LukeStay.com

People need to relax. I don’t know if it’s something in the air lately or what, but everyone around me has been freaking out about the stupidest things. Relax, people, it’s not worth it, life is way too short!

It all started the other night. I was chilling in the subway with Megan, waiting for the train when some guy dressed in hospital scrubs started asking us questions. He’s all, “Have you been waiting long,” and we said not that long and he asked how often they come and we said about every 15 minutes, it runs local at that time of night. Then he got all worked up and started cursing under his breath about how he was going to have to do this every night going all the way to Brooklyn locally.

So then I start thinking to myself, that sucks dude (that’s right, I still think in dude, I’m old, leave me alone), but you need to relax. There’s obviously nothing he can do about it unless he gets a new job. But he just sat there until the train came shaking his head and cursing very audibly under his breath, making everyone around him uncomfortable.

Then, the next day, I needed to go to the post office to pick up a package. I waited in line in standard post office fashion for about 15 minutes (during which time the guy in front of me asked to borrow my pen, took it to the nearby table, used it, then set it on the table forgetting all about me. I looked at the pen on the table, looked at him, back at the pen, back at him, chuckled to myself and thought, really? Really? You’re just going to leave it there, really? Then I went over and grabbed it without him seeing. It made me laugh). Then, out of the blue, some lady in the mailing line started freaking out. She starts yelling at the lady behind her window about who knows what, saying she wants to speak to a manager and she can’t believe how she’s been treated, and she will never let this go, and that it is her duty to report it to the proper authorities. Again, I thought it was all very humorous and chuckled to myself.

Then she throws her hands in the air and storms over to my line to talk to our lady behind the window (sounds like a catholic church, “Our Lady of Behind the Window” … I apologize to any Catholics out there that may have just been offended by that lame attempt at a joke. It will never happen again. Please do not set your Mel Gibson on me), interrupts the person already at the window and starts demanding to see the supervisor. She’s told something or other and steps to the side where she continues to whine about how badly she’s being treated, and how she’s late to work, but will stand here until she talks to a supervisor because “this will not stand.”

Now, I’m generally concerned for the plight of humanity, it bothers me to watch people suffer, but I just wanted to laugh in this lady’s face. It turns out she was all worked up because when she asked what she needed to put on some mailing form, the window lady told her, “I don’t care, put whatever you want on there. You can draw a picture for all I care.” Come on, that’s funny. You have to hand it to window lady, that’s rich. But this lady took it personally and decided not only to waste her time, but the time of two separate post office lines, to make a stand.

Lady, you asked a stupid question. You deserve to be mocked. If anything, window lady should be commended for her actions. Mailing forms are clearly labeled with boxes denoting the required information, but rather than use your head and look at the form, you decided to waste window lady’s time with a stupid question then spiral out of control into a ranting rage not unlike the Tasmanian Devil, thus wasting the time of an entire post office full of people. If anything, the most her little rant probably did was get window lady a verbal warning, and maybe, just maybe, a written warning with a note on her record. Well done, Post Office Rager, you sure made the world a better place with your stand. Now go breathe into a paper bag somewhere and leave us all alone.

My day was far from over after this little episode. I then went to Bed Bath and Beyond in search of an a/c unit to squelch this sweltering heat in which I live and took the subway back as I usually do these days. On the subway, there was a cute little 4 or 5-year-old boy squirming around in his seat because it had just rained and his pants were all wet. His poor mother was doing all she could to keep him happy and under control. Then, out of the corner of my eye, I see this old man shaking his head and looking up at the heavens as if to say, “Please God, make it stop.”

It’s a little kid for crying out loud! Are you really freaking out because a little kid won’t sit still? Really? Really?! You’re getting your Depends all up in a bunch because some little kid can’t sit still on a subway that’s not moving. Really? Then the mother brought out some toys for the kid and he started having a grand old time with a toy whale, but the old man was still freaking out! The kid was having the time of his life playing with his whale and talking to the other passengers and this cranky old man (who was actually only in his 40s or 50s or something) was completely distraught because his little bubble was being disturbed. You know what, go back to your bubble, bubble man. Let the kids play with their whales!

I don’t understand what it is inside these people that make them so concerned with the factors around them over which they have no control. I got caught in the rain yesterday and the entire bottom half of me was soaked to the bone. Did I sit and whine about it as the rain kept pouring down on me? No, I simply walked faster so I could get to the museum and be out of the rain (I know, I know, I’m great, I deserve a medal for my bravery). My point is, people need to relax! Quit taking things personally! Learn to enjoy things a little bit! Learn to laugh at yourself! Quit using exclamation points! Life is hilarious if you let it be. Just enjoy it.

Man, I need to relax!

So, after a year and a half or so of living in Las Vegas, I’m moving once again. It’s weird. I’ve moved a lot in my life, but for some reason, this time feels different. I feel like Hugh Grant’s character in About a Boy, like every day, every activity in which I involve myself is broken up into smaller units of time, which units I’m slowly running out of. It’s not that any unit of time is any more precious to me than it usually was before I decided to move, more that I’m a lot more aware of these units these days.

Taking a shower: 1 unit.

Going to work: 16 units.

Hanging out with friends: 5 units.

Microwaving Chimichangas: 1 unit.

Reading: Not enough units.

Watching movies: way too many units to count.

Maybe that’s it. Maybe I have become Hugh Grant’s character in About a Boy, only not so British, or man-whorish. Maybe I’ve successfully become an island here in Las Vegas and this move is disturbing the peace on my tranquil little island. Most of my friends are now married, so at most I see them once a week, and my family lives a few thousand miles away, and I guess I’ve become a little too well adjusted to this island life. I do what I want when I want to do it, only associating with the people I’ve chosen to associate with. This move threatens to put an end to all that. I may actually have to leave this hip little island getaway. That is not something I’m looking forward to. Seriously, you should check it out sometime, it puts that island in Pinocchio to shame, mostly because my guests don’t turn into donkeys at the end of the day. A few of them might feel like a jackass, but that’s their own doing. Luke’s Magical Island assumes no responsibility for any feelings of jackassity that may occur as a result of your stay.

What’s most interesting to me is the way people react when they find out I’m moving. First, they ask where I’m moving to. I tell them New York and their eyes light up as they ask, “The city?!” I just smile and nod and they say something like “That’s so cool,” or “Wow!” or “I’ve never been to New York, I’ve always wanted to go,” each of which is followed closely by “So does that mean I can stay at your place when I visit?” To most people, it’s like New York City is some magical place from the movies and TV shows that instantly catapults any resident of that city into some strange category in the upper echelon of society. I’ve been to the city. Sure, it’s cool, but it’s not echelon cool. It’s just an island full of people living as islands. I guess that’s kind of cool.

I don’t think the island thing is really the answer. I mean really, if I can live as an island here, it’ll be a lot easier over there. So why does this move feel so weird? Maybe it’s because it’s the first time in my life that I’m moving somewhere completely foreign, not really knowing anyone in the area, and having no idea where I’m going to live or specifically what I’m going to be doing. That should make me scared, but it’s not fear I’m feeling. I know it’s the right move, it’s the right time, and I’m sure it’ll work out. I’m not scared. Maybe I should be, but I’m not. I can’t even convince myself that I am. It all just feels weird.

Maybe it just means I’m finally entering the “adult” world. Maybe that’s it. Las Vegas is kind of a transitional place. Most of the people I know out here are in that transitional phase of their life between college and career. Maybe this weirdness is just the feeling that comes with leaving that phase behind. Maybe this is the feeling of “growing up.” Maybe this is the feeling of actually becoming an island. Whatever the case, I’m not getting on any stages with strange little boys to sing “Killing Me Softly.”

The other day, I was doing one of those “getting to know you” things and one of the questions was “If you had a time machine, when and where would you go?” Without any hesitation, I chose the old West. I’ve been watching a lot of Westerns lately, specifically Clint Eastwood Westerns, and today I’ve been thinking about why I like them so much.

The old West was a much simpler time. Most people lived off the land, stayed close to their family, got up at sunrise, and went to bed not too long after sunset. There was no TV, no radio, and entertainment was simple: people just danced, told stories, whittled, and generally just relaxed.

I’m a simple man. I’ve often thought of packing everything into a storage unit and living out of a VW Westfalia Camper with nothing but the essentials: no computer, no internet, no TV. I think I could do it. That’s what I love about camping. It’s just you and nature, no distractions. I think my love for Westerns goes beyond this internal minimalism though.

The Clint Eastwood Western generally follows the same format. The story is centered on one lone wanderer with no apparent past. He’s smart, crafty, reads people well, and most importantly, he’s the fastest draw anyone’s ever met. He speaks only when necessary, and says more with his eyes than most people do with their mouth. He’s noble, honest, and stoic, a man of the people. He always stands up for what he believes in. He is a defender of truth and justice and a protector of all women everywhere. In short, he lives by a higher law.

I think this higher law is what draws me to these westerns. The hero in these stories lives by a certain code that is generally agreed upon by the public, only the hero never strays from it. The villains are those who violate this code, lying, cheating, stealing, killing, and generally mistreating women. The public wants to see an end to the villainy, but is powerless to do anything until the hero comes along and reminds them of the code and the power that comes through its strict adherence in large numbers. He unites them under a common goal.

We live in much different times today. There are very few signs of any sort of code generally accepted by modern American society. People lie, cheat, steal, and mistreat women without any hesitation. It’s okay as long as you don’t get caught. Our celebrities go from partner to partner, as if they’re climbing some invisible ladder that takes them to greater fame and fortune. These are our heroes. The only thing that unites us as a culture is our love of money and thirst for fame.

Joseph Campbell speaks of this,

[…] Another reason for the high level of violence here is that America has no ethos. […] In a culture that has been homogeneous for some time, there are a number of understood, unwritten rules by which people live. There is an ethos there, there is a mode, an understanding that, “we don’t do it that way.” […] But in America we have people from all kinds of backgrounds, all in a cluster, together, and consequently law has become very important in this country. Lawyers and law are what hold us together. There is no ethos. […] What we have today is a demythologized world. (The Power of Myth, 10)

That is what I love about Westerns and the old West. It was a time when America was united under a common ethos, a common code. There were living heroes back then, like Wyatt Earp, who lived by this code as best as humanly possible and defended it to their death. We live in a society with very few heroes. Children have no one to look up to but those faces they see on TV or at the ball game. The family as a unit is failing constantly and children are left to come up with their own ethos, their own code of values.

I was raised by two parents who gave me an ethos very early on. They taught me how to recognize true heroism in a society without heroes. They taught me what was truly important in a society, and more importantly, in my own life. As I watch these Westerns, I am reminded of this ethos, and as I continue on that inward journey of self-discovery, I find more and more that the qualities I value most in a person and in myself are those same values possessed by the Western Hero. He has become a part of my subconscious and the more I try to grow, the more he surfaces.

A society needs heroes. A society needs myth. A society needs an ethos. Without them, it will fail. Every member of a society is on his or her own journey of self-discovery. Without heroes to anchor us to a common ethos, I fear what will come out of the subconscious. More than this, I fear the fruits of such a society.