Sunday, July 02, 2006

The semi-annual "I don't want to grow up" post.

A combination of recent events, namely TV-watching events, specifically The Constant Gardener and Pearl Jam on VH1 Storytellers, have gotten me to thinking again. Never a good sign.

I think part of the reason I'm so reluctant to join the adult world is that I don't want to lose my cynicism. My drive toward the greater good. My spare time to make a contribution to something worthwhile. So many of my friends who have houses and/or kids only have time for their houses and/or kids. Both are, of course, worthwhile endeavors, don't get me wrong. Time-consuming worthwhile endeavors.

I have a recurring conversation with a friend at work about how he wishes he had more time and energy for social activism, but after a full work day, house chores on the weekends and constantly keeping up with the kid, it's just not there. So I try to stay socially active because I know he cannot.

What does this have to do with The Constant Gardener or Pearl Jam? The former, I'm not entirely sure. I don't need a cause I would die for. I just need to care about something(s) worldly, care enough to consistently dedicate time and energy toward it. Maybe Al Gore needs help organizing his global warming conferences. I can make pretty powerpoint graphs as good as the rest of them.

The latter... [If you don't know of, or care about, the grunge phenomenon you can stop reading now.] I can't talk enough (no matter how hard I try! and no matter how much people ignore me!) about how music is such a part of my life, and this particular era had a HUGE influence on me. Suddenly people cared in their angsty ways of caring, they were pissed off - and at the time, just coming out of my whitebred suburban shell and seeing some of the injustices in the world, I could relate. And then a few years later, many of those same people (those who weren't in rehab, anyway) went off, got married and had kids, and suddenly all was right with their world. (See: Ed Kowalczyk/"Heaven." BAH.)

The guys in Pearl Jam, wives and/or kids in tow, are clearly still pissed off. And I like that.

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