I’m a horrible person. After seemingly haven given up on a number of my former vices, I’ve inevitably relapsed back into my old habits. Right when my grades are the most crucial, and when my one sole ray of hope (The USC Resident Honors Program) heavily relies on my grades. More on that later. Right now, I want you (*points at YOU*) to focus on (*motions towards myself*) ME. Eheh.
Egotism, sadly, isn’t the least of my issues right now. It makes for a good starting point, though – an anchor (so to speak) that prevents me from drifting too far away from my intended topic. So, in my best Richard Gere imitation… “Shall We Dance?”
Eheh. Commence.
I’ve broken my personal resolution to ban all video games (Damn Maplestory) and anime from my life, amongst other things. That’s not to say that I didn’t watch any anime last year – the main difference resides in the TYPE of anime. Last year, the anime series I watched were as close to visual depictions of euphoria as animation could get. Those series incited feelings of relaxation and bliss within me… Feelings that I haven’t experienced in far too long. This year though, I’ve only found an abscess of profundity within all that I watch, effectively driving me into yet another contemplative period. I swear, there’s a worldwide conspiracy out to stifle my existence. In the typical fashion of modern-day “youth”, I’ve begun rebelling in opposition to this “enstranglement”. Somewhat.
Take, for instance, my new appreciation of the term “Youth in Rebellion”. Not only is it a newly-released movie starring Michael Cera, it’s also a mode of thinking that I’ve only recently come to understand. Before I delve further into that point there…
*Checks watch*.
WELL
It’s high time for some booze an anecdote.
Two years ago, during my foray into the Eastern United States coastline, I found myself dallying around Rockefeller Plaza, without a shit’s clue as to where I was in relation to the hotel I stayed at. ‘Twas wintertime, and couples walked every which way, immersed in the perceived idiosyncrasy of their relationships. When crossing a street, I found myself waiting at the curb with a rowdy quartet of teens… with dyed hair, uncomfortably constrictive jeans, nose-rings, and the like. At the time, to be honest, I was a tad bit frightened. These people, I thought, were tough New-Yorkians donning guyliner and pissed-at-the-world glowers.
Quite a frightening image. (/endsarcasm) But REALLY, I wondered why people would go to such extents. Then, the shortest male in the group said something along the lines of “… level 53 in Warcraft FTW…”
At the time, I stifled my laughter and dismissed the group of hooligans as just another crowd of geeky posers. Looking back now, there might be something else behind their radical dress and anti-conformist ways: The single-turbocharger of youthful rebellion.
Let’s begin with some basic automotive know-how-and-what-and-why. There are a few ways to get more power from a pre-existing engine. These are just a few that I care enough to list:
1. Give it greater displacement (That’s the Liters thingy they show you, like the 3.2-liter I6 in a BMW M Coupe). Basically, this relates to how big the pistons are.
2. De-restrict the engine. Would you run faster with your legs tied together? (Header replacements, ECU reflashes, etc. belong in this category)
3. Forced Induction. This goes off the principle that more oxygen (or denser oxygen) = more combustion = more movement by pistons = more crankshaft torquing = faster car. Simply put, more air needs to be sucked in somehow in order to make little cars go like stank. There are two main ways to do this – Super and Turbo charging. Supercharging is like bolting on a massive fan to your car. Power obtained through this method is usually very linear and direct, suitable for higher-end cars. Turbocharging is also like bolting a fan onto your car, but this fan is spun/powered by your exhaust gases. Therefore, turbo-ing is more efficient – BUT, the nature of turbochargers (reliance on exhaust gases) make them rather peaky and unstable with power delivery. There are methods to remedy this peaky power delivery, but that’s not important right now.
I’m comparing the burst of a youth’s energy to a primitive turbocharger. A peaky, unstable, jittery turbocharger with loose gaskets, that rattles occasionally, much like the highs and lows of adolescence.
When old men in films, on television, and in other forms of media refer to a “youthful energy”, I’ve always interpreted their quotes as references to the weakness that accompanies age.
I have erred.
I can no longer sleep at night – no indeedy. The daytime is constructively spent wasted in class, so night is the only true time when my mind opens up and frees itself. I play guitar like a madman now, I blast Jimi Hendrix alone in my car at lunch, and I can now remember my dreams (again).
Goddamnit, youth is so revolutionary. I feel like I’m up to anything – perhaps, fulfilling the counter-societal dreams that Sinclair Lewis’s “George F. Babbitt” failed to accomplish? Not so simple.
Currently, there’s an ongoing discrepancy between idealistic societal Tom, and runs-away-to-Seattle Tom.
See, the conformist Tom Bearnik-Hama (the former me) used to believe in a career in dentistry, and love, and steady marriages. I was, and still am not at liberty to claim those ideas as my own. I, myself, most definitely concluded that it MUST have been best for me to resign to a life in the dentistry office, making children cry and giving everyone sore jaws. However, I’ve come to conclude that my dental/mental career aspirations were, in part, immaculately conceived due to societal and parental pressures. AYE, I wanted to be rich. What’s the first relatively stable rich-job that I could think of? A doctor.
But even then, I had the common sense to catch myself and say: “No, doctoral professions ain’t for me.” That is, of course, before I had a number of small metal studs cemented onto my teeth.
BRACES….
(To be continued in P.2…)
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