I hope my essay will be done by the time Godot arrives

Here's the fruits of my labor. It's not complete, but it's taken me several days. That is misleading, because I can never just focus on writing. Anyways, here it is:

“Let’s contradict each other.” With these words, Samuel Beckett’s Estragon of Waiting for Godot encapsulates in a single sentence the protagonists’ relationship. The two men find each other intolerable, yet cannot bare existence apart. Their unlikely friendship perpetuates the play and carries the show without any mentionable events. Beckett crafts embodiments of Christian faith and skeptic thought from Vladimir and Estragon using contrasting ideologies expressed in their dialogue and uses the characters’ flaws and confusion to show the ineffectiveness of both philosophies as they relate to existence.
The better part of the play consists of bickering between the protagonists. Beckett juxtaposes the characters’ interpretations of the same event to illustrate contrast. When the two men speak of the cadavers, Vladimir calls them “corpses,” while Estragon uses the word “skeletons.” This is followed by Estragon remarking “You don’t have to look and a response from Vladimir: “I can’t help looking.” They often debate the possibility of events. When Estragon states “You think all the same,” Vladimir counters with “Impossible.” The frequent contradictions between characters reveal their differences. By analyzing the contradictions in their discourse, the significance of each ego is exposed and its meaning can be understood.
Vladimir is the believer. His vocabulary and ideas express his spirituality. Beckett utilizes a selective diction with this character; his vocabulary contains many words with religious connotations. Vladimir compares the dead voices to “wings,” “sand,” “feathers,” and “ashes” and says “they whisper…they murmur.” Wings and sand can both produce noise, but feathers and ashes do not. Sand is used to mean earth; while wings are used to describe air. He then changes his words to convey a meaning of body and spirit. The similarities between the two sets of words connect Vladimir’s initial reaction to a deeper meaning, a spiritual one. Beckett manipulates the language to inspire images of an earthly death and a heavenly life, thus cementing the idea of religion to this character. The use of the words “whisper” and “murmur” give life to the voices of the dead. The Christian tenet of life after death reverberates in these words; they describe actions reserved for human behavior, but here they are performed by the dead. Beckett’s intent in making Vladimir an apparent zealot can be seen in his most stanch example, the line “To each man his own cross,” where he inserts biblical images into Vladimir’s speech.
The faith inherent in Vladimir does not extend to his friend Estragon. Beckett’s use of diction is equally as important in understanding the skeptic as it is in understanding his counterpart. What Vladimir equates to wings, Estragon calls “leaves.” Leaves are Estragon’s metaphor for man. They bloom, mature, and die; they don’t think. He prefers to believe in nature than in divinity, saying “we should turn resolutely towards Nature.” The line “and if he does not come” epitomizes his skepticism. Beckett wrote this line as a declarative statement, not an interrogative remark, adding to the certainty of Estragon’s skepticism In addition to his cynicism and maybe as a result of it, Estragon is a pessimist. Estragon voices a dreary, melancholy idea of how he perceives life saying “All my lousy life I’ve crawled about in the mud,” following Vladimir's encouragement to look at the scenery surrounding them. Understanding Estragon's and Vladimir's qualities and ideologies allows the reader to see the criticisms Beckett has for each way of life and is essential in understanding the context of the play.
With the protagonists understood, the play is more comprehensible. Beckett’s assessments of Christianity and skepticism begin to unmask themselves. The reader can begin to recognize the disapproving tone the author intended to be heard. Vladimir, the disciple, is very cognizant of the events that came before. The past acts as a source of knowledge for him; he constantly refers to yesteryear, asking Estragon if he remembers certain events. Estragon has a terrible sense of history, stating “I’m not a historian.” This is part of Estragon’s compulsive nature, not caring for the past. His concern is with the present; he worries about the present, his mortality, and the unknowable future. Likewise, Vladimir’s lust for previous times comes from his Christian belief system. He constantly asks “do you not remember?” and distresses at his partner’s apathy toward history. The bible, while not precisely accurate, is a source of knowledge that Christians draw on, and it is a historical account of events that teach faith to the disciples of that religion. So, Estragon’s disregard for the past isn’t a result of stupidity or ignorance, it is rather a commentary on skeptics as Vladimir’s attraction to history is a commentary on Christians. With or without historical knowledge, the two men are still left without any resolve. Each ideology fails to tell the characters whether Godot will come, and that is Beckett’s point. This idea might go unnoticed, many might interpret Vladimir’s account of past events as a sign of intelligence and an advantage over Estragon, but it is not so. The two are left equally unaided, uncertain, and scared.
Beckett saw both philosophies had flaws in their treatment for the idea of existence. Beckett uses satire to speak for him. Through his characters’ flaws, he comments on the Christian tenet of faith in God and the skeptic trait of fearing death over enjoying life.

Promotion might be a step backward

I don't know if I'm supposed to mention this -especially not online- but whatever. My dept. manager, store manager, asst. store manager, and the lead salesman have all been pushing for my promotion to the asst. dept. manager position at work. This has to go through the regional dept. manager (I know, could we get any more managers?). I too want the promotion. It was offered to me, but the decision won't be made for a week to allow any other applications that might come in to be processed. I was originally told, when I applied for the position, that it wouldn't require any additional hours. But now, they are telling me I would have to take on an additional 5-10hrs/wk. I don't know that I can do that. The job would be an hour inrease (50 cents I think), plus $50 bonus each month the store hits its quota. The extra money and time would equate to an addtional $300/month. But I had to drop hours just to keep my sanity before. If I went at 4 instead of 5, 3 days a week, plus 8 1/2 hrs Saturday, that would give me 23 1/2 hrs/wk. Is it worth it? I don't know. I don't think it is, money isn't very important at this point. I have no time to spend it. However, my many long-term goals do require lots of money. I think I know that I can't take the promotion, but I've been waiting to take this promotion since my second week there. It's too bad really.

School is okay. I've got a good GPA, it's my REM (cycles) I'm concerned about. I usually get enough sleep, but I spend too much time on the internet. Like this. I like this blog, it lets me write and record my thoughts, and very few people will ever sit down to read it. And if they do, that's great too.

Thought it was time to do something stupid.

18

Okay, I thought I'd write about turning 18, because it feels like a big deal to me. I've never been really big on birthdays, but this one I am. I realize it doesn't mean a thing to anybody else, but it's not anybody else that is writing this blog.

I'm legally an adult. I always thought when clicking on "I agree to the terms of use" buttons on programs, websites, and whatever else that it didn't matter if I did break the rules, I couldn't be charged with anything legally binding. Whether that is true, I don't know, but it sounded right.

Eighteen is almost like an adult. I can do the majority of things anybody else can now. I could go to Canada on a whim. Buy a really awesome computer and put it on a credit card. Get addicted to cigarettes. Vote for a less incompetent government official. Or enlist in the military and blow stuff up.

It seems funny that I am now old enough to get a credit card and destroy my finances, be drafted into a war, vote, be charged as an adult in court proceedings, drive a car, stay out until whenever I want, move out, buy porn, buy cigarettes, travel international borders, but I am not of legal age to drink. Not that I want to drink so badly, but it's weird that I am an adult, but not really. The government will trust me to hold a gun, vote on a president, and buy land, but they won't trust me with alcohol.

I guess 18 is cool, but I am really more excited about a day of my own than being legally deemed an adult. In my mind, I've been 18 for a year and a half. Nobody tells me what I can and can't do. I learned to make choices and live with the consequences a long time ago. My parents understand this and haven't scolded me for doing something wrong or told me what to do since I left for Peru. So, great, now I have the title of adult. It doesn't really change a thing, but it gives me an excuse to make today all about me. And I'm okay with that.

Finally, Happiness

My anxiety and stress haven't prevented me from being happy. They've just made it a rarity. Well, this whole week has been pretty good. ISTEP testing at school has made things smoother. I got to sleep in 2 days this week, I haven't had much homework, and classes have been too short for any homework to be assigned. I guess a list is in order. I could write all about it, but I like lists.
Why this week has been good:
Extra Sleep
Less Homework/Extra time to do it
Good Grades
Magazine (despite being delayed 2 days) is done
Few Hours at Work
iGoogle
Full Tank of Gas right before the price rose 30 cents
Dad is buying me a laptop
Mom is buying me an iPod
Finally gave my statement to the detective
Promotion (Small Appliances Asst. Manager...the coolest, most meaningless title ever)
Saturday is my Bday (hence the presents)


I guess that's it. It's been good though.

Today's Confession: I knew Curtis sold that computer under my name, sorry Larone.

I Love ISTEP

This week should be easy. I can sleep in two days and I don't have any homework. I almost feel a little guilty that I am profiting off of the torture of underclassmen, but then I think about the fact that I'm free and I forget all about why. It's going to be a good week, and at the end of it, I'll be 18.

And We Turn to Drugs

I have a lot to say about my stress issues and it might sound complaining, so I'll talk about magazine first. My sophomore year, I had a haven. It sheltered me from the outside. It wasn't entirely safe on the inside either. There were still discontent and hatred and dramatic ongoings, but they were outweighed by the passion and common bond we shared. The Jlab was a place where people shouted, cried, slept, laughed, listened, and on occaision, wrote. There was more stress in that room than any place I've ever been or would care to visit. That didn't matter. What did matter was the fellowship that we all shared in.

We were all charged with the task of putting out a newspaper every three weeks. Sure, people do it everyday, but for students, with limited time, resources, and knowledge, it was not an easy task. To add it to the frustration, there were hormones raging about, alliances being formed, and staffers slacking off. It was the combination of these dispositions (most self-inflicted) that united us. We were the newspaper staff. We put out the paper. The experiences we shared were important. We wrote kudos, listened to punk rock, quoted Dane Cook, made bad jokes, ate pizza, stayed for work nights, came in for distribution, paid our fines for foul language, took a field trip, and we were a family. Mike, Kim, Laurie, Danny, Iris, Brit, Eric, Zach, Kelly, Kim, Becca, Rianna, Tiffany, Kelly, Michelle, and Ashley. I didn't like all of these people. But I do miss being around them all.

I don't feel a deep love-hate relationship with the staff this year. We all are too formal. We don't mad and yell at people. We don't order in food and stay late, we just get it done. And while we're more effective, we're less affected.

In a monarchy, there's a leader who has to make executive decisions. Our head was Mike. He took more criticism and hatred than I thought possible. If something went wrong, it was his fault; if something went right it was the job of the writers. It wasn't fair and tortured one person, but that person had supreme power for a year. Their word was law. When there is no chief, the power is divided among those that remain. This oligarchy has diffused the power of an editor. I don't know what is going on in that class. I only know that we need money still, and we can't publish until we have it. I don't know what is going on the website, what the Hi-times is doing, or what the sections of the magazine are. I am an editor. I have no power. I am an empty title. I am an editor, but I'm not. I am a business manager. The problem with this system is that it is effective. We're putting out a newsletter each week, the website is updated daily, and the magazine is slowly but surely coming together. We have had minimal problems. And I hate it.

The problem isn't in the system, it's in me. I am old-fashioned. I am trying to make it what it was and not what it is. I might be the only one. Newspaper is dead. Magazine is a class. And now I need to accept it, but I'll hold on to my denial for a little while longer out of stubborness.




Now, I guess this will be a long post. This week has been the hardest yet. It started on Monday, like most weeks do. Work followed by homework kept me up until 2am. Tuesday was a rerun of Monday. Then on Wednesday, 4 hours a night of sleep caught up with me. I was stressed, hungry, cranky, and tired. I went to Niles Haunted House, but I was too tired to be normal and I was increasingly annoying. By the time I got home it was all too much. I still had several hours of homework left to do. And it was all too much. I couldn't take it and I broke down. Thursday was a better day, I was still stressed and tired, but I had lots of prescriptions that were meant to cure me of my errors. And Friday was the first decent day. I have only had half the amount of sleep I should have gotten this week, and I still managed to mess up a very important assignment. It is all just getting deeper. Soon we will know if I will sink or swim. And either way, there's only discontent. I posted a very detailed account on myspace about my breakdown on Wednesday. It was almost poetic. My inability to keep my eyelids up is now conflicting with my will to type, so I am going to leave you here.

Today's Confession: I wouldn't call me back either.

I Am My Own Slavedriver and My Own Runaway

I will make this quick, because the second I look at the clock I will be furious with myself for not doing my homework. Which is what this post is about. It is Sunday and I am doing all my homework today. I do this every Sunday. It is because I invariably work Saturdays. I could do some work on Friday, but I usually work then and have some social time after. And Saturday nights could be a good time to do my work, but I am usually too dissuaded after working 9 hours. So Sundays usually work out as a perfect time to do my work.

But today, I cannot seem to focus. I should really be able to do this, but for whatever reason I can't stop distracting myself. Even as I read Brave New World, I had to stretch out my leg muscles and back while reading. And instead of going straight to my other million assignments, I spent 2 hours putting up pictures around the house and other frivolous activities (like updating a blog that goes unread) that do not contribute to my GPA or to anything. Then I get angry and force myself to start doing work. I do so by stressing myself out. I think of all the homework that I have left and all the consequences of not doing it. And then I get into a panic, like the one I am in even as I type this. It becomes too much and I go back to my homework.

Now I have to go do my homework.


Confession of the Day: I really did like Sophie's World, even though I hated it until the end.

The Surface

Life is the same everyday. Some days there is more homework to be done and some days I have to work and some days I don't. It's not interesting, but it's life. I'm so neurotic these days.

I am unsure of my level of friendship with everyone I encounter. I know where I stand with people I've known for half a decade or more, but it's the others I worry about. The people who I always considered friends, but who didn't keep in contact when I left. They are the ones who confuse me. Where are we now? After a year of not speaking, are we still friends? Do I still say 'hi' in the halls? What is our relationship? I'm still friendly with a good number of these people, but it feels like our connection is purely superficial. I used to use the word acquaintance very cautiously, because I considered most people my friends and found it hard to differentiate. I know the difference now. Friends are the ones that leave you weekly messages when you ditch them for a year. Acquaintances are the ones you invite to hang out sometime, while both of you know that won't really happen.

I'm always second guessing. Are you my friend? There are very few things I'm sure about; even fewer people.

Today's Confession: I don't know if I was actually right today. And I'm happier being wrong and made fun of than being told I'm right for sympathy.

The Fall of Communism

Working at ABC Warehouse isn't a bad job. I sell small appliances and electronics, interact with customers, sit around in a climate-controlled environment -and I get paid for all of it. I do have to work with some idiots from time to time, but it's usually not too bad. Today was not a case of "usually." Saturdays always start of with a 50 minute meeting that I really don't need to be included in, but am required to attend.

After the meeting I put the cash in the register, without counting. This was fine, but then a coworker came over and said that she was told to be on register that day (we can only have one person on the register now, because the drawer was never balancing out). It was when she counted the money that it was realized that 20 dollars was missing from it. As I was the person who had counted the deposit last night, I told her check the deposit; that I had probably put one too many twenties in there. She started making accusations of theft toward me, the managers, and the guy who had brought the box of drawer money over. While a manager went to go check the deposit, I asked her if she had counted the drawer twice. To which she responded that she's not an idiot and that she knows how to count. While she started recounting with a calculator, I counted the money in my head. Making small "ok's" and "equals" sounds under my breath. She started yelling at me for not trusting her and for confusing her by saying numbers. Well, it turns out that the 20 dollars was in the deposit. And that would have been the end of my troubles, if this girl weren't impossible to get along with. I should also mention, for future reading that while only one person is allowed to handle the cash, other salespeople can ring up a sale, but they must transfer the money to the person on the register.

My first day on the job, my manager and unbearable coworker told me that while we make small set commissions on each sale, it is the department policy to put a second salesman's name on the deal and to rotate through the salespeople on that shift. And while you might be "writing" the sale, it is possible to not be included on it; if you're not one of the two people who are in line to be on the sale. This was to make things "fair," I was told. It did seem to make things fair, and although I thought not sharing would be a better method, I didn't say anything about it. Until today. The urge had been building for a while. My percentage of warranty sales were at .1% last week and I had really sold several warranties and protection plans, but on deals that weren't under my name. This was upsetting, but I figured it all evened out one way or another.

Today, however, was too much for me to take. It started at 10 o'clock when the store opened. I made the first sale and put it under my name. Then the second sale came and I put it in another male coworker's name. The third sale should have been put in the unbearable one's name, but she had taken smoke break, so she was skipped (as per policy). It instead went under my friend, Colin's, name. He had just come in at the time of the sale. When Unbearable came back, she was furious and started yelling at all of us. We all just ignored her and worked around the department. I eventually went to lunch and came back. I walked in and saw a couple of sales occur, but I wasn't the one writing the deals. A few hours later, when I did write a sale, I followed procedure and, by luck, I was the next person to get a sale in their name. I wrote the sale, but after doing so, Unbearable tells me that she has been jipped out of her sales and that my sale should have been hers. So she redoes the sale under her name. This wouldn't have been a big deal, but sale was for a clearanced item, which we get paid cash for by the general manager (because he wants them out of the store to help our numbers and standings within the company). This irked me, because I had actually helped the customer and she hadn't done a thing to deserve the sale and she wasn't supposed to have it. A few minutes later, I began checking people's sales. I realized that two people had 5 sales, Unbearable had 4, I had one, and third male coworker had one sale. I was upset, especially when I realized that nothing was sold while I was at lunch. So this girl had jipped me out of a sale plus the cash, and apparently, the others weren't being honest about the rotating of deals.

By the end of the day, I had worked 8 hours, while everyone else had worked 4 hours, except unbearable who worked 6 hours. And I made the same amount as the other male coworkers who had been there 4 hours each. And Unbearable made more than everyone. I worked for an hour longer with only one other person and had only made as much as the people who worked for half as long. This made me furious.

I complained to the general manager. This was a terrible way to run a business. I always ask every customer if they need any help when they first enter the department. If they do, I help them. If they don't, I tell them to let me know if they need any help later or if they have questions. I take care of the customer, but the everyone else in the department (except my department manager, the only one with the day off) sits on their butts and don't acknowledge the customers at all. And for all this, I make the same commision, though often less than, everyone else. This was rediculous. The general manager told me that he thought it was stupid and that he had told the department manager not to rotate or share deals. He also said he was going to let her know that it wouldn't be allowed anymore. I finally felt a little vendicated.

I didn't realize, until I was complaining to an office worker that this was communism. Everybody gets the same pay, even though some people work harder, there is no incentive to work harder. And on top of this all, people were cheating the system by ringing up customers I had helped and not following the rotation. I am furious, mostly that I didn't realize that this was communism and that I could have done no work for the same pay. I am also furious at my coworkers except the one honest guy who also only had one sale at the same time as me. I am also happy; I am free to make my own money.

I can see why my manager had this policy of rotating and sharing. It sounds fair. And it may have been at one time. If everyone is helping customers equally and follows the rotation, then it is somewhat fair. Even if it were fair, it isn't smart. It is completely stupid. If we're all making the same anyway, then we should make our own money. The system can, at best, be as efficient as capitalism, but it relies on people working equally and being honest; which, ABC workers are not. I had asked why we did it once, she said it was so that the people who are good at selling aren't the only ones making money. That made sense when I was new and didn't know how to work the register, but it is the dumbest policy a store could have. If everyone is being made equal then there is no incentive. Nor is there any competition. Capitalism thrives on competition. If salesmen aren't a little competitive the store won't make much money. Certainly competition can be managed through professionalism; there's no need to steal customers or to be unfriendly. Capitalism at it's worst is equivalent to communism. And I am glad to see the fall of communism in the small appliances department of ABC Warehouse.