Stupid is as Jon does
During one of my day dreaming segues, I stumbled upon old memories of some of my favorite childhood movies. This particular segue was inspired by the song that was playing on my well concealed Lyra (Mp3), John Lennon's Imagine .
I first heard Imagine when I was watching Mr. Holland's Opus . I know I probably should have heard it earlier, or at least have known about it, but a deaf kid really doesn't get much exposure to popular music. Imagine played during one of the many time transitions, in Mr. Holland's Opus , that zipped us from decade to decade. I believe the song eased us from the late sixties to the early seventies.
The use of Imagine was incredibly poignant. Lennon's achingly wanting voice, backed by a sparse guitar rhythm (Eva Cassidy does a kick-ass cover of this song, by the way) flits through scenes of Vietnam, anti-war protests, and social conflicts. It's almost as if Lennon, by himself, is the thread that ties each frame to each moment. Each moment crystalizes as a single note plucked from a Lennon finger. Is there something as timeless as chord progression?
I replayed that particular scene in my head a few times (Shouldn't have I been paying attention to the teacher?) and began to wonder how people who lived through those times thought of their world. Then, I remembered what an old friend told me during a high school class (When I should've been paying attention, again). He said that when he was a college student in the 60s and 70s, the anti-war movements, the hippie movements, and the general chaos that he lived through seemed far-away. When he looks back at that time, he wonders if he actually lived through all that, or if the media and the general consciousness seized upon a small movement and magnified it to become the larger social consciousness. What then, of a kid from the midwest? Did he experience the throes of his decade with the full force impacted by Lennon's prayer?
My mind leapfrogs around like a drunken monkey swinging through the trees. I couldn't meander on that subject for long. I had to apply it to my own life. I wonder what people will say of the turmoil I'm living through now. Will I, in twenty years, watch movies with time segues through my childhood, and wonder if I had any play in the magnification of my social consiousness? I'm not an emo-kiddie. I'm not a pop-punk sk8tr. I'm not an abercrombie-fitch whore. I'm not a war protestor. I'm not a soldier. I won't dance in the desert. I won't do much of anything, except dance on the weekends, get drunk when I can, and try to find a little bit of lovin' where it's availible.
What then of me? When we read about Vietnam, 1968, the birth of the Big-Mac, and everything substantial that came out of that period of time, we think about all the lives that must've been wretched from their common thread. It's romantic, in a way. And, you know, romance is bunk. I want to believe in the myths of the 60s, but reality tells me that most people living were either blissfully going about their gnatty lives, or living in perpentual banality, much like myself.
I don't believe I'm a creature of time, or even a peon of history. I know my past and I've studied the collective pasts of many people. While it may be lovely to follow the threads left by gorgeous writers of lives, I am at times lonely for each individual fiber.
Perhaps I exaggerate the importance of these times. I do know that 9/11 will be considered a pivotal point in our nation's history, but I'm not quite so sure that all the chaos and all the posturing that followed will be the equivalent of the massive movements that shook my parent's childhood.
It's said that every generation has it's trials. My grandparents had World War II. My parents had Vietnam. We have Iraq?
It's much to think about, and for now, I have class.
I first heard Imagine when I was watching Mr. Holland's Opus . I know I probably should have heard it earlier, or at least have known about it, but a deaf kid really doesn't get much exposure to popular music. Imagine played during one of the many time transitions, in Mr. Holland's Opus , that zipped us from decade to decade. I believe the song eased us from the late sixties to the early seventies.
The use of Imagine was incredibly poignant. Lennon's achingly wanting voice, backed by a sparse guitar rhythm (Eva Cassidy does a kick-ass cover of this song, by the way) flits through scenes of Vietnam, anti-war protests, and social conflicts. It's almost as if Lennon, by himself, is the thread that ties each frame to each moment. Each moment crystalizes as a single note plucked from a Lennon finger. Is there something as timeless as chord progression?
I replayed that particular scene in my head a few times (Shouldn't have I been paying attention to the teacher?) and began to wonder how people who lived through those times thought of their world. Then, I remembered what an old friend told me during a high school class (When I should've been paying attention, again). He said that when he was a college student in the 60s and 70s, the anti-war movements, the hippie movements, and the general chaos that he lived through seemed far-away. When he looks back at that time, he wonders if he actually lived through all that, or if the media and the general consciousness seized upon a small movement and magnified it to become the larger social consciousness. What then, of a kid from the midwest? Did he experience the throes of his decade with the full force impacted by Lennon's prayer?
My mind leapfrogs around like a drunken monkey swinging through the trees. I couldn't meander on that subject for long. I had to apply it to my own life. I wonder what people will say of the turmoil I'm living through now. Will I, in twenty years, watch movies with time segues through my childhood, and wonder if I had any play in the magnification of my social consiousness? I'm not an emo-kiddie. I'm not a pop-punk sk8tr. I'm not an abercrombie-fitch whore. I'm not a war protestor. I'm not a soldier. I won't dance in the desert. I won't do much of anything, except dance on the weekends, get drunk when I can, and try to find a little bit of lovin' where it's availible.
What then of me? When we read about Vietnam, 1968, the birth of the Big-Mac, and everything substantial that came out of that period of time, we think about all the lives that must've been wretched from their common thread. It's romantic, in a way. And, you know, romance is bunk. I want to believe in the myths of the 60s, but reality tells me that most people living were either blissfully going about their gnatty lives, or living in perpentual banality, much like myself.
I don't believe I'm a creature of time, or even a peon of history. I know my past and I've studied the collective pasts of many people. While it may be lovely to follow the threads left by gorgeous writers of lives, I am at times lonely for each individual fiber.
Perhaps I exaggerate the importance of these times. I do know that 9/11 will be considered a pivotal point in our nation's history, but I'm not quite so sure that all the chaos and all the posturing that followed will be the equivalent of the massive movements that shook my parent's childhood.
It's said that every generation has it's trials. My grandparents had World War II. My parents had Vietnam. We have Iraq?
It's much to think about, and for now, I have class.
posted by Jon at 8:24 AM
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