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.
Monday, March 1, 2010
Cause and Effect - The Annoyingest Day Ever!
I had been planning on wasting this blog entry on a laundry list of what went wrong with my day today. But that's not what this blog is supposed to be about. Instead, let me sound crazy for a couple minutes.
Cause and effect.
Example: You are running late to work in your 30-minute commute, only by a couple minutes, but you are officially in a situation where Every Minute Counts. Perhaps because you're, like, two to five minutes late to work pretty much every day.
*cough*
Anyway. You come to a red light, the very last red light before you're at work. And this light ends up taking longer than usual. The reason it is taking longer than usual? A single elderly pedestrian. Literally, there is no cross traffic, there is just this one old guy randomly crossing the street right here, right now.
Many people would get upset. I would. I do. Every time. But most people would never take the time to consider the cause and effect of the situation. Of course, you can likely never know the exact cause and effect, the exact chain of events that have led to this guy crossing this street at this moment on this day when you're late a lot, lately.
But do you even take the time to realize there is a chain of effect? Or do you just assume the world is out to get you?
This stuff happens to me. Constantly. I am constantly (and the word is not an exaggeration) effected by things well out my personal sphere of influence. Trick of it is, I understand cause and effect. I have a mind that simply never shuts off. It leaves a lot of time for exploration and interpretation of my surroundings. I frickin' SEE cause and effect.
It's kinda like a super power, and this is the point where I start to sound crazy.
Have you any idea how maddening it is to know that so much of your life, so many of the tiny little meaningless events are directly effected by a myriad of other, unrelated events which exist far outside of your life?
Because I know how maddening it is. We are all slaves to a constant Butterfly Effect, and it drives my frickin' batty. People ask why I never relax and why I'm so prone to locking myself away from the world for days at a time. This is why. I see this Butterfly Effect. I know it's there. Really, knowing it's there is enough to make me wonder if the world IS out to get me. But I know it isn't. This is just random bullshit constantly pouring into my life from outside it, and I'm just stuck seeing it for what it is.
Worst. Super power. Ever.
Okay, it's not without its benefits. It would be MORE beneficial if people would accept that it's there, and realize how often I am right.
But holy fucking HELL, today was an annoying day.
Cause and effect.
Example: You are running late to work in your 30-minute commute, only by a couple minutes, but you are officially in a situation where Every Minute Counts. Perhaps because you're, like, two to five minutes late to work pretty much every day.
*cough*
Anyway. You come to a red light, the very last red light before you're at work. And this light ends up taking longer than usual. The reason it is taking longer than usual? A single elderly pedestrian. Literally, there is no cross traffic, there is just this one old guy randomly crossing the street right here, right now.
Many people would get upset. I would. I do. Every time. But most people would never take the time to consider the cause and effect of the situation. Of course, you can likely never know the exact cause and effect, the exact chain of events that have led to this guy crossing this street at this moment on this day when you're late a lot, lately.
But do you even take the time to realize there is a chain of effect? Or do you just assume the world is out to get you?
This stuff happens to me. Constantly. I am constantly (and the word is not an exaggeration) effected by things well out my personal sphere of influence. Trick of it is, I understand cause and effect. I have a mind that simply never shuts off. It leaves a lot of time for exploration and interpretation of my surroundings. I frickin' SEE cause and effect.
It's kinda like a super power, and this is the point where I start to sound crazy.
Have you any idea how maddening it is to know that so much of your life, so many of the tiny little meaningless events are directly effected by a myriad of other, unrelated events which exist far outside of your life?
Because I know how maddening it is. We are all slaves to a constant Butterfly Effect, and it drives my frickin' batty. People ask why I never relax and why I'm so prone to locking myself away from the world for days at a time. This is why. I see this Butterfly Effect. I know it's there. Really, knowing it's there is enough to make me wonder if the world IS out to get me. But I know it isn't. This is just random bullshit constantly pouring into my life from outside it, and I'm just stuck seeing it for what it is.
Worst. Super power. Ever.
Okay, it's not without its benefits. It would be MORE beneficial if people would accept that it's there, and realize how often I am right.
But holy fucking HELL, today was an annoying day.
Saturday, February 27, 2010
A Dream for the Future ...
I have a dream. A dream ... of the future ( ur! ur! ur!)! Not my future. THE future.
In this dream, there is a history class. Children dressed like they just came out of filming Devo video come hovering into class on their neat little hover jet-packs. The jet packs shoot little rings to indicate they are doing something, but the rings are nothing - a simple visual effect.
These children settle into their seats, the hover-packs folding neatly into liquid-metal cybernetic implants installed in the shoulder blades of each child around their eighth birthday. They begin to flick their wrists, producing from a wrist-mounted device a simple, palm-sized holo-emitter. These devices, the iSights, were provided to the students free of charge by the good folks over at Apple, one of a handful of beneficial megacorporations working to better the world for the simple sake of bettering the world.
After some calm but insistent instruction from a teacher with a dancer's figure, a bookish look to her, and an air of confidence (also dark hair, green eyes, glasses and ... oh, what the hell, a short skirt), the students prepare for their lesson. A boy and girl in the corner switch their iSights away from the Nintendo (an entertainment megacorp) channel and their long-running Pokemon battle. Another boy shoos away the children crowded around him and subtly turns off the channel he is using to hack the scoreboard of a game of blurnsball a world away - literally on Mars. One after another, the children open up their classroom channels, each holding above their hands a weightless, floating, interactive hologram of a history book.
The pretty, confident teacher (who secretly moonlights in various dance clubs, and has had her own hover-pack modded to resemble angelic wings) begins to read aloud. She reads of something called "banks," institutions that were the core of a system of "finances" - the trading of meaningless tokens in exchange for goods and services rendered. This draws chuckles from the class. When she mentions that many of these "financial systems" were supposedly based on the values of precious metals and gems, that indeed, the world itself was simply driven by the pursuit of these meaningless minerals, a girl in the middle of the room raises her hand.
This girl is tall for her age, but a bit awkward, with frayed red haired. But she is respected by her classmates for her intellectual curiosity and imagination. She asks why people worked for paper and coins that were really without any value at all, how these tokens could mean the same thing and carry the same value to different people, all of whom felt they were doing a good day's work, all of whom were contributing to their society in some way. She asks why people who didn't contribute in any meaningful way also received amounts of these tokens. She asks why people were so obsessed with precious metals and gems when most of these people could not have had any real use for them. She inquires as to the megacorporations and everything they have done for the world - not in the interest of money, but in the interest of people - and what they did in this odd system of paid laziness and unpaid effort.
Frankly, if this girl has a flaw, it's that she asks entirely too many questions at one time. But her teacher just smiles her flawless smile and explains: The world they are learning of was not one wherein people were allowed to do whatever they wanted, as long as it contributed to society. The world they are learning of is one where true contribution to society required extra effort, and sacrifice, and that this sacrifice was material and unreturned, unrequited. She explained that no one could really help anyone else even if they wanted to, because it cost too much of these meaningless baubles.
The world used to be a place where one was not rewarded for a hard day's work with what they needed to survive, let alone what they wanted to pass the extra hours. The entire world was driven by the pursuit of what was utterly meaningless. The entertainers of that bygone age actually had better lives than the people who saved lives - not that there is anything wrong with being an entertainer, but that was not an age of equality. It was an age of escapism and sadness and exhaustion. Corporations and people and countries hoarded resources so that they could use them to gain more resources that they simple spent to gain still more resources, with no feasible goal in sight, no true purpose to any of it.
Certainly not to make a world a better place, certainly not happiness, not even really for themselves. They gathered resources for the simple sake of gathering resources, and the resources were simply not good for anything.
The children are quiet for a moment after this explanation. And then, as one, they burst out laughing. The teacher cannot help herself, she joins in. After a moment, she explains the contrast of their society to that one: Here, entertainers are appreciated for their talents, but they aren't handed a better life than anyone else. Here, megacorporations like Apple are staffed by people who simply love to work on the technology Apple creates. Here, there truly aren't thousands upon thousands of businesses, all using as many people as they could to gain as much of the pie as they could. Here, there was simply enough pie to go around, because people were simply allowed to do what they wanted to do, and received what they needed to survive for doing it. And then some.
Their system is closer to a barter system used in a far-gone age. One where you pick a trade and you work at it, providing those things people want and need and simply receiving those things you want and need in return. Sure, some people still like those precious metals and gems simply as they are, but it's far more common that they are used up in the technology that powers this world.
This world where one's reward for a good day's work is knowledge that you've done good, and in return for taking care of the people around you, they take care of you.
I can't decide if I like this one better, or the tribal, post-apocalyptic dystopia.
In this dream, there is a history class. Children dressed like they just came out of filming Devo video come hovering into class on their neat little hover jet-packs. The jet packs shoot little rings to indicate they are doing something, but the rings are nothing - a simple visual effect.
These children settle into their seats, the hover-packs folding neatly into liquid-metal cybernetic implants installed in the shoulder blades of each child around their eighth birthday. They begin to flick their wrists, producing from a wrist-mounted device a simple, palm-sized holo-emitter. These devices, the iSights, were provided to the students free of charge by the good folks over at Apple, one of a handful of beneficial megacorporations working to better the world for the simple sake of bettering the world.
After some calm but insistent instruction from a teacher with a dancer's figure, a bookish look to her, and an air of confidence (also dark hair, green eyes, glasses and ... oh, what the hell, a short skirt), the students prepare for their lesson. A boy and girl in the corner switch their iSights away from the Nintendo (an entertainment megacorp) channel and their long-running Pokemon battle. Another boy shoos away the children crowded around him and subtly turns off the channel he is using to hack the scoreboard of a game of blurnsball a world away - literally on Mars. One after another, the children open up their classroom channels, each holding above their hands a weightless, floating, interactive hologram of a history book.
The pretty, confident teacher (who secretly moonlights in various dance clubs, and has had her own hover-pack modded to resemble angelic wings) begins to read aloud. She reads of something called "banks," institutions that were the core of a system of "finances" - the trading of meaningless tokens in exchange for goods and services rendered. This draws chuckles from the class. When she mentions that many of these "financial systems" were supposedly based on the values of precious metals and gems, that indeed, the world itself was simply driven by the pursuit of these meaningless minerals, a girl in the middle of the room raises her hand.
This girl is tall for her age, but a bit awkward, with frayed red haired. But she is respected by her classmates for her intellectual curiosity and imagination. She asks why people worked for paper and coins that were really without any value at all, how these tokens could mean the same thing and carry the same value to different people, all of whom felt they were doing a good day's work, all of whom were contributing to their society in some way. She asks why people who didn't contribute in any meaningful way also received amounts of these tokens. She asks why people were so obsessed with precious metals and gems when most of these people could not have had any real use for them. She inquires as to the megacorporations and everything they have done for the world - not in the interest of money, but in the interest of people - and what they did in this odd system of paid laziness and unpaid effort.
Frankly, if this girl has a flaw, it's that she asks entirely too many questions at one time. But her teacher just smiles her flawless smile and explains: The world they are learning of was not one wherein people were allowed to do whatever they wanted, as long as it contributed to society. The world they are learning of is one where true contribution to society required extra effort, and sacrifice, and that this sacrifice was material and unreturned, unrequited. She explained that no one could really help anyone else even if they wanted to, because it cost too much of these meaningless baubles.
The world used to be a place where one was not rewarded for a hard day's work with what they needed to survive, let alone what they wanted to pass the extra hours. The entire world was driven by the pursuit of what was utterly meaningless. The entertainers of that bygone age actually had better lives than the people who saved lives - not that there is anything wrong with being an entertainer, but that was not an age of equality. It was an age of escapism and sadness and exhaustion. Corporations and people and countries hoarded resources so that they could use them to gain more resources that they simple spent to gain still more resources, with no feasible goal in sight, no true purpose to any of it.
Certainly not to make a world a better place, certainly not happiness, not even really for themselves. They gathered resources for the simple sake of gathering resources, and the resources were simply not good for anything.
The children are quiet for a moment after this explanation. And then, as one, they burst out laughing. The teacher cannot help herself, she joins in. After a moment, she explains the contrast of their society to that one: Here, entertainers are appreciated for their talents, but they aren't handed a better life than anyone else. Here, megacorporations like Apple are staffed by people who simply love to work on the technology Apple creates. Here, there truly aren't thousands upon thousands of businesses, all using as many people as they could to gain as much of the pie as they could. Here, there was simply enough pie to go around, because people were simply allowed to do what they wanted to do, and received what they needed to survive for doing it. And then some.
Their system is closer to a barter system used in a far-gone age. One where you pick a trade and you work at it, providing those things people want and need and simply receiving those things you want and need in return. Sure, some people still like those precious metals and gems simply as they are, but it's far more common that they are used up in the technology that powers this world.
This world where one's reward for a good day's work is knowledge that you've done good, and in return for taking care of the people around you, they take care of you.
I can't decide if I like this one better, or the tribal, post-apocalyptic dystopia.
Decision Making
I feel like I should have something important to say tonight. But I do not. I'd rather not post anything emo in this blog, as that's not the point of this blog. But if this post becomes that, I apologize in advance.
Life is a series of choices, it is nothing but choices, it is what we choose and what comes of those decisions and their outcomes. I have lived a life relatively free of regret, and regret has only recently become a real factor in my life.
Well, relatively recently.
But regret has reared its ugly head, regret borne of choices I made in the name of loyalty and in the name of love. Choices made under the influence of these two reasons are, of course, the most important choices one can make in life. My philosophy on each of these things - love, loyalty, and choice - could each be posts in their own right. They likely will be, at some point. I keep meaning to come to that choice one ...
Anyway. I made the wrong the choices. And I continue to do so. At some point, I lost any love and loyalty to myself, which is a problem, since I abandoned love and loyalty to others almost entirely. And I did so in my own self interests. But someone had to be interested in my best interests, and no one else was.
I can handle anger, I can handle impatience. I can handle sadness and weakness and exhaustion mental and physical. But I have a very tough time handling regret. This is one of those things that makes me feel different from everyone else: You all seem to handle regret with relative ease.
I have trouble settling, that's the problem. And that's not something I plan on changing. But it's time to return to my roots, to a life lived for love and loyalty.
Only this time, I need to find someone worth love and loyalty, and someone willing to grant me love and loyalty in return.
Makes perfect sense, right? I mean, everyone seeks this crap. Works out fine for them, no reason it shouldn't work out fine for me.
I hope.
Life is a series of choices, it is nothing but choices, it is what we choose and what comes of those decisions and their outcomes. I have lived a life relatively free of regret, and regret has only recently become a real factor in my life.
Well, relatively recently.
But regret has reared its ugly head, regret borne of choices I made in the name of loyalty and in the name of love. Choices made under the influence of these two reasons are, of course, the most important choices one can make in life. My philosophy on each of these things - love, loyalty, and choice - could each be posts in their own right. They likely will be, at some point. I keep meaning to come to that choice one ...
Anyway. I made the wrong the choices. And I continue to do so. At some point, I lost any love and loyalty to myself, which is a problem, since I abandoned love and loyalty to others almost entirely. And I did so in my own self interests. But someone had to be interested in my best interests, and no one else was.
I can handle anger, I can handle impatience. I can handle sadness and weakness and exhaustion mental and physical. But I have a very tough time handling regret. This is one of those things that makes me feel different from everyone else: You all seem to handle regret with relative ease.
I have trouble settling, that's the problem. And that's not something I plan on changing. But it's time to return to my roots, to a life lived for love and loyalty.
Only this time, I need to find someone worth love and loyalty, and someone willing to grant me love and loyalty in return.
Makes perfect sense, right? I mean, everyone seeks this crap. Works out fine for them, no reason it shouldn't work out fine for me.
I hope.
Saturday, February 20, 2010
The (Modern) Art of Storytelling
Let me toss this out there: Anyone who doesn't believe modern video games are a viable form of art and storytelling is simply stupid.
Look at what sits at the heart of a story, what has made up the central essence of stories since man first sat around a campfire and came up with the reason night fell. Stories are meant to engage us, to teach us (not necessarily the truth), to show us the way and threaten us with what happens should you stray from the light of camp and into the night. They are there to tell us of the greater powers that hold our world together, in whatever form those powers might exist.
It doesn't take a book to do these things.
I just beat Mass Effect 2. I won't spoil anything, but holy crap, did that game every throw me a curveball towards the end. So did Dragon Age: Origins, when I played through it the first time. Final Fantasy X was like playing through a modern fairy tale (and I don't care that it was linear). So was Kingdom Hearts, and it even tossed in a plethora of recognizable, modern icons of age-old fairy tale and mythological characters.
Some of these games let you choose, some of them make you think. Take them seriously enough (as I do), and you can end up agonizing over a decision for ten minutes, even though this decision has no impact on your life. That's because this decision can have an impact on your reality. In the same way the morals of fairy tales like Little Red Riding Hood or the Bible (hey-oh!) teach us right from wrong, a game can. A game can teach us the meaning of sacrifice, the power of the human spirit, the depths of love of friendship, and it can do it all while pitting you - YOU - against impossible odds and challenging you to win.
Is there anything at stake should you lose? No. But then, there was nothing at stake for you when you read your first Greek myth or vampire novel (a category that does not include the Twilight series, by the way) or story about a kid wizard (keep holding out for that owl, it'll be here any day now).
Too many people rag on video games as the death of creativity. I've read Stephen King feels video games are the death of imagination. But if that is true of the modern video game, it must also be true of all other forms of media. Plenty of people spend hours staring at paintings and sculptures, letting these works "speak" to them, and no intellectual mind trashes on them for it. Significantly more people spend hours upon hours with their noses in books, absorbing stories like they were air, and receive no noise over it. And still more people are allowed to waste a third of their lives (this might be an exaggeration, but I genuinely don't care) in front of a television, watching any number of stories - most of which aren't worth the time, cost, or effort put into watching them, let alone making them.
Sure, a lot of video games are utter crap, but so are a lot of paintings, television shows, and novels. So why do those media get excused?
Why the hate against video games? I'll never understand it, it's hypocritical.
Video games are the media of the next generation. They are the stories of the next generation, they carry the morals that will guide the next generation, they show your children the way.
Now, I understand that this is a terrifying thought: "Video games show your child the way." But is it any scarier than reading your child Grimm's Fairy Tales? Any worse than the Bible (yeah, I'm back to that comparison)? Most people would say yes.
Most people are wrong.
It isn't important HOW you teach your children what you believe in your heart they should know. What's important is that you do it.
All stories have power, this cannot be denied. Perhaps the power of an interactive game is greater than that of other media, for the simple fact that it is interactive. And, sure, some games are just a waste of time - I'm looking at you, every MMO and almost every FPS ever. But such is evolution. At least, when your child learns a lesson from this story, it will mean that much more to them for the fact that they came to this lesson themselves.
None of this, of course, touches on the fact that video games are also art. But this post is already pretty lengthy, so I'll leave it here.
Look at what sits at the heart of a story, what has made up the central essence of stories since man first sat around a campfire and came up with the reason night fell. Stories are meant to engage us, to teach us (not necessarily the truth), to show us the way and threaten us with what happens should you stray from the light of camp and into the night. They are there to tell us of the greater powers that hold our world together, in whatever form those powers might exist.
It doesn't take a book to do these things.
I just beat Mass Effect 2. I won't spoil anything, but holy crap, did that game every throw me a curveball towards the end. So did Dragon Age: Origins, when I played through it the first time. Final Fantasy X was like playing through a modern fairy tale (and I don't care that it was linear). So was Kingdom Hearts, and it even tossed in a plethora of recognizable, modern icons of age-old fairy tale and mythological characters.
Some of these games let you choose, some of them make you think. Take them seriously enough (as I do), and you can end up agonizing over a decision for ten minutes, even though this decision has no impact on your life. That's because this decision can have an impact on your reality. In the same way the morals of fairy tales like Little Red Riding Hood or the Bible (hey-oh!) teach us right from wrong, a game can. A game can teach us the meaning of sacrifice, the power of the human spirit, the depths of love of friendship, and it can do it all while pitting you - YOU - against impossible odds and challenging you to win.
Is there anything at stake should you lose? No. But then, there was nothing at stake for you when you read your first Greek myth or vampire novel (a category that does not include the Twilight series, by the way) or story about a kid wizard (keep holding out for that owl, it'll be here any day now).
Too many people rag on video games as the death of creativity. I've read Stephen King feels video games are the death of imagination. But if that is true of the modern video game, it must also be true of all other forms of media. Plenty of people spend hours staring at paintings and sculptures, letting these works "speak" to them, and no intellectual mind trashes on them for it. Significantly more people spend hours upon hours with their noses in books, absorbing stories like they were air, and receive no noise over it. And still more people are allowed to waste a third of their lives (this might be an exaggeration, but I genuinely don't care) in front of a television, watching any number of stories - most of which aren't worth the time, cost, or effort put into watching them, let alone making them.
Sure, a lot of video games are utter crap, but so are a lot of paintings, television shows, and novels. So why do those media get excused?
Why the hate against video games? I'll never understand it, it's hypocritical.
Video games are the media of the next generation. They are the stories of the next generation, they carry the morals that will guide the next generation, they show your children the way.
Now, I understand that this is a terrifying thought: "Video games show your child the way." But is it any scarier than reading your child Grimm's Fairy Tales? Any worse than the Bible (yeah, I'm back to that comparison)? Most people would say yes.
Most people are wrong.
It isn't important HOW you teach your children what you believe in your heart they should know. What's important is that you do it.
All stories have power, this cannot be denied. Perhaps the power of an interactive game is greater than that of other media, for the simple fact that it is interactive. And, sure, some games are just a waste of time - I'm looking at you, every MMO and almost every FPS ever. But such is evolution. At least, when your child learns a lesson from this story, it will mean that much more to them for the fact that they came to this lesson themselves.
None of this, of course, touches on the fact that video games are also art. But this post is already pretty lengthy, so I'll leave it here.
Thursday, February 18, 2010
The Rules of Retail: You're Not the Center of the Universe
Or: "How to not appear to be a self-centered, condescending, self-entitled idiot."
For some years now, I have been of the mindset that every American high schooler or perhaps college student should spend a year of their education working at least part time in retail. And I mean a real job in retail, a customer service job in retail, not working the stockroom or being the girl who takes care of price tags. A job that is real fucking work of the worst fucking variety: dealing with dozens upon dozens of people a day who look down on you for no reason. Fuck.
Lately, I have been compiling a list of what I call the Rules of Retail. It's been slow work, as many of the rules run together and I want to keep the list and the gist of each of its rules concise because, well ... most people really are basically retarded. And I don't mean that in the sense that they are stupid, so perhaps it is unfair to use the term. What I mean is, people have a nasty habit of thinking of themselves as the center of the universe. This brings us to the first rule:
Guess What? You're Not the Center of the Universe.
See, I don't get why people don't already know this. Fact of the matter is, outside of your common retail outlet, the average person doesn't think they're the most important person alive. But they walk into a Target or a Wal-Mart or some shit (and seriously, people: stop shopping at Wal-Mart), and they suddenly think it's all become about them.
Now, I understand: sometimes, something in your meaningless little shopping experience goes wrong. Sometimes, that something is even directly related to an employee (just not as often as you think). However, that something does not make your whole shitty day the fault of every person with a name tag on. See, this is the problem: all the people who never worked retail (hell, and all the people who DID work retail twenty years ago when the world was a different place) seem to think they're better than all the people who DO. You're gonna get mad at me because I'm not trained in hardware and I can't find a single type of screw? Guess what, jackass, you're not trained in hardware and you can't find it, either. Get over yourself and rest assured: if you're patient, we will do everything we can to help you.
That's another thing: don't be impatient when it comes to lines or waiting for service or the like. As I said: the world does not revolve around you. But this works both ways. Just as the world is not here for your personal comfort, whims, and desires, so too is it not here for the simple task of fucking you over. A long line is not an indication of "how shitty your day is going." It is an unfortunate fact of life. Hell, it's usually not even that long, you're just impatient and think lines shouldn't apply to you, for some reason. But the fact of the matter is, people are pack animals. You move in PACKS. In retail, there is no such thing as a steady pace: either there aren't enough customers, or there are too many. I don't know what phenomenon causes this, but it's practically science. But the more people you pile into one place, the more things can go wrong. And the simple fact of the matter is this: when something DOES go wrong, it is rarely the fault of the cashier or employee. The other rules will illustrate this, whenever I get around to posting them.
So maybe next time you're stuck in a long line or can't find what you're looking for, you should take a serious look at the situation and decide if it really is the fault of the orange apron in front of you before you start treating him or her like shit.
Monday, February 15, 2010
Misdirection
Been stupid-busy the last couple of days. Work, homework, Mass Effect 2, Valentine's Day and an interesting misadventure that gets filed very deeply in the "Never Spoken of Again" folder ... yep. But I thought I would take a moment from the awesome that is Mass Effect 2 and its gelatinizing effects on my eyeballs and thumbs to put up a post that's been running through my mind the last couple of days.
So I was watching this movie a couple days ago, Cashback. Interesting film, British or something, about this college student who wants to be a painter. He breaks up with his girlfriend, can't sleep because of it, gets a night job, and starts freezing time and drawing people - most often naked.
I mean, they're naked. Not him. Really, come to think of it, he only draws women. Lots of boobs.
See, now that's kinda creepy.
My point is, in this movie, it is mentioned how romantic it is to be involved with an artist. They specifically mean a painter or sketch artist, a visual artist of some type - someone who sees the beauties in all the bits and lines and curves that make up everything. The whole time-freezing schtick is metaphorical, see?
But that got me thinking: Yes. Dating a visual-type artist must be very romantic. They will see beauty in all of you, flaws included. They will draw it and recreate it over and over again, in a way you can just look at and enjoy and don't necessarily have to ever think deeply about.
But dating a writer? An author, a poet, even a songwriter? It dawns on me dating a writer is probably a total pain in the ass. And I don't say this because I have anything against writers. Writing is MY art, I can't draw worth a shit.
I say dating a writer must be a pain in the ass because I AM a writer. See? I can see this flaw, this problem, and just lay it out there, in cold, hard words for all the world (or, you know, all two or three people who read my blog) to see and be perfectly okay with that.
Do you see where I'm going here? Dating a writer, you're not dating someone who is seeing all the bits that make you up and finding beauty in the result. You're dating someone who is seeing what you are, and breaking it down into all the bits whether you like it or not.
It's probably worse if you're dating a poet, because they will, of course, attempt to be all poetic in their description of you. They'll be flowery in the language, insincere in how they say what they say, and then get mad at you for not finding visual beauty in the way they wrote it out or spoke it.
God, poets are a pain the ass ...
But maybe it's worse if it's an author you're dating. Probably doesn't even matter what kind. Because we're gonna be sincere in what we write, and how we write it. There's no visual or auditory "art" to what we're doing, it's just a story. And there you are, an author's girlfriend, lain bare before the world. And not in a hot naked painting sort of way.
In a way that they're gonna read you, and learn stuff about you - not everything, but they're not gonna fill in as many blanks, and there won't be as many blanks to fill in - and then they're gonna see you for what you are and make a decision about you. Classify you and file you away.
And you'll do it to yourself, too, if you're unlucky enough to read you mate's writing.
Sure, it can't be all bad. Plenty of beauty comes from writing of the non-poetic variety. Authors are not villains by nature. They're just very, very capable of making you look like one, and making everyone else believe it.
So I was watching this movie a couple days ago, Cashback. Interesting film, British or something, about this college student who wants to be a painter. He breaks up with his girlfriend, can't sleep because of it, gets a night job, and starts freezing time and drawing people - most often naked.
I mean, they're naked. Not him. Really, come to think of it, he only draws women. Lots of boobs.
See, now that's kinda creepy.
My point is, in this movie, it is mentioned how romantic it is to be involved with an artist. They specifically mean a painter or sketch artist, a visual artist of some type - someone who sees the beauties in all the bits and lines and curves that make up everything. The whole time-freezing schtick is metaphorical, see?
But that got me thinking: Yes. Dating a visual-type artist must be very romantic. They will see beauty in all of you, flaws included. They will draw it and recreate it over and over again, in a way you can just look at and enjoy and don't necessarily have to ever think deeply about.
But dating a writer? An author, a poet, even a songwriter? It dawns on me dating a writer is probably a total pain in the ass. And I don't say this because I have anything against writers. Writing is MY art, I can't draw worth a shit.
I say dating a writer must be a pain in the ass because I AM a writer. See? I can see this flaw, this problem, and just lay it out there, in cold, hard words for all the world (or, you know, all two or three people who read my blog) to see and be perfectly okay with that.
Do you see where I'm going here? Dating a writer, you're not dating someone who is seeing all the bits that make you up and finding beauty in the result. You're dating someone who is seeing what you are, and breaking it down into all the bits whether you like it or not.
It's probably worse if you're dating a poet, because they will, of course, attempt to be all poetic in their description of you. They'll be flowery in the language, insincere in how they say what they say, and then get mad at you for not finding visual beauty in the way they wrote it out or spoke it.
God, poets are a pain the ass ...
But maybe it's worse if it's an author you're dating. Probably doesn't even matter what kind. Because we're gonna be sincere in what we write, and how we write it. There's no visual or auditory "art" to what we're doing, it's just a story. And there you are, an author's girlfriend, lain bare before the world. And not in a hot naked painting sort of way.
In a way that they're gonna read you, and learn stuff about you - not everything, but they're not gonna fill in as many blanks, and there won't be as many blanks to fill in - and then they're gonna see you for what you are and make a decision about you. Classify you and file you away.
And you'll do it to yourself, too, if you're unlucky enough to read you mate's writing.
Sure, it can't be all bad. Plenty of beauty comes from writing of the non-poetic variety. Authors are not villains by nature. They're just very, very capable of making you look like one, and making everyone else believe it.
Friday, February 12, 2010
It's Just Better When Greedo Shoots First.
I had a couple post ideas for today. But I whiled away my evening with class and Mass Effect 2. It is now one in the morning, and I don't really care for a long-winded, deep post.
This will, of course, probably end up long-winded, anyway. But not deep! Oh, no, because tonight I would like to post my thoughts on Star Wars and why it's better when Greedo shoots first!
First of all, let me just say: Like Halo and the Beatles, I find Star Wars to be very overrated. This is not to say I don't enjoy aspects of any of those three things, but I understand this opinion often invalidates anything I say about Star Wars (or Halo, or the Beatles) in the minds of many a fanboy. Or fangirl.
(Interesting. My browser's spellcheck tells me Greedo and Beatles are both misspelled, but fanboy and fangirl are actual words. How 'bout that?)
Anyway. If you're one of those fanthings (hey, spellcheck doesn't like that word!), feel free to walk away. But I'll take an RPS over Halo, Green Day over the Beatles, and Lord of the Rings over Star Wars just about always.
Still with me? Probably not, you rabid freaks. But if you are: It's just better when Greedo shoots first.
("What did he say? I can't believe he said that! And I can't believe we didn't know he was gonna say it when he made it the title of the post! Man, what a sneaky but good-looking and charming bastard!")
Settle down, kids. Put away the torches and pitchforks (where the hell do you get those, these days, anyway) and toy laser swords. It never made any sense for Han Solo to just up and shoot Greedo. And I don't give a rat's ass what invalidated Expanded Universe prequel bullshit you throw at me to prove it did.
Han Solo is not a villain. He is not the Punisher. He is not even an anti-hero (and, for clarification: I don't consider the Punisher a hero of any variety, anti- or otherwise). He's just the reluctant second-stringer. All stories have them, and he's lucky he wasn't a whiny traitor whose primary character development was redemption (sorry, Lando. But you're still cool) in addition to his reluctance.
A bounty hunter walks up to Han Solo and a fight ensues, then yes: Han Solo will shoot to win. A bounty hunter walks up for a conversation in a bar and pulls a blaster? No, Han Solo - the reluctant hero with a heart of gold - does not shoot. He kicks the table at his adversary, or throws a mug or punch after a witty but obvious (to us, anyway) distraction. When his foe pulls the trigger, THAT is when Han shoots back.
The Han who shoots first wouldn't've come back to help Luke murder a couple thousand Storm Troopers and Empire lackeys in a single, Force-infused missile strike. The Han who shoots first doesn't work for Princess Leia's affection, and doesn't care about some incestuous kiss. The Han who shoots first kills Lando for being a punk.
That's not your Han.
Greedo pulling the trigger first is much more in line with your Han, people. The character isn't new or original, and this is simply how the character is done. And don't go spouting some nonsense about how it's okay to be original and rework these age-old stereotypes in minor ways - I KNOW that's okay.
George Lucas doesn't, though. You hardcore, frothing Star Wars fans don't like to see it, but there is NOTHING original about the story of your movies (the original trilogy, I mean. There's plenty of terrible -but-relatively-original crap in the prequels). So why start with Han?
Now, that thing with Han dodging the laser beam (or blast, or shot, whatever)? THAT'S bullshit. Greedo shoulda just missed. He was shooting from the hip, and we all know that's a penalty to the attack roll, anyway. Woulda made perfect sense.
This will, of course, probably end up long-winded, anyway. But not deep! Oh, no, because tonight I would like to post my thoughts on Star Wars and why it's better when Greedo shoots first!
First of all, let me just say: Like Halo and the Beatles, I find Star Wars to be very overrated. This is not to say I don't enjoy aspects of any of those three things, but I understand this opinion often invalidates anything I say about Star Wars (or Halo, or the Beatles) in the minds of many a fanboy. Or fangirl.
(Interesting. My browser's spellcheck tells me Greedo and Beatles are both misspelled, but fanboy and fangirl are actual words. How 'bout that?)
Anyway. If you're one of those fanthings (hey, spellcheck doesn't like that word!), feel free to walk away. But I'll take an RPS over Halo, Green Day over the Beatles, and Lord of the Rings over Star Wars just about always.
Still with me? Probably not, you rabid freaks. But if you are: It's just better when Greedo shoots first.
("What did he say? I can't believe he said that! And I can't believe we didn't know he was gonna say it when he made it the title of the post! Man, what a sneaky but good-looking and charming bastard!")
Settle down, kids. Put away the torches and pitchforks (where the hell do you get those, these days, anyway) and toy laser swords. It never made any sense for Han Solo to just up and shoot Greedo. And I don't give a rat's ass what invalidated Expanded Universe prequel bullshit you throw at me to prove it did.
Han Solo is not a villain. He is not the Punisher. He is not even an anti-hero (and, for clarification: I don't consider the Punisher a hero of any variety, anti- or otherwise). He's just the reluctant second-stringer. All stories have them, and he's lucky he wasn't a whiny traitor whose primary character development was redemption (sorry, Lando. But you're still cool) in addition to his reluctance.
A bounty hunter walks up to Han Solo and a fight ensues, then yes: Han Solo will shoot to win. A bounty hunter walks up for a conversation in a bar and pulls a blaster? No, Han Solo - the reluctant hero with a heart of gold - does not shoot. He kicks the table at his adversary, or throws a mug or punch after a witty but obvious (to us, anyway) distraction. When his foe pulls the trigger, THAT is when Han shoots back.
The Han who shoots first wouldn't've come back to help Luke murder a couple thousand Storm Troopers and Empire lackeys in a single, Force-infused missile strike. The Han who shoots first doesn't work for Princess Leia's affection, and doesn't care about some incestuous kiss. The Han who shoots first kills Lando for being a punk.
That's not your Han.
Greedo pulling the trigger first is much more in line with your Han, people. The character isn't new or original, and this is simply how the character is done. And don't go spouting some nonsense about how it's okay to be original and rework these age-old stereotypes in minor ways - I KNOW that's okay.
George Lucas doesn't, though. You hardcore, frothing Star Wars fans don't like to see it, but there is NOTHING original about the story of your movies (the original trilogy, I mean. There's plenty of terrible -but-relatively-original crap in the prequels). So why start with Han?
Now, that thing with Han dodging the laser beam (or blast, or shot, whatever)? THAT'S bullshit. Greedo shoulda just missed. He was shooting from the hip, and we all know that's a penalty to the attack roll, anyway. Woulda made perfect sense.
Wednesday, February 10, 2010
Time Travel and Why It's Stupid (With One Exception)
Day two, and I think I have discovered a potential use for this blog: a place to put all the rants and half-baked theories I have that no one wants to actually listen to.
We shall start with time travel.
Time travel is stupid. There's no two ways about it: it's dumb. Every time I hear someone talk about how they would, "totally go back in time and change such-and-such," I wanna smack them. This isn't because I necessarily believe time travel to be impossible. I mean, yeah, it's more than an idea you have when you crack your head coming off the toilet, and then slap into a DeLorean. But I won't go and just arbitrarily declare it impossible.
Mucking about in time, however, is all levels of impossible. The way I see it, the effects of playing around in time can only turn out two ways. Two possible results.
First, and far cleaner: anything you do when you travel into the past has already been taken into account by history. This means you can't go back and, say, save Abraham Lincoln. In point of fact, your attempt is already a part of history. Just because it isn't in the books doesn't mean it ain't true. You got yourself a time machine, hopped back to save Lincoln, failed, and that's that. Way too go, loser, what do ya do for an encore, become your own grandpa?
The second theory is an alternate timeline theory, but it doesn't really work. I don't wanna knock Back to the Future, but its theories on time travel are all outta whack. See, say you go back in time to save Lincoln, and you DO. What have you done? You couldn't have altered your own timeline, because if you saved Lincoln and he lives, you never have reason to go back in the first place.
So assume you save Lincoln, but still need a reason to go back. Time gives you that in the form of branching time lines. You saving Lincoln creates a whole separate branching timeline, one which evolves differently because Lincoln never dies, while leaving YOUR timeline - and, thus, your reason for going back at all - intact.
But now how does time know where to send you back to when you time-hop home? Most logically, it'll send you back to right from whence you came, in your original timeline. So ... grats. Lincoln still died, despite your effort, but at least you saved him! Wait, wut ..? But that's the point: you cannot know the fruits of your time-labor, for good or bad.
See, say you DO go back to the new branch you created - or time doesn't branch, at all - and your future does change via your actions in the past. Next thing you know, you're going all Marty McFly, with fading photographs and changing newspapers and this weird thing where your great-grandfather somehow managed to marry a woman who looks exactly like your mom. You save Lincoln, and pop back to your time, and see a world where your efforts changed something.
So then, why did you go back at all? Okay, maybe you went back and time was just overwritten, a la McFly's misadventures. Then you simply CAN'T have gone back at all, or else now there are two of you, or something stupid like that. I mean, say time overwrites itself and you have a new past. Either you replace yourself or time makes a new you, doesn't matter. Either way, the you of THIS history is DAMNED unlikely to have the chance and reason to go back in time like original you did. Maybe s/he won't even want to.
There's an exception to this rule, involving a twist of fate allowing you to exist independent of changes to time, no matter what. But where the deuce does that come from?
Wait, there's another exception to all this. The Doctor. He gets a pass on time travel for two reasons: one, he doesn't overcomplicate time travel. Two, he's the frickin' DOCTOR.
We shall start with time travel.
Time travel is stupid. There's no two ways about it: it's dumb. Every time I hear someone talk about how they would, "totally go back in time and change such-and-such," I wanna smack them. This isn't because I necessarily believe time travel to be impossible. I mean, yeah, it's more than an idea you have when you crack your head coming off the toilet, and then slap into a DeLorean. But I won't go and just arbitrarily declare it impossible.
Mucking about in time, however, is all levels of impossible. The way I see it, the effects of playing around in time can only turn out two ways. Two possible results.
First, and far cleaner: anything you do when you travel into the past has already been taken into account by history. This means you can't go back and, say, save Abraham Lincoln. In point of fact, your attempt is already a part of history. Just because it isn't in the books doesn't mean it ain't true. You got yourself a time machine, hopped back to save Lincoln, failed, and that's that. Way too go, loser, what do ya do for an encore, become your own grandpa?
The second theory is an alternate timeline theory, but it doesn't really work. I don't wanna knock Back to the Future, but its theories on time travel are all outta whack. See, say you go back in time to save Lincoln, and you DO. What have you done? You couldn't have altered your own timeline, because if you saved Lincoln and he lives, you never have reason to go back in the first place.
So assume you save Lincoln, but still need a reason to go back. Time gives you that in the form of branching time lines. You saving Lincoln creates a whole separate branching timeline, one which evolves differently because Lincoln never dies, while leaving YOUR timeline - and, thus, your reason for going back at all - intact.
But now how does time know where to send you back to when you time-hop home? Most logically, it'll send you back to right from whence you came, in your original timeline. So ... grats. Lincoln still died, despite your effort, but at least you saved him! Wait, wut ..? But that's the point: you cannot know the fruits of your time-labor, for good or bad.
See, say you DO go back to the new branch you created - or time doesn't branch, at all - and your future does change via your actions in the past. Next thing you know, you're going all Marty McFly, with fading photographs and changing newspapers and this weird thing where your great-grandfather somehow managed to marry a woman who looks exactly like your mom. You save Lincoln, and pop back to your time, and see a world where your efforts changed something.
So then, why did you go back at all? Okay, maybe you went back and time was just overwritten, a la McFly's misadventures. Then you simply CAN'T have gone back at all, or else now there are two of you, or something stupid like that. I mean, say time overwrites itself and you have a new past. Either you replace yourself or time makes a new you, doesn't matter. Either way, the you of THIS history is DAMNED unlikely to have the chance and reason to go back in time like original you did. Maybe s/he won't even want to.
There's an exception to this rule, involving a twist of fate allowing you to exist independent of changes to time, no matter what. But where the deuce does that come from?
Wait, there's another exception to all this. The Doctor. He gets a pass on time travel for two reasons: one, he doesn't overcomplicate time travel. Two, he's the frickin' DOCTOR.
Tuesday, February 9, 2010
First Things First ...
I can't imagine I'll be too dedicated to this blog. I'm starting it because I was offhandedly challenged to. And offhanded challenges should rarely - if ever - be turned down. I already had a Blogger account (two, it turns out) for a couple of classes from two semesters or so back. Thanks to that little bit of forgotten homework, I've locked myself out of the URL I would have preferred for this blog. But whatcha gonna do ..? At least half the work of starting a blog was already done, which makes this easier for me to sit and do, since I know not a whole lotta people're gonna be reading this, anyway.
So, what do to? Start with a biography, or jump right into things?
...
I've got nothing to do today, see. That's the problem. Had plans, and even got responsible about them and did all my homework last night so I'd be good to game it up today, play me some RuneWars. My friend canceled. For his sake, it better have been for a girl. I didn't buy this game so I could never play it.
But nothing to do means I'm just stuck here gaming. Video gaming, I mean. Some 360, some Wii; I'm full-on back into my Civilization Revolution addiction. So there's that. But time to game (alone) means time to think, and that can be dangerous for a guy like me. Don't get me wrong: in the last ... mmm, six months or so, I'd say, I've dramatically improved my Time Spent in My Mind-to-Time Spent Being Emo ratio. Sure, The Emo still hits every now and then, but it is usually the result of specific stimuli. And alcohol. So it's easy enough to avoid, for the most part.
I'd just rather have something to do today, dammit. This is what I get for being responsible: nothing. To. Do.
I do wonder how this blog will shape up, however, considering my life really IS in a good place, right now, and the only real problems I have are a couple things I can never, ever post here. But, then, that's what I do. Think and wonder and prepare myself - mentally, at least - for all the possibilities I see in all the day-to-day drama I hate but can't avoid.
Oh, and prepare myself (again, mentally more than physically. Not like it's all that likely to happen) for the coming Apocalypse, of course. Fingers crossed, I'm hoping for a basic Zombie Apocalypse. I have a roommate, she is terrified of zombies. Unreasonably so, I think. Is it cruel of me to hope for at least a tiny, Resident Evil-style zombie outbreak, despite her fear?
Ah, I do that, too: pose a lot of rhetorical questions. In fact, that's probably what I'll name this blog.
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