After a long and tiring midterm exam several days ago, I happened to look down near my feet and find a Rice Krispies Treat. There it was, in its package, waiting for me, waiting to say a helpful, “Dude, it’s alright. You totally rocked it.” It was just sitting there; I have no idea how it got there, but who cares? I can only assume it was placed there by a kind and attractive woman who was dropping the hint that she would like to sleep with me.

I went outside, in the perfect weather, and the trees dropped some sort of seed pod on my head, as if to reiterate: “These seed pods are totally for you.” Reading under a tree, eating my Rice Krispies Treat and feeling the world revolve around me, I thought, “Man, this is happiness.”

It’s unfortunate that happiness now is so passe. I saw a YouTube video the other day that highlighted the commercials of 1992. Everyone was so happy! There were happy, singing old people and happy, singing cars and yes, even happy, singing yogurt trees (whatever a yogurt tree is). In fact, in nearly every commercial, the actors broke out into song — be it over TV dinners, coffee or cereal. I wouldn’t be surprised in the least if the commercial lineup of 1992 included a happy, singing canister of genital itch cream.

TV today is flooded with commercials advertising sex appeal, manliness and The Cool. This is all well and good because these are the permanent fixtures of the commercial community, but when’s the last time you saw a musical, happy TV commercial? The best we’ve got is “HEAD ON: Apply directly to the forehead!” which has taken on a musical quality of its own.

Our modern musical landscape offers a bit more variety. You can choose between the angsty, whiny suburban teenagers of rock and the bombastic, egotistical ravings of current rap culture. I hate to say it, but our last bastion of musical happiness unfortunately lies in country music. “She was fine and she was ready, in the back of my ‘59 Chevy!” certainly brings to the table a bit of lighthearted joy, albeit at the expense of the objectification of women and the destruction of the English language.

What’s to blame for all of this? No, it’s not the uncertainty of the modern world or the disruption of the family. That all started long ago. It’s not the oppression of the bourgeoisie or the fact that we’re all so sexualized. Leave those explanations to the old people.

The explanation here lies in the figure of a skinny teenager in all black clothing, with hair parted over his eyes and his shirt torn, a guy whose pants are tighter than Janet Jackson’s, and who can shoot web out of his track-marked wrists: Emo Spiderman.

Emo Spiderman is the very definition of what is wrong with our society today. “He’s so torn and deep, like a flower that’s been sitting in a vase for too long.” “He’s moody and he’s upset!” But, just like “real-life” emos, his sorrow and angst are more than a bit ill-placed, given that he’s got the beautiful Kirsten Dunst and kickass superpowers, made even more kickass by his black suit.

When did sadness become the “deep” emotion? When did it become cool to have unspoken internal angst — for guys to wear eyeliner? The Emo movement has done nothing but bad things for our society, leaving in its wake bratty kids with nothing better to do than pretend to have layers to their shallow, store-bought personalities.

And that’s why it was all the more miraculous that I found happiness the other day with a Rice Krispies Treat and a tree. Happiness may be passe, especially in the realm of column-writing. But what I felt yesterday, in the middle of a hurricane of work, was a certain happy calm. And I can only hope that Emo Spiderman didn’t encourage any of you to forget what that feels like.

Nat was encouraged by his happiness to “double bag” it yesterday when he gave blood. Share similar stories of personal happiness at nat.hillard@stanford.edu.