My weekend in films

Being as all my friends in the entire world (apart from a few) were at V this past weekend, I had a fairly low key few days – films with friends, etc. I watched The Life of David Gale, Ghost World, and then Mystic River. In a strange coincidence, following my reading on the US death penalty last week, that night the life of David Gale appeared on ITV2 (my sister having told me what it was about a few years previously), and whilst I don’t think it’s fate or anything so crazy, if you have a coincidence like that, if there are two opportunities or mentions of something in a short space of time, then I’m of the opinion that you should follow it through. So I taped it on our jazzy hard-drive and watched it on Friday. I hadn’t realised both Kevin Spacey and Kate Winslet were cast in it, but they were, and they were good. Kevin especially – playing this professor whose life has completely fallen apart through a series of unfortunate circumstances. A thought provoking film – with the idea that in many cases you can never be 100% sure that a person is guilty, and that small doubt should be enough to prevent you from killing them. One argument the campaigners against the death penalty use is that it not only ruins the life of the accused, it also ruins the lives of the family, and everyone who knew the accused. Something along the lines of ‘evil spreads’, I guess. I went charity shop hopping on Saturday – a good place to pick up cheap films, though the selection is often limited. Picked up a film called Mystic River – directed by Clint, and starring Sean Penn, Kevin Bacon and Laura Linney, who was coincidentally also in David Gale – this coincidence to me was a sure sign that I should pick it up. It kind of continued the theme that evil spreads – a guy who was abused as a child can’t quite escape his past, and the situation all sort of spirals out of control. Sean Penn was brilliant – ever since I saw him in Milk, I think he’s ace. It’s astounding how he can entirely create and become a new character, and the fact that he’s Sean Penn just passes you by. I’m not sure I can think of any other actors, no matter how good they are, who can entirely make you forget who they really are. It’s usually always in the back of your mind that they’re portraying someone– not with Sean though. I believe him.

The meaning of life

I’ve always wanted a label for myself – a philosophy that I could belong to, be it Existentialist, Marxist or whatever - and everything I do, everything I read is for that purpose of trying to find something that I truly believe in. I’ve always been jealous that many of my peers seem so sure of themselves and their opinions, when I feel like a mess most of the time, my mind all over the place, and no certainty about anything or anyone. But I’ve just finished reading Albert Camus and suddenly I’m not so concerned that I don’t belong to any group of thought and haven’t made any decisions. Perhaps later in life, when I’m older, more experienced and well-read, I will find myself settling in an area but it now seems absurd to want to close-yourself off to one outlook, when it’s really so much more exciting and important to be confused and unsure what’s right, and to be constantly striving and looking for answers. Camus was like that – he rarely sided himself with any particular philosophy and refused the labels that critics tried to give him. Apparently he was an Existentialist or an Absurdist, but he refused these labels, and each piece of writing seemed an enhancement of the previous piece, as he came closer and closer to what he thought was the meaning of life. Seemingly, he created his own philosophy, and whilst it was based on existing schools of thought, it wasn’t restricted to it. I read The Outsider, and I suddenly feel like a weight has been lifted off of me. Whilst I know I need to read more of his work and the work of other philosophers, the initial effect of his writing is liberating. I’ve been struggling with the idea that life is meaningless, that everything we do is pointless, and it won’t lead anywhere and each day we live just brings us closer to the end. A lot of the things that I see in life are dark; on a global level, with many people seeming to be inherently selfish, willing to leave half the world suffering and in poverty, whilst other people commit evil crimes against each other, through warfare and hatred, and the outcome is the same, with so many lives ending in unhappiness. Even on a personal level, I meet a lot of people who are so focussed on their own lives and feelings that they don’t care if their own actions hurt others. Absurdism is the idea that it’s humanly impossible to discover the meaning of life. Because either you admit defeat, and end up committing suicide or you find religion – and even if you decide God is the meaning of life, what’s the meaning of God? We can strive on earth to get to Heaven when we die, but once in Heaven, what’s the meaning? What is there to strive for? It’s surely just a bland, pointless existence with no purpose. Camus rejects absurdism, and suggests that the meaning of life lies within ourselves – setting our own meanings, through achieving whatever we wish to achieve in life, or constantly striving to see the beauty in life - the split second when something amazing happens, when someone does something wonderful or when you fulfil a dream, or when the earth renders you speechless. Constantly looking for those moments, all the while knowing that this is it, and there’s nothing beyond this life. You have to accept that life is futile, but not succumb to it. And that battle is what makes life worth living. And perhaps one way to give our lives meaning is to support each other and mankind, striving to make each other’s lives as good as possible, whether through charity work or education, through music or literature, or even on a more basic level of trying to positively effect and improve the lives of those people around you every day.

The power to punish

I read this week that corporal punishment at school is still legal in about 19 states in America. It had never occurred to me that kids can still be hit in schools; it seems so outdated given that it was banned in the UK about 20 years ago. Then I remembered that this country still has the death penalty, and it suddenly didn’t seem so shocking that punishment could be dished out in the form of inflicting pain on another person. I was certain that I didn’t believe in the Death Penalty, but I then a few days after this I watched an episode of Bones, where a guy was on death row for killing a young girl, and the lead character (a liberal sort of person) said that she agreed in the death penalty for people like the men in Rwanda who’d hacked hundreds of children to death at their desks at school. I’d always thought a worse punishment would be to spend the rest of your life in prison, but what’s the point? And do people like those Rwandans deserve to keep on living? These people aren’t and won’t contribute to society, could potentially get out of their sentence later in life and are a financial burden on the people that their crimes have affected (in the U.S. it costs approximately $30,000 a year to keep a prisoner). It’s not about money though, really – it’s about how much evil you have to commit, and how many human rights you abuse before you start losing yours.

The original article though was about the fact that a disproportionately high amount of corporal punishments in schools in the US are given to students with disabilities. 13.7% of students in the US have disabilities, and 18.8% of corporal punishments are given to them (20.8% in Texas – 10,222 out of 49,157 beatings in 2008). I don’t think teachers should be allowed to physically discipline children.

I know who designed your shirt.

I bought a new guitar today (a Guild Gad-F20 for those with the guitar knowledge); a beautiful instrument for a mere £549. I think that’s the single largest sum I’ve ever paid for one item, and I felt a little shaky for at least the next hour, worrying that I’d made the wrong decision and spent loads of my savings with a few clicks of a mouse. It was due to be delivered tomorrow, but I received a call from the supplier saying that they’d checked the guitar and it was damaged beyond sellable (I discussed this with a friend, and he thinks ‘damaged beyond sellable’ probably meant the neck had been snapped off – the usual wear and tear) and they’d have to send away for a new one, which would take 7 – 10 days. The retail price has now risen £80 (because of the economic downturn) but fortunately I’ll still get it for the original price, so I now feel relieved to have bought it at the right time (the shaking has subsided) – what with my plans to move out next month, I can’t really justify spending another £80 on what is really a few polished bits of wood, and some bits of metal.

So yes, I’m planning on moving out next month. As I hit my 22nd birthday last month, I realised that I'm getting on a bit (just reaching my physical peak according to some article I read a few months ago) and I need to shake things up a bit – I love Billericay (boy, I do) but it doesn’t in any way provide a challenging or exciting existence. My friend Lucy is in a similar position, and so we’re pursuing two rooms in the east London area (preferably Bethnal green, Shoreditch way). We went to look round one place – a 7 bedroom funky townhouse in Aldgate, with a lovely roof terrace - with a 'I wouldn't lean on that if I were you' railing. We went for drinks before the meeting – to catch up and also to quell our nerves slightly at the impending housemate interview. Unfortunately, we were both a bit tipsy when we arrived (15 minutes later than we’d said we’d be there). After the tour, we were asked to sit in the living room to ‘chill out’ for a while. The alcohol had made Lucy dozy, and as she sat down, she found it hard to keep her eyes open. I was on fire though – cracking jokes, telling stories, relating my hobbies, giving interesting facts (these facts were met with silences before I inserted the old ‘well, I thought that was interesting’ – probably not a good sign). After 5/10 minutes of slightly awkward chat we left, and as soon as we were out of earshot, burst into laughter. It was a weird experience being interviewed on a personal level, rather than a professional level. Still, an email the next day suggested that we’d passed, and the rooms were ours. Sadly, neither of us could afford the larger, more expensive room (which we really knew before we went to look at the place), so we had to say no. Good to be wanted though – even when one of us was asleep, and the other wouldn’t shut up about inane rubbish, five strangers gave us the mark of approval.

Anyway, shortly after buying my Guitar, I wandered across Millennium Bridge at lunch to go to the Tate Modern. London was looking beautiful. The sun softly shone in my face, the warm breeze brushed my bare arms, and even the hundreds of tourists taking photos of St Paul’s didn’t bother me. Usually I huff at them for walking slowly and suddenly stopping right in front of me and walking five across on the pavement with no consideration for those who need to pass the other way, but today it didn’t vex me at all. I even considered offering to take photos for families – there’s always one person left out who has to take the photo (usually the Dad), and I bet they’d love to have a photo of the whole family. I could either do it as a good Samaritan (to make myself feel good) or I could do it in exchange for cash. I’d probably have to dress down, as a student maybe, not as a homeless person, because people might not give 50p (recommended pricing) a photo to a professional. It would obviously be a strictly summer pursuit, as there aren’t so many tourists round St. Paul’s over winter, but at 50p a photo, or even 20p, and a 1 hour lunch break, I could make myself a fair amount. And if put on the spot, I bet tourists never really know what our weird foreign money is worth). There’s actually this homeless guy who always parks himself at the end of Millennium Bridge with a sign and a hat for money, who I could possibly forward this business plan onto. I don’t think he gets much, as this guy in a wheelchair sits a short distance away playing one of those Caribbean tin drums, and I think people would rather give to him. The flaw in this plan is that there’s always a chance that people wouldn’t trust their nice, expensive digital cameras to a stranger who’s clearly desperate for money, and could probably run quite fast. Though if they’re homeless, they’re probably starving and might not have the energy to run. A tourist probably won’t analyse how hungry and therefore how much energy the guy who’s just offered to take their photo for cash has. I’ll look into this, and report back at a later date.

Whilst in the Tate shop, looking through a picture book of red army propaganda, I spotted a book by David Byrne – ‘The Bicycle Diaries’. Being a huge Talking Heads (and consequent Byrne) fan, my eyes lit up. Whilst the content and style of the book seemed like it would be The David Byrne, no other information suggested it was by him, and I didn’t want to foolishly waste my money on a book about fold-up bikes by some random dude. I got back to the office and googled it, and it was only by The David Byrne, wasn't it? I’ll go back tomorrow and buy it, but whilst on David’s wikipedia page, I saw a link to his Journal (which I’d heard about recently because of his criticism of U2’s un-green world tour – he makes a good point). So I spent a short while reading Dave’s journal, and it’s a very good read. It’s fluidly written and covers a lot of subjects. I recommend it. A year or so ago I started a blog (with a total of two or three entries), and this spurred me on to start it up again. Sure my life isn’t as interesting as D’s (see Thom Yorke identifying the fashion designer who designed Byrne’s shirt - this has, as of yet, never happened to me), but every now and then something happens which I’m sure I can relate in a vaguely interesting way. The real trick is to keep them fairly short, so I’ve already ruined this one. And nothing that happened today should really be of any interest to anyone other than myself. But it killed 30 minutes for me, and if you were sensible enough to skim-read, then it probably only wasted about two minutes for you. And you can get that back by waking up a bit earlier tomorrow.