‘Tis the Season

Because I apparently cannot stand to see myself genuinely happy, I have become worried that I am too materialistic this Christmas. The thing that excites me most is the gifts I will be receiving, not the prospect of seeing family members, not the religious elements. This troubles me. I would like to think of myself as someone who values the intangible, the abstract, and the qualitative in people and things. Instead, I feel like a spoiled child waiting for their pony. (Only my pony has a ten inch touchscreen.)

There are, of course, a few reasons why I should not feel this way. I think I am actually looking forward to giving gifts, for example.

But is that still a focus on the material aspects of the celebration?

Another contributing factor is that I have not personally given any money to charities this year. There will be donations as part of my Christmas gifts, but I have yet to actually take cash out of my own pocket. Part of this is due to my mixed feelings about the Salvation Army, to which I would usually toss my pocket change.

I do not really know where I am going with this post, but writing it was a useful exercise to make myself feel better about my desire for MOAR PRESENTS this year.

Potpourri III

Cap’n Crunch is known infamously as the cereal that cuts up the roof of your mouth. But I cannot stop eating it tonight. It reminds me of the CD-ROM that came in boxes of the cereal for a few months in the 90s: Cap’n Crunch’s Crunchling Adventure. It was a surprisingly awesome promotional game in which you trained a creature called a Crunchling to defeat the evil Crunchium Theives. Crunchtastic! As a bonus, you could insert the CD into a CD player and listen to a story about the Crunchlings narrated by the good captain himself. It was probably the best prize to ever be included inside of a cereal box.

Another delicacy that I am sampling tonight is the “apple pear” which is apparently actually an Asian pear that has apple-like qualities. It is delicious.

I went into BigLots! looking to see if they had any wireless keyboards. They did, and I bought one, but a wireless Bluetooth speaker also caught my eye. This is somewhat frivolous as I already have wired speakers, but the allure of transmitting sound across the room proved too much. So far I really like it. I am slowly coming to terms with the fact that this Christmas season, I am spending an awful lot on myself. Pros: joy. Cons: it makes me more materialistic.

Speaking of materialism, I think I am finally okay with idea of receiving a tablet. We are donating to charities already, and I need to give myself a break. Not buying a Nexus 10 is not going to save someone’s life.

Tonight I plan on watching Another Earth. Brit Marling gave a sharp performance in Sound of My Voice, so I am expecting good things from her here.

Two of my friends have worn cardigans around me. I have jumped on the bandwagon.

Just like the Lochtepus.

I had a one dollar credit towards mp3 purchases at Amazon. I purchased My Head is an Animal by Of Monsters and Men, since it was on sale for $3.99. I am not crazy about the album, but I figure that if I can find three songs on it that I really enjoy, it will be worth the money. Their sound reminds me very much of The Head and the Heart and songs like “Little Talks” include sweeping soundscapes, but I have not found the lyrics to be anything to write home about.

Of Monsters and Men - My Head is an Animal: Amazon | Google Play | iTunes

The Fortress

While looking for something to do, I browsed the app Untappd for local bars. I came across a most curious place in the list of nearby establishments: "The Fortress". Armed only with the address, C/K and I decided to go on a trek to check the place out.

What time is it?

The listing designates the place a “speakeasy,” which I can only assume is a category for modern day bars that are trendy and secretive—the kind with no sign above the door. The address was in a residential area, but not far from IUP’s campus.

On our first pass by, we spotted a house with a back patio lit up by Christmas lights. The house itself was dark and seemingly empty. Clearly this bar was so hipster-y that it was disguised as a quiet house to fool the legions of uncool people who must prowl the area looking for the underground venue.

Trepidation gripped me by the time we had worked up the courage to pull into a gravel parking lot behind the house. We noticed that there were multiple entrances. Apparently, the structure was home to several apartments, also explaining the ample parking. We got out of the car and walked around the building. Seeing no signs of life, we abandoned our quest and retired to watch Scott Pilgrim airing on MTV2.

Further investigation online revealed that there were several spots on Foursquare (where Untappd gets its listings) that were private residences, but given nicknames. Other examples included “B*tch Palace” and “The Cave.” The Fortress’ Foursquare page even listed it as such (while the Untappd page indicated it only as a bar).

In the end, we were gypped. We were duped by college kids “cleverly” naming their (likely uncool) liars. But hey, it was still sort of an adventure.

All Mind, No Matter

I mentioned a while back that I was working on a new venture with some friends. Tonight I am proud to say that episode one of our podcast has been published. It is not on iTunes (yet), but you can download it directly from the link at the bottom of the entry.

It is a little rough, considering how green we are at the whole process, but it will improve in the coming weeks.

Linkage: allmind-nomatter.blogspot.com

Reasons to be Thankful

I meant to get this out by Thanksgiving, but the fantastic thing about blogging is that there are no deadlines. Random things I am thankful for this year, in no particular order:

• My friends and family
• My right to publicly disagree with my government
• Being a white 18-34 year old male in America

While I am sure that there are many other specific things I should be mindful of, these things came to mind the quickest. Mainly, I kept coming back to the privileges I have compared to most other people in the world.

This year, my big ticket item to receive for Christmas may be a tablet. But I am on the fence about it. On the one hand, it would be a pleasure to receive something that can so frivolously be used purely for my delight; on the other, I feel a little guilty about receiving something like that when money spent on me could be used to help other people instead.

My family normally makes donations to charities around Christmas. My favorite is a catalog in which you can order animals for families that depend on sustenance farming. I know that even if I receive my shiny, expensive gizmo, we will donate, but what haunts me is the idea that I alone could be preventing us from doing more.

This probably one of those times when my assessment of the situation is skewed. I have a nasty tendency to create obstacles when I have a chance to be happy. The fact is that I am normally okay with getting presents. It is difficult to determine where the line is between what is reasonable and what is selfish, between what is a sensible concern and what is overkill.

I should be thankful that my livelihood does not depend on the outcome, but what if someone else’s does? Why is it so difficult for me to just be thankful that we can afford such luxuries?

In Memoriam

My neighbor died this morning. She was 89.

She was truly like a third grandmother to my sister and me. Whenever we would have family gatherings for holidays or birthdays, we would invite her. She was a part of our lives. But it was not just us who were impacted by her—she was a great-grandmother with a large family.

I am happy that she never had to be placed in assisted living. She defiantly continued to go shopping and carry laundry up and down steep cement stairs on her own. She drove, too—probably better than me. She was fiercely independent.

Her husband died some time ago, but she kept his memory alive in her heart. One time, while I was visiting, she showed me poetry that she wrote every year for him. I wish I could remember it—it was quite beautiful.

She was definitely a feisty one, loving to watch Judge Judy give the smackdown to miscreants and deadbeat parents. One time, a brush-trimming vehicle cleared the banks against the road, but missed the weeds and mowed down her flowers instead. The next day, she put a large sign in place of her garden which read: “THE STATE DID THIS.”

Despite these memories, I do not feel like someone has just died. I did not feel much emotion over my own grandmother’s passing until my cousins and I were up at the coffin, crying together as the grouchy funeral director tried to get us out of the building (it was near the end of business hours). Another reason why I am not overwhelmed may be that this was not a surprise. From the time I heard reports of how she was doing in the hospital, I knew that she might not be long for this world.

My religious sensibilities are often ill-defined, but I sincerely hope that she is in a better place. I take comfort in the thought that whether there is something after death or not, she is no longer suffering.

The Time I Met My Spirit Animal

I have been hypnotized on a handful of occasions by one of my previous psychiatrists. The experience is difficult to explain without a common frame of reference. Perhaps the easiest way to give you a feel for the general sensation is to compare it to dreaming or very being very involved in reading something. I may go into further detail in the future.

                                              

On one of the most vivid occasions, I was instructed to imagine myself at a certain location on the local university campus. (I was nervous about taking college courses as part of a dual enrollment program in my senior year of high school; by picturing myself on the campus, I was to familiarize myself and become calmer in the situation.) I did so, but instead of sticking to the reality of the place, I quickly wandered into a realm of fantasy. I vaguely remember a hippogriff walking between trees in the distance, for example.

The key event that occurred was that I was approached by a serpentine Lindword. Imagine a dragon with a snake-like body, two legs, and no wings. It also had frills on its neck so that it reminded me of an extremely large version of those salamanders with prominent gills. The body was as thick as one of the trees surrounding us, and it moved swiftly. When it was near me, it turned its head to the side so that one large eye was facing me. We gazed into each other for a time, and a strange, deep feeling came over me.

I do not necessarily believe in supernatural spirit guides, but I do believe in psychological archetypes, and spirit animal shows up throughout history. A contemporary example would be the daemons from His Dark Materials—external manifestations of a person’s soul that take the form of an animal which represents them in some way.

What a Lindworm (or a salamander) would say about me, I do not know. Any heraldic significance, while interesting, would not mean as much in this context as my personal feelings towards the creature. Perhaps it is just a fluke of free association in visual form. I know it is ingrained in my subconscious to some degree, as it was a common feature of my doodles at the time, but I do not have any more insight than that.

One (Thousand) More Thing(s)

This happened. Suck it, C/K!

Has Children’s Entertainment become too Adult-Oriented?

Tonight, Cartoon Network airs the half-hour season premiere of Adventure Time. I love this show, especially in light of the crazy bananas they pulled a few weeks ago in the previous season’s finale. But I find myself wondering sometimes, how much do kids enjoy it?

I know it is a success, but I do not know how those numbers break down in terms of demographics—how much of its viewership is made up of teenagers and adults? I know in the case of Spongebob Squarepants, a significant chunk of viewers are adults—and not just parents watching with their children. The same was the case with Avatar: The Last Airbender and its sequel series, The Legend of Korra.

In fact, a quick perusal of the internet will reveal legions of children’s show fans who are able to vote. (Off the top of my head, TVTropes and Tumblr are hubs of fandom activity.)

Why do we, the older audience, love these shows? In the case of Adventure Time, I would argue the very adult elements are one of the key attractions. This leaves me wondering how much kids really get out of it. It is difficult for me to imagine anyone under the age of 14 or 15 finding Regular Show entertaining.

To an extent, I have to ignore a large component of most of children’s entertainment to ask these questions: the sense of fun and wonder. To watch Adventure Time is to be transported to a world of bright pallets and problems that at their worst can still often be dealt with by a little boy kicking and punching them. And this I think is universally enjoyable to all ages.

I also think that I should consider the appeal of layered entertainment. Pixar films and Harry Potter have demonstrated that it is possible to tell a story that is enjoyable on a base, surface level, while providing more thought-provoking entertainment upon closer inspection.

So the answer is no, then? I mean, the wonderment and the layers must invalidate my rhetorical, click-bait title, right? I do not know; I still cannot imagine children finding the episode of Regular Show revolving around a VHS tape humorous. For one, they might ask, what the hell is a VHS?

What do kids love more than hipster video store clerks?

I do not know exactly what I am trying to say in this post. Something about children’s entertainment no longer being entertaining for its intended audience as it caters ever more to grown-ups. Not that that is a bad thing.

A Clean Slate

My room is now clean for the first time in a few months. It may be cluttered and unorganized, but I can see the floor. It is amazing the difference a change in your surroundings can make to your mental state. I now feel so relaxed in my room that I was content to literally curl up on my bed like a cat and take a nap today. I squandered a few hours, but it felt nice. So I guess the time is not totally wasted.

Cute cats seem to be driving traffic to C/K's blog. And I steal everything from him. EVERYTHING!

I now also have a space to work. My desk previously held a pillow, a pile of loose papers, and a tube of toothpaste; those items are still stacked haphazardly in the vicinity, but I can use my desk. It is a sort of architect/artist’s desk with a surface that can be adjusted at an angle. I have it at what my eyeball estimates to be 20-30 degrees. This way, my laptop can be arranged at what is theoretically a more ergonomic position and it will be more difficult to pile things on the desk. Then again, I compensated before by placing things on that pillow to create a level area.

I have sort of failed NaNoWriMo, but I am okay with that. After all, I can go for it at any time. I am still stuck between stories to write, though, which is frustrating. However, I know I still have the passion to write: while having coffee with a friend, I launched into synopses and explanations for my current rotation of stories, enthusiastically sharing details and proudly displaying a map I created in GIMP. I just need to give my one story some direction to continue it. I have also tried immersing myself in my materials for an older story. While I know what I want out of that one, I have a couple of issues with the plot. Either way, the solution, as always, is to power through.

Potpourri II

The person I talked about in my previous post does not, in fact support gay marriage. But she nearly does. Or does not. Her’s is a complicated viewpoint.

I did not carve any pumpkins this year. Partly this was laziness, but another contributing factor was that several houses have been vandalized in my neighborhood. Our mailbox was smashed and the reprobates even broke into our neighbors’ house. As such, I feared for the safety of any jack-o-lanterns I might painstakingly carve.

Also, a third thing.

Puzzling Opposition

I am currently working on a persuasive speech on gay marriage for my Effective Speech class, and I am reminded of a bizarre argument I heard in that class.

(Since I shared my blog in class, there is a chance that the person I am writing about is reading this. In this case, know that I am not trying to make fun of you or be mean spirited.)

The argument was made by a woman who, despite being a political conservative, is okay with gay marriage. She confessed that she believes gay people are born that way, so to discriminate against them does not make sense.

But then she admitted that she is against gay couples adopting children. And her reason was… well, here it is: children of gay couples face ridicule; therefore, to spare them from this mistreatment, gay people should not be allowed to adopt at all.

To me, there is an inherent flaw in the logic of this argument. The source of this discrimination is not the actual adoption; it is society’s reaction to it. The thing to do is not prevent adoption, but teach tolerance.

Let me put it this way: before racial integration was common, it was a fair bet that any black student attending a previously whites-only school would face much difficulty and hardship. Using the logic of this person’s argument, the solution is to never integrate schools.

(I actually kind of hope she is reading this, as I wanted to explain this to her, but I do not know how to broach the topic without being a sanctimonious asshole.)

The Line

Over the weekend I attended a Halloween party. It was fairly enjoyable, even if some of us left early because things were getting out of hand. On the way home, I stopped and checked my schedule at work. Instead of the usual scheduled hours after my name, there was a swiftly-drawn line.

My initial reaction was confusion. What did this line mean? Was there a conflict? Would I resume work the next week? Eventually, I realized what should have been obvious: I was fired.

Or at least I had a hunch that I was. It was not until I called the hotel the next morning that I knew for sure. I tried calling my manager directly, but there was no answer. I tried calling the hotel’s number, but the call would not connect (I think they may have blocked my number). Eventually, I got through by using my home phone instead.

They fired me without even letting me know.

The actual reason for my termination is convoluted, but the basics are that I was doing things the way I had been taught under previous management. This was producing errors, apparently. No one told me that I was doing anything wrong. No one told me the new way of doing things. This happened twice and caused the management and owner a lot of problems. But they never told me I was doing it wrong.

A Sorry Excuse for an Entry

Ah! In such a good place for creative musings (The coffee shop I like)!

So here they are.

Or not.

I have been greatly neglecting this blog, and like a baby, it will wither and die of exposure if I do not act swiftly.

So yeah.

What’s up with you guys? Anything interesting?

I want to see Cloud Atlas, but since the town I am near sucks, I will have to travel forty minutes to do so.

I am sure more interesting things would come to mind if I only tried a little, but there is an assignment I really should get to.

[/worstblogpostever]

A Confession of Optimism

I am very thankful to my parents for the way that they raised my sister and me. There has always been a strong sense of neutrality. Not in the sense of never backing any side of an argument, but in the sense of being impartial and evaluating the situation before forming an opinion about something. It has led to complicated, if interesting, scenarios when friends and I have fought—I do my best to avoid taking a stance against the person mad at me. This just seems to frustrate the other party and makes me sound smarmy as I describe it now, but I believe it is the right thing to do if you can appropriately distance your emotions in order to make a rational decision.

Because of this, there is a sort of centrist streak running through my family. Religiously speaking, I was taught to revere the Dalai Lama as much as the Pope and to shun fundamentalism. Politics were also subject to this; my parents never shared with us who they voted for. They will discuss who they plan on voting for now that both my sister and I are of age, but they showed no desire to imprint their political beliefs on us the way so many people seem to do. (We were indoctrinated, but with views that are more flexible, in my opinion.) Whenever I can glean something about their beliefs, it reinforces the idea of choosing sides based on their merits instead of voting straight ticket; my father is a registered Democrat, but Reagan was his favorite president.

But there is more to this post than bragging about Mom and Dad. The centrism is alive and well whenever we talk about the upcoming election. My whole family, it seems, has adopted the strategy of voting for neither Obama nor Romney, citing problems with both. As with the previous election, I agree with them that there are problems with both (though I think neither would run the country into the ground, Bush-style). But every time my sister extols the merits of the Green Party, there is a part of me that shrinks as I remember my true feelings.

I like Obama.

There. I wrote it.

I have yet to admit this to my family, for fear of deviating from the consensus they have come to. Even with an intentionally-open belief system, there is a set of norms to which one must adhere.

I certainly have my issues with the President. The bill he signed “with reservations” bugs me, for example. But when I learned a friend was involved with the Obama campaign, I actually had a slight desire to do something myself.

I missed my chance during the “hopey changey” era. I lost my absentee ballot, so I did not vote. But even then, despite professing that both Obama and McCain were worthy contenders, I clandestinely harbored Obama sympathies.

I know that supporting a candidate in an election is not something to be ashamed of, but still I worry. I have found myself increasingly to be a liberal democrat over the years, and I just do not want to be one of those people that are part of the partisan train wreck that is most of our politics. And yet I drift to the left (or maybe I have always been there—I am a bit of a Socialist at heart).

I know who I am voting for this November. I just hope it is for the right reasons.

If he's good enough for her, he's good enough for me.

On Discovery Writing

I suck at it.

Discovery writing, for those that do not know, is writing without an outline or guide. You may have a vague idea of where your story will go, but you are coming up with the actual plot points and character arcs while you are writing.

My “bad” story has been an exercise in this. I do not have a particular direction in mind for it to go. This is a problem for me. When I hit a block, it seems that much worse since I do not have a later scene that I can jump to.

Should have used an outline.

I am embarrassed to say that I have made barely any progress in that story. I am still under 9,000 words. I keep running into the problem that I have no plans for what happens to the main character next. I end up following him around his life as he does things like going to work. It’s some boring shit. In the right hands it could be used to make a point, but in my case it was because I had nothing else for him to do.

There is one positive thing I can take out of this ongoing endeavor; I have learned that I prefer outlining. There is always an element of discovery writing present when writing anything, but I do not think I can sustain it on its own for a whole book and produce something readable. I need some sort of lattice work to write things of significant length.

For completion’s sake, I am interested in continuing to write this story. I might try sketching out a few broad points, though.

The End of an Era

Tonight I had an issue while checking out a guest. I went to call my boss to remedy the situation, but was sent to voicemail. She then informed me via text that she has resigned.

I am disheartened, to say the least. My boss was one of the best things about working at the hotel. She is possibly the most positive person I have ever known, and always has such genuine enthusiasm for things.

She will be missed. I can only hope that work will continue to be a rewarding environment. If things go downhill, though, I guess I will be stuck in the same boat as everyone else.

A Welcoming

Last night at class, while speaking about my goal of writing the “bad” story, I mentioned this blog. I was urged to share the address. As such, there may now be one or two new readers poking around my archive.

If I am completely honest, it is embarrassing to have such an intersection of real life and online life. Which is weird, since most of my readers are people I already know in the flesh.

Speaking of embarrassing things, I was also asked to explain the premise of my novel-in-progress. Yikes. I was not ready for that one.

I am not sure if this bashfulness is present in all writers, or if I am especially prone to it.

The only lasting negative consequence of sharing the blog is this: now I cannot write about any of the people in class. Oops.

They are all really nice people, though, so there would not be much to write about. And yes, I would say that even if they were not privy to my postings.

Come to Philly for the Crack

I should be sleeping. I have to be awake for class tonight. But alas, I am out of melatonin. Since I am unable to sleep, I figure I can kill two birds with one stone by also being unable to write.

I have struggled to find something appropriate to blog about the past few days. It would make the most sense to talk about work, but it is my wish that this blog be something more than just a record of my spiraling occupational neurosis.

While at work, I did come across something that may be worth sharing anyway: I find Philadelphia accents indicate a constant orneriness. To me, it is as if the speaker is about to have an angry outburst at any moment.

There was a portly gentleman from Philadelphia in town for the university’s homecoming. While eating breakfast, he asked for me to change the channel on the breakfast area television to weather. Something about the way he said it made me feel like he was in a bad mood. I turned the channel from the usual (CNN’s Early Start) to The Weather Channel.

“No,” he continued, “I want to see the weather for here.”

His tone seemed to belie a certain impatience. I was flummoxed (it had been a long night for me). Eventually it was made clear that he wanted the local weather, but not before I felt like he was on the verge of getting mad.

Of course, he could have just been frustrated. One of several incidents that kept me busy that night was his toilet clogging. The plunger remained elusive, so the best I could do for him was to instruct him to use the public restroom. When you also consider how long it took me to realize that he wanted a local channel on, you have a recipe for an irritable guest. But to me, he seemed to be teetering on the edge of an unearned eruption.

After this, he asked to change the channel again. With my permission, he began tuning the TV to something else. He settled on a screening of Major League on HBO. The movie has some saucy elements, and HBO is the one channel we are never supposed to have on for precisely that reason. Yet, I did not say anything. I was afraid of upsetting the precarious balance of emotions within the man.

I know, I know, this makes me look bad. He had an excuse to be a little upset. Taking this into account, one might draw the conclusion that I simply do not like people from Philadelphia. This is not true. I love It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia and my godfather is from the city of brotherly love.

Just like how I'm not racist because of my black friend.

I maintain that even taking into account the circumstances, there was a rising inflection in his voice. It practically sounded like he was looking for a reason to get into an argument. I do not know how else to describe the effect his accent had on me.

Looking back, I am probably overanalyzing everything about this frankly unremarkable situation. And it is kind of boring. But dammit, I got a blog post out of it.

Potpourri I

I decided to combine a few post ideas that were not long enough into a single post. Why? Because I steal from C/K. I even stole the idea to start a blog from him.

One of my duties as a hotel night auditor is to print out the receipts for Choice Privileges customers and slip them under their doors. Traversing from one room to the next, quietly slipping receipts under doors, I wondered if this was what it felt like to be the Tooth Fairy. In any case, it has similarly creepy connotations: I am slipping things under other things for you to find while you are asleep.

Last night I not only read text in my dream, I made a play on words! I think I was looking at someone’s online username and they were an Olympic swim fan, because the word displayed was “Lochtepus.”

I have never heard that one before (only “Lochtess Monster”), so I am taking this opportunity to praise my subconscious’s cleverness.

CNN keeps referring to tonight as “debate night in America.” Because of the phrasing, I now have “Tennis Night in America” stuck in my head.

To bring things full circle, Ryan Lochte will be appearing in the final(?) season of 30 Rock. If anyone can make his stilted, wooden personality entertaining, it’s them.

30 Rock Soundtrack:

Amazon

Google Play

iTunes

All Aboard!

The model railroading bug has bitten me again! This time it is more of a localized rash than a full-blown infection.

Something I do not often share with people is that I used to be an avid model railroader. Well, more of an armchair model railroader. I did more reading, planning, and collecting than building. As a result, there are a lot of unrealized projects. In our basement, we actually have a train table that my grandfather custom built to go around in a ring, but currently it is being used for storage. I never placed anything permanently on it.

This is probably somehow connected to my habit of not finishing things.

I made a little bit of progress a couple of years ago, and intended to document my meager attempts with a blog. I started work on what is known as a “pizza layout,” a small setup, often around the size of a pizza box. I think resuming this project is a good way to dip my toe back into the water before attempting the daunting (but exciting) task of creating a large layout.

As for the large layout, I have been rethinking my plans. A large part of it was going to be a small town, and I realized I could make it a miniature version of the town from my “bad” story. But as I was in class, I my mind began to wander. What about something more fantastical? Steampunk and dieselpunk seem perfectly suited for model railroading (steam and diesel being the two types of locomotives). I think this could end up as a pretty cool layout. I use the term cool relatively, of course.

All of this does beg the question, should I be devoting time and energy to side projects and hobbies? I not only have classes to keep up with, but my current story begs for attention. (I have accepted it will not be done in time for NaNoWriMo, but whatever, I can use that time to write draft two.) Plus, I should probably clean my room soon.

I do not see a problem with working on the pizza layout. And I think I can justify this as a creative release, so long as it does not keep me from doing other things. Writing, school, and work should take priority.

Progress

I have set a goal for my “bad” story. I want to finish it at around 40,000 words by November. At that point, I plan on starting a different, “good” story for NaNoWriMo.

Currently, I have about 8,000 words. If I write an average of 1,000 words per day, I will meet my goal. I have chosen to make my goal flexible, however. While I may write over 1,000 words on some days, on others I write none. Part of the aim of this is to make myself a more disciplined writer, but I am at a point where I am able to not follow this plan perfectly and still live with myself. Which is itself a victory for me. So I am winning already! :D

That emoticon is only half sarcastic.

Something that held me up when writing today was naming. On the one hand, names should sound natural and fit the person they are given to; on the other hand, I really like it when names have extra meanings. One of the things that I am learning while writing this abomination of a novel is to strike a balance between those two concepts. At least, I think I am finding a balance. I want to avoid everyone being named John and Jane, but it does not make sense to have characters named Aries and Amaterasu in a contemporary Earth setting. I believe I got it right with George, who, in addition to having a pronounceable name, alludes to St. George.

I must admit, when I found out I passed the 8,000 mark, I got a little excited. 8,000 is close to 10,000 which is a quarter of the story I plan to tell. I can only hope that as I pass more milestones, the exhilaration continues. Ideally, I will become addicted to the rush, and will be compelled to write out of habit. Muhahaha!

First an emoticon, now an evil laugh? What have I become?

A hack, probably.

Being Sick Sucks

The past few days I have been afflicted by a foul cold. It started with a sore throat and became a sinus infection on day two. My head felt like it would explode. Today, day three, things are winding down. There is significantly less mucus trapped in my skull and my throat has made a full recovery.

I should not complain too much; I have been very fortunate to have not caught anything in a long time. This is a big deal for me, as the medication I take for Crohn’s Disease lowers my immune system.

It is particularly nice that I am feeling better as I am meeting with a couple of friends tonight to work on a personal project. More on that later.

I know. The suspense is killing you.

Low Hanging Fruit (2012)

I found James Adomian’s debut album to be good. Not incredible, but good.

Adomian is known around the Earwolf podcast network for his inventive, lively impersonations (including a paranoid, defensive Jessie Ventura, a maniacal Richard Branson, and an addled Gary Busey). His first comedy album, which was released through Earwolf, shows more of his normal personality, although he slips into several voices throughout the record to hilarious effect.

I first heard the comic on a number of Sklarbro Country episodes, performing as characters for mock interviews. They have several recurring impersonators, but I find his personas to be my favorites. He brings a great amount of energy to the table. In a recent episode, the brothers Sklar interviewed the man himself, and this got me interested in his standup. On the page for his album, you can listen to a great track that tackles the homophobic advertisements for beer that air during football games. I enjoyed it so much that I decided to buy the rest of the album (for a reasonable $10). While the rest of the bits do not quite live up to the sample track in my opinion, I got a great deal of enjoyment out of listening to them. At first I was lukewarm towards some of his material, but I must admit that upon further review I found myself laughing more and more. Taste in comedy is especially subjective, so it is difficult to judge how much Low Hanging Fruit will appeal to other people, but I liked it. I am not a fan of most stand-up, but I do appreciate the occasional alternative comedian, and Adomian is now one of them.

Plus, I just like the guy. I have written twice before about my tendency to latch onto personalities I like and support their work. I do wonder, then, how much I actually enjoy the things they produce because I want to like their stuff. Has my opinion of something been tainted if I have a desire to hang out with person who wrote it? Does the fact that I first was attracted to these people because of the quality of their handiwork remedy this?

In addition to the Sklarbro interview, Adomian appeared on Marc Maron’s WTF podcast. There he talked about growing up and coming to terms with his sexuality. As an out comic, he incorporates being gay into a large chunk of his act. I find his treatment of the topic agreeable; he talks about his sexual orientation as just another part of his personality, but is not afraid to utilize it to great effect. We need more people like him to help people understand sexual minorities as something more than stereotypes. But that is a topic for a whole other post (or series of posts).

Adomian seems to still be finding himself as a standup, but I feel that Low Hanging Fruit is a good first effort.

A Relatively Pointless Grievance

A friend on Google+ recently re-shared this story about Pope Benedict XVI issuing a statement against gay marriage. He tagged the post with the hash tag #nazipope.

This annoys me. Despite popular rumor, the Pope never actively supported the Nazi party. Whether he complied too much with Nazi rule is certainly up to debate, but to say he endorses Hitler’s views is a lazy exaggeration.

I am biased. I identify as Catholic (among other things), but I am not against calling out the Pope on this sort of thing (and there are plenty of things to criticize about him). Just leave the Nazi-calling to the Tea Party. Do not call him a Nazi, call him what he is: homophobic.

If by any chance that acquaintance is reading, I am not angry, just annoyed. And picky. And admittedly defending the reputation of a man whom I do not agree with. But I do not like inflating things unfairly.

The Looming Threat

I tend to feel inadequate at my job. I try my best to be courteous and nice, but always worry that I am not productive enough. One of my more pessimistic musings is that my niceness will serve only to make it a more uncomfortable conversation when I am eventually fired.

My boss tells me otherwise. It is possible that she is just being polite when I ask about my performance (she is an extraordinarily positive person), but it is more possible that I am just being down on myself.

Oh yeah, about my boss… I kind of maybe sort of broke her finger today.

She came in to relieve me of my nightly duties at seven this morning, and after some pleasantries were exchanged, she requested my assistance. In the process of emptying the dirty rags into the washing machine, the plastic garbage can that we pile the rags into got its mouth wedged in the industrial washer’s opening. It took some minutes of struggling, but with a loud pop, I removed the garbage can.

Immediately following this, my manager let out a sound of distress. I looked at her as she reacted to pain, eyes wide, for several seconds. Eventually she was freed. Though I could not see it from my point of view, her finger had gotten caught between the plastic and the metal.

When she showed me her finger, there was a deep indentation. No skin was broken, but I was nearly sickened by the mark, wincing as I imagined the pain. She has reported that she is okay and applied ice to her injury. She did admit, however, that her finger may be broken.

I apologized as best as I could, but I still feel bad about the accident. Hopefully everything will be alright—by the time I left, she was already in her signature good mood—but while reflecting dwelling on the incident, I could not help but think about how much I might be screwing up. This is a specter that haunts me. Sometimes when I am being self-deprecating I am aware of how ridiculous it is, but other times it more difficult to tell what is real.

I really should try to turn this worrying into something constructive and channel it into better workplace performance.

"...5, 6, 7, 8!"

I just woke up from an elaborate dream with mid-budget musical sequences about the (non-existent) salt mines of Pittsburgh, indie videogame development, elevated public transit, and falling for a girl who may or may not feel the same way.

While I cannot remember any of the songs, I remember them having actual lyrics. This feels like something that should not happen in a dream. When you read lucid dreaming guides, they recommend doing things that require a certain permanence not usually present in the nocturnal imagination to determine if you are dreaming—looking at your hands, gazing into a mirror, checking a clock for the time, trying to read text.

However, that last one is of note to me because in two fairly recent dreams (one was just a couple of days ago) I successfully read signs. What do these peculiar developments in my dream life mean? The optimist in me is promoting the idea that this is a sign that I am gifted in language arts. The rest of me, however, feels that particular explanation is a delusion of grandeur.

To make things even more surreal, I wish I had a Snuggie right now. We have one (a stunning cheetah print item), but I cannot find it, and I’m trying to use my arms to type while covering my torso with a blanket!

Pictured: journalism.

To the Moon (2011)

Roger Ebert once said that videogames, by their nature, could never truly be art (see the comment beginning with “Roger if you don't really consider games as art then would be it be fair to say…” and Ebert’s pithy response for a real treat (use Ctrl+F, kids!)). The resulting internet firestorm brought forth some interesting counterarguments. There was a lot of back and forth—too much for me to link to everything, so I’m not going to try.

Ultimately, I found some of Ebert’s arguments to have merit—like the idea that the mechanics of goal-and-reward-based gameplay are not conducive to artistic expression—but he misses the larger picture. In recent years, we have seen videogames that forgo traditional gameplay in favor of experimental interactive experiences.  Even outside of artsy (yes, artsy) indie games, there exists a genre which encourages the creative process (something which, as Will Wright points out, can bring strong emotions of pride when a player succeeds and guilt when they fail).

Anyway, this is all kind of a roundabout way of me saying that, yes, To the Moon is art. I will cede that the way in which it is art—essentially eschewing gameplay in favor of creating an interactive story—actually gives some credence to Ebert’s arguments about gameplay mechanics—the game had to become less game-like in order to successfully tell its story. Nevertheless, it utilizes what gameplay it does have to move the plot along and takes advantage of videogame elements to tell the story. I will also admit that upon misty-eyed completion, I wondered how the story would work in cinematic form. Whether it suffers from its choice of media is unknown. To the Moon did not need to be a game, but since it is, it makes the most of the art form.

The story itself deals with themes of loss, memory, relationships, and loneliness. The premise, which is better explained by this video than by me, raises some interesting questions about whether our actual experiences are as valuable as the memories we take away from them.

The main character’s narrative is told in reverse chronological order as the memory technicians jump back through memories using “mementos”—specific objects linked to different points in the character’s life. Most of the gameplay takes the form of exploring and finding significant objects within the memories. I confess that I found parts of “Act I” repetitive and slightly boring, but the plot was interesting enough that I retained the desire to play through. The game is around 5 hours long, by Steam’s estimation, and I completed it in three sittings.

I found To the Moon to be an enjoyable, cathartic experience. To quote my friend, who introduced the game to me on facebook, “Anyone who has ever been remotely interested in games as interactive storytelling should definitely check out To The Moon…”

Just Write Something

I sit on the couch, laptop in lap, staring at the screen. I have no particular topic to write about in mind, yet I feel compelled to write a blog post. Something about disciplining myself to write more regularly, perhaps?

A friend remarked that one of my entries seemed scattered and stream-of-consciousness, full of uncertain thoughts and backtracking. Part of me would like to think that I am, in fact, intentionally doing this and have succeeded in portraying my mind in print. Most of me knows that is not the case.

I made some significant progress last night in what I am starting to think of as my “bad” story. I am writing it to finish it—to actually have something novel-length—even though it is my weakest idea. It is a practice project, really. A generic urban fantasy that is entirely too much like Harry Potter. I caved last night and decided to specifically mention J. K. Rowling’s books. Yeah, this is definitely a practice novel.

They say that writers have a certain amount of bad words they have to get out of their system, the same way that artists have a multitude of terrible drawings they must work through before producing quality work. I just expelled 211 of them.

Sleepwalk with Me (2012)

I had the pleasure of seeing a screening of Mike Birgbiglia’s Sleepwalk with Me. I had to drive to Pittsburgh to see it, because independent cinema has no place in Indiana, PA, but it was worth it. The screening I attended was actually packed, and I wondered if I would get in when I saw that there was a line outside of the theater to buy tickets.

The film is the fourth incarnation of Birbiglia’s tales about his sleep disorder (the others being his appearances on This American Life (which produced the film), a one-man stage show/album, and a book). In each version, he chronicles his life after college as a struggling stand-up comedian, his relationship with his girlfriend, and his increasingly dangerous sleepwalking episodes.

The film certainly feels “indie,” but this is a good thing in my book. Birbiglia gives a solid performance as a version of himself, and the cast is rounded out by myriad comedians. Notable cameos include producer/co-writer Ira Glass as a wedding photographer, and Dr. William C. Dement as himself. The story is strong and the film weaves together the different plotlines deftly, unifying the thematic elements.

One of the few problems I had was with some of the main character’s dialog. It might be because I am familiar with his material, but some lines felt like a comedy routine shoehorned in instead of naturalistic dialog. Then again, the character interactions between fellow comedians just hanging out rang very true to me (based on hearing many stand-ups shoot the shit on podcasts).

I especially enjoyed the dream sequences. Glass said in an interview on Fresh Air that he normally despises dream sequences in film as cheap, and you can tell that special attention was paid to ensure that the scenes were uncanny but realistic.

I will admit that this review is heavily biased in favor of the movie. As I have noted before, I enjoy seeing people I admire get exposure. I was a fan before the film was even released. It was great (and sometimes a little surreal) to see comedic bits I know portrayed in cinematic form, like the stilted confessions of love featured on Wedding Story Tales, or the dismal lip-syncing contest.

Me, being biased.

I would certainly recommend this film to anyone with a sense of humor—or anyone who is a little weird. Fans of Birbiglia will get exactly what they expect, and new viewers may find themselves introduced to a wonderful world of awkward moments and strange conversations comparing abstract concepts to pizza, tinged by a healthy dose of self-deprecation.

Write the Bad Story

I had a really, really good therapy session yesterday. Not in the sense that I was depressed and felt better—I went into it in a good mood—I just made a lot of personal progress. Also, my therapist is really cool, so shooting the shit with him is fun.

We talked about the sort of thing that causes my project ADD. It manifests itself in other areas of my life, particularly other areas that involve creating, especially writing. I am ashamed to admit it, but I have a great deal of difficulty writing research papers. It is like pulling teeth. And yesterday, we identified that a form of perfectionism is responsible for this.

I start writing something, I get a chapter and a half in, and then there is no way I can continue it. Or rather, there is, but it is not satisfactory to me. I stop myself because producing nothing is better than creating something that is not good.

I need to aim a little lower, really. No one’s first novel is published—I should not be wary of what people will think about it. I should just focus on actually completing a novel in the first place. Academically, my new goal is to focus on writing a paper that will earn a C (because that is better than a zero and I will probably earn a better grade in the process).

Mind you, there are still some issues holding me back from moving too far along with my story—mainly the lack of a coherent conflict—but I have a lot of hope.

I am going into the coffee shop right now to write. And I better hurry, because I’m about to say something flippant to the two stereotypes sitting next to me in the area outside of the coffee shop: a girl who is “not” a slut and her gay best friend.

Wiki-Documenting My Mind

While going through the back catalogue of Writing Excuses, I was turned on to a piece of software known as WikidPad. The short explanation is that it lets you create personalized, local wikis about anything and everything. Naturally, this is a powerful tool for any writing that involves world building. Since I am flitting between stories that I want to work on, and was in the process of using word documents to write my story bible, I decided to give it a try. I was initially frustrated by a couple of issues regarding how the links are displayed hierarchically, and I have yet to find a way to create category pages, but after trying competing software, WikidPad seems to be the best option for me._­

If you need to keep entire histories of civilizations straight, or even just want an easy guide to your main characters, this could be a useful tool for you.

"What's the Deal with Fiber Commercials?"

I realize that in this post I risk sounding like Andy Rooney, who (God rest his soul) has probably managed to find something to complain about in heaven. I would guess that he is griping about the clouds being too fluffy or something, but I am not a fan of portraying the theme park version of heaven.

Anyway, onto the kvetching: Fiber One’s latest rash of commercials bothers me. They are predicated on the assumption that fiber has a reputation for tasting terrible. It takes this assumption so far that in one commercial, parents hide the fact that Fiber One cereal has fiber in it from their child in order to convince him to eat it.

This is stupid.

Since when does anyone think that fiber tastes bad? I have never known anyone to shy away from trying something because of high fiber content. Sure, some high-fiber foods do taste terrible, like broccoli, but that is not because they have fiber.

In conclusion, no one thinks fiber is terrible, Fiber One. You are dumb.

Project ADD

I think I have it. I made it a chapter and a half into something and now another story I have worked on pleads for attention. Is this a pattern of behavior that will doom me to never complete anything? Or am I utilizing my time wisely?: I am stuck in one story so I work on another.

The story that begs my involvement again is sort of a retelling of the King Arthur mythos, except not. But it borrows enough elements and characters that I think saying it references Arthurian legend is not strong enough. Perhaps “inspired by” is the term I seek.

A Shins song is playing in the coffee house as I write this. This is the perfect writing environment, yet I choose to spend my time worrying about writing instead of writing. Except for now. Now, I’m writing about worrying about writing.

I meant to write a review of Sherlock Holmes (2009), but this blog has morphed from its intended review format to something else. I enjoyed it, for the record.

Sanskrit and Super Bowls

I have a spiffy new laptop, and I am looking to name it something deserving. So far, I have discovered two Sanskrit words that mean “light weight,” which is appropriate since my old laptop was a monstrous desktop replacement with a 17 inch screen that weighed a ton. The two words are lagubhara and alpabhara. Both may be entirely too pretentious.

At any rate, I am glad to have a fully functional computer again. One of the more annoying issues with my old one (named Sophocles) was that the “q” and “2” keys did not work. Instead of joining my family and some family friends to watch the most recent Super Bowl, I was sequestered in my room, drinking wine. I spilled the libation onto my keyboard and ever since then I have had to rely on the on-screen keyboard to replace the dysfunctional keys. “Q” may not seem like an especially common letter, but when you take classes at Susquehanna University, it is.

I like to name my gadgets. I am not sure why, but I can think of at least two other people who do the same thing. They share a name, but not much else. Other items named include a Creative Zen MP3 player (Bodhisattva) and three external hard drives (Blueberry (the manufacturer provided this name), Fenghuang (it rose from the ashes of an old computer), and Svalbard). I never got around to naming my Droid X, though it was unofficially called “Number 13” (referencing Battlestar Galactica). My sleek Galaxy SIII probably deserves an appropriate moniker as well.

For Entertainment Purposes Only

Recently, eBay announced that they will no longer be offering occult items. Specifically, psychic readings, spells, potions, and tarot readings. I am not sure whether I agree with this move. One the one hand, it could be a practical step towards protecting people from con artists; however, it is difficult to say that these items have no worth.

When evaluating such things, one must be sure to put aside preconceived notions of what is real, what is trickery, and what may be honest, but ineffective. To put it another way, in an anthropological class I took on magic, we were introduced to the concept, “Does the charlatan know that he is a charlatan?” If something is fake, does that necessarily mean it is intended to fool someone, or is there a genuine belief behind the practice? But, does this honesty justify charging money, even if the service is not real?

And what of items that may have no supernatural effect, but still elicit a psychosomatic response? If someone believes in the power of spell casting and has terrible self-esteem, could not something which affirms their self-worth psychologically be a viable service? I do not believe in the power of tarot cards, but having my cards read by a friend who knows me has led to genuine discussions about my personality and contained minor insights into my psychological state.

Even if one assumes that “metaphysical” items and services have some degree of efficacy, how does one sort them out from people who are blatantly trying to deceive people into giving away their money?

Whenever I have discussions about the paranormal with my mother, she brings up the idea that it is legal to practice something supernatural, but not to charge money for it. (I’m not sure if there actually is a law to that effect or if that was only what she proposed.) Her reasoning was that if anyone truthfully had powers of some kind, they have the responsibility to use them for the benefit of others without expecting payment, but that if it were fake, no one would be getting ripped off.

I do not think eBay’s decision will single-handedly end the occult market. It is easier than ever to accept money online using PayPal or Google Wallet—I am sure that practitioners of magical arts will still have a way to make a living. Still, should they be able to profit from such a thing, which is at best unprovable and at worst a sham?

Perhaps the best solution is to add the same disclaimer that many psychic hotlines have: “for entertainment purposes only.”

Flip Flop

Last night I was watching CNN while at work, as usual. On AC360's "Keeping Them Honest" segment, they featured Paul Ryan's criticism of an economic bill, which he later took advantage of once it passed.

I want to make clear that what follows is not an assessment of Ryan or his capabilities. It is generalization. That said: I find it frustrating that this is viewed as a bad thing.

Do not get me wrong—him lying about it after the fact is wrong. But he should not have felt the need to hide it. Why is it so taboo for a politician to change their mind as more information emerges or pertinent events occur? Why can't we accept a leader admitting that they were wrong about something in the past? Why can't Ryan take advantage of the new law while saying that he made a mistake opposing it, but acted based on what he knew at the time.

Why? Because politics in the United States has been overwhelmed by partisan views. Instead of people arguing for ideas based on their merits, they pick a side and stick with it, regardless of any future developments. The whole thing has the mentality of a sports rivalry. One side hates the other on principal.

As I said, this is not a defense of Ryan. It is more that this incident reminded me of my opinion which pertains to all politicians. Frankly, I have seen nothing to make me a fan of the guy.

This video sums up my views on politics in general: