So I know this 21 year old kid who just tried to commit murder.
The near victim (so you know no one dies...) was my upstairs neighbor, a kid with 19 years- who has a sister who's 16, going on 17.
Not too tough to see what took place here.
21 year old drinks with 19 year old, then talks shit about the 16 year old. Big brother swings at dumb ass. Dumb ass is knocked through a door. Dumb ass picks up some glass shards and begins carving up big brother. Big brother gets the fuck outta there, sprinting for his life into the suburban night.
Oddly, the real story begins here.
The 21 year old, whom I'm now imagining as the enebriated equivelant of Wolverine, in full berserker glory, shows up at my upstair's neighbors home, enters the kitchen silently at 1 AM
- carrying three knives- (not sure how you carry three of em at once, but this guy knows...)
and meets up with Cristian,
a long haired, 40-year old German guy, wearing slick bottomed house slippers, boxers and a t shirt
for a late night snack.
"Hey...Who's that?" asked cristian.
"Jack."
"You're Bruce's friend?"..
yeah,..Im here to kill your son...
I don't have a son...oh, you mean my step son?
yeah..Bruce..
hes not here. why do you have three knives?
im going to kill him..hey man, i hear you're really good at guitar...
uh, yeah...
i want to take some lessons from you man...
well, uh sure.. (at this point, Cristain told me later, "I was looking for a bottle or something to break over his head...but I didn't want to fight him, because i had those slippers on..but just in case this crazy guy tries to attack me, I had to be ready...")
yeah, i really want to learn how to play guitar...
ok...well, yeah...hey..do you...i'll tell bruce you were looking for him..
Remember, I'm asleep a few feet below this crazy shit...
Jack staggers back into the night, christian calls the cops, and the 16 year old girl, who was going to have her "after" party at Jack's house in a month when she turned 17, receives a text
"Sorry for trying to kill your brother."
After the hospital, and 17 stitches, after Cristian ID's Jack at Jack's home at 3 AM, Jack goes to jail- where he currently awaits trial for attempted murder....
Thursday, November 25, 2010
Tuesday, November 23, 2010
computing parenting dilemmas
A week ago, we got junior's report card. These inescapable judgements were later followed by a series of fiften minute conversations with each of Junior's teachers.
Now, jr. goes to a prestigious private school, so when I showed up with his mom to the first teacher conference, I thanked the teacher for her time, and she smiled, threw up her hands and responded, "That's why you pay the big bucks!" laughing..
By the time we had come to the last of 6 meetings, it was pretty apparent that our kid ..check this out..In two classes, he was noteworthy for getting up out of his chair and wandering the class during lectures. In others, he was a standout for not even reading the directions on his test, and being the first to finish, so he could...
I actually have no idea what he's doing instead.
I only have his study habits at home to make conjectural thesis statements.
A quick knock on the locked door- (don't lock your door, kid- why not?)
a quick takeover of the computer before its history can be erased, - (I'm doing my homework, DAD!)
shows that there has been recent surfing into fantasy-
fantasy football and basketball
manga
some social networking-
facebook (i'm trying to get assignemnts from people on-line, DAD!)
and the expensive private school portal.
I don't like having to police a 13 year old, when the imagination is ripe for conspiracy and oppression. But its a dad's job, so I do it.
"So, no internet until you have your homework done," I say for the nth time.
"And don't lock your door." I say as I walk out.
I wonder how much this is the typical inter-generational discussion that takes place whenever children are born.
"That damn technology isn't helping you none sonny."
I update my comments this way,"That fantasy shit is going to confuse you kid. You spend more time pretending to be outdoors and running around then you do in real life. In fact, go ride your bike."
Ironically people tell me this behavior is helping him to relate to his peers. Like, what? They can kill each other from the safety of their bed rooms. And in the near future, they can sext?
I continue, "Maybe one day you can do all this as a brain sitting in a plastic vat somewhere. Wouldn't that be cool? You can do the same things as a 95 year old man that you are right now...That's cool too."
This of course, doesn't bring us any closer, though it does make me closer and closer to sending him off to Wilderness Leadership Camp for 2 months for a massive re-programming, a harsh encounter with nature, to learn how many layers suffocate that striving physical body propelled by a prepared mind and a seething spirit.
It's amazing to see how grabbed my kid is by this artificial, technological universe. And of course, he's not the only one, he's probably typical, at least on this side of the digital divide. (What, is outdoor recreation now an activity for those living below the poverty line?)
I've even been warmed by a few, that I were to pull all the plugs, that he might indeed have very little, or should I say, even less, in common with the other kids living above the poverty line. Because you know what- kids just don't play together the way they used to- at least here in LA.
But do I begin to bang the doomsday gong? Or, do I ride the zeitgeist- because this mesmerizing tech is only going to grow more and more enveloping, more and more interesting than the bleak economic world we've created. The growth of fantasy, or the underlying need for fantasy, might just be shelter from the alienating, anomic, world we are bringing them into.
To cap, I recently read a NYT article, which showcased a Bay Area kid, who is preparing a future for himself in film making, at the expense of his academic career. He can film, edit, and manipulate media in a way that was unheard of 30 yars ago. In fact, most kids can these days. Not my kid though, who really doesn't control his technology as much as he lets it control him- at least in my opinion. I mean, he's not producing videos, or songs, or publishing blogs, or any of the traditional things one produces with these "tools."
Check out the article.
http://www.nytimes.com/2010/11/21/technology/21brain.html?pagewanted=1&ref=general&src=me
Such technology has not only shaped our lives, but the world's. For instance, last week, there were 50,000 kids in Warsaw going to Reggae concerts, when only 25 years ago, Iron Maiden was illegal in Poland (and all of the Soviet block).
Back to the point: my kid is showing signs of being controlled by his tech use, and not getting the benefits.
Short attention span, lives in a fantasy world, is angered when prodded into the "real world" - basically, any time responsibility to others is required (family, school, classroom, etc), and is not using the tools to empower himself, as is always touted...i.e.- become a producer of information, entertainment, whatever.
So where to go?
Back to the basics.
This kid needs to be active.
This kid needs to understand himself as a creation of nature.
He needs to know more species of flora and fauna than pokemon.
He needs to know how to make more things than he does how to kill another human (I'd guess he, and the rest of his Black Ops playing peers, knows more about guns, military tech, and martial art killing methods than any other generation in history.)
So now, after painting a bleak picture of the tech consumables which have become the equivelant of addictions (call them stimulants, and the metaphor works), my kid also does do sit ups, push ups, squats, and balancing excercises. He does play basketball every day at school, and with an outside team. He does go on hikes with me, at least twice a month. So, he doesn't want to "evolve" into a brain in a vat, and he's not yet sexting, though one of his friends is- age 14...yeah..
More to come.
Now, jr. goes to a prestigious private school, so when I showed up with his mom to the first teacher conference, I thanked the teacher for her time, and she smiled, threw up her hands and responded, "That's why you pay the big bucks!" laughing..
By the time we had come to the last of 6 meetings, it was pretty apparent that our kid ..check this out..In two classes, he was noteworthy for getting up out of his chair and wandering the class during lectures. In others, he was a standout for not even reading the directions on his test, and being the first to finish, so he could...
I actually have no idea what he's doing instead.
I only have his study habits at home to make conjectural thesis statements.
A quick knock on the locked door- (don't lock your door, kid- why not?)
a quick takeover of the computer before its history can be erased, - (I'm doing my homework, DAD!)
shows that there has been recent surfing into fantasy-
fantasy football and basketball
manga
some social networking-
facebook (i'm trying to get assignemnts from people on-line, DAD!)
and the expensive private school portal.
I don't like having to police a 13 year old, when the imagination is ripe for conspiracy and oppression. But its a dad's job, so I do it.
"So, no internet until you have your homework done," I say for the nth time.
"And don't lock your door." I say as I walk out.
I wonder how much this is the typical inter-generational discussion that takes place whenever children are born.
"That damn technology isn't helping you none sonny."
I update my comments this way,"That fantasy shit is going to confuse you kid. You spend more time pretending to be outdoors and running around then you do in real life. In fact, go ride your bike."
Ironically people tell me this behavior is helping him to relate to his peers. Like, what? They can kill each other from the safety of their bed rooms. And in the near future, they can sext?
I continue, "Maybe one day you can do all this as a brain sitting in a plastic vat somewhere. Wouldn't that be cool? You can do the same things as a 95 year old man that you are right now...That's cool too."
This of course, doesn't bring us any closer, though it does make me closer and closer to sending him off to Wilderness Leadership Camp for 2 months for a massive re-programming, a harsh encounter with nature, to learn how many layers suffocate that striving physical body propelled by a prepared mind and a seething spirit.
It's amazing to see how grabbed my kid is by this artificial, technological universe. And of course, he's not the only one, he's probably typical, at least on this side of the digital divide. (What, is outdoor recreation now an activity for those living below the poverty line?)
I've even been warmed by a few, that I were to pull all the plugs, that he might indeed have very little, or should I say, even less, in common with the other kids living above the poverty line. Because you know what- kids just don't play together the way they used to- at least here in LA.
But do I begin to bang the doomsday gong? Or, do I ride the zeitgeist- because this mesmerizing tech is only going to grow more and more enveloping, more and more interesting than the bleak economic world we've created. The growth of fantasy, or the underlying need for fantasy, might just be shelter from the alienating, anomic, world we are bringing them into.
To cap, I recently read a NYT article, which showcased a Bay Area kid, who is preparing a future for himself in film making, at the expense of his academic career. He can film, edit, and manipulate media in a way that was unheard of 30 yars ago. In fact, most kids can these days. Not my kid though, who really doesn't control his technology as much as he lets it control him- at least in my opinion. I mean, he's not producing videos, or songs, or publishing blogs, or any of the traditional things one produces with these "tools."
Check out the article.
http://www.nytimes.com/2010/11/21/technology/21brain.html?pagewanted=1&ref=general&src=me
Such technology has not only shaped our lives, but the world's. For instance, last week, there were 50,000 kids in Warsaw going to Reggae concerts, when only 25 years ago, Iron Maiden was illegal in Poland (and all of the Soviet block).
Back to the point: my kid is showing signs of being controlled by his tech use, and not getting the benefits.
Short attention span, lives in a fantasy world, is angered when prodded into the "real world" - basically, any time responsibility to others is required (family, school, classroom, etc), and is not using the tools to empower himself, as is always touted...i.e.- become a producer of information, entertainment, whatever.
So where to go?
Back to the basics.
This kid needs to be active.
This kid needs to understand himself as a creation of nature.
He needs to know more species of flora and fauna than pokemon.
He needs to know how to make more things than he does how to kill another human (I'd guess he, and the rest of his Black Ops playing peers, knows more about guns, military tech, and martial art killing methods than any other generation in history.)
So now, after painting a bleak picture of the tech consumables which have become the equivelant of addictions (call them stimulants, and the metaphor works), my kid also does do sit ups, push ups, squats, and balancing excercises. He does play basketball every day at school, and with an outside team. He does go on hikes with me, at least twice a month. So, he doesn't want to "evolve" into a brain in a vat, and he's not yet sexting, though one of his friends is- age 14...yeah..
More to come.
Thursday, November 11, 2010
Veteran's Day, 2010: Approaching 40 Years
Approaching 40
All is Not Quiet on Veteran's Morn.
A stray motorcycle slices the silence of 3 AM.
A wind picks up along the ridge, hissing like ice on a hot iron.
How to break into one's infinity with grace? How to slide down the backside of life?
The question begins to percolate behind the seething mind, once so hedonized it was lead by the bloody tracks, the ripe fruit, the swaying hips, the narcototic howl of midnight. Now, a mind beguiled by less, and tipped toward the eternal contemplates star movements, seismic shifts, the price of oil, emerging markets.
It only took a small thing: Some buried memory, some fresh wound,.... some re-positioning of the cognitive needle,....and a valley floor opens beneath one's gaze, the tracks of their life a single path blazen through its midst.
Hindsight, and trajectory. All in one fell assessment.
Age 40.
When the cryptic language and foggy memories can no longer blunder along without temples falling apart.
When perhaps the temple protects almost nothing but the last remnants of a youthful fire that never burnt fields, scorched mountains, or endured tsunamis.
When perhaps the future looms like a monolith of light and hope, beckoning that you solve future riddles with mirth and lust, like a Leprechaun, lucky with your clover fields.
When perhaps you learn from your own words to a 2 year old daughter: "Only stand on things which are stable and can hold you up without breaking."
And looking around and answering that very question, in the only silence one gets these days- at 3 AM, with a single motorcycle slicing the silence like boiling ice on a cherry iron.
I had an idea, perhaps inspired by this looming 40th year of life (41st if you count in the East Asian birth calendar, which believes that the moment of conception is the actual moment of one's life, thus adding 9 months to most Westerner's age), of a drug I named "Epiphany." Imagine being able to synthesize, or at least isolate the chemical reactions one experiences moments before they almost die. That sense of time slowing down to tiny increments, of seeing one's life fly in their mind's eye like a warp speed slide show, yet complete with the entire, complex emotional content of that memory- so a wash of experiences, sads, happies, dazed, ecstatic, that accumulate into an emotional aftertaste, a flavor one can judge.
Imagine being able to take Epiphany whenever one needed to check in with themselves, know who they are, sense their decisions, their chosen limitations, and return to the roots of their happiness. Sitting here at the precipie into the after life, (kinda joking here...), I'm betting there'd be a rush at 18, then 40, then, perhaps before it was dying time.
Imagine a world where people are capable of correcting each negative or coercive influence on their life, and stay true to their real desires.
Hard to imagine how people would be different, but I'm betting for one that people would work less, feel bad for profitting off of someone else, seek to grow rather than to be served, and hum a song that was as confident, real and resonant as anyone's.
All is Not Quiet on Veteran's Morn.
A stray motorcycle slices the silence of 3 AM.
A wind picks up along the ridge, hissing like ice on a hot iron.
How to break into one's infinity with grace? How to slide down the backside of life?
The question begins to percolate behind the seething mind, once so hedonized it was lead by the bloody tracks, the ripe fruit, the swaying hips, the narcototic howl of midnight. Now, a mind beguiled by less, and tipped toward the eternal contemplates star movements, seismic shifts, the price of oil, emerging markets.
It only took a small thing: Some buried memory, some fresh wound,.... some re-positioning of the cognitive needle,....and a valley floor opens beneath one's gaze, the tracks of their life a single path blazen through its midst.
Hindsight, and trajectory. All in one fell assessment.
Age 40.
When the cryptic language and foggy memories can no longer blunder along without temples falling apart.
When perhaps the temple protects almost nothing but the last remnants of a youthful fire that never burnt fields, scorched mountains, or endured tsunamis.
When perhaps the future looms like a monolith of light and hope, beckoning that you solve future riddles with mirth and lust, like a Leprechaun, lucky with your clover fields.
When perhaps you learn from your own words to a 2 year old daughter: "Only stand on things which are stable and can hold you up without breaking."
And looking around and answering that very question, in the only silence one gets these days- at 3 AM, with a single motorcycle slicing the silence like boiling ice on a cherry iron.
I had an idea, perhaps inspired by this looming 40th year of life (41st if you count in the East Asian birth calendar, which believes that the moment of conception is the actual moment of one's life, thus adding 9 months to most Westerner's age), of a drug I named "Epiphany." Imagine being able to synthesize, or at least isolate the chemical reactions one experiences moments before they almost die. That sense of time slowing down to tiny increments, of seeing one's life fly in their mind's eye like a warp speed slide show, yet complete with the entire, complex emotional content of that memory- so a wash of experiences, sads, happies, dazed, ecstatic, that accumulate into an emotional aftertaste, a flavor one can judge.
Imagine being able to take Epiphany whenever one needed to check in with themselves, know who they are, sense their decisions, their chosen limitations, and return to the roots of their happiness. Sitting here at the precipie into the after life, (kinda joking here...), I'm betting there'd be a rush at 18, then 40, then, perhaps before it was dying time.
Imagine a world where people are capable of correcting each negative or coercive influence on their life, and stay true to their real desires.
Hard to imagine how people would be different, but I'm betting for one that people would work less, feel bad for profitting off of someone else, seek to grow rather than to be served, and hum a song that was as confident, real and resonant as anyone's.
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