Nostalgia

In 1997, I was in middle school. That was the year Third Eye Blind released their self-titled album. My best friend gave me a copy at the beginning of our freshman year. And despite the fact that it’s now more than a decade old, I argue that it may actually be the best album ever produced.

For the first two years of high school, my 3eb cd helped me see how horribly unfair and dramatic life was. (Of course, since I was 14-16 at the time, that probably would have happened anyway!) Then the Romgi got his driver’s license and was finally allowed to take passengers in his car. I think that’s when we really started to become close. After school or stake dances we’d drive around Napa Valley, up to the Berryessa dam, or out near Rockville. And more often than not, 3eb was what we listened to. Occasionally we’d switch that out for Semisonic or EvE 6 or MxPx, but most days it was 3eb.

I kept a really good journal in high school. Really good. The teenage drama isn’t what I intended to capture, but it’s there in spades. The thing I like best, though, is that I have an entry from the first time the Romgi and I went driving up to Berryessa to look at the stars. And an entry from the night we won the county competition of Academic Decathlon; we went to the dam and leaned back against the car with 3eb still playing. The last three songs are the most perfectly placed on the album. They bring a sense of peaceful but melancholy closure, like the feeling when I’d finally get home from a drive with the Romgi. It was those songs we were listening to when we realized that everyone was right — we did like each other.

There was something about the lyrics, too, not just the music. My great fear was captured in the last track, God of Wine: “And there’s someone who understands you more than I do — a sadness I can’t erase.” When things went bad at college, the Romgi sent me an email with the words to How’s it Gonna Be. It was hearing that song again while he was on his mission that made me realize how much I missed having him as my best friend. I finally came to the point where I knew how it would be “When you don’t know me anymore,” and it was obvious that the Romgi was who I wanted.

I think it’s notable that when we were back in Fairfield for the wedding, we took the familiar drive up to the Berryessa dam and put in the 3eb cd again. Maybe it is all nostalgia. So many of my memories of the Romgi are connected to the songs on this album. Then again, maybe it’s just the world’s greatest cd. Ever.


I pretend to be smart

This semester I’m taking the second half of BYU’s required sociological theory unit. I actually ended up enjoying the first half, although it always seemed like a lot of my classmates were struggling with the material. Here’s something I didn’t think was possible–this semester they are even more confused than before. And while I realize that theoretical jargon is sometimes hard to understand, it boggles my mind how much my classmates warp the material. Then they tell the teacher that this theorist or that theorist is obviously wrong.

Example: we discussed Sartre and Goffman, particularly their ideas about the self (which is nothing, or no-thing, not an object). Goffman says that because we don’t have some inherent self-identity  —  a chair has some chair-ness about it, but I don’t have a definite roni-ness about me  —  everything we do is a presentation of the self we would like others to accept us for. Just to make sure you follow that, he’s saying that we are always pretending to be something. It’s pretending because the self is no-thing. Get it? Well, the teacher was explaining how no one wants to be called out for pretending to be something they’re not, so we all kind of work together to maintain this illusion. For instance, a professor presents himself to his students as a professor, but he also needs them to accept his performance; students need the professor to accept their presentation. The idea behind this is that our self is not the same as our activities, so while I go to school and learn in the role of a student, I am not actually “a student” any more than I am “a homewrecker” (just kidding).

I hope you’re getting this ok. Let’s move on. To further demonstrate the professor-student teamwork thing, our teacher said that at home, he presents himself as the father, and his kids accept his performance. Someone in class said, “But you’re their biological father. You’re not pretending. It’s a fact. You can’t argue with it! It’s not a performance!” Unfortunately, this guy was completely missing the point. He’s basing “father” on genetic material, when in sociology we pretty much base “father” on a set of social roles and expectations. But it’s hard to explain to people that they are wrong. He kept going on about how science proves to us that there is a father-son relationship. I really wonder where he was all last semester when we talked about the argument against positivism and the scientific method.

Then other classmates voiced their difficulties with the theory as well. One girl said that she knows who she is, and that’s how she acts, she isn’t just pretending or trying to convince people! She is sincere! Again, Goffman and Sartre said that we are NO-THING and therefore have no self-identity. That means we always pretend. It is absolutely fine with me if people want to disagree with the theories we discuss. But there’s a difference with finding weaknesses in the argument, and with misinterpreting the theory and then saying it’s wrong. Besides…I think Goffman would argue that we really aren’t aware that we pretend.

That’s my thought for the day.


Mental

For the past few days, as I sit reading in our apartment, I’ve been thinking that I hear 80s guitar music playing nearby. I was afraid to ask the Romgi if he heard it to because I had a sneaking suspicion that it was all in my head.

 Actually, it was just the hum of the heater.

Imaginative, though, aren’t I?