Protip: Don't eat any sweets or drink any wine offered by the primitive woman, no matter how pretty she is. Especially if she's pretty.
Someday, I want to be in this situation. I want to be out with my friends, having saved some backwards, sorta primitive village or town from some random crap plaguing them. And of course they insist on throwing us a party, and for no reason whatsoever, some random, fine-ass village girl starts making eyes at my friend. After a few minutes, she comes over and offers him something to eat or drink. Maybe he tries to share with the rest of us, but she insists it's just for him. And after checking that he likes it, she walks away very pleased.
While she's away, getting ready for some ceremonious dance or something, I am really going to enjoy turning to me friend and congratulating him on his new bride. Probably child bride. But definitely servant-bride.
Then again, I'm pretty sure most of my friends would be totally okay with the situation.
Tuesday, August 24, 2010
Monday, May 24, 2010
Lost in Thought (Wordplay is fun!)
I wanna sit and breakdown Lost, while it's still fresh in my head.
Originally, I really did think the Island was Purgatory. I thought that was the Big Twist all along. I had this whole idea that the Others were people who refused to move on, that the Dharma Initiative was a bunch of living people who had found their way in and were mucking with it. The theory started to fall apart a bit, as more interaction with the outside world began to take place, and I could never reconcile the concept I had that "dying" on the Island meant you were moving on with the concept that the Others were people who refused to do so.
Really, even as I write it, the idea still seems pretty valid. The Island was Purgatory, and they were all dead all along. I dunno. Maybe, maybe not. It really tosses up into the air the idea of where people went when they left. I don't think I like the idea of it being Purgatory. I think I like the idea of it being a mystery better.
It's an Island. And on this Island, there's this energy. Maybe the energy is natural, maybe the energy is created by that artifact at the heart of the Island, maybe the energy is natural and the artifact tempers it in some way. I don't know what the power might be, but it was ancient and respected and protected by people forgotten since time forgotten for reasons forgotten. That statue, before it was broken, was an Egyptian goddess of fertility, as I hear it. I've also heard it was originally supposed to be a Gibborrim. Either way lends credit to the idea that the Island is a source of holy energy, maybe life energy.
And people come and maybe go from the Island, and there's this woman protecting and watching over the Island, who knows how long she's been there. One day some other woman washes up on the Island, and this other woman has kids, and the first woman kills her and raises the kids, but never bothers to give one of them a name. What a bitch. She rigs it so they can't hurt each other, but she does that wrong. And the one kid without a name runs off and joins some people looking to fuck with the Island's energies, and for some reason the woman protecting the Island isn't really doing everything she should to stop them. When she does, it gets her killed, which pisses off the named son, Jacob, and on his first day on the job protecting the Island, he REALLY fucks up, and puts it in greater danger than ever. He creates a force of darkness and death and selfishness. Smokey. I prefer calling him Isaac.
Isaac and Jacob end up in their little feud, Jacob using his gifts to protect the Island and keep Isaac imprisoned there, while Isaac works to find some way off it. A bad idea, since he's evil as fuck. I don't think he's even Jacob's brother at this point, I think he just wears his face to piss Jacob off. Jacob, for his part, never recovers from fucking things up in the first place, becomes a total recluse in how he deals with protecting the Island, and begins working with intermediaries to manipulate people into protecting it for him. One such intermediary is Alpert. One such mortal guardian is a descendant of one bloodline tied by destiny to the Island, Whitmore.
Meanwhile, the descendant of another bloodline tied to the island, Hanzo, starts funding this Dharma Initiative - silly hippy scum - to track down the Island and find some way to use its energies. Some manipulations on the part of Isaac, combined with Jacob's inattentiveness, puts a Dharma kid named Ben in charge, but without Jacob's guidance, and Dharma ends up largely abandoning the Island. Dharma's experiments are not shut down before Dharma and a group of time travelers really fuck things up, however.
An incident involving the Island's energies, a nuclear weapon, time travel, and a healthy dose of what must be destiny (or Jacob's unseen hand, which might be the same thing, in this case) results in an accident that would, years later, result in another accident that brings a plane full of people Jacob has interest in crashing down on the Island. Jacob's looking for someone to take his job, should the need arise.
A few dozen wacky misadventures later, a few of these people escape the Island, but they super regret it, and end up finding their way back. And through all this, I think Jacob is preventing women on the Island from having kids. Or at least he's doing that after Dharma folds, but before his replacements show up. Still, considering what happened to him, his brother, and his mother, it would make sense he'd put a cap on reproduction, as he's clearly unstable to begin with.
So then some more shit goes down. A final battle takes place, and Isaac is, in the end, killed. The evil is stopped from being unleashed on the world. But Jack, the big hero of the whole damned thing, dies in the process, and there ends up being a happy reunion in what is either Purgatory, a the equivalent as manufactured by the people united by the Island. And they all meet up at last and move on.
Six years I watched this, and the one big thing I carry away from it (would be two big things, if I wasn't already such a fan of the concept of destiny) is this:
I am not ready to die. Like, I'm still as fine with the idea and possibility of it as I was a week ago. But I'm not as accepting of it, suddenly. Suddenly, I feel like there is something I want to do before I die. I'm have no more or fewer regrets than I did a week ago (three, for those keeping score), but I'm suddenly realizing that, if I died right now, that number, in my final moments, would jump right the fuck up there.
Plus, I've always really expected that I'm gonna end up dying alone. Suddenly, I don't want that, either.
Originally, I really did think the Island was Purgatory. I thought that was the Big Twist all along. I had this whole idea that the Others were people who refused to move on, that the Dharma Initiative was a bunch of living people who had found their way in and were mucking with it. The theory started to fall apart a bit, as more interaction with the outside world began to take place, and I could never reconcile the concept I had that "dying" on the Island meant you were moving on with the concept that the Others were people who refused to do so.
Really, even as I write it, the idea still seems pretty valid. The Island was Purgatory, and they were all dead all along. I dunno. Maybe, maybe not. It really tosses up into the air the idea of where people went when they left. I don't think I like the idea of it being Purgatory. I think I like the idea of it being a mystery better.
It's an Island. And on this Island, there's this energy. Maybe the energy is natural, maybe the energy is created by that artifact at the heart of the Island, maybe the energy is natural and the artifact tempers it in some way. I don't know what the power might be, but it was ancient and respected and protected by people forgotten since time forgotten for reasons forgotten. That statue, before it was broken, was an Egyptian goddess of fertility, as I hear it. I've also heard it was originally supposed to be a Gibborrim. Either way lends credit to the idea that the Island is a source of holy energy, maybe life energy.
And people come and maybe go from the Island, and there's this woman protecting and watching over the Island, who knows how long she's been there. One day some other woman washes up on the Island, and this other woman has kids, and the first woman kills her and raises the kids, but never bothers to give one of them a name. What a bitch. She rigs it so they can't hurt each other, but she does that wrong. And the one kid without a name runs off and joins some people looking to fuck with the Island's energies, and for some reason the woman protecting the Island isn't really doing everything she should to stop them. When she does, it gets her killed, which pisses off the named son, Jacob, and on his first day on the job protecting the Island, he REALLY fucks up, and puts it in greater danger than ever. He creates a force of darkness and death and selfishness. Smokey. I prefer calling him Isaac.
Isaac and Jacob end up in their little feud, Jacob using his gifts to protect the Island and keep Isaac imprisoned there, while Isaac works to find some way off it. A bad idea, since he's evil as fuck. I don't think he's even Jacob's brother at this point, I think he just wears his face to piss Jacob off. Jacob, for his part, never recovers from fucking things up in the first place, becomes a total recluse in how he deals with protecting the Island, and begins working with intermediaries to manipulate people into protecting it for him. One such intermediary is Alpert. One such mortal guardian is a descendant of one bloodline tied by destiny to the Island, Whitmore.
Meanwhile, the descendant of another bloodline tied to the island, Hanzo, starts funding this Dharma Initiative - silly hippy scum - to track down the Island and find some way to use its energies. Some manipulations on the part of Isaac, combined with Jacob's inattentiveness, puts a Dharma kid named Ben in charge, but without Jacob's guidance, and Dharma ends up largely abandoning the Island. Dharma's experiments are not shut down before Dharma and a group of time travelers really fuck things up, however.
An incident involving the Island's energies, a nuclear weapon, time travel, and a healthy dose of what must be destiny (or Jacob's unseen hand, which might be the same thing, in this case) results in an accident that would, years later, result in another accident that brings a plane full of people Jacob has interest in crashing down on the Island. Jacob's looking for someone to take his job, should the need arise.
A few dozen wacky misadventures later, a few of these people escape the Island, but they super regret it, and end up finding their way back. And through all this, I think Jacob is preventing women on the Island from having kids. Or at least he's doing that after Dharma folds, but before his replacements show up. Still, considering what happened to him, his brother, and his mother, it would make sense he'd put a cap on reproduction, as he's clearly unstable to begin with.
So then some more shit goes down. A final battle takes place, and Isaac is, in the end, killed. The evil is stopped from being unleashed on the world. But Jack, the big hero of the whole damned thing, dies in the process, and there ends up being a happy reunion in what is either Purgatory, a the equivalent as manufactured by the people united by the Island. And they all meet up at last and move on.
Six years I watched this, and the one big thing I carry away from it (would be two big things, if I wasn't already such a fan of the concept of destiny) is this:
I am not ready to die. Like, I'm still as fine with the idea and possibility of it as I was a week ago. But I'm not as accepting of it, suddenly. Suddenly, I feel like there is something I want to do before I die. I'm have no more or fewer regrets than I did a week ago (three, for those keeping score), but I'm suddenly realizing that, if I died right now, that number, in my final moments, would jump right the fuck up there.
Plus, I've always really expected that I'm gonna end up dying alone. Suddenly, I don't want that, either.
Monday, April 19, 2010
The Rules of Retail: The Item is Never Free
I've decided to return to my little pet project with a second installment, because I randomly found the list while I was tidying up my desk. Here is my next Rule of Retail.
The Item is Never Free
Seriously. The item is simply never free. Never. This applies even to buy one, get one free deals. We have a stock system to keep, customer. Everything that goes out the door must be scanned into the system so we KNOW it went out the door. Typically, a buy one, get one free deal is actually just knocking the price of the items in half. This brings up another point on that particular example: Don't assume we're overcharging you or trying to rip you off. On the rare occasion this happens, it isn't some dark ploy on the part of the cashier, because we don't GET anything out of doing that. It's a mistake. Our bad. Like you never fuck up some bit of paperwork at your job, tubby?
But back to the rule. There's a series of odd effects that always occur in retail, behaviors the customers always exhibit. They include, but are not limited to: Customers travel in packs - the store is either packed or empty; Customers never think to grab smaller bills when spending only a dollar or two; Customers will always behave one of two ways when making a return without the receipt; an old lady in a line of dozen people will write a check and won't have a pen unless she's a germophobe (not actually a word, but you get what I mean0; and if there are two dozen of an item on the shelf and one of them doesn't have a barcode or some other marking to use to ring it up, that ONE mark-less item is the one the customer will bring up to the register.
The customer will then rattle off the price "they think it was," like we can do something with that. Again, there's a stock system. Unless you're at 7-11 or in a gas station snack stop. But you're not, or I wouldn't be bitching at you. We need more than the price. Sorry. And I get that we should make an effort to ensure the barcode or SKU or DPCI is on the item, but things slip through the cracks. If you're not gonna double-check, don't get mad at me that I need someone to check for us. It's not like it's my fault the item isn't marked.
Worse than this, however, and closer to the Rule that this entry is about is when something IS marked, but doesn't ring up properly. See, because 99 out of 100 customers will see this and make the single stupidest comment a customer can make:
"Oh, must be free then. Hahaha."
I'm to a point now when I hear that, I wanna lunge across my counter and beat the person. I feel okay with this impulse, because old ladies and children are the ones who don't say it, and they're the ones I feel bad about wanting to punch.
Anyway. The item is never free. Don't jokingly suggest it is. Don't assume it is. And don't assume we're ripping you off just because we scan something the sign says is free. Like you read the fucking signs, anyway. You ever see Clerks? Kevin Smith movie, for the pop-culture retarded? It's about the most accurate representation of both sides of the counter ever presented. We're not dumb, we're just not motivated. But believe me, you are probably not any better, Average Desk Jockey.
The Item is Never Free
Seriously. The item is simply never free. Never. This applies even to buy one, get one free deals. We have a stock system to keep, customer. Everything that goes out the door must be scanned into the system so we KNOW it went out the door. Typically, a buy one, get one free deal is actually just knocking the price of the items in half. This brings up another point on that particular example: Don't assume we're overcharging you or trying to rip you off. On the rare occasion this happens, it isn't some dark ploy on the part of the cashier, because we don't GET anything out of doing that. It's a mistake. Our bad. Like you never fuck up some bit of paperwork at your job, tubby?
But back to the rule. There's a series of odd effects that always occur in retail, behaviors the customers always exhibit. They include, but are not limited to: Customers travel in packs - the store is either packed or empty; Customers never think to grab smaller bills when spending only a dollar or two; Customers will always behave one of two ways when making a return without the receipt; an old lady in a line of dozen people will write a check and won't have a pen unless she's a germophobe (not actually a word, but you get what I mean0; and if there are two dozen of an item on the shelf and one of them doesn't have a barcode or some other marking to use to ring it up, that ONE mark-less item is the one the customer will bring up to the register.
The customer will then rattle off the price "they think it was," like we can do something with that. Again, there's a stock system. Unless you're at 7-11 or in a gas station snack stop. But you're not, or I wouldn't be bitching at you. We need more than the price. Sorry. And I get that we should make an effort to ensure the barcode or SKU or DPCI is on the item, but things slip through the cracks. If you're not gonna double-check, don't get mad at me that I need someone to check for us. It's not like it's my fault the item isn't marked.
Worse than this, however, and closer to the Rule that this entry is about is when something IS marked, but doesn't ring up properly. See, because 99 out of 100 customers will see this and make the single stupidest comment a customer can make:
"Oh, must be free then. Hahaha."
I'm to a point now when I hear that, I wanna lunge across my counter and beat the person. I feel okay with this impulse, because old ladies and children are the ones who don't say it, and they're the ones I feel bad about wanting to punch.
Anyway. The item is never free. Don't jokingly suggest it is. Don't assume it is. And don't assume we're ripping you off just because we scan something the sign says is free. Like you read the fucking signs, anyway. You ever see Clerks? Kevin Smith movie, for the pop-culture retarded? It's about the most accurate representation of both sides of the counter ever presented. We're not dumb, we're just not motivated. But believe me, you are probably not any better, Average Desk Jockey.
Friday, April 16, 2010
Live and Let Live
I'm not an uncaring person. I just don't get hung up certain, specific things the way some other people do. I often come off as failing to notice these things entirely, though I am not - I notice things, it's just that some things other people would treat as being of paramount importance, I treat as inconsequential.
Example: Skin color. I simply do not notice it. It is a non-issue. I will do everything in my power to avoid judging a person, for good or ill, based on their skin color. The way I see it, giving a person extra attention and accolades based on the color of their skin is just as bad as denying them attention or accolades based on the color of their skin. Either way, you are pointing out the difference - a difference they have no control over, a difference that is not necessarily part of whatever achievement you are celebrating or crime you are condoning - and basing your judgement, at least in part, on that difference. That factor of the person that is simply a part of who they are, and not always part of who they choose to be.
Now, this belief - this seeming ennui (it isn't. It's a conscious and constant choice) - does have its limits. If a person who should have, by all rights, fallen victim to certain stereotypes forced on them by society's constant need to point out the difference, has instead risen above these stereotypes in such a way they consider an accomplishment, then I will support this. A Mexican kid who grows up "on the wrong side of the tracks," moving away from a very real wrong path and onto a very real productive one deserves a bit of applause, if he wants it. If that same kid chooses the "wrong path," well, that isn't necessarily something I will immediately condone him for. But in either case, if skin color wasn't a factor in all this to him, then it won't be to me.
Second example: Sexual orientation. I have heard otherwise-intelligent people say things like, "How cool is it that so-and-so is gay?" This statement, and all statements like it, bug the jolly crap outta me. Would you ever meet a person and tell them you thought it was cool they were black?
"Hey, guy in a room full of white people! I think it's really cool that you're black."
"Thanks ..?"
I mean, sure, again: if the black dude overcame some bullshit tossed on him by society because of his skin color, and that comes up in the exchange, then kudos are certainly in order. But how often does this stuff come up in social situations? Really?
Seriously, you wanna know the key to equal treatment for all people? Stop classifying them. It ain't hard. Let people be people. Not black people, not gay people, just people. Sure, I get that people like to celebrate their differences from others. And they should. They should also accept that humans have a nasty trait of not really liking anyone they perceive as too different from themselves. I won't tell a person to not celebrate what makes them different from others; if that difference is one I agree with, I might join in. Might. I might also take the extreme road of my personal belief, and just let you be whatever you are. No offense intended, but I honestly also feel that many people seeking "equal treatment" are more often actually seeking "preferential treatment." It sometimes clouds how I view things. For good or ill, most often in my mind, people are just people. Sorry. I guess.
But think about it: If you were gay, how would you feel about one of your friends always introducing you to new people as their "gay friend?" Seems like it might get old. At the same time, how would you feel if you knew a gay person who was always pointing out the fact that they're gay, even when they're not asked, in a way that makes them seem like they think they're better than everyone else for it?
Sure, "Oh, actually, dude, this is pertinent to the situation at hand: I'm gay." That's one thing, perfectly acceptable."I'm gay as hell and proud of it!" after a few drinks? Also acceptable. The constant announcement of being gay, seeming like it's just being tossed out there for attention? No one likes an attention whore, kinda lame. Lame like constantly introducing your gay friend as your gay friend, as if that has some impact on your friendship with that person. Would you not be their friend if they weren't gay? Have you something against straight people? You sound lame.
People need to just be people. If you wanna celebrate your differences, go for it. But never assume to celebrate another person's difference for them. And I personally would rather judge a person by their deeds, not by their difference, for good or ill, at all times. Yeah, I'm down for a drink in honor of gay marriage when that finally happens (and I do think it should). And, initially, that victory will be a factor in the celebrating of any gay weddings I happen to attend. But the sooner gay weddings stop being gay weddings, and become just weddings, the happier I'll be for humanity. If one of my male friends has a boyfriend, I'd sooner describe them as a couple than I would a gay couple.
Live and let live involves a lot of just letting people be, one way or another.
Example: Skin color. I simply do not notice it. It is a non-issue. I will do everything in my power to avoid judging a person, for good or ill, based on their skin color. The way I see it, giving a person extra attention and accolades based on the color of their skin is just as bad as denying them attention or accolades based on the color of their skin. Either way, you are pointing out the difference - a difference they have no control over, a difference that is not necessarily part of whatever achievement you are celebrating or crime you are condoning - and basing your judgement, at least in part, on that difference. That factor of the person that is simply a part of who they are, and not always part of who they choose to be.
Now, this belief - this seeming ennui (it isn't. It's a conscious and constant choice) - does have its limits. If a person who should have, by all rights, fallen victim to certain stereotypes forced on them by society's constant need to point out the difference, has instead risen above these stereotypes in such a way they consider an accomplishment, then I will support this. A Mexican kid who grows up "on the wrong side of the tracks," moving away from a very real wrong path and onto a very real productive one deserves a bit of applause, if he wants it. If that same kid chooses the "wrong path," well, that isn't necessarily something I will immediately condone him for. But in either case, if skin color wasn't a factor in all this to him, then it won't be to me.
Second example: Sexual orientation. I have heard otherwise-intelligent people say things like, "How cool is it that so-and-so is gay?" This statement, and all statements like it, bug the jolly crap outta me. Would you ever meet a person and tell them you thought it was cool they were black?
"Hey, guy in a room full of white people! I think it's really cool that you're black."
"Thanks ..?"
I mean, sure, again: if the black dude overcame some bullshit tossed on him by society because of his skin color, and that comes up in the exchange, then kudos are certainly in order. But how often does this stuff come up in social situations? Really?
Seriously, you wanna know the key to equal treatment for all people? Stop classifying them. It ain't hard. Let people be people. Not black people, not gay people, just people. Sure, I get that people like to celebrate their differences from others. And they should. They should also accept that humans have a nasty trait of not really liking anyone they perceive as too different from themselves. I won't tell a person to not celebrate what makes them different from others; if that difference is one I agree with, I might join in. Might. I might also take the extreme road of my personal belief, and just let you be whatever you are. No offense intended, but I honestly also feel that many people seeking "equal treatment" are more often actually seeking "preferential treatment." It sometimes clouds how I view things. For good or ill, most often in my mind, people are just people. Sorry. I guess.
But think about it: If you were gay, how would you feel about one of your friends always introducing you to new people as their "gay friend?" Seems like it might get old. At the same time, how would you feel if you knew a gay person who was always pointing out the fact that they're gay, even when they're not asked, in a way that makes them seem like they think they're better than everyone else for it?
Sure, "Oh, actually, dude, this is pertinent to the situation at hand: I'm gay." That's one thing, perfectly acceptable."I'm gay as hell and proud of it!" after a few drinks? Also acceptable. The constant announcement of being gay, seeming like it's just being tossed out there for attention? No one likes an attention whore, kinda lame. Lame like constantly introducing your gay friend as your gay friend, as if that has some impact on your friendship with that person. Would you not be their friend if they weren't gay? Have you something against straight people? You sound lame.
People need to just be people. If you wanna celebrate your differences, go for it. But never assume to celebrate another person's difference for them. And I personally would rather judge a person by their deeds, not by their difference, for good or ill, at all times. Yeah, I'm down for a drink in honor of gay marriage when that finally happens (and I do think it should). And, initially, that victory will be a factor in the celebrating of any gay weddings I happen to attend. But the sooner gay weddings stop being gay weddings, and become just weddings, the happier I'll be for humanity. If one of my male friends has a boyfriend, I'd sooner describe them as a couple than I would a gay couple.
Live and let live involves a lot of just letting people be, one way or another.
Wednesday, March 24, 2010
On the Subject of Male Nudity
Let me preface the blog with a statement: I am by no means anything but an average man, physically speaking. I am not very muscular (although you can see some definition if I stand just so and the light hits me just right), nor am I very large (the last time I checked my body fat percentage, it bordered on anorexic. And Mom hit me). Not counting my eyes and my boyishly charming smile that somehow never ends up in photographs, I am decidedly average in physical attractiveness.
That said, I have come to notice an odd trend. See, I live with three women. They share a bathroom, so they are frequently wandering down the hallway in a towel. And, of course, two of them occasionally wander around in just a bra or something. I don't think I've seen any of them in just panties (except for one drunken card game best left ambiguous), but I am sure they wander around like that when I am not looking.
Now, I have my own bathroom. This was not a planned decision, I just happen to have the master bedroom, 'cause no one else wanted to pay for it. So I understand that there is little reason for me to wander the house in a towel, and only slightly more reason to wander the house in my boxer-briefs (I like the support of briefs, but the freedom of boxers. Greatest invention ever). However ...
Could I? I mean, could I even get away with it? In the interest of equality, is it okay for me to come out of my room in my pajama pants, "commando style," as the kids are calling it these days, to make a sandwich?
Can I just leave my boxers lying about the house all willy-nilly, as my female roomies are wont to do with their bras? Hell, why do they feel the need to leave these things lying around? How often are these things coming off when I am not looking?
Now, I am assured by one female roommate that such is the case: I am perfectly welcome to wander the house in various states of undress. But am I? Am I really? I mean, sure: if I looked like #BradleyCooperishot, I could probably get away with it all day long.
Hell, my roommates would probably insist on it.
But I do not look like him. Comfortable as I am with by body, I make no allusions to it being some pinnacle of the male design. So would my roommates really be okay with it?
Hell, I probably could get away with it, because I am not hairy, gross, or obese. Just oddly pale. And I am perfectly okay with my body, so there's no doubt when I do it. It just seems like I would be doing it just to do it. I would be doing it just for the sense of equality and support of my fellow man, as Rosie the Riveter took up her jackhammer to make planes for her boys out in Europe! I could do it, even if I would only do it for the sake of the cause.
In fact, this ... this is a perfectly good reason to do it! This has become a call to arms!
Men! Rise up! Take back the hallways of your homes! You are fully in your right to wander about, pants flashing ass crack and hairy chests displayed to the world (you poor, hairy bastards). Tie a towl 'round your waist and grab a beer! And fear not the reproach of your female peers! Stand and be counted as being comfortable with your body, flaunt it as the women do theirs!
Equality now! For the HORDE!
Aside: My pajama pants have pockets in them. I do not understand the logic of this design.
That said, I have come to notice an odd trend. See, I live with three women. They share a bathroom, so they are frequently wandering down the hallway in a towel. And, of course, two of them occasionally wander around in just a bra or something. I don't think I've seen any of them in just panties (except for one drunken card game best left ambiguous), but I am sure they wander around like that when I am not looking.
Now, I have my own bathroom. This was not a planned decision, I just happen to have the master bedroom, 'cause no one else wanted to pay for it. So I understand that there is little reason for me to wander the house in a towel, and only slightly more reason to wander the house in my boxer-briefs (I like the support of briefs, but the freedom of boxers. Greatest invention ever). However ...
Could I? I mean, could I even get away with it? In the interest of equality, is it okay for me to come out of my room in my pajama pants, "commando style," as the kids are calling it these days, to make a sandwich?
Can I just leave my boxers lying about the house all willy-nilly, as my female roomies are wont to do with their bras? Hell, why do they feel the need to leave these things lying around? How often are these things coming off when I am not looking?
Now, I am assured by one female roommate that such is the case: I am perfectly welcome to wander the house in various states of undress. But am I? Am I really? I mean, sure: if I looked like #BradleyCooperishot, I could probably get away with it all day long.
Hell, my roommates would probably insist on it.
But I do not look like him. Comfortable as I am with by body, I make no allusions to it being some pinnacle of the male design. So would my roommates really be okay with it?
Hell, I probably could get away with it, because I am not hairy, gross, or obese. Just oddly pale. And I am perfectly okay with my body, so there's no doubt when I do it. It just seems like I would be doing it just to do it. I would be doing it just for the sense of equality and support of my fellow man, as Rosie the Riveter took up her jackhammer to make planes for her boys out in Europe! I could do it, even if I would only do it for the sake of the cause.
In fact, this ... this is a perfectly good reason to do it! This has become a call to arms!
Men! Rise up! Take back the hallways of your homes! You are fully in your right to wander about, pants flashing ass crack and hairy chests displayed to the world (you poor, hairy bastards). Tie a towl 'round your waist and grab a beer! And fear not the reproach of your female peers! Stand and be counted as being comfortable with your body, flaunt it as the women do theirs!
Equality now! For the HORDE!
Aside: My pajama pants have pockets in them. I do not understand the logic of this design.
Monday, March 22, 2010
Returning to the Subject: Video Games and Art
Days later, and this incident is still on my mind. Blogging must be done.
First, the scene: I am at work, discussing with a friend two of the things closest to my heart: good television commercials (I'm an advertising major) and video games (I'm a gamer, for those of you just tuning in). Specifically, we were discussing the latest PS3 commercial (those guys are putting out some great stuff, lately). The conversation progressed into the potential superiority of PS3's upcoming Move technology, in comparison to the Wii's MotionPlus. Being educated in the matter, I point out the real loser is going to be Microsoft's Project Nataal, Nintendo always has a handful of first-party titles in any month's Top 20 sold, blah, blah, blah.
This old lady I'm ringing up, she decides to chime in with the following bullshit pseudo-intellectual comment: "Oh, you video gamers always know exactly what you want."
My friend and I do not respond. I won't speak as to why he didn't, but I didn't respond because this is exactly the sort of subject I feel strongly enough about to get into an argument over. And, again, I am at work.
"My generation was so against that stupid Pong game. You should get out and live real life, it's more exciting."
What the shit kind of stupid comment is that? By that idiot logic, no one should bother reading books or watching movies or going to goddamn museums. This silly, uppity old witch was actually arguing not against video games, but against art, but she was so wrapped up in some trendy school of thought from her half-dead generation (baby boomer nonsense, they don't even see what they did, they're so selfish) that she didn't see it.
Anyway. She made a few more idiot comments, all of which went uncontested, due solely to where I was. She walked away, I think, amused at having shut us and our opinions down.
I raged.
Here's the trick, folks. First of all, no: real life is NOT more exciting. It has its own unique offers, but I can't exactly go about in real life slaying dragons, saving princesses, slaying gods, whatever. If I could do any of these things, you can be damned sure I wouldn't spend quite as much time playing Final fucking Fantasy. Yes, seeing an amazing vista or natural feature or building in the real world is something more amazing than seeing it in a video game, but that can be said of all art.
And that's the point: If real life is "more exciting," then why bother with art at all? Why bother with storytelling, why bother with paintings, why bother with learning to write or draw? Nope, apparently, it should be enough to be a mindless automaton (oh, shit, high school anti-society rant incoming!) who works hard at scraping together what meager cash you can, never sparing a moment to independent thought, until a week of vacation rolls around and you go to some idiot tourist spot buried in people who don't belong there. You stand shoulder to shoulder with them, marveling in a beauty that has become entirely artificial - as much a piece of art as the sculptures you ignore - because if it didn't have human hands doing the upkeep, people like YOU would have destroyed it by now. You go ahead, you ogle your lie, and you take some pictures. Some goddamn photos, which you then take back to work and show to anyone who can't politely disengage from you in the break room.
Only, here's a thought: by your own logic, they shouldn't give two SHITS about your photos of someplace they weren't. They should go themselves. Yet here you are, showing 'em off like they're the most amazing thing ever, like you've somehow accomplished something. I'm not saying I've accomplished a whole hell of a lot in my time spent in games and novels, but at least I've learned, thought, expanded my mind. And I didn't do it because some travel guide told me to.
Again, I don't pretend beating BioShock was some great fucking accomplishment. It was as unimportant and self-indulgent as any given activity of your idiot, thoughtless workday. The thing of it is, I don't walk around PRETENDING OTHERWISE. And I walked away from it with some interesting thoughts on the ultimate folly of the utopian society you were so damned sure you were working towards, you baby boomer fuck.
Wow. How do you not see how self-indulgent, self-serving, and hypocritical your life is? I know how: It's because you're a trendy baby boomer bitch prone to talking out of her ass. You are the cancer that broke our world.
God, I really hate baby boomers.
First, the scene: I am at work, discussing with a friend two of the things closest to my heart: good television commercials (I'm an advertising major) and video games (I'm a gamer, for those of you just tuning in). Specifically, we were discussing the latest PS3 commercial (those guys are putting out some great stuff, lately). The conversation progressed into the potential superiority of PS3's upcoming Move technology, in comparison to the Wii's MotionPlus. Being educated in the matter, I point out the real loser is going to be Microsoft's Project Nataal, Nintendo always has a handful of first-party titles in any month's Top 20 sold, blah, blah, blah.
This old lady I'm ringing up, she decides to chime in with the following bullshit pseudo-intellectual comment: "Oh, you video gamers always know exactly what you want."
My friend and I do not respond. I won't speak as to why he didn't, but I didn't respond because this is exactly the sort of subject I feel strongly enough about to get into an argument over. And, again, I am at work.
"My generation was so against that stupid Pong game. You should get out and live real life, it's more exciting."
What the shit kind of stupid comment is that? By that idiot logic, no one should bother reading books or watching movies or going to goddamn museums. This silly, uppity old witch was actually arguing not against video games, but against art, but she was so wrapped up in some trendy school of thought from her half-dead generation (baby boomer nonsense, they don't even see what they did, they're so selfish) that she didn't see it.
Anyway. She made a few more idiot comments, all of which went uncontested, due solely to where I was. She walked away, I think, amused at having shut us and our opinions down.
I raged.
Here's the trick, folks. First of all, no: real life is NOT more exciting. It has its own unique offers, but I can't exactly go about in real life slaying dragons, saving princesses, slaying gods, whatever. If I could do any of these things, you can be damned sure I wouldn't spend quite as much time playing Final fucking Fantasy. Yes, seeing an amazing vista or natural feature or building in the real world is something more amazing than seeing it in a video game, but that can be said of all art.
And that's the point: If real life is "more exciting," then why bother with art at all? Why bother with storytelling, why bother with paintings, why bother with learning to write or draw? Nope, apparently, it should be enough to be a mindless automaton (oh, shit, high school anti-society rant incoming!) who works hard at scraping together what meager cash you can, never sparing a moment to independent thought, until a week of vacation rolls around and you go to some idiot tourist spot buried in people who don't belong there. You stand shoulder to shoulder with them, marveling in a beauty that has become entirely artificial - as much a piece of art as the sculptures you ignore - because if it didn't have human hands doing the upkeep, people like YOU would have destroyed it by now. You go ahead, you ogle your lie, and you take some pictures. Some goddamn photos, which you then take back to work and show to anyone who can't politely disengage from you in the break room.
Only, here's a thought: by your own logic, they shouldn't give two SHITS about your photos of someplace they weren't. They should go themselves. Yet here you are, showing 'em off like they're the most amazing thing ever, like you've somehow accomplished something. I'm not saying I've accomplished a whole hell of a lot in my time spent in games and novels, but at least I've learned, thought, expanded my mind. And I didn't do it because some travel guide told me to.
Again, I don't pretend beating BioShock was some great fucking accomplishment. It was as unimportant and self-indulgent as any given activity of your idiot, thoughtless workday. The thing of it is, I don't walk around PRETENDING OTHERWISE. And I walked away from it with some interesting thoughts on the ultimate folly of the utopian society you were so damned sure you were working towards, you baby boomer fuck.
Wow. How do you not see how self-indulgent, self-serving, and hypocritical your life is? I know how: It's because you're a trendy baby boomer bitch prone to talking out of her ass. You are the cancer that broke our world.
God, I really hate baby boomers.
Monday, March 15, 2010
Another Year ...
My birthday was yesterday. It's okay you forgot, I don't make much of a deal out of it.
I present a lot of odd bravado about getting older. I don't act my age, I don't very much look my age, so I don't feel much of a need to be my age. I'm a youthful guy, plain and simple. I don't put a lot of stock in an arbitrary need to "grow up." Frankly, I don't see why anyone does.
You can't assign an age to anything, because age is nothing but a number that exists independently of either physical, mental, or spiritual maturity. It boggles me that more people don't see this, but I suppose I'll chalk it up to the need people have to measure, categorize, and limit absolutely everything.
Voting age is 18. It is the rare 18-year-old with the presence of mind and knowledge of law and politics to vote effectively. Hell, it's becoming increasingly rare to find any person with this presence of mind and knowledge.
Age of consent is a nice, murky one. Different from state to state and country to country. I do understand the need for laws protecting youths from fucked-up adults. I guess this one just ends up a necessary generality.
Legal drinking age. Heh. Man, for all our free-will mentality, we are a nation of judgmental prudes.
Age when people "should" have children. Funny, we don't have one of those. And that's one we should have.
My point is, maturity and intelligence and common sense are not things that come from age. They are things that come from living life. Some people live a lot more in a year than others. Then again, many, many people learn and live by very valuable life lessons that simply do not apply to people outside their subculture.
Eh, I'm getting away from my point. I've lived a lot in 28 years. People don't seem to notice it, because people don't notice me until they need me. Also, much of my living is internal. I do a lot of thinking.
I don't sleep well. It's kinda a bitch.
Hey, my web browser's spellcheck seems to have stopped fighting me on the word "kinda." At least my Mac can learn.
Back to my point: For all the thinking I do and wacky misadventures I have (oh, those misadventures), and for all the doing what is needed I do ... I feel young, yet I also feel life is going to be interminably long. I sometimes seriously worry I might live forever.
Ten short years ago, I was counting on being dead by thirty. This isn't a possibility I am prepared to rule out. It's almost a Plan C. I just have so much to do, and so little time to do it.
Another year gone by. I know I did well with it. I just don't know what I did well that I did for me.
At least I had an nice birthday for a change. No surprise parties I didn't want, no "friends" constantly reminding me that they're better than me. None of that. I didn't escape drama not my own, but it's fine. No rest for the wicked (and I am oh-so-wicked). Just a fun movie (with heavy sentimental attachment to the mythology), good food, too much drinking (through the weekend as a whole), a pretty waitress, delicious cake, and great friends. My best friends.
For all the shit people put me through (and, really, you all can feel free to explain that at any time), at least I know one thing: I know who my friends are. I know who my real friends are. And that's a life lesson far too many of us never, ever learn.
I present a lot of odd bravado about getting older. I don't act my age, I don't very much look my age, so I don't feel much of a need to be my age. I'm a youthful guy, plain and simple. I don't put a lot of stock in an arbitrary need to "grow up." Frankly, I don't see why anyone does.
You can't assign an age to anything, because age is nothing but a number that exists independently of either physical, mental, or spiritual maturity. It boggles me that more people don't see this, but I suppose I'll chalk it up to the need people have to measure, categorize, and limit absolutely everything.
Voting age is 18. It is the rare 18-year-old with the presence of mind and knowledge of law and politics to vote effectively. Hell, it's becoming increasingly rare to find any person with this presence of mind and knowledge.
Age of consent is a nice, murky one. Different from state to state and country to country. I do understand the need for laws protecting youths from fucked-up adults. I guess this one just ends up a necessary generality.
Legal drinking age. Heh. Man, for all our free-will mentality, we are a nation of judgmental prudes.
Age when people "should" have children. Funny, we don't have one of those. And that's one we should have.
My point is, maturity and intelligence and common sense are not things that come from age. They are things that come from living life. Some people live a lot more in a year than others. Then again, many, many people learn and live by very valuable life lessons that simply do not apply to people outside their subculture.
Eh, I'm getting away from my point. I've lived a lot in 28 years. People don't seem to notice it, because people don't notice me until they need me. Also, much of my living is internal. I do a lot of thinking.
I don't sleep well. It's kinda a bitch.
Hey, my web browser's spellcheck seems to have stopped fighting me on the word "kinda." At least my Mac can learn.
Back to my point: For all the thinking I do and wacky misadventures I have (oh, those misadventures), and for all the doing what is needed I do ... I feel young, yet I also feel life is going to be interminably long. I sometimes seriously worry I might live forever.
Ten short years ago, I was counting on being dead by thirty. This isn't a possibility I am prepared to rule out. It's almost a Plan C. I just have so much to do, and so little time to do it.
Another year gone by. I know I did well with it. I just don't know what I did well that I did for me.
At least I had an nice birthday for a change. No surprise parties I didn't want, no "friends" constantly reminding me that they're better than me. None of that. I didn't escape drama not my own, but it's fine. No rest for the wicked (and I am oh-so-wicked). Just a fun movie (with heavy sentimental attachment to the mythology), good food, too much drinking (through the weekend as a whole), a pretty waitress, delicious cake, and great friends. My best friends.
For all the shit people put me through (and, really, you all can feel free to explain that at any time), at least I know one thing: I know who my friends are. I know who my real friends are. And that's a life lesson far too many of us never, ever learn.
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