Appreciation

  The appreciation of some things change with time and maturity. For example some books, when read at the age of ten, felt completely incomprehensible and hopelessly dull but when re read at the age of sixteen felt like the most profound as well as the most exhilarating literary excursion ever. Of course that infantile experience of incomprehension and the realization that there is still a whole universe of literature to be explored is important in its self (The educational equivalent of tough love. Like Spartans of literacy casting their young children out into the textual mountains of unfamiliar vocabulary and complicated imagery, left to fend off the hungry subtle thematic nuances armed only with the alphabet and a vague grasp of grammar) but in terms of appreciating the text for its true worth, a later reread is most definitely worthwhile.

 However there are things that don't seem to improve no matter how many years or experiences are accumulated. Events, ideas or objects which seem as worthless at the age of sixteen as they were at the age of six. I admit that there is a certain comfort in knowing that no matter how much time passes and no matter how altered I may become, there are some things which stay stubbornly the same. Nonetheless it is quite problematic and rather irritating when the said ever valueless thing seems to be universally accepted as mesmerizing and moving. This thing, for me, is fireworks.

 A passionate colourful blossom composed of several million brightly burning particles, vividly flourescent for an instant then withering to float away in the cold night wind. An instant artwork painted on the night sky to fade in a moment, leaving nothing but a ghostly shadow of smoke behind. Indeed fireworks are pretty, an extravagantly beautiful spectacle for the retinas. However I also thought that James Cameron's "Avatar" was quite an extravagant and beautiful spectacle but if they had somehow projected Avatar onto the night skies several times a year, every year for the last sixteen years of my existence, I would have stopped going after the second showing.


  In the same way, I would be able to show the extent of profound amazement  expressed by everyone else at the sight of fireworks only if I were a caveman who had magically time traveled from the prehistoric days to see the luminous aerial display for the first time in my life.

 However as a caveman I would probably show the same amount of awed wonder at the sight of a car or a television or just a toilet flushing but nobody claims that the movement of water down the porcelain U-bend is a moving and beautiful sight to be celebrated (even though it probably took about the same amount of scientific and engineering genius as the fireworks to get it to the standards it maintains today). Couples don't hold hands and cuddle while sitting in front of a urinal nor do parents excitedly drag their children off to go see the toilet. Perhaps its the infrequency of the fireworks that makes it special, maybe if we only flushed our toilets once or twice a year we would appreciate it more and hold festivals in celebration of the toilet, which would, noxious fumes and all, still be more enjoyable than the overly hyped irritating fireworks celebrations of today.

 However, no matter how much I might argue or object, in the end the only response I seem to get is "but its so pretty and nice, how can you not like it?" Even my more cynical and depressed associates, with whom I often rant concerning the many ignored petty flaws of the world, seem incapable of being bored of fireworks. Hence, in this matter, I am completely isolated. Somehow, every single person I have ever talked to seems to enjoy fireworks and will go to lengths such as travel just to go see the repetitive unchanging dull light show every year. So what is it? What is wrong with me? Why can I not like fireworks? Somebody help me! Teach me how to like fireworks! Please!

How does everyone else in the world maintain their appreciation of fireworks? Is it biological, am I a genetic mutation? Or is it through nurture?

 Are all babies taken from their cribs at the earliest stage of infancy and placed in a Clockwork Orange style cinema where they are shown endless reels of how fireworks is wonderful and other similar ideas necessary for a human being to function effectively within society? If so, can I enter the cinema as a late comer because I appear to have missed not only the screening of "How Fireworks Is Wonderful" but also "How Not To Be Socially Awkward" and "General Morality"

 Or if it isn't by nurture but by fundamental human nature then what can I do? Is there some sort of operation I can have to implant that all important fireworks appreciation cell which all homo sapiens other than myself seem to share. What if, in the future, we made contact with aliens and the only way to distinguish between human beings and aliens was by that single feature of fireworks appreciation? I'll be mistakenly identified as an illegal alien and deported to some far away planet at the ends of the galaxy, exiled and alone. Somebody, please, teach me how to like fireworks!

There Will Be Red

 Today, while entering the sixth form center (The central hub of activity for sixth formers within the school, a collection of sofas and tables often flooded with people, vaguely reminiscent of an ants' nest except filled with more hormonally charged and far less hard working ants) I noted a poster pinned to one of the two wooden double doors, reliably informing me that there would be a talk held in the school this Thursday by the British communist party.
 Now I would like to make clear that I have no problem with communists (Saying things like this always inevitably makes one sound like they have a problem with whatever they're claiming they don't have a problem with, in the same way racists often say "Don't get me wrong I have no problem with these ethnics". The only way I could possibly send out a worse message is by following that up with "Some of my best friends are communists" but fortunately, none of them are.) or their ideology.
 I don't hold any ignorant prejudices, at least I think I don't (but then again ignorant prejudiced people tend not to know the fact they're ignorant and prejudiced, it sort of comes with the territory of being ignorant), about communism and I have nothing but despairingly amused contempt for the frighteningly numerous relics of the Red Scare that still seem to be rife in certain areas, most notably America, of the world where people regard communism as a fundamental evil to stand alongside Satan and Voldemort. And I'm sure that most of my school's population are not the type to make a cross or whisper a prayer to Jesus and holy capitalism upon hearing someone utter "the ideology which shall not be named".
The base idea of communism is nice in the same way that complete world peace or unicorns going around shitting rainbows and happiness would be nice. It's nice but it's very unlikely to work in reality. Nonetheless I would say, in the same patronizing tone one might use on a six year old who dreams of becoming the first astronaut to set foot on the sun, that its nice to pursue hopes and dreams. Thus I cheer on the communists with a soft indulgent smile and the understanding kind look in my eye often employed by liberal parents humoring their reckless children.
 However, this time, I do feel that the British communist party have made a rather grave error of judgment in coming to give a talk within one of the country's more expensive private schools. A school filled with arrogant snobbish young adults (at the age where they feel they know everything about the world and who, annoyingly, do in fact know quite a lot) who live in houses with more floors than residents and an equivalent square meter of living space for every singular blade of grass growing in their very large well maintained gardens.
 The communist party may feel they're going to strike at the very heart of the enemy but it is really as futile an attempt as Frodo, Same and Gandalf entering Mordor alone to negotiate with Sauron. At best they'll find themselves standing in front of a crowd of Orcs, mumbling awkwardly (or orcwardly) into a microphone, "Well... umm... we at the..erm... fellowship believe..." a cough and shuffle as the orcs fidget with boredom, "that Middle earth has a... ahem... right to freedom... umm... any questions?" A moment of silence as Frodo timidly surveys the crowd before him for, one mangled twisted hand rises from the sea of hostile minions, "Yes, what is it?" whispers Frodo, indicating towards the hand and its corresponding orc.
 The orc looks Frodo in the eye, taking in a rasping breath to make add to the intellectual discussion, finally grunting "man flesh."