longer than the more structurally damaging spray paints. Also, if you get caught posting the codes, you more than likely won't be charged with defacing public property (unless if you still really want to).

Technology truly permeates our culture in various ways.







Monday, March 28, 2011

Spring Cleaning

Technically it's Spring. Though the flakes of snow whip through the early morning air, blanketing the urban concrete floor, the season attempts to peak through the crystalline rain. I'm missing the psychological triggers that typically accompany the season's character. Like a drooling Pavlov's dog, I usually begin my spurts of Spring Cleaning at the first whiff of a neighbor's trimmed lawn, the sound of bees gingerly pressing the new perennial flowers for pollen, and the first warm rain brightened by bolts of lightening. This year, I have to force the tradition on myself. It feels slightly unnatural to begin Spring Cleaning when the season hasn't quite emerged, like eating dinner before a friend has arrived.

I decided that the big items have got to go. I want to travel lighter than usual to my next destination, an unknown plain of existence not yet even materialized in my mind.

So I begin with my clothing. Piles and piles of clothing. Most of it, I decided to hoard for the time that I lose a bit of weight. It's been two years since I made that decision. Time to let go.
There are mounds of shirts, skirts, sweaters, and pants that I've owned since the days following high school graduation. They provide nostalgia as I unfold shirts that I wore when I was of a younger mindset. Opening them before me, like unfurling a flag, I move my fingers along the lines of stitching. Most of them were still in decent shape. I remember when the cloth hugged my hips and curved with my waist. I remember the people I once spent time with while wearing these clothes. They represent what I once was, the person that has since grown and matured.

I grab several plastic bags and shove the old clothes inside. Bag after bag fills to the rim with clothes that Young Candice loved and looked fantastic in. They're not me anymore, though. A pile of bags form in the corner of my bedroom and my closet is nearly empty. Two small piles of clothes that I currently wear remained. They look somewhat pathetic in their small numbers, but I remind myself of the practicality of keeping only those that I actually use.

One pile for donating to the thrift store, one pile to see if my mom wants them, and one pile for the things that I keep, each pile smaller than the last, line the walls of my bedroom. Following hours of investigating what I love, what I need, and what others can use, I feel exhausted. I look at the piles of bags I will be donating to the C.A.R.E. thrift store and feel a sting in my chest. It's like I was removing a part of myself, denying the old of me that I can no longer relate to. Am I really that different of a person?

It's been seven years since I first purchased the majority of these clothes I no longer use. Since then, I've become more conscious of who I am. Since then, I've learned so much about the world. Since then, I've loved and lost. Since then, I've given myself the chance to become someone I can be proud of.

I'm not a kid anymore. At one point, I couldn't wait to grow up. Now, I kind of want to hold that childlike mindset again. Can't I have both?

Friday, March 25, 2011

Two Bags

My rides through Springfield have been accompanied more and more lately with the sight of begging men and women. They generally dwell on the busy intersection corners, especially among the off-ramps from streets like James River Freeway and I-44. Their cardboard box signs carefully avoid words associated with illegal pandering. "God Bless." "Need help." "Homeless."

Today, upon passing the intersecting streets, Kearney and Glenstone, I spotted a man standing on its corner with a small sign: "Hard Times," scribbled with black Sharpee or Magic Marker. His appearance clearly revealed that sentiment. He was large, perhaps an eighth of a short ton, with a bulky camouflage-printed coat. I don't mean "veteran" camo, but "camping in the woods gonna catch me a deer" camo. He blended in real well with the concrete forests of Springfield. His hair looked as though he recently found his way out of a 1950s-era bomb shelter, realizing that the world hasn't ended following Obama's win for presidency. Beside him were two bags, one a fully-stuffed, green, military-looking pack and the other a large satchel. They appeared to be his only possessions, sitting beside him as he looks on toward roaring traffic with a cold stare. I considered the possibility that these two bags were a ruse, that he really has his own house filled with more possessions. Were they a front for pity?

If they weren't a ruse, and even if this mas was experiencing "hard times," I secretly envied him. Being poor and incapable of taking care of yourself is not a good situation for anyone, but being so light of impractical possessions and capable of traveling wherever you want to go, free from obligation -- that's something special.

Two bags. That's all I would really need. I stand amongst my bedroom and consider the amount of work involved in finding the clothes and property that are necessary, just enough to manage to stuff into two bags. I take a deep breath and dive in.

Thursday, March 24, 2011

The Stink of Subjugation

How the hell do nomadic tribes do it? I wonder about the Maasai of Kenya, the Mbuti of the Ituri Rain Forest, or the Gypsies. How do they manage to divorce themselves from the items of the world that become theirs? Their possessions do not anchor them into the earth. Are they even aware of the concept of possessions? From what I've read in Turnbull's book, The Forest People, the Mbuti pygmies travel light and travel often. There's definitely something freeing about that lifestyle. The people are not exempt from tribal customs or the (sometimes deadly) punishment of ostracism for breaking certain unspoken rules, but they operate freely, without government, without religion, and without the obligation to "settle down." Indeed, if they did, they would probably die off rather quickly.

I realize as the time and the days escape my grasp that my lease with my apartment will be up soon. As I stand amongst my possessions inside my room, dwindled in size due to my expanding list of effects, I feel burdened. This cultural phenomenon, to keep things that are impractical and unnecessary, to put things on the walls for decoration, to hoard useless stuff out of a sense of nostalgia, to be "better" than someone else by owning more things, to fill each room with decor that becomes background noise, is only appealing to those who are comfortable with settling. These things serve me no purpose. Clothing for function and some for  socially appropriate occasions, utensils for cooking and eating, a place for rest, one laptop for work and play, and cherished books are really all I need. (Oh, and my cat, Bowie, of course!)

So why do I see bags upon bags, boxes upon boxes, stacked higher and higher containing useless property?

Smell that? Sniff. That's the stench of stagnation. Sniff. The scent of complacency. Sniff, sniff. The stink of subjugation.

This smell is making me choke.

Tuesday, March 22, 2011

The Secret to the Meaning of Life (for only $11.99 +S&H)

When someone like Rick Warren, author of a (somehow) nationally well-received book, The Purpose Driven Life: What on Earth am I Here For?, states that the secret meaning to life is to serve and obey god (the Christian one, of course), from where did they derive that information? What life are they talking about? All of life, or just the modern homo sapiens? Did homo neanderthalensis or homo erectus have the privilege of being god's creations, made for god's intention to have a species serve him (again, the Christian one)? Or were they failed experiments? Or perhaps just too boring?

Do these people who believe that the meaning of life is to be their god's slave get this information from the bible? Or did their god conveniently speak to them in private, far away from other people's ears? In either case, it seems this "hidden" meaning of life -- specifically the life of those species capable of conscious self-awareness -- must stand trial and answer some pretty basic questions in order to hold any credibility.
1. How reliable is the source of the claim (the claim being that the meaning of life is to serve and obey the Christian god)?
2. Does this source often make similar claims?
3. Have the claims been verified by another source?
4. How does this fit with what we know about the world & how it works?
5. Has anyone, including and especially the claimant, gone out of their way to disprove the claim, or has only confirmatory evidence been sought?
6. In the absence of clearly defined proof, does the preponderance of evidence converge to the claimant's conclusion, or a different one?
7. Is the claimant employing the accepted rules of reason and tools of research (i.e. - scientific method), or have these been abandoned in favor of others that lead to the desired conclusion?
8. Has the claimant provided a different explanation for the observed phenomena, or is it strictly a process of denying the existing explanation?
9. If the claimant has proffered a new explanation, does it account for as many phenomena as the old explanation?
10. Do the claimants' personal beliefs and biases drive the conclusions, or vice versa?
(Thank you, Michael Shermer, for this very useful list)

The fact that so many U.S. citizens slurp this condescending and questionable information up like so many Catholic priests at an altar boy field trip is ridiculous. Take two minutes to question the origin of this information, and you'll likely find that an overall, ultimate "meaning of life" is a bullshit concept to begin with, let alone that any answer given by someone who is clearly biased in their perspective (or is trying to make bank on a half-assed-written self-help book) is probably going to be full of shit as well.

Thursday, March 17, 2011

"IMHO," You're a Douche

IMHO is the online acronym for the phrase: "In my humble opinion," altered from the original IMO, or "In my opinion."

I've discovered through several months of recognizing the acronym on Facebook status updates, comments and wall posts that the sentence following "IMHO" is rarely humble, nor is it often really considered an "opinion" by the opinionated commenter. If "IMHO" is followed with a sentence resembling this: "You're totally wrong and I'm totally right," then it's neither humble nor considered an opinion by the commenter.

All that I request of you "humble, opinionated" folk is that you cease and desist typing the "IMHO" prior to typing your preconceived notions about reality. Just type and say what you want to say, because honesty is far more appreciated than false humility.

Thank you.

Wednesday, March 16, 2011

Expiration Date

Working in a news station for forty hours every week can give you some perspective on life. We aired a story today about a woman whose husband was suffering from Alzheimer's disease. It was sad to watch her witness her husband's mental state decline, to experience that part of her life altering so drastically as he succumbed to a perishing persona. He may have once picked her up and walked her through the threshold of their first home. He may once have looked deeply into her eyes and recounted the first time he ever laid his eyes upon her. He may have shared his passions with her in ways untold. Now, his silver hair is trimmed by people whose names he cannot ever recall. His hands tremble as they clutch the cane used to support his failing body. His eyes reveal forgotten love and perhaps a vacancy where there once was passion. His wife must now care for him as a mother would a child.

This made me think:
All relationships have an expiration date. Whether it's when one of you die, or the relationship ends in some other fashion, they will cease. This is true of every relationship you have: mother/daughter, father/son, roommate, romantic relationship, husband/wife, wife/wife, husband/husband, friendships, coworkers, partners...

For some, this may be a relief. Some relationships are exhausting, some are dangerous, some are pointless, and others are painful. But I think regarding most relationships, this prospect of an eventual end can be liek a mini-death. You play a particular role with that particular person, so when that relationship resigns, that part of you that experiences life with that person resigns as well.

Though this may depress you, it is not meant to in any way. This is meant to give you a sense of urgency about your life. By keeping in the back of your mind the notion that every relationship has a currently unknown expiration date attached to it, you are encouraged to take advantage of the time that you have with these people. This realization will also hopefully give you a sense of self-sufficiency, as you are the only person that you can count on to always be there for yourself. You are what should define you, not relying on everyone else to do that for you.

So how do you cherish every moment you have with those people you have built and maintained relationships with over the years?

End Date

Taking a review of my health today, I came across the dreaded list of past diagnoses. Having been a relatively healthy girl, I check through the "No" column feverishly. I think my pen is starting to run out of ink. How many medical conditions are they going to list?
HIV? No.
Diabetes? No.
ADD? No.
Bi-polar Disorder? Well, there was that one time that I was misdiagnosed, but that doesn't count. No.
Cancer? No.
Heart conditions? No.
High cholesterol? Nope.
Nope, nope, noers, notta, nein, non, nah....
Oh, wait, here we go: Depression. Diagnosed when I was in my teenage years, I've been taking medication for it on and off since then. For about a decade, I've been on something to treat depression. I've tried Prozac, Paxil, Zoloft, and Effexor, the latter I've been taking for approximately half that decade. I've attempted to discontinue medication and see how I would react to life, as a sort of experiment to see if I could cope with those constant feelings of sadness, hopelessness, lethargy, and the persistent achy feeling I succumbed to time and again that left me unable to enjoy anything that I usually enjoy doing. I'm sure you've seen the commercials with the little wind-up doll. No matter how much she was cranked, she was still incapable of leading a normal life. And, believe me, I was cranked up a lot, but to no avail. I always ended up going back on the Effexor, despite the odd dizzy spells it gave me if I missed a couple of doses.
Recently, however, since it's been approximately 4 1/2 years since I last attempted to discontinue my medication, I decided that I would try again. My thought process was that since I'm in a different place now, with a slightly different perspective and with different (more beneficial) people in my life, I might be able to deal with not having to constantly be on some kind of medication. After all, I don't want to have to be on medication my whole life. Let me at least wait until my body begins failing in old age before I have to ingest a constant stream of medication!
So about a week ago, I ran out of my Effexor, I didn't have any refills left at the pharmacy, and so I decided to attempt self-sufficiency. Despite the withdrawl symptoms of dizzy spells, slight vertigo, and quick dizziness that feels a little like "brain shocks," I don't think I've been this collected before in a long, long time. I feel good. Not only that, but I feel focused. Everything seems more vibrant. The sensitivity has returned to my body. I hadn't realized just how much my medication was dulling the experience of life for me!
But am I "cured"? Is there such a thing for depression?

The medical history chart wanted me to specify when the depression began and when the "end date" was. End date? Of course this chart is designed without individuality in mind, every type of medical diagnosis with the same "Start date" and "End date" next to it. But I really began to wonder: Is there ever an end date for depression? Sure, I feel much better. This doesn't necessarily mean that I won't feel a little depressed at some point in my life in the future, but I think that's normal for most people. The depression I once experienced was a constant, never-ending surge of sadness, cyclical negative thinking, and a complete drain of energy to the point of feeling pain at the notion that I would have to leave my bed at some point to put on a face of wellness for others. That depression has ended, or if anything, as paused in my life.
Will I ever know for sure that it's gone, that this kind of hellish sapping of my mind and energy will never return, or at least not in the full force that it once was?
Like a recovering cancer patient, am I "depression-free" now, with the chance of it returning at a later date? Or, as Ani Difranco has said of alcoholics in her song, "Fuel":
They say that alcoholics are always alcoholics
Even when they're dry as my lips for years
Even when they're stranded on a small desert island
With no place in two thousand miles to buy beer
And I wonder is he different
Is he different
Has he changed
What he's about
Or is he just a liar
With nothing to lie about
Am I always a sufferer of depression, even if I've felt fantastic for years? Am I still depressed, but with nothing to be depressed about? Is there an "end date" to depression? 


After mulling over this question for a few minutes, reluctant to even disclose my past depression, I said "fuck it," and scribbled in the date that I discontinued Effexor. Even if the depression is currently in remission, I think I have ended the streak of depression that plagued my high school and post-high school years.




P.S. - I do not recommend that anyone else discontinue their medications without first consulting their doctor. Some cases of mental or physical illnesses do require medical treatment, and is, in fact, not their physicians over-prescribing medication (though there are some cases of that as well). Be good and take care of yourself!