Anyone Seen the Bridge?

     I am a notorious procrastinator. Yeah, I know, those of you that know me are shocked. No, but really, I made procrastination into an art form back in my heyday (3-7 years ago; I peaked early). I know I shouldn't be proud about putting off assignments until the last moment, but I kind of am. There was an excitement  and urgency to my schoolwork that I would never have gotten otherwise, not to mention the satisfaction of getting the assignment back with an A stamped across the top and a note from the teacher lauding me for putting so much time and effort into my work (thus even in elementary school I misguidedly thought I was smarter than my teachers).

     To get my IB diploma, I had to submit a 4000 word essay. This was the second most influential aspect to receiving my diploma besides the month of tests at the end of my senior year. So naturally I wrote the entire paper the night before it was due. And naturally my advisor loved it.

     Possibly my proudest moment in procrastination comes from U.S History, 8th grade. Now, once you've had a taste of actual academia, 8th grade seems like color by numbers, but back then it was serious business. This was especially true in history, because the teacher demanded so much more out of us than we had ever experienced before (which isn't really saying much, but still). He had assigned a project on the Bill of Rights three weeks earlier, so naturally on the night before it was due I hadn't even started. I wasn't "in the mood" to do the project, so I set my alarm for 3:30 A.M., probably played some Zelda, and went to sleep with nothing done. I hit the snooze button for about an hour the next morning (I even procrastinate the simple act of waking up) until finally deciding I should probably do some work. Eventually I put the finishing touches on the project in homeroom, 30 feet from my history teacher, hours into the school day already.

     I got a 100%.

     So, given my prowess, nay, passion for procrastination, you would think I would like the saying, "We'll cross that bridge when we get to it." It's the trump card that people lay down when they want to put off discussing something. You don't know why, but when someone suggests this you forget what you were even talking about. It's like some kind of lazy Jedi's mind trick. So why don't I like this metaphorical saying?

     First and foremost, my mom always says it. She is basically an idiomatic machine, so I'm sure I'll be featuring more of her favorite sayings in the not-too-distant-future. But when you hear something hundreds of times over the course of your life in conjunction with not getting want you want, you develop a little malice towards it.

     Secondly, I just don't understand the real world application it alludes to. In my mind's eye, I picture myself hiking through the mountains with a friend, eventually realizing that we are going to come to an impasse- let's say a raging river. I see the sign next to us that says, simply, "People have died here," (yes, there truly are such signs in the Appalachians) and say, "Hey man, how do you suppose we'll get past the river of death?" "O, we'll cross that bridge when we get to it," he responds.

     This response presupposes two things. The first is that there is a bridge. And if this is true, my friend is an ass because he could have told me so in a less snarky manner. The second is that, regardless of the status of any river crossing apparatus, we shouldn't be worried about crossing this imminent death trap for some reason. But let's be honest, if you know that you are going to have to cross a raging river, you would probably pull out a map to see where you'll be able to cross it rather than getting to the river and winging it, George of the Jungle style. I don't care how much you like to procrastinate, you still have self-preservationist instincts. So the response is asinine. The proper response in this situation should be, "Don't worry, there's a bridge," or "I don't know, let's look at the map," or even "Uh… We're screwed, dude," but certainly not "We'll cross that bridge when we get to it."

     I know I'm getting bent out of shape about a silly saying that nobody else thinks twice about. But maybe we should actually think before we speak, even as it pertains to idioms. And maybe when I scream "I DIDN'T KNOW THERE WAS A BRIDGE YOU JACKASS, I WAS JUST ASKING A SIMPLE QUESTION!" at some unassuming soul, I'm actually the sane one because I have thought things out.

     I'm not crazy.

   

     I'm NOT crazy.

The Rolling Stone(s)

     Long before the Rolling Stones pleaded with you to offer up "Satanic Sympathy," or Rolling Stone magazine began providing insight into rock 'n' roll before devolving into the MTV of the newstand, the proverb "a rolling stone gathers no moss" was coined in Latin (Saxum volutum non obducitur musco) sometime just before Christ. The meaning of the phrase is both literally apparent- moss takes a long time to grow and can not do so on a mobile object, three-toed sloths notwithstanding- and metaphorically apparent- constant movement or activity relinquishes one from becoming stagnant and from life's burdens and responsibilities.

     The term "rock and roll" is derived from its predecessor rockabilly and references the pitching back and forth aboard a ship, but in my opinion this proverb is the true root of rock 'n' roll. Besides the obvious nominal relation (rock 'n' roll, a rolling rock), this proverb represents rock 'n' roll better than anything Cleveland can offer up.

     A life on the road is only a morsel of the perpetual motion of the life of a rockstar. High energy shows every other night and parties in between, song writing and substance abuse, strange places and stranger people- the norm for a rocker is the abnormal. Keith Moon once went six days without sleep in New York City, playing shows each night and partying to pass the time until he had to play another show. And the most shocking part? This didn't shock anyone. His stone was in freefall down a stratospheric mountain and the only behavior of his that would have shocked those around him would have been slowing down. Muddy Waters first started it ("I got a boy child's comin/ He's gonna be, he's gonna be a rollin' stone"), Buddy Holly fed the momentum ("Well you know a rolling stone don't gather no moss"), Dylan and the Beatles immortalized it ("Like a rolling stone" for both), Jagger named a juggernaut after it, even Sublime and Dave Matthews did their part to perpetuate the motion. The rolling stone is forever imprinted on the rock 'n' roll mentality.

     Even centuries after its inception, the proverb is more generally applied to anyone with nomadic or restless tendencies, not just cracked out rockstars. For example, my good friend Cody certainly relates with the rolling stone ideology. He's been in London, Ireland, Belgium, Tampa, New Hampshire, Boston, Maine, Atlanta, and Tallahassee in just the last half year. The constantly changing stimuli seem to help him with the creativity that he demands as an artist and photographer. More than that, though, it's the times when he refuses to remain stagnant that he seems happiest. We increasingly talk about our respective futures these days, and his ideas always stem from his need to constantly stimulate himself, whether that means driving across the country with no purpose other than to expand his mind and portfolio, or taking to Transatlanticism once again to expound upon his previous work and adventures.

     Cody has a girlfriend, Hope, that would relate more with another Latin saying: "Planta quae saepius transfertus non coalescit, or Saepius plantata arbor fructum profert exiguum." Roughly, it means "a plant that is repeatedly uprooted and replanted will yield poor fruit." Hope thrives in routine and consistency, working for Georgia's governor's office and putting her nose to the grindstone every day. Though she doesn't plan to stay in her current circumstances for too long, she sees the power of setting her roots firmly in order to flourish.

     They are a truly amazing couple, one of the few that I respect and admire. So in spite of ancient Latin phrases, they obviously find themselves more sympathetic to each other's ideologies than the polarizing proverbs might suggest. Cody loves being at home surrounded by those he loves and the comforts he has grown accustomed to, and Hope loves challenges, adventure, and putting aside any professional aspirations to work in the water with kids at camp all summer, every summer. And thus the problem with most proverbs: they create extreme ideology instead of taking into account the spectrum of humanity- oversimplification in order to prove a point.

     And this brings us back to those wild rockstars, who often don't have the understanding and balance that Cody and Hope each have. Rockers fail to realize that even the tallest mountain eventually becomes a valley, and the cost of the rolling stone lifestyle becomes evident. The mountain ends and the stone, having used up all of it's potential energy, inevitably stops rolling. Worse for wear with pieces chipped off and a trail of destruction in its wake, the stone-roller has a choice to make: let the battered stone gather moss or take up the Sisyphean task of rolling it themselzes. Because even a middle school student studying the physical sciences can tell you that there is no such thing as free energy, no such thing as perpetual motion. You get back what you put in.

     Think about riding a roller coaster. You wait for an hour, get harnessed in and slowly ascend, click click click click, for what feels like an eternity until, whooosh, you finally fall back to earth with a superfluous flourish and end up exactly where you started, a net gain of zero. You're precious time and an immense amount of energy from the machines powering the coaster had to be invested in order to give you your 30 second rush. I'm not saying the rush isn't worth these investments, I am simply pointing out that the investments were necessary for the rush.

     There is no such thing as a life without burdens and responsibilities. Even if you decide to stop caring for your loved ones or accepting social responsibility, there is the minor issue of subsistence. There's a reason why so many rolling rockstars end up divorced, in rehab, miserable, and many times, dead. There's a reason why you don't have bruises all over your legs from rogue rocks careening down the streets. No stone rolls forever. But watch out when one is rolling, because it's a hell of a ride.

The Nickel Back

     Normally I analyze well-known metaphors and images in this blog. I have taken it upon myself to break slightly from this format in order to make a public service announcement of sorts: Nickelback sucks. This is a natural fact, but just as there are still a few holdouts to the heliocentric theory, so there are some that continue to insist Nickelback's noises are, in fact, music.

     The ironically named band (you'd barely pay a nickel for their albums, and even then you'll be asking for your money back) has reached #1 many times, including in the list of bands that are turnoffs to potential mates.

     I want to help educate people who do not realize the true depths of Nickelback's crimes against humanity while simultaneously creating utilitarianism from their blight on our existence. I like to make the best of bad situations, you know- raging optimist, that's me.

     For this reason I want to teach you all a very simple metaphorical template: "_____ is the Nickelback of _______." Think of it as the antithesis of the common Michael Jordan comparison. For example, you might say "Oxford is the Michael Jordan of schools- the best in the world." It would then be appropriate to establish the comparison: "UF is the Nickelback of schools; they may bring in a lot of money, but everyone knows they are loud, obnoxious, reptilian, and overrated."

     Here is another example: "Winter is the Nickelback of seasons; it comes down from Canada to strip the world of color and ruin our lives." See, Nickelback is a Canadian band, and they make you want to set yourself on fire to remove the bitter cold void that has avalanched down upon you.

     Don't just limit yourself to this rigid format though, create variations on the theme and really let your creative juices flow. Simplify the comparison to anything you don't like, there's no need to explain- "Man, this pizza is the Nickelback of Italy." Vary the structure- "Getting this spinal tap is almost as bad as listening to Nickelback." Make a verb out of it- you didn't "get screwed," you "got Nickelbacked." Instead of cursing in pain or anger, take Chad Kroeger's name in vain. Don't worry about making sense, either- "Getting hit in the groin really felt like Nickelback." The most important thing is simply that your level of misery warrants the use of They-That-Shall-Not-Be-Played.

     Don't try to subdue your disdain towards Nickelback, embrace it and let it work for you. Use them to convey the carnal anger that wells up inside you. After all, this is the same band whose own fans threw rocks at them.

     Man, does Portugal have the Nickelback of fans, or what?