I don't want to die.
Clearly.
But my greatest fear is not mortal end. I fear worse.
I fear that with my mortal end comes an end of me as an Idea. I fear leaving no meaningful legacy.
I don't want to be forgotten. I don't want to be known for my riches, which shall pass as quickly as body. Riches mean nothing. The achievements of man would just have well have been without riches. The ideas and the ores that bring them to life, the ingenuity of man and the means by which he achieves them--all free of charge, no money liberates them from mind. It's all too easy to think of things in terms of the money they require to use, to buy, to "make real." But the goodness of man and his brilliance--all exist in the absence money: in the absence of what we feel represents the work we've done. Riches mean nothing.
I fear a stagnant mind, nearly as great as that of the end of my Idea. I fear the rotting of my mind. I don't want to be bored. I don't want to be predictable. I don't want to stay in one place. I don't want to be happy with being in one place my whole life. The world is too vast and too varied to think that some passing glance, some vacationer's view, is enough to satisfy my curiosity. I fear only one home.
And no home of the world.
I don't want to die, for fear of hurting those I love. I love them so. I want to live everyday, if only for them. But I don't only live for them.
My friend--who I always thought was cynical, irreverent to the point of embarrassment, ironic for the sake of irony; and sometimes just wrong...just so wrong--once said that when he had children, they would become his life. That he would live for them and find his meaning through them.
Maybe what I'm looking for is not so different. I seek legacy. But not for the advancement of my name through time--not for my name to be held in reverence.
(Though an equation named after me would be cool.)
I seek a meaningful legacy. I seek not only to not be forgotten, but to be remembered for the things that matter.
And maybe I want to be remembered as one who achieved. Not really for the greatness of myself--what human can deny that they want to be acknowledged for their achievements? But also for the greatness of others, and for continued greatness in the future--for the beauty that exists locked in the minds of future man, only restrained by the boring boundaries of our "education."
Maybe that's why I like engineering so much. As the snotty 17 year old graduating high school, full of arrogance, devoid of meaning though thinking I must be full of it--I didn't choose engineering for it's effect on the world. I wanted to make music! And that's still what I want to do, and will always want to do. But I also realized that that ultimately would only serve myself. Sure, argue for the life changing aspects of great music. But what countries and masses have been saved solely by the good grace of music. (Possibly the lives of a few middle class college students with illusions of artistry, and illusions of profundity. Possibly. But) There must be something more.
There must be something more true. And I came to find the truth in numbers--"truth" that must be at least marginally true despite the disturbances of human thought. "True" if only because we can design things that can be used predictably and in the ways we designed them to be used. Sometimes for harm, yes. But many times, for good.
And so maybe my legacy will be there one day. Maybe I'll aid in making the good. Hopefully I'll be remembered for that.
Maybe I seek to be remembered as one who loved. Maybe as the one who made people laugh. Maybe as the one who sought peace amongst those in his sphere of influence (however small). Or as the one who helped.
Maybe I'll be remembered as any number of bad things as well...maybe people think I'm annoying (if you made it this far into the post, hopefully you don't). Maybe someone will think I'm arrogant and stubborn. I won't lie, I know I can be both...I want to say that came from years of being told I should strive to be the best, and being led to believe as a child that I was the best at certain things. I'm not particularly proud of that aspect of myself, but those are things that reveal themselves without my thinking. And maybe I should think in those times.
In either case. To be remembered well in death, and known in life to those that matter. I hope it's no selfish desire. Only one of many primal human desires.
Sunday, July 13, 2008
Wednesday, July 9, 2008
Home of the World
[Continuing from my last post]
Two homes. Really, you probably could have seen that coming, but I didn't, not at the time at least...especially when you're a person who feels homeless. The idea of a home always being that one place. That was the limiting factor for me and keeping me from seeing that I had two homes. We always feel that home is a central point, a hub for our lives from which all other experiences radiate...but when that happens, we can only be tied to that hub. In that vein of thought, we can only evaluate our current experiences based on one relative point, regardless of how vast and meaningful that one central point is. Home.
That's one way you can think of home...as something that we find so comfortable, so known to us--that thing we're truly wise about and, as a result, is so much a part of us that we come to unconsciously evaluate all other things in our lives based on it. That's home.
So in a way, to have one home "keeps us grounded"...but at the same time, it's so limiting. How sad, and heck, depressing to only be able to perceive the world based on the one thing we call home.
So to have two homes...it's not as simple as moving to the next city over from your current "home" and calling the new one "home." It takes familiarity, and yes, an innate connection to this place to make it a home...and that connection is not only knowledge of location, but of the attitudes of the people, their aspirations...knowing the way any one place carries itself--and in knowing all of that, you find a sort of comfort and belonging. If you can know that, whether after one month or one year (though more likely after the latter), then you can call it home. At that point, you can evaluate your life based on your experiences there. That's home.
I feel like I'm at this point now...having two homes. I've spent nearly two solid years in Los Angeles, with almost full independence for the first time. I've lived through more and grown as much in these two years as in the 17 years prior, though maybe in different ways. I feel all the wiser...being around people from all corners of the United States, and even the World! How grand. It's enlightening. I know USC inside and out, the people there decently, and even the neighborhood around USC, if only because it can be so similar to how it is around Oxnard. I'm a little more wise now, and I would like to think I've found another Home.
I know it may all sound petty, but it's huge to me. I'm 19 years old. Shit, I'm nothing aren't I. Who am I to say what home is, to say that yes, I've truly found home in another place, no less going to school. In the pursuit of riches. Well. More in the pursuit of *get ready to groan* true knowledge. It's true though.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
And then I thought of something new. To make a long story short, I had been trying to make sense of what there was to live for, what good there was in the world...as mentioned in the previous post, "What is the meaning of life?" Even moreso, what's the meaning of life completely independent of any religion or belief system? What can be considered one of the noblest goals in life, whether Taoist or Muslim? Obviously, can't cover all the bases but, shit might as well try huh...
(Now I don't know if this is a novel idea, but it isn't borrowed from anywhere except my conversations with a handful of friends. Anyone else who has the same idea...well, good on ya, we're in the same boat...)
To make a home of the world. To make the world's experiences mine. I think most, if not all, the world's evil is driven by some sort of greed. And if that's the case, then I'm greedy for all those experiences, but instead of evil, maybe this kind of greed could lead to some good. To understand the wants, the needs, and the attitudes of the world...the desires, and then to be able to do something meaningful about it. That is a noble goal.
And if you haven't gotten my point by now, a "home" needn't be a place where you live for x months or years, though it will entail some of that in order to make a home of the world. It just means understanding the cultures, the attitudes, the locales and their implications...enough to allow you to judge all things in your life not based on one set of meaningful values, but a whole wealth of them.
It's impossible. That's for sure. But the pursuit is worth it. And in the pursuit of making a home of the world, I hope all other good things would follow...pity and justice, modesty and confidence, wisdom and proper impulse, an understanding of the limits of mankind and yet the unlimited possibilities.
Ultimately, hopefully all these things would allow me to leave the world with more than I had taken...to give more than I had consumed, and to give in meaningful ways. To enrich myself and enrich the lives of others. And not just one person or a handful of people, but whole populations...to enrich the welfare of the world. It just all may be possible by a pursuit of a home of the world. If it all turns for naught, what harm was there...but I would be hard pressed to believe that no good could come of it.
A home of the world is more than just a search for a place, and purchase of a plot. So much more. And it's good enough reason for living.
Two homes. Really, you probably could have seen that coming, but I didn't, not at the time at least...especially when you're a person who feels homeless. The idea of a home always being that one place. That was the limiting factor for me and keeping me from seeing that I had two homes. We always feel that home is a central point, a hub for our lives from which all other experiences radiate...but when that happens, we can only be tied to that hub. In that vein of thought, we can only evaluate our current experiences based on one relative point, regardless of how vast and meaningful that one central point is. Home.
That's one way you can think of home...as something that we find so comfortable, so known to us--that thing we're truly wise about and, as a result, is so much a part of us that we come to unconsciously evaluate all other things in our lives based on it. That's home.
So in a way, to have one home "keeps us grounded"...but at the same time, it's so limiting. How sad, and heck, depressing to only be able to perceive the world based on the one thing we call home.
So to have two homes...it's not as simple as moving to the next city over from your current "home" and calling the new one "home." It takes familiarity, and yes, an innate connection to this place to make it a home...and that connection is not only knowledge of location, but of the attitudes of the people, their aspirations...knowing the way any one place carries itself--and in knowing all of that, you find a sort of comfort and belonging. If you can know that, whether after one month or one year (though more likely after the latter), then you can call it home. At that point, you can evaluate your life based on your experiences there. That's home.
I feel like I'm at this point now...having two homes. I've spent nearly two solid years in Los Angeles, with almost full independence for the first time. I've lived through more and grown as much in these two years as in the 17 years prior, though maybe in different ways. I feel all the wiser...being around people from all corners of the United States, and even the World! How grand. It's enlightening. I know USC inside and out, the people there decently, and even the neighborhood around USC, if only because it can be so similar to how it is around Oxnard. I'm a little more wise now, and I would like to think I've found another Home.
I know it may all sound petty, but it's huge to me. I'm 19 years old. Shit, I'm nothing aren't I. Who am I to say what home is, to say that yes, I've truly found home in another place, no less going to school. In the pursuit of riches. Well. More in the pursuit of *get ready to groan* true knowledge. It's true though.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
And then I thought of something new. To make a long story short, I had been trying to make sense of what there was to live for, what good there was in the world...as mentioned in the previous post, "What is the meaning of life?" Even moreso, what's the meaning of life completely independent of any religion or belief system? What can be considered one of the noblest goals in life, whether Taoist or Muslim? Obviously, can't cover all the bases but, shit might as well try huh...
(Now I don't know if this is a novel idea, but it isn't borrowed from anywhere except my conversations with a handful of friends. Anyone else who has the same idea...well, good on ya, we're in the same boat...)
To make a home of the world. To make the world's experiences mine. I think most, if not all, the world's evil is driven by some sort of greed. And if that's the case, then I'm greedy for all those experiences, but instead of evil, maybe this kind of greed could lead to some good. To understand the wants, the needs, and the attitudes of the world...the desires, and then to be able to do something meaningful about it. That is a noble goal.
And if you haven't gotten my point by now, a "home" needn't be a place where you live for x months or years, though it will entail some of that in order to make a home of the world. It just means understanding the cultures, the attitudes, the locales and their implications...enough to allow you to judge all things in your life not based on one set of meaningful values, but a whole wealth of them.
It's impossible. That's for sure. But the pursuit is worth it. And in the pursuit of making a home of the world, I hope all other good things would follow...pity and justice, modesty and confidence, wisdom and proper impulse, an understanding of the limits of mankind and yet the unlimited possibilities.
Ultimately, hopefully all these things would allow me to leave the world with more than I had taken...to give more than I had consumed, and to give in meaningful ways. To enrich myself and enrich the lives of others. And not just one person or a handful of people, but whole populations...to enrich the welfare of the world. It just all may be possible by a pursuit of a home of the world. If it all turns for naught, what harm was there...but I would be hard pressed to believe that no good could come of it.
A home of the world is more than just a search for a place, and purchase of a plot. So much more. And it's good enough reason for living.
Monday, July 7, 2008
Two Homes
Of
home,
homelessness,
Los Angeles,
Oxnard
Well, this is one way to look at one of the damnedest questions in the world: "What is the meaning of life?"
I'm no traveler. No saint. No enlightened being. A believer, but in what exactly I wish I knew; not even in beings, per se, and definitely not in words. Ideas, yes. Numbers...close. I'm an engineer, it's hard to not love numbers in some way...they're an approximation of the closest things to truths humans can know. So do I believe in numbers? Hard to say. That's another story though.
I've not seen lots of the world; only know two languages, and one of them only partially (English and Spanish, and clearly, Spanish is the forte). I don't even have a passport. I'm a student. Student at USC. And when I'm not, I'm a student. In Oxnard. Always a student.
Attending school, moving away from home...man, what an experience. I am happy with who I am today because of going to school. I am vastly different from who I was before I left, hopefully in ways that have made me better--stronger, smarter, wiser, and dammit sexier! (Ok, maybe I'm being a bit modest about that last part.) Funny thing is, "school" and "home" are separated by no more than 60 miles. Yet my lives in either places, are separated by ideas vaster than that. In fact, "school" has become a "home" to me. My great experiences, my great growths--growths as great as learning to walk and becoming literate and conscious--the exact reasons I am who I am today and, no less, satisfied with those things that have made me the wiser...They are here. And I'm sorry, by "here" I mean "school." Although I write this from my "home" in Oxnard. Home...hmm.
So you see...you may not be able to figure out what is really home for me from that last paragraph. We've grown to understand the idea of home as that one location, usually with family and friends from days we don't even remember for lack of consciousness; that one place where we were born. Raised. Developed. Whatever. And if for lack of location, that one place where we find (or found, at one time) family and things that provide us with comfort unbounded, a comfort unexplainable. Home is as much idea as location.
After two years of school in Los Angeles, away from parents and closer to independence, "finding myself" (blah blah) and becoming who I am and forming a belief system/philosophy around my vast experiences there--I've had a crisis of Home. I am absolutely nobody worth noting without my experiences in LA. At the same time, I am not (almost-David) Edward Cruz Gonzales without my experiences in Oxnard/with my family. So where is home? I'd always taken comfort in knowing there was that one place that I could always find (a near) infinite (perception of) comfort. That place where I could be counted among the wise with respect to the outsider; I who call this one place home am truly wise about it in ways you are not--I am superior in this respect. Yes, that one place. But now there was another home. I have a home with the ghetto fabulous farmers. And now a home with The Angels.
My first thought then, especially after freshman year of college, was: Well, shit...I have no home, anymore. I have no one place to run and find comfort during times when I lack it.
For having two homes, I have the penalty of homelessness. At least, like I said, that's what I thought. And for a while, I had come to terms with that. I didn't really fret over it, but it was definitely a strange feeling, to know for the first time in my life, have no one Home.
I could potentially live, live till death and eternity with that idea. And I would be ok...alive and sane at least. But...I eventually became greatly unsettled by the idea of no Home. With the help of a friend I found another perspective--a perspective so simple it is, for lack of other words, fucking ridiculous. Perhaps by running with this idea I could find greater reward in life than settling for the one thing I know.
And maybe my idea of Home becomes much more than that...and my "crisis" evolves into not even a crisis of Home anymore, but an idea stemming from it.
Fucking ridiculous.
I'm no traveler. No saint. No enlightened being. A believer, but in what exactly I wish I knew; not even in beings, per se, and definitely not in words. Ideas, yes. Numbers...close. I'm an engineer, it's hard to not love numbers in some way...they're an approximation of the closest things to truths humans can know. So do I believe in numbers? Hard to say. That's another story though.
I've not seen lots of the world; only know two languages, and one of them only partially (English and Spanish, and clearly, Spanish is the forte). I don't even have a passport. I'm a student. Student at USC. And when I'm not, I'm a student. In Oxnard. Always a student.
Attending school, moving away from home...man, what an experience. I am happy with who I am today because of going to school. I am vastly different from who I was before I left, hopefully in ways that have made me better--stronger, smarter, wiser, and dammit sexier! (Ok, maybe I'm being a bit modest about that last part.) Funny thing is, "school" and "home" are separated by no more than 60 miles. Yet my lives in either places, are separated by ideas vaster than that. In fact, "school" has become a "home" to me. My great experiences, my great growths--growths as great as learning to walk and becoming literate and conscious--the exact reasons I am who I am today and, no less, satisfied with those things that have made me the wiser...They are here. And I'm sorry, by "here" I mean "school." Although I write this from my "home" in Oxnard. Home...hmm.
So you see...you may not be able to figure out what is really home for me from that last paragraph. We've grown to understand the idea of home as that one location, usually with family and friends from days we don't even remember for lack of consciousness; that one place where we were born. Raised. Developed. Whatever. And if for lack of location, that one place where we find (or found, at one time) family and things that provide us with comfort unbounded, a comfort unexplainable. Home is as much idea as location.
After two years of school in Los Angeles, away from parents and closer to independence, "finding myself" (blah blah) and becoming who I am and forming a belief system/philosophy around my vast experiences there--I've had a crisis of Home. I am absolutely nobody worth noting without my experiences in LA. At the same time, I am not (almost-David) Edward Cruz Gonzales without my experiences in Oxnard/with my family. So where is home? I'd always taken comfort in knowing there was that one place that I could always find (a near) infinite (perception of) comfort. That place where I could be counted among the wise with respect to the outsider; I who call this one place home am truly wise about it in ways you are not--I am superior in this respect. Yes, that one place. But now there was another home. I have a home with the ghetto fabulous farmers. And now a home with The Angels.
My first thought then, especially after freshman year of college, was: Well, shit...I have no home, anymore. I have no one place to run and find comfort during times when I lack it.
For having two homes, I have the penalty of homelessness. At least, like I said, that's what I thought. And for a while, I had come to terms with that. I didn't really fret over it, but it was definitely a strange feeling, to know for the first time in my life, have no one Home.
I could potentially live, live till death and eternity with that idea. And I would be ok...alive and sane at least. But...I eventually became greatly unsettled by the idea of no Home. With the help of a friend I found another perspective--a perspective so simple it is, for lack of other words, fucking ridiculous. Perhaps by running with this idea I could find greater reward in life than settling for the one thing I know.
And maybe my idea of Home becomes much more than that...and my "crisis" evolves into not even a crisis of Home anymore, but an idea stemming from it.
Fucking ridiculous.
Friday, January 11, 2008
The Big City, The Small Town
Of
beaches,
big cities,
farms,
Oxnard,
small cities,
spinners,
strawberries
[You may need to read the post before this for proper context.]
Make no mistake. I'm evidence of Oxnard. By choice or not (more than likely, not), I am. I can't call it home though...not anymore. Born and raised, born and raised...but that doesn't mean much really...
To grow up in Oxnard is to at once know both want, have, and the strange combination of the two. Much of Oxnard consists of Hispanic farm workers or day laborers who work harder than most people could imagine. Stroll through Colonia or any number of other neighborhoods and you might understand. At the same time, as many farms as Oxnard has, it's very commercialized. Beach communities with expensive houses, 2500+ sq. ft. golf course-side houses (large for Oxnard), on and on. One of the tallest buildings between Los Angeles and San Jose or San Francisco even. Wants and haves.
Maybe--ok, probably fortunately, I've been more towards the "want" camp for much of my childhood, and probably greatly credited to my parents. I always wanted, and rarely ever got, really. Nintendo 64? Believe me, in 5th and 6th grades, I tried hard those Christmases...guess I wasn't nice enough for Santa. Car? Tough luck. The ultimatum from my parents to a 15-year-old me:
"Do you want a car? Or do you want to go to college?"
Um...car? Even now...my sister's car is 15 years old and chugs like a boat...quite entertaining. But my parents are thinking about donating the car and helping my sister with the payments on a new(er) car. That's all well and generous...but maybe they could do that after they've donated the car to me...
Anyways. As I started to realize, other people my age in Oxnard implicitly received this same ultimatum. And many of them seemed to opt for the car. I'm not saying that if you get a car in high school you won't have enough money for college, hell no! No mutual exclusion here. But--the thing about Oxnard is this convergence of wants and haves. Oxnard, for all its luxury beach houses, still isn't an affluent city by any stretch. At least not affluent enough for many people to comfortably afford to buy a car and finance a college education. Some people my age have nicer cars than my parents or my employed, college-graduate sisters. They sure as hell have nicer cell phones, and better cell phone plans. People want, and people get...but they can't get it all. That car ain't gonna drive you out of Oxnard, no it ain't...
As humbling as Oxnard can be, it can also give you the sense that maybe just having that car with spinners and a subwoofer, and having that phone, is enough to give you status and thus enough to give you happiness. Up to this point, really, there doesn't seem to be too much different from anywhere else in the country. And even after what I say later, it still may not be that different, but it's different enough from other places I've seen. The thing about Oxnard is that once you have all that, there's nowhere else to go. It's damn hard to go up. It's hard to go up on a high school education. Hell, it's even hard to go up on a community college education, if you think you need to work full time while studying. What's there to aspire to? A promotion in retail? I've done retail for long enough, and can't fathom that there's anything worth aspiring to there. Is that the dream? That extra dollar an hour? And then there's still the fact that besides the total lack of mobility, there STILL ain't shit to do.
I know everyone dreams. That's no different from anywhere else. But how many years past youth those dreams last, maybe that's something a little special to Oxnard. Oxnard can be a beautiful place, that's for sure. And it can be fun with the right attitude. But making something out of very little wears thin, especially after 19 years. But at the heart of it, something--I'm not sure what--makes stagnation so easy, so attractive.
I can't imagine staying here any longer than I have, and yet people do. I don't need the riches, I don't need the extravagances of an affluent city...I just want a place that gives not just me but everyone space to build their own destiny, and if not build it, at least explore it. Not the commercial establishments that give us all the illusion that we're doing something unique, when in fact we're just following predetermined paths.
I used to think that Oxnard grounded me. I used to think that people in Oxnard are for the most part inherently humble. And while that's not entirely false, I've started to find flaws in that idea. This wouldn't be nearly as frustrating if it weren't for the fact that it doesn't have to be this way. Oxnard's no small town without resources and connections. It's not so big that everyone wants to isolate themselves from the other. I think the potential is there for anyone in Oxnard to become humble, yet confident. To be ambitious. But it's a choice. Car or college? Doughnuts or waffle fries? Spinners or strawberries?
Oxnard is the big city. Oxnard is the small farm town.
Make no mistake. I'm evidence of Oxnard. By choice or not (more than likely, not), I am. I can't call it home though...not anymore. Born and raised, born and raised...but that doesn't mean much really...
To grow up in Oxnard is to at once know both want, have, and the strange combination of the two. Much of Oxnard consists of Hispanic farm workers or day laborers who work harder than most people could imagine. Stroll through Colonia or any number of other neighborhoods and you might understand. At the same time, as many farms as Oxnard has, it's very commercialized. Beach communities with expensive houses, 2500+ sq. ft. golf course-side houses (large for Oxnard), on and on. One of the tallest buildings between Los Angeles and San Jose or San Francisco even. Wants and haves.
Maybe--ok, probably fortunately, I've been more towards the "want" camp for much of my childhood, and probably greatly credited to my parents. I always wanted, and rarely ever got, really. Nintendo 64? Believe me, in 5th and 6th grades, I tried hard those Christmases...guess I wasn't nice enough for Santa. Car? Tough luck. The ultimatum from my parents to a 15-year-old me:
"Do you want a car? Or do you want to go to college?"
Um...car? Even now...my sister's car is 15 years old and chugs like a boat...quite entertaining. But my parents are thinking about donating the car and helping my sister with the payments on a new(er) car. That's all well and generous...but maybe they could do that after they've donated the car to me...
Anyways. As I started to realize, other people my age in Oxnard implicitly received this same ultimatum. And many of them seemed to opt for the car. I'm not saying that if you get a car in high school you won't have enough money for college, hell no! No mutual exclusion here. But--the thing about Oxnard is this convergence of wants and haves. Oxnard, for all its luxury beach houses, still isn't an affluent city by any stretch. At least not affluent enough for many people to comfortably afford to buy a car and finance a college education. Some people my age have nicer cars than my parents or my employed, college-graduate sisters. They sure as hell have nicer cell phones, and better cell phone plans. People want, and people get...but they can't get it all. That car ain't gonna drive you out of Oxnard, no it ain't...
As humbling as Oxnard can be, it can also give you the sense that maybe just having that car with spinners and a subwoofer, and having that phone, is enough to give you status and thus enough to give you happiness. Up to this point, really, there doesn't seem to be too much different from anywhere else in the country. And even after what I say later, it still may not be that different, but it's different enough from other places I've seen. The thing about Oxnard is that once you have all that, there's nowhere else to go. It's damn hard to go up. It's hard to go up on a high school education. Hell, it's even hard to go up on a community college education, if you think you need to work full time while studying. What's there to aspire to? A promotion in retail? I've done retail for long enough, and can't fathom that there's anything worth aspiring to there. Is that the dream? That extra dollar an hour? And then there's still the fact that besides the total lack of mobility, there STILL ain't shit to do.
I know everyone dreams. That's no different from anywhere else. But how many years past youth those dreams last, maybe that's something a little special to Oxnard. Oxnard can be a beautiful place, that's for sure. And it can be fun with the right attitude. But making something out of very little wears thin, especially after 19 years. But at the heart of it, something--I'm not sure what--makes stagnation so easy, so attractive.
I can't imagine staying here any longer than I have, and yet people do. I don't need the riches, I don't need the extravagances of an affluent city...I just want a place that gives not just me but everyone space to build their own destiny, and if not build it, at least explore it. Not the commercial establishments that give us all the illusion that we're doing something unique, when in fact we're just following predetermined paths.
I used to think that Oxnard grounded me. I used to think that people in Oxnard are for the most part inherently humble. And while that's not entirely false, I've started to find flaws in that idea. This wouldn't be nearly as frustrating if it weren't for the fact that it doesn't have to be this way. Oxnard's no small town without resources and connections. It's not so big that everyone wants to isolate themselves from the other. I think the potential is there for anyone in Oxnard to become humble, yet confident. To be ambitious. But it's a choice. Car or college? Doughnuts or waffle fries? Spinners or strawberries?
Oxnard is the big city. Oxnard is the small farm town.
Wednesday, January 9, 2008
Farms, Beaches, Etc.
Oxnard, California. My hometown. I'll talk about how I fit into this city and how this city inseparably fits into me (for better or for worse), but first we have to see what this city is (this IS my blog and about ME, after all...don't judge me...). Let's run down how the we roll...
Farms. Supposed Strawberry Capital of the World. If that's not the case, then it definitely has the biggest Strawberry Festival in the world, in which case I would still have to conclude that Oxnard is definitely the Strawberry Capital of the World, and thus the circle of logic is complete--Oxnard owns you in berry making. Cabbage also calls Oxnard home, broccoli sometimes calls home and leaves a floret or two on the message machine, and possibly a celery or two. Let's not forget the mushrooms...once, a very large pile of mushrooms and horse manure (apparently that's a part of the farming process) caught fire and essentially tainted the air around Oxnard...the news from LA came out and everything. True story. Also, probably most importantly, the farms contribute to a large immigrant Mexican community.
Beaches. Expanses of beaches. Oxnard Shores. Silverstrand. Hollywood Beach. Hollywood-by-the-Sea. I believe about ten dozen more, give or take nine dozen. The houses in and around these beaches are probably the nicest in all of Oxnard, and if the houses themselves aren't that nice, then the fact that they're literally 10 to 346.8 feet from the sand sure is. The people in these houses are often upper to high-middle class white families. When you have all this and enviable waves, you have *ding* surf culture. *ding* skate culture....
...aaaaand *DING* PUNK. FUCKING. ROCK. Home to Nardcore, Oxnard Hardcore. Stalag 13, Aggression, RKL, Ill Repute, Dr. Know...um, No Motiv *cough*. All this has risen from the sandy, bleach-blond ashes of the beaches of Oxnard. If you think Nardcore is no big deal, which it may not be if you're not or have not at sometime been into punk in any way, then think again. Nardcore, and subsequently Oxnard, have their place on the national stage...recognition from New York to LA, if not but for two things: fruit. and Hardcore.
Oxnard may be punk as kitten with a stud collar (which at the same time screams kinky...which I couldn't definitively say Oxnard is), but at the same time it's fucking hippity hop. More than your momma. Oxnard is not Oxnard sans the chrome spinners--NAY sans the shiny plastic hubcap spinners, nor without 70s-80s era American cars e.g. the Monte Carlo or the Caprice, and especially the El Camino. Describing Oxnard is for naught without the 12" subwoofers blasting anything and everything short of Bela Bartok, useless without jackets for Los Raiders or Los Dodgers. In short, Oxnard makes all y'all look ghetto, mo'fucka.
I could go on about the basics of Oxnard, but really that's a lot of what you need to know. So what's there to do? Well, from the above said the beach is clearly a destination. However, as far as unique forms of diversion, the line gets drawn (in the sand, I suppose...) there, and the line is thin. You could probably golf...golf courses abound, especially nowadays. This I did for 14 years, btw. And no...I did not love it for all of those 14 years. Sorry golf, I cheated on you many times. Shopping is popular in this increasingly commercialized city. But few to no unique shopping experiences exist here...shopping centers pop up and fill with the latest biggest chain stores. And the same can be said for dining...we Oxnard type think we're hot shit when Krispy Kreme comes to town, or Chick-Fil-A (which, coincidentally enough, replaced the Krispy Kreme when the KK went out of business). Hometown Buffet? OH SHIT SON. Really, the best dining you'll probably find in Downtown, and Downtown is quite small indeed once you get to the meat of it. And that's mostly because of Taco de Mexico on 7th and Oxnard Blvd. Otherwise, nothing outstandingly unique in Oxnard. Nothing other than the sand (besides which is Pepe's Mexican, another good place). All that can be enough, sometimes.
At night, even less to do. For the automobile-less teenager, this town can potentially be terrible, and most dangerously, boring. Beach at night? Sexy, but not for everyone. Shopping...not unless 7-11 is particularly interesting. Good microwaveable burritos though, or so I hear. Though there may now only be one 7-11 in Oxnard, on C and Wooley, unless the one at the Citgo on Ventura and 5th is still open, which may be doubtful. I hope by now, you're starting to feel bored yourself. This is the feeling. And I'm sure city government is clueless as to why gangs are so very prolific in Oxnard...what else is there to do, but congregate? And in congregation, there is still nothing to do...you would think that we, your gracious teenagers of Oxnard, would be less violent and malevolent had you, the City, would just allow us something more and invite more than just commercial interests. I digress. The point is Oxnard can be boring.
Bored teens are dangerous.
You could start a hardcore band. But chances are, in my experience of listening to hardcore, going to hardcore shows, and trying to make a hardcore band...1) you won't get "big" and 2) you won't make anything unique or anything that can stand the test of time i.e. worth listening to in 6 months. (Sorry, but it's the truth.) Good thrills for a while though.
So Oxnard's made a lot of who I am. But it took choices...not between good or bad, God no. Not between rich or poor, that's not so much a decision. But the general attitudes, the goals and aspirations...that, a city can lay out, at least partially, and those are the paths that I dealt with. Nothing about Oxnard defines a single stereotype. No, too much disparity for that. Too many contrasts to lead down a definitive path in the middle. You can choose to build the path betwixt the ends, but if only because it doesn't exist. Not to say that people in Oxnard fit this mold or that mold. I don't think that's ever quite true for any human being anywhere in the world. But I believe there are definite lines in the sand between the people and their paths in Oxnard...I would be lying if I said otherwise.
So I hope I've captured the complex heart of Oxnard in these few paragraphs. In a few, I'll get to how this heart's a part of me.
Farms. Supposed Strawberry Capital of the World. If that's not the case, then it definitely has the biggest Strawberry Festival in the world, in which case I would still have to conclude that Oxnard is definitely the Strawberry Capital of the World, and thus the circle of logic is complete--Oxnard owns you in berry making. Cabbage also calls Oxnard home, broccoli sometimes calls home and leaves a floret or two on the message machine, and possibly a celery or two. Let's not forget the mushrooms...once, a very large pile of mushrooms and horse manure (apparently that's a part of the farming process) caught fire and essentially tainted the air around Oxnard...the news from LA came out and everything. True story. Also, probably most importantly, the farms contribute to a large immigrant Mexican community.
Beaches. Expanses of beaches. Oxnard Shores. Silverstrand. Hollywood Beach. Hollywood-by-the-Sea. I believe about ten dozen more, give or take nine dozen. The houses in and around these beaches are probably the nicest in all of Oxnard, and if the houses themselves aren't that nice, then the fact that they're literally 10 to 346.8 feet from the sand sure is. The people in these houses are often upper to high-middle class white families. When you have all this and enviable waves, you have *ding* surf culture. *ding* skate culture....
...aaaaand *DING* PUNK. FUCKING. ROCK. Home to Nardcore, Oxnard Hardcore. Stalag 13, Aggression, RKL, Ill Repute, Dr. Know...um, No Motiv *cough*. All this has risen from the sandy, bleach-blond ashes of the beaches of Oxnard. If you think Nardcore is no big deal, which it may not be if you're not or have not at sometime been into punk in any way, then think again. Nardcore, and subsequently Oxnard, have their place on the national stage...recognition from New York to LA, if not but for two things: fruit. and Hardcore.
Oxnard may be punk as kitten with a stud collar (which at the same time screams kinky...which I couldn't definitively say Oxnard is), but at the same time it's fucking hippity hop. More than your momma. Oxnard is not Oxnard sans the chrome spinners--NAY sans the shiny plastic hubcap spinners, nor without 70s-80s era American cars e.g. the Monte Carlo or the Caprice, and especially the El Camino. Describing Oxnard is for naught without the 12" subwoofers blasting anything and everything short of Bela Bartok, useless without jackets for Los Raiders or Los Dodgers. In short, Oxnard makes all y'all look ghetto, mo'fucka.
I could go on about the basics of Oxnard, but really that's a lot of what you need to know. So what's there to do? Well, from the above said the beach is clearly a destination. However, as far as unique forms of diversion, the line gets drawn (in the sand, I suppose...) there, and the line is thin. You could probably golf...golf courses abound, especially nowadays. This I did for 14 years, btw. And no...I did not love it for all of those 14 years. Sorry golf, I cheated on you many times. Shopping is popular in this increasingly commercialized city. But few to no unique shopping experiences exist here...shopping centers pop up and fill with the latest biggest chain stores. And the same can be said for dining...we Oxnard type think we're hot shit when Krispy Kreme comes to town, or Chick-Fil-A (which, coincidentally enough, replaced the Krispy Kreme when the KK went out of business). Hometown Buffet? OH SHIT SON. Really, the best dining you'll probably find in Downtown, and Downtown is quite small indeed once you get to the meat of it. And that's mostly because of Taco de Mexico on 7th and Oxnard Blvd. Otherwise, nothing outstandingly unique in Oxnard. Nothing other than the sand (besides which is Pepe's Mexican, another good place). All that can be enough, sometimes.
At night, even less to do. For the automobile-less teenager, this town can potentially be terrible, and most dangerously, boring. Beach at night? Sexy, but not for everyone. Shopping...not unless 7-11 is particularly interesting. Good microwaveable burritos though, or so I hear. Though there may now only be one 7-11 in Oxnard, on C and Wooley, unless the one at the Citgo on Ventura and 5th is still open, which may be doubtful. I hope by now, you're starting to feel bored yourself. This is the feeling. And I'm sure city government is clueless as to why gangs are so very prolific in Oxnard...what else is there to do, but congregate? And in congregation, there is still nothing to do...you would think that we, your gracious teenagers of Oxnard, would be less violent and malevolent had you, the City, would just allow us something more and invite more than just commercial interests. I digress. The point is Oxnard can be boring.
Bored teens are dangerous.
You could start a hardcore band. But chances are, in my experience of listening to hardcore, going to hardcore shows, and trying to make a hardcore band...1) you won't get "big" and 2) you won't make anything unique or anything that can stand the test of time i.e. worth listening to in 6 months. (Sorry, but it's the truth.) Good thrills for a while though.
So Oxnard's made a lot of who I am. But it took choices...not between good or bad, God no. Not between rich or poor, that's not so much a decision. But the general attitudes, the goals and aspirations...that, a city can lay out, at least partially, and those are the paths that I dealt with. Nothing about Oxnard defines a single stereotype. No, too much disparity for that. Too many contrasts to lead down a definitive path in the middle. You can choose to build the path betwixt the ends, but if only because it doesn't exist. Not to say that people in Oxnard fit this mold or that mold. I don't think that's ever quite true for any human being anywhere in the world. But I believe there are definite lines in the sand between the people and their paths in Oxnard...I would be lying if I said otherwise.
So I hope I've captured the complex heart of Oxnard in these few paragraphs. In a few, I'll get to how this heart's a part of me.
Again Again
Of
firsts
And so here we go. I've blogged before. But I was about 15 years old, in high school, thought I knew everything but knew shit, and had nothing better to do than blog.
Now I'm 19, in college, think I know everything but know shit (but I'll admit it now!), and have lots better to do than blog...but now I feel like I have more to say. More meaning under the words, and hopefully that means you get a little more meaning and reason out of reading this.
That's what I hope.
Btw, I'm not usually this serious. I just get a little pretentious after about 2:00AM ;)
I'll see you in the morning.
Now I'm 19, in college, think I know everything but know shit (but I'll admit it now!), and have lots better to do than blog...but now I feel like I have more to say. More meaning under the words, and hopefully that means you get a little more meaning and reason out of reading this.
That's what I hope.
Btw, I'm not usually this serious. I just get a little pretentious after about 2:00AM ;)
I'll see you in the morning.
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