What's Wrong With This Story?

What Don Imus said was wrong. I'll say it right now. I want you to know that before I continue on with this article. Don Imus should not have called the Rutgers women's basketball team "nappy headed hos." It was an example of racist and sexist stereotypes being used to describe young people of class, and it was wrong.     But what the hell are we doing here people? Don Imus has been nationally railroaded, debated, and shit upon. He's lost his job, his career, his respect, and a whole hell of a lot of money. He's fallen from grace to become one of the most hated men in America, joining Michael Richards among those whose vocabulary fuck-ups bring an end to their lucrative careers. And why did all of this happen? It happened because America is over-sensitive to race relations and sexist issues, but only in one direction.     Imus' comments were no worse than Ann Coulter calling John Edwards a "faggot." It was no worse than Joe Biden calling Barack Obama the first "clean" black candidate. It was no worse than most things that come out of the mouths of Charles Barkley, Al Sharpton, or any run-of-the-mill stand-up comedian. What happened to free speech? What happened to being able to express your opinions?     I'm sorry, but stereotypes exist for a reason. They don't just come out of nowhere. Nerds like fantasy books and computers. They do. I'd consider myself a nerd in many respects, but I don't fit the convention of what a nerd looks like or acts like. I break the stereotype. Does that mean the stereotype is no longer valid? Of course not. There are still a thousand stereotypical looking nerds out there for every one of me that exists. The stereotype will persist as long as people fall into it.     The Rutgers women's basketball team are not "nappy-headed hos." They're not. They are young women of distinction and class. But does that mean that "nappy-headed hos" don't exist? You know that they do, you've seen them the same as I have. White trash exist, sluts exist, drug-addicts exist, thugs exist. All stereotypes and slurs, no matter how offensive, have grounds in reality. Don Imus saw a group of people who looked like something, a stereotype, and he called them that based upon nothing more than their physical appearance. Big deal.     Every high school kid does this on a daily basis, labeling kids in strict stereotypes and using offensive terminology. I did it with my friends on a constant basis, and I'm not ashamed to admit it, because I've never met anyone who wasn't racist. That may sound strange, but everyone should be able to look into their heart and know that it is true.     I love all people, all races, creeds, colors, and sexes. I would never discriminate against anyone for anything. Period. But everyone has had that moment. You're irritated, and you see someone who so exactly fits the stereotype of what you're seeing, that you allow your frustration to degrade an entire group of people, even if it's only in your head. Whites, African-Americans, Latinos, Asians - they can all become frustrated with one another over silly things involving cultural differences. It's a part of life, and we can't avoid it.     But that doesn't make us bad people. Saying something stupid doesn't make you a bad person. Doing something bad makes you a bad person. Intentionally hurting and discriminating against people makes you a bad person. Don Imus is an idiot, perhaps even a racist idiot (although I see these comments as far more sexist than racist). But he's no more of an idiot than every other person on television or (especially) radio. I'm sorry, but he's not. There have been far worse things said on air, things that flew under America's radar. Don Imus just happened to say the wrong thing, at the wrong time, and the media nailed him for it. The media picked up on a small comment and railroaded one of their own. Don Imus should never have said that, sure. But this punishment doesn't fit his crime.

To Be Atheist On Easter

On a day when millions of people worldwide are celebrating their faith and giving thanks for the amazing lives God has given them, I find myself questioning the reason for my own. I don't believe in fate. I don't believe in any sort of afterlife. I most assuredly don't believe in God. So why am I even living right now? What is the answer to my existence?     By saying my existence, I really should be saying our existence. I do not believe, in any sense, that I am special. I may be unique, as each of us are, but that does not mean that I had to exist, that the stars aligned to create my body and persona. So when questioning my existence, I really question humanity's...no...all of life's reason for being. What is the reason? Why? Is it to reproduce, to expand, to repeat the cycle? Is it a simple paradox that existence exists because it has to, because nothingness, by default, cannot be a reality?     I have a simpler answer, one that is by now so clichéd that any and all manner of expressing it will come across as amateurish. So I'll just come out and say it. Love. We live to experience love, in whatever form it takes. It doesn't matter if it comes in the form of the beautiful woman who's been your best friend for years, or a moment in nature that makes you realize how much you truly love this life. Because this life is all there is, and love is the greatest thing it has to offer.     To not pursue it, to not take chances when it comes around, to not soak it all up for as long as it lasts, is suicide. It's a gift, given not by God, but by ourselves. Creating emotional attachment, deepening an experience by senses beyond just touch. We give ourselves these gifts by falling in love. With each other, with the world, with life, we fall in love.     My friend asked me today why I live. In a world so cold, that ends so quickly, leaving you with nothing when all is said and done, why even choose to go on? And the answer is simple. I live to love. I don't live for God, for an afterlife, for future generations, or to honor the ways of society and my ancestors. I live for love. I live to feel something inside beyond the emptiness of dark contemplation. I live to know that when I die, no matter how impermanent it may have been, I experienced something beautiful. I loved, in whatever form, for however long, and in doing so, I lived.     So on this made-up holiday that celebrates one small aspect of ancient mythology, I give myself over not to Christ, but to my feelings, to my love. In the only life there is, love is the one thing that we all live for, even if it isn't the reason we are here. I cannot answer the unanswerable. I can only give myself a reason to live. And I live for love.

Fair and Balanced

Spring Quarter

(left: Western Washington University)     Spring quarter. It's the return of sunshine, working out, and women exposing themselves in public for no good reason. It's rebirth, a new start, all that crap. It's the last quarter of the academic year, but the first of the seasons. It's my favorite time of the year.     Everything feels so fresh in spring. Each spring it seems you can look back and see how much has changed, how the dredge of winter shut you down, shaped you, and molded you into your current form, ready to be released and blossom with the changing shades of the leaves.     New perspectives, new understandings, new haircut, new tattoos, new wardrobe, new motivations, new feelings, new friends, new experiences. Yet it's spring quarter, and it all feels so familiar.     New goals. New aspirations. Get back into shape. Prepare for grad school. Move on from feelings that lead me nowhere. Spring quarter makes it all that much easier. The sunshine eases the burden, the stress of the snow lost in a drunken haze. Time to get up and walk forward, outdoors and in the fresh air. Time for spring quarter.