4:09: Just Give Up

Although quietly stated, it echoed throughout the room.

"Seriously, Just quit," she said.

I started opening my mouth to give her my retort but she silenced me before the words could even leave my mouth:

"Don't give me that 'I can achieve all things' speech. I am sick of your comparisons to Michael Jordan. Frank, this is just not for you."

Her words stung me. My fractured pride began to show on my face a bit. Starting with my eye brows shifting up like the magma turned lava, blasting through the top of the volcano. The ash surrounded the room in the form of embarrassment and rage. Before I could even form any retort, any defense I said the first thing everyone says at a loss of words:

"Just shut up," I shouted proudly, stalling until the next sentence would arrive from the heavens, yanking me from the awkward tension in the gym. It never didn't arrive. It might have if she didn't start talking again.

"Frank, look man. I know you love basketball, but its not for you. I am just trying to save your time. You invest entirely too much into something that's not working for you."

I went ahead and used my Michael Jordan retort anyways:

"Michelle! Jordan didn't make his high school basketball team. He practiced nonstop. I bet he heard the same kind of comments. 'Just quit. You suck!' But he persevered. And that is the kind of message Jordan stood for. Working hard and achieving. No matter how grueling the obstacle may be. If the heavens hold you down, you gotta go Atlas on 'em"

She laughed. It was the most painful, piercing laugh. It burned. I really felt what I said and she mocked it. I felt trivial. She realized what she had done to my spirit a few moments later. Perhaps it was the watering of my eyes and the stillness of my body that gave it away. But she realized the pain and tried to make amends.

She got quiet and said, "Frank, I'm really sorry. I know this is important to you. I didn't mean to hurt you."

I tried to respond as if she hurt me but I was too embarrassed to pretend. My emotions could fill the entire empty gym. So I vented:

" Why the hell do you think I can't do this? What makes you think that I can't develop the skill, ever?"

She humbled her self and said, " I don't know. You're right. I have no clue. You could become the next Michael Jordan. But let me ask you something."

She walked a little closer and put her hand on my shoulder and smiled. I wanted to punch her. I really did not feel like being touched. She continued. "When do you think its a good time to give up a dream?"

I wanted to laugh. It was an absurd question. I thought she was really going to ask me something that would really open my eyes or change my way of thinking. I quickly, without a single thought, chuckled and responded.

"Never." I stared smuggly with an impeccable ego, swelling, swelling and swelling some more at the same speed as my ear to ear grin.

"Frank," she said politely and without any condescension, "Jordan knew when to quit."

I was immediately afraid of what she would say next. I knew exactly where she was going with her argument. Before she even began to explain herself, my ego had packed up it's things and returned home in my shrinking head, like a family picknic, spoiled by stormy weather. Oh did it storm.

She reminded me of Jordan's one year baseball career. I didn't even listen to her words because I just knew. The worst part of knowing that you're wrong is when you realize it too quickly and then experience everything you just heard in your head, out loud by a friend. I started listening again after she told me Jordan's stats.

"Frank," she said calmly and sympathetically, trying to protect my ego, which worked, "You can become the next Jordan but how much time do you have? Time is so important, Frank. I am afraid you're wasting it. We're in college now. You didn't even make the team in high school, or you're freshmen and sophomore years here at the university. You're a junior now! Just give up. You are so talented at so many other things. You're a master chef, you write tear jerking poetry, and you are technologically inclined. Yet, you have NBA dreams. There are people in the world that can only play basketball and rely on that to in life. You are really not good at it but have other talents. The last thing you should do is ignore your other talents and waste your time. Its the most important thing you have."

After that day, and a few more days of an awkward air between Michelle and I, things went back to normal. I was too proud to quit immediately so I played it off over time. I didn't bring up tryouts this semester because I didn't go. I had less basketball conversations and made more Computer Science references. No to mention I started having secret meetings with my advisers, who were helping make some last minute career paths changes. Then, eventually basketball had fallen off the face of my world.

My whole life I was told to never give up. But I guess I misinterpreted the meaning.

Giving up goals is a part of life. People change, so do dreams.

But giving up hope, not believing you can achieve anything, is what people should avoid.

You can beat the odds, but you can't beat Time.

5:38 am: "The Letter They Found On Time. However, Too Late."

They found the letter 2 days after they found his body. It stated as follows:

Dear Reader,

It hit me the moment I got married. I realized that one day, the woman I loved the most, the one I chose to invest emotion, experiences and time into will one day leave this earth. I looked around the wedding ceremony seeing kin pouring every ounce of their happiness into the two of us. I remember wanting to be among them, showing my support with smiles, ear-to-ear smiles, rapid clapping and pats on the back. Everyone was living in the moment except me. Some nights, I feared that I would wake up and feel an empty cold pillow to the right of me. Perhaps the months following her funeral or hours after her passing.    Our honeymoon was not the peak of my depression, but it was definitely the close to the climax. The night we made the cliche love all newlyweds do, I cried. I pretended it was because I was so happy, but I was afraid of the next day being further from the day we were born and closer to the day we will pass. When our kids born, I relapsed on the depression that, for a short time, abandoned me. I spent 25 years being a paranoid father: waiting for my children to accidentally choke on a coin and tearing up when they left for their friend's house when the sun was past set. Phone calls in the middle of the night from my children calling from their dorm rooms just to say "I love you" had me certain they were being held hostage by murderous rapists. However, even then was not the peak of my depression. By the time my grandchildren had turned 7, my paranoia had finally subdued. The grandchildren would run around with sharpened pencils and I did not scream. In some cases, I even joined in on the action, giving the game names like "Pencil Wars" or "King Pencil." Actually, my wife had become the paranoid one. Its ironic how much personalities rub off on you after years of being together. Living together. 

The peak of my paranoia was when my beloved wife came home from work one day and asked me where Donna was. Donna was our first Dog we had when our kids turned 13. We surprised them with Donna one evening after they had complained for 7 or more years about not having a dog. Our kids were far to irresponsible enough. Unfortunately, the dog ran into the street about a month later and was run over by our neighbor during the night. It was pretty sad and a little awkward for about a few weeks after that. My wife had developed Alzheimer's. It was the biggest slap in the face by death. I became a very angry man for the following year after our doctors confirmed her conditions. I was mad at the world as well as myself. I had allowed myself to focus obsess over death and I had let my fear dictate and spoil important parts of my moments in my life. I know all the cliches about death being a part of life and counting my blessings. Our family was death-free for so long, I felt like it was Death's way of getting back. People felt the need to remind me to remember all the good times, forgetting that the reason the "good times" were good become of her. I would be remembering these good times alone for the rest of my life. I am expected to watch myself be forgotten. 

As I think back, my most tragic mistake was my lack of appreciation. I spent too much of my life living in fear of death, preparing myself for the worst situations that cannot be prepared for. I hid from situations that make a person, a person. There were just not enough times I lived in the moment with her. She must be the one that feels alone. I made her feel alone. I should have joined her in the moments. But I will join her now...She'll meet me there. Somewhere in our memories.

Live.

The message was found in the bedroom two feet away from his body. Next to the alarm clock.

I wrote this at 4:30. Make it Matter, Please.

He cleared his throat and repeated:
"This is the last stop. I won't say it again!"
Without words, I got out of my seat.
I walked down the aisle at my own pace.
My own pace did not please the bus driver.
It was obvious by the way he sighed and glared
through the rear view mirror. I pretended to fidget
with my MP3 player. There was nothing on it.
I erased the memory before I left.

I stepped off the last step of the bus, which meant way more
to me than it did the driver. For him, it was the farewell of a nuisance.
For me, it was a  July 20th 1969.
I didn't have 500 million viewers. I didn't need them. I didn't want them.
The bus began to drive away and I felt my last chance leaving with it.
I ignored it of course. I didn't even turn around to watch it.
Its a bad omen to turn around. Pillars of salt and whatnot.

The fear and anxiety didn't surprise attack me
until the bus's engine was completely unheard.
I realized the only thing I had was a bag.
It contained deodorant, underwear, toothbrush, Shampoo,
a book, two pairs of jeans, 4 T-shirts and a brush.
I forgot toothpaste.

I began realizing I had less than what I left behind:
Money, a nice home, friends, shelter, a garden,
a dog, a promising future, a few rows of shoes,
a few good books, a bunch of bad books,
lipstick, make-up, contacts, a good husband,
and a letter.

I can't remember what the letter said,
but remember what it meant to me.
It meant that I would be stressed,
worried, reckless, poor, thoughtless,
hungry, pissed and dead.

But I would also be free.
I had everything. I left Everything.
Everything was there
but I was not.

So I am not.

But I am.

And I am happy.

Black Elitism and discouragement: "Man, Ya'll so ignorant"

Education is a  useful tool and a dangerous weapon. An ugly truth, but a truth nonetheless.We have all seen education being used as method of separating, oppressing and attacking those who may not be informed on certain topics as others. In some cases, we have also been those people who have misused something that was passed down to us from someone much wiser than us. Remember when you first learned something interesting from someone interesting and went fleeting somewhere to mercilessly destory  someones ego.  Whether it was what season the Green Ranger arrived or the name of the first Vice President, we have all done it. Sometimes, it is harmless 1upmenship. But then there are those other times when someone with more experience than you comes along and pointlessly reminds you that you are imperfect, which in some cases is needed and well deserved. However in other cases, it is frustrating, embarrassing,  life-changing and discouraging.  What's gross is when individuals hold the education they have acquired over the heads of others who were not as fortunate to gain access to it and are aware of what they are doing. In the the 5 years I have been in college, I have experienced an annoying amount of Black elitism. Not the good kind. The bad kind. The kind that acquires knowledge and refuses to spread it and enrich the black community as well as the world. They would much rather rub and shower themselves in their egoism.

 I remember I was in 11th grade when one of my teacher's friends, a fellow teacher, decided she wanted to condescend to some one of lower experience. She picked me. We were watching some of the destruction  caused by 2005's Hurricane Katrina in New Orleans. Somehow it affected gas prices and I did not know because I was not informed on the subject. So, being a student, I asked "how does it affect gas prices?"

and the teacher and one other student mocked me. The teacher started with an eyeroll and then said "...you just don't get it do you..?" She obviously knew I didn't get it, but she wanted to reiterate on the fact that I didn't know something that she knew. The student said "Man, even I know that," singing the pronoun in a way that implied that I should know more than him...whoever he was. Of course I knew they were overacting to something, but I remember not feeling good. I felt dumb and angry. Why should I be mocked for not knowing something like that? I felt like I asked something like "What the fuck is air?" 

What further grinds my gears is when teachers like her want to get on soapboxes and talk about how the black youth cares about nothing but Hip-hop, the internet etc. Of course these kinds of complaints exist in every community and we all roll our eyes at this. But what burns me up is that there are way too much discouragement in black entertainment and in general that makes a sport of point out the black person who doesn't know. Every other black comedian, political commentator and teacher wants to tell you whats wrong with the black generation today and laugh at their problems as if the previous generation was free of similar issues. Why not inform him/her rather than repel and intimidate them from engaging knowledge? 

I'll give you a better example. I was on Twitter the other day and read someone's comments about Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. I'll paraphrase for you, "I don't know why ya'll love Dr. King so much! He cheated on his wife!!! Ya'll are so ignorant." In all honesty, it's true. Dr. King cheated on his wife. I never liked holding an individual so high that we overlook his/her mistakes, so sure: He cheated. He was probably not that great of a husband. Now let me inform you who may not know what this status does not show is the whole story. J. Edgar Hoover, former president of the US, became the head of the FBI. The FBI believed King to be a Communist so they installed cameras and tape recorders in his room, finding out only two or three things: He was innocent, made JFK jokes and cheated on his wife, Coretta King. Check my bullshit to see if I am lying. Basically, not following Dr. King because he was ostensibly not a good husband is holding him to unfair standard. People make mistakes and discarding their wisdom just cause its hip is hurtful to you. So sure, you can present only one side of a story and school someone on being ignorant for not knowing something you just read on some smug forum and look like the world's biggest dick when someone humbly or arrogantly informs you one the whole story. Just realize that your comment leaves little ripples in the lake and does not disturb any universe whatsover.

So, this Black History month, regardless of what color you are, let's not be pretentious. Instead, lets inform and encourage. It's a celebration.

Villainy. 

As promised: Tim's Biggest Mistakes of 2011

I promised in a Facebook status--the holy Bible--that I would make a blog post containing major mistakes I made in 2011. Originally, I was going to post it the last night of 2011 but I thought that would kinda lame, and, my real excuse, I couldn't think of big mistakes that I made that was important enough to post, or appropriate. Since I have had more time to think about it, I came up with a few decent ones.

1. Picking that Flight.

Ooohhh you know the one. If anyone kept up with my last blog site, they may have heard from this via Facebook or Word-of-Mouth. The infamous, "cheaper" route to Japan. Technically, this mistake happened in 2010, but the effects of the mistake haunted me throughout the year of 2011. I bought a round-trip plane ticket to Japan for when I studied abroad between 2010-2011. It was around 200 dollars cheaper for about--if my math is correct--4000000000000000 dollars worth the stress. My flight was so bad it became an inside joke among friends. People pointed at maps, moving their fingers the "long way" across the globe to demonstrate my flight, ultimately making outlandish designs across African nations, loops throughout the Atlantic to show how out of the way my flight went.  I went from Nashville to DC to Doha, Qatar to Kansai Airport. In the great words of Tupac Shakur: "Damn Timothy, pay attention to flight schedules before you accept them no matter how cheap." He said it. Can you really argue that he didn't?

My defense: It was my first time...

2. Not taking good notes in British Literature II until my grades begin to slip.

That one is pretty straight-forward. For some reason, any time I begin to write notes in class notes in class I become distracted. It happens most commonly when the teacher begins explaining a concept for the class. For example, Existentialism in 18th-century British Literature. The teacher would explain how that form of literature challenged the Catholic church by calling Christianity into question because it emphasized the reliance on one's self, instead of a god. She would continue to explain the pious nature of writers who combat the absurdist/existential literature and then BOOM: my mind focuses on the word "pious." Then I would think of the last time I heard pious. Ah hah! It was Jay-Z and Kanye West's song "No Church in the Wild." Then I would think, "man, I sure am glad I went to that concert! Those dudes killed it! Amazing!....oops" 

Oh..Oh No....YOU AGAIN?!

When I finally realized what had happened, I had missed an entire 10 minutes of class. It takes about the same amount of time to regain the grasp of the topic.

I got an A in that class so whatever.

3.  Having an MP3 player dominated by 3 of my favorite musicians and the rest of it being new bands/emcees I barely like, but try to tolerate just for some fresh air.

For my MP3 player, the shuffle function is like being given three Pokeballs from Professor Oak and all of them being Voltorbs. I can't describe how many times this summer I hit shuffle and the Pillows, Jay-Z, or Red Hot Chili Peppers popped up. Granted, all three of those bands and rappers are pretty damn good. I kind of got sick of hearing them all the time. I tried taking them off my MP3 player and bombarding myself with new music. Doing so introduced me to a lot of cool new bands. It also introduced me to a lot of shittiness. Perhaps I should take more requests from friends. I am gonna try to continuously update my playlists. If its whack after three listens, it gets deleted. I am not gonna have a B.O.B situation again..."Hey, Hey, do you wanna be famous?" oh...I still have frustrated groans.

4. Being reclusive from friends/ extra accessible at work

One mistake I made--one I will damn sure not make again--is being too present in my dorm and not present enough elsewhere. I hate feeling like my number one goal of the day is to return home to my dorm. Not gonna diss the GLC because 99% of the time I love it. Occasionally, I just need a change of scenery. So my plans are to leave the dorm and campus at every opportunity that corresponds best with my schedule.

5. Taking the L

The hardest tast for me to do in the past has been taking the L. If you are not familiar with the phrase, I will save you a trip to Urban Dictionary and tell you that it means accepting defeat, or "taking the loss." I'm sure I'm not alone when I say it is so hard to walk away from a situation that is following you. Last year, I had so many of those situations happen and I refused to walk away from it, which, to most people, is taking the L. For example, when friends are clearly having the better day in a game of wise cracks, there were times when I had no clever responses and simply refused to take the L. We all know what happens when you continue without actually having a comeback:

It has never been that bad, but I want to prevent a scenario similar to this from happening to me on a more serious level. More times than I wished, I tried to fix a conflict that I should have just walked away from. Last year I had a very strong "Man, I gon' fix everything" mentality. Sometimes, it is completely okay to just give up. Somethings are just not worth winning. There are a bunch of conflicts that are winnable, but not worthy. Picking the right battles is something I should practice more.


6. Saying "no" to watching entire series that friends insist on making you watch.

For every fantastic episode of Community, there are like 4 "okay I get it" episodes of Big Bang Theory. There are times I wanted to give series/band/song a chance and a lot of it was just okay.
Okayness is not a bad thing--its okay. But a vast amount of okayness can open your eyes to why a show, movie, or album is merely passing the class of Acceptability with a C-. So if you suggesting something to me, make sure you are not hyping it up. Say, "is this really his thing?" Also, make sure its the appropriate amount of whatever it is. Pick the right episodes/songs, the right order and the right time. I will give a lot of things an honest chance. But by the end of last year, the okay-quality to amazing-quality ratio was far from equal with okay leading the way. And that goes for Anime, Music, Movies, Comedians, Video games and books.

7. Not initiating spontaneous concerts parties instead of getting angry.

I don't like being mad. I like making funny rants, pretending to be mad but I do not actually like being really angry. Their were a few times last semester where I was actually angry. Thus, I have finally come up with a solution to this kind of problem. Whenever someone does something that makes me angry--no not annoyed or frustrated but really angry--I am gonna rap/sing the first song that comes to the top of my head in a silly accent. That means, whenever someone is bringing drama my way.....

IT WAS ALL GOOD JUST A WEEK AGO/
NIGGAZ FELL THEMSELVES/
THEN THAT WATCH THE THRONE DROPPED/
NIGGAZ KILLED THEMSELVES/
WHAT THESE NIGGAS GON DO HOV?/
ITS THAT NEW CRACK/ ON THE NEW STOVE/

OR

TODAY, IS GONNA BE THE DAY THAT WERE GONNA THROW IT BACK TO YOU/
BY NOW, YOU SHOULDA, SOMEHOW, REALIZE WHAT YOU GOTTA DO/
I DON'T BELIEVE THAT ANNNNY BODY, FEELS THAT WAY I DO...ABOUT YOU NOW/

All caps. Max Volume.

I wish I did this last year when it seemed like every month something over-the-top would happen and instead of doing this obnoxious, somewhat funny thing above, I got upset. No more.

If I Were a Middle Class White Guy Writing about 'If I Were a Poor Black Kid'....

...I just wouldn't."

I am going to show the few of the people who read this blog how to avoid sounding like an idiot and talking about things you (well, not you) have never experienced, but merely speculated on.
An article on Forbes.com called "If I were a poor black kid," by a writer named Gene Marks--a self-described, middle class white guy who comes from a middle white background"--struck a nerve with me, and a big chunk of the internet. If you don't want to read it, I will summarize it:

 "Hey, I am not going to lie. I am not poor and my kids are well off. But listen, if I was not rich, I would just work really hard and make my way to the top. I would utilize the internet and its free technology and become an expert on Google Scholar and climb my way to the top. It's not easy, but I would do it!"

In all honesty, Gene Marks was probably not trying to being malicious or condescending. I mean, what person aims to be either of those. After all, most bad ideas are ideas that meant well.  The problem with ideas such as these is that their foundations are a bunch of misconceptions and epic generalizations.  I don't want to make fun of the guy because there are faaaaaaar worst generalizations that have been made to a group of people. Also, let's not pretend for a moment that this is something done only by a white, middle-class male. I have heard this done by plenty of people from various races, classes. More commonly, I have heard people from people from a poorer community who have "made it," tell those who have not "made it," that anything is possible, and you should "just work harder."

......Just sayin'

One of the easiest ideas to conjure is one that over-simplifies a complicated issue. For example, we have all had that person--usually a family member--that likes to blame you for the problem before they have heard the whole situation:

You: My car has been acting funny lately
Parent: Well, you should take better care of it!

Sure. The parent makes a valid point, but a valid point is not equivalent to a fair argument. Yes, taking better care of a car would, in fact, be beneficial. But what if your car is operating funkily because of someone else's tampering? Or a previous accident? Or the car just being shitty? BOOM! It is now your fault automatically!

When an erroneous presentation of a situation surfaces, such as "Poor people should work harder," their is a natural tendency to agree. One might think, "Sure, hard work is good for everyone," not realizing that it implies that poor people do not work hard. Usually, addressing an issue that involves a vast amount of people as if it was a single individual is the first step along the path of being a douche bag. Making very broad, vague statements can easily mislead someone into believing inaccurate information, or a "straw man argument."

A prime example is Marks understanding of poverty being solely the lack of money when it usually incorporates more factors: domestic violence, gang violence, Drugs etc. Marks only talks about not having technology and not trying hard enough. Sure is hard to try when you're focused on not dying and starving.  Of course, there are poor people that do not try, but is it okay to assume that is the same case for the majority?

How to avoid being mislead, or making the same mistake Gene Marks made is simple:


1. Avoid providing resolutions to issues that are foreign to you.

If you have no clue about the economics, please spare your friends/family 'resolutions' to the problem.

2. Be aware of Over-simplifications. Listen for absolute words like all, everyone, you people, always, etc.

Not all simplification use those words. In a lot of cases you have to just think critically and beware of hype.

Girls are emotional! (really? Only girls? Aren't humans emotional?)

Men are emotionless (ouch...that hurts my feelings.)

"Black people talk like this.." (Do they? Or does this comedian/rapper/actor talk like this?)

"Why do white people always..." (Wow, you must have had a lot of free-time to have met all the white people in the world)

3. As mentioned above, try not to approach an issue that relates to thousands, millions, billions as if it only applies to one person.

"Rich people work hard for what they have" (Depends on the parents. Lots of people inherit wealth).

Try to remember this the next time you have the chance to voice your opinion online, on the radio, television, internet or argument with your friends. Because having the best intentions is just not enough.


Are we done here? I think we're done here.

Villainy.

Oh The Things You'll miss.

This semester, I started to like football. To many people that know me personally it may come as a total surprise. I have never cared for sports. In fact, I hated sports. In my childhood it seemed to be goal of every young boy around me. I could not make myself interested in it so I ignored it. Then, eventually, after being stoned by questions and criticism for my lack of engagement into the world of sports, my apathy morphed into annoyance and then, at some point in middle school, a petty hatred.

Since I started working at the Global Learning Community, I've made plenty of foreign friends who have wanted to learn about American Football. Despite not giving a rat's dirty ass about football, I still learned the basics over the years. So, I took a few students to a game and explained it. Then I took fewer students to a game and explained. Then, just one student. Eventually, I was watching it on television with other residents. Shouting, cursing and threatening to kill the referee, his children and pets. I always knew that I was probably missing out on something fun. But I didn't care as a child. I figured there were lots of fun things that I would miss out on, and a lot of fun things that I would be included in..See, I was mature sometimes.

Trying new things is kind of hard for a lot of people. Especially myself. I don't know what it is about me and trying new experiences, but when I do try new things, I can feel my personality gaining depth. Even if it is something new I did not particularly enjoy, I at least walk away from it knowing that it sucked, vowing to never waste my time again. What is unfortunate is that there are people who make it a goal to avoid new experiences. Don't get me wrong, I really don't like watching new movies recommended by people who have disappointed me time and time again: "Dude, you HAVE to go watch Book of Eli! It is so inspirational!" I am still shuddering.  Instead I am saying that intentionally sticking to a routine of watching the same television shows, reading the same blogs, talking to the same people, playing the same video games, shopping at the same stores, dating the same kind of personality, using the same vocabulary, listening to the same music, watching the same movies, having the same hair cut, buying the same clothes and eating the same food can really limit life.

I remember the day I bought my first Spider-man comic in 2006. I remember walking into the bookstore at the mall and seeing the comic book rack. I spent it around and then I suddenly became hyper-aware of Spider-man. I used to love the show growing up. I remembered loving everything about the character. However, it just hit me that the series has been running for the past 40 years. I wondered why. How could a series last so long? 24 comics a year for 40 years is a long time. I thought, they should just end it. I wondered what all the rage is about. Now its 5 years later and I haven't missed an issue. Moreover, I want to write comic book stories. I want to spark a franchise that lasts 40 years. A moment of curiosity determined has affected my life for the past 5 years.

I'll give you another example. This past weekend, a friend and I wanted to have a Mobile Suit Gundam marathon. His girlfriend, a Japanese girl who ignored and occasionally mocked Gundam, joined us. about 3 hours later, she informed us that she never realized how deep the series was. She said "I thought it was for kids. I did not expect it to be so awesome." It was definitely dated like most shows from 1979, but it left a good impression on her. She even said she'd be down for watching it again.

It's not for everyone but...this shit Cray.

But what does that mean? Does it mean that she will have a life changing experience? Of course not. Gundam is VERY hit and miss. I guess, at the most, it could lead to a new hobby, and it could even be useful to a connecting with new friends. Knowing the slightest pop cultural references--especially a franchise with the magnitude of Gundam--could even win you a million dollars:

Just sayin'

Villainy.