Guns N' Dinos

The other day, Leah and I were talking about how little boys like guns. She was talking to me about some people who were very strict with their children's media consumption (i.e. no violent TV or film) and how one day they were shocked to see their boys running around pretending that something (innocuous) was a gun.

I'm not what you would call a "gun person," and yet I too exhibited some of this behavior growing up. And so did all my friends. We'd pick up sticks and run around going "bang! bang!" I'm not a pussy or anything, but I'd never shoot a person (or an animal for that matter). Still, I like playing violent "shooting" video games. Why is that?

Comedian/Philosopher had a theory about this. He contended that bullets and guns are phallic, and that war is really just a form of penis envy. Carlin believed that the arms race was really just to see whose "missile" was bigger.

Maybe Carlin had a point.

Regardless, as a child guns WERE fascinating. Another thing that little boys all (usually) tend to like is dinosaurs. Unlike guns, I still love dinosaurs today. Dinosaurs are great because they're these huge, alien monsters. Monsters that REALLY existed. Growing up I had all sorts of dinosaur toys and books. In fact, the book that really pulled me into reading was JURASSIC PARK.

So naturally, with an affinity for both guns and dinosaurs--I was fucking bananas for DINO-RIDERS. Before I explain what DINO-RIDERS was, I want you to look at this picture:

Drink it in. I mean really look at it:

Isn't that bat-shit crazy?

DINO-RIDERS was a toy commercial disguised as a cartoon show for kids. There were only 14 episodes, which aired in 1988 (I was 5, the perfect age for guns-blazing-dinosaur-action!). I remember nothing of the TV show except that the first time I saw it, I thought HE-MAN had landed on Dinosaur Island (see, kids aren't THAT easily fooled). Of course, I do remember the toys much better. I distinctly recall owning a nasty-looking T-REX armed with those little tiny hands...and a missile launcher. I also had a Diplodocus that was armed to the teeth--it had this strange trailer-thingy on it's back that was full of bombs.

Of course, the Diplodocus was basically a giant cow, not very scary on it's own...but with $1,000,000,000 worth of futuristic military hardware? Well, let's just say, I wouldn't mess with it for all the tea in China. I mean just look at this thing:

You can't tell me something isn't about to die.

I realize that not all boys like guns and dinos, but if I had a kid and he/she pretended that a twig was a .44 Magnum...or that a rock was a Diplodocus-tank--we'll I wouldn't worry. At least, I wouldn't worry TOO much.

I mean, it's just a natural part of growing-up, right?

Geography

The class was supposed to be a “blow-off,” the kind you barely attend but still get an “A” because the material is so basic. Of course I got more than I bargained for. That’s pretty much the theme running through my life.

The class was taught by a middle-aged professor, I wish I could remember his name but frankly, he wasn’t a tenured instructor and his name wasn’t even printed on my schedule. He was what’s known as a “neo-hippy.” Unlike most Geography teachers, he’d actually been all over the world and was full of interesting anecdotes about the various places we studied that semester.

Of course, this was Community (aka “Junior”) College so somebody had to ask the question that was on all of our minds.

“Why are you in a wheelchair?”

I remember cringing and staring down at my desktop. I’ve only been to a few Community Colleges, but they seemed to be filled with the absolute dumbest people on the planet. The people just smart enough to maybe attend college—but dumb enough to not realize that they had a choice in the matter. Most of them acted like they were still in High School, which is why I wasn’t too surprised when someone blurted such a sensitive question.

I mean, what did it matter why the dude was in a chair? It’s not like it had ANY BEARING at ALL on our class. But ask they did, on the very first day of class. Thinking back on it, I guess he brought it upon himself when he finished going over the syllabus and asked the class if anyone had any questions.

I expected him to comment on how utterly rude the question was, but he didn’t. Like all people with a major physical difference he’d no doubt developed pretty thick skin about his condition. So, after we’d discussed the syllabus and the textbook we’d be using—our teacher told us the story of how he became a paraplegic.

Apparently he went swimming at a lake and dove head-first into water that was a bit too shallow. He broke his neck and severed his spine. I can still see his eyes shinning as he told us the story. Here I was at my first day of class and I was watching a (disabled) person I didn’t even know fight back tears.

This children, is the very definition of awkward.

Now, if I suddenly became disabled, I’d be one unhappy person. But this guy, my Geography teacher, wasn’t like that at all. He was very upbeat, almost to the point of nausea. A product of the 1960’s counter-culture, this guy had a philosophy towards life that frankly, shocked the hell out of me.



See, I don’t still remember this guy because he broke his neck and taught class sitting down—no, this guy is forever seared into my brain because he was bat-shit crazy. About a week into the class, he just stopped mid-lecture and looked at us (most of us were asleep) and started telling us all to drop-out.

Not just out of his class mind you, but college in general.

“If I was your age, I’d just pack a bag and go explore the world,” he said. “Believe me, we’ll be here waiting for you when you come back.”

By “we’ll be here” he meant school/college. Now that I’m a little older and more settled (read: fucking trapped in my life) I realize that this was actually good advice. But at the time I was just trying to get my Associate’s Degree so I could move out of my parent’s basement. I didn’t want to drop out of school. I didn’t want to back-pack across Europe (isn’t that how one falls prey to werewolf attacks?).

This advice, though sound, was actually a pretty stupid thing for him to say. After all, didn’t his job depend on us being there? And yet he stood (sat) there and was telling us all to ditch school in favor of adventure and excitement. Maps, he liked to remind us, were created by people who’d actually BEEN there. But why should we just take there word for it? Though he never said he had a “motto” per say, I think that if he had one it would be simply “GO.”

I can dig this sentiment of “see if yourself,” because of an odd quirk of mine. You see, I suffer from what I can only describe as severe case of skepticism/narcissism.

I only really believe in the things that are immediately around me.

Every since I was a child, I’ve been fascinated by time and space NOT involving myself. For example, the class room where I can Geography still exists. This room may look a little different than the way I remember it, but for the most part it’s the same room. Right now at this second, as I write this.

And yet I am not at this room.

New York. Tokyo. London. These places all exist despite the fact that I’m not there (probably will NEVER be there). Beyond that, these cities exist AND are full of people. People who have no idea that I even exist. People who run along on their own merry little way, with their own merry little problems and triumphs.

I understand that I am not the center of the Universe. There is (or so I’m told) an infinite amount of space stretching in all directions, and it existed before I was born and will continue to do so long after I am dead.

And yet, a large part of me denies this because, how can that be?

Sitting in Geography class you can see Tokyo, Japan on a map. You can see pictures and video, but unless you actually GO there—how can one truly know that Tokyo exists? I think that there is a true version of this world/universe, but I don’t think it’s possible to experience it. Everyone experiences the world a little differently.

Just like no two witnesses tell the exact same story, I think there are probably 9 billion interpretations of Earth and the things on it. That’s kinda what my Geography teacher was saying, I think. People should get out and see the world, instead of taking it for granted that it’s there.