Saturday, February 20, 2016

Wild Abandon - More 'Thoughts of the Day'

- Upon hearing that there were endless variants of our own reality I took it upon myself to stray from my place in the dimensional spectrum to see what lay within the realm of possibility. In one reality society was distinctly more feline. Although, saying it like that is perhaps a bit misleading. It would be more accurate to say that evolution of public sanitation was distinctly more feline. Bathrooms were, rather, box rooms or litter rooms. You would politely find a corner of the sandy room and do your business, using either a litter shovel or kicking motions to bury your deed. The box rooms, so named because they were usually a disconnected room within a larger structure, typically included a comfortable carpeted area on top of the box/room. In that society it was normal to wait on top of the box, lounging on the plush carpet. It was accepted, no, expected even that if you had been kept waiting for some time that as the occupant exited the box that you reach down and thump them on the head. In some high-end establishments there were even employees whose job entailed tapping each person on the head as they exited. The gesture was between a nod and a 'high five', and niceties such as warm towels or colognes/perfumes were tossed down afterwards. (Or slowly pushed over the edge as it were.)


- Ever notice how small, trivial details can collude to create a memorable moment out of an otherwise ordinary event? It happens to me most often while I am enjoying a book or a show, the combination of emotions and my circumstances blend together into a moment that, in memory, is more than the sum of the parts. I read the The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo and enjoyed it immensely, but my experience while reading it made it all the more memorable. After a long day of work followed by several hours of home renovation and a lazy dinner I would find a comfortable position on our old couch, wrap up in a blanket and crack a window enough to circulate the air but not let in too much of the winter cold. I'd light a cigar and spend several hours reading by the diffuse light of our tower lamp mixed with the glow of flames from the pellet stove. Usually a cat was draped over me purring loudly. Another favorite of mine was sitting cross legged on my computer chair at 1am, my arms tucked into a sweatshirt while our failing boiler strained to keep the house at a modest 60-65 (F) degrees. I was watching Steins;Gate on my computer with the volume turned down (so as not to disturb my wife) and occasionally sipping coffee. It was particularly memorable because several weeks earlier we had swapped our computers out of the office and into the living room.


- Move tile inspiration - Wizard of OZ III: Toto Vengeance


- Sometimes I feel phantom pains and I wonder if in some adjacent reality whether some accident or injury befell my counterpart.


- Sometimes I feel the need to pick up an obscure or relatively pointless skill. Like learning Morse Code for example. Honestly, who even knows Morse code anymore?


- Sometimes I become oddly focused on certain aspects of my body. Sometimes I notice how my pulse actually interferes with my ability to hold my hand steady. When it's really quiet I notice how it  sounds like there is a really high-pitched noise just at the edge of hearing (that's not actually there). Occasionally I'll feel two tiny rings, symmetrical, in roughly opposite spots, whenever I touch the roof of my mouth with my tongue. When I chew I sometimes fixate on the muscle that flexes just above my temple.
     I became annoyed when I discovered one day that I could bend my pinky finger on my left hand to my palm independently of the other fingers. Yet, on my right hand, I was unable to touch my pinky to my palm without uncontrollably bending the finger next to it. Luckily I'm fairly certain I figured out why. I regularly use my left pinky independently to hit CTRL or SHIFT on the keyboard, my right hand does not.
     Before I regularly kept a mustache I used to trace the groove in my upper lip. Everyone has it but I'm not sure why it's there. On the subject of facial hair, I also absent-mindedly twirl my soul patch when I'm studying something. I think it's a requirement or something.


- I had a dream about a WWII museum in which all the exhibits were represented with housecats. There were tanks and planes, all the real stuff, all appropriately scaled down and accurate, except the people were replaced by cats standing on their hind legs. Imagine a Hitler cat at a podium, talking to a field of other cats saluting. Imagine a cat dressed in an army uniform, his paw outstretched pointing forward, while behind him a field of tanks began advancing. Manning the guns on the tanks are cats of all colours, some of them only kittens. In a paratrooper exhibit a line of cats waits for their turn to jump, lit red by the glow of the jump light, while the jump captain cat looks out the open hatch, his head tilted as if looking at something that had just fallen over the edge. Call me crazy...but if someone actually built this I think it would be huge.

Ruminations on Renovations

Four years ago, when my wife and I bought our first house, we bought a fixer-upper because we were hoping try our hand at renovations and, hopefully, make a profit when it came time to sell and move. For some people buying a house is a huge, largely permanent, decision. For us buying a house was just the only reasonable alternative to renting an apartment, even if it was going to be more troublesome when we inevitably moved again. Buying a house, even a small crappy split-ranch that hadn't been updated since the 70's felt more comfortable. It was exciting to know that I could learn how to renovate as I went. However badly I might botch a renovation it was nice to know we wouldn't have a landlord breathing down our necks.

Well, I did actually end up learning my way around some basic renovations. Luckily I never truly botched a job and had to call in a professional. By some miracle I've progressed from feeling an overwhelming sense of dread and uncertainty whenever I pick up a new project, to feeling confident about most improvements. However, being young, uncertain, and fairly broke, the renovations these past four years have progressed slowly. I'd get home from work and want to spend time with my wife, or relax with friends. When I reached decent stopping points it was hard to work up the motivation to start the next exhausting leg of a project. Inevitably that would mean pouring my entire weekend into a frustrating learning experience so that I could return to work unrested and sore. As you might imagine there was quite a bit of procrastination going on. That's not to say that I couldn't work quickly. For instance, when there was a desolate flange where our old toilet once was, and my bowels threatened a reenactment of Mt. St. Helens, I learned how to install a toilet with surprising celerity. Yet situations like that also added to my sense of trepidation. Before I had accumulated the experience I have now I approached each new step with a mixture of fear and enthusiasm. I was always anticipating the possibility that I was going to fuck something up beyond my ability to fix it or, worse, my ability to afford it. Thanks to some mixture of luck and ingenuity though that was never an issue.

These days renovations are a different story. I don't think I've ever felt so satisfied doing renovation work as I have lately, and it just took a change of circumstances. When the decision came to finally sell the house I knew it was time to finally finish working on our bathroom. To put the bathroom work in perspective when we first moved in the tub was tiny, the walls covered in terrible 70's green and gold fleck paneling, the vanity was decrepit, the fixtures cheap, oh and the toilet was at an angle because the floor beneath it had begun rotting. The bathroom was going to be our big project. My wife and I grabbed crowbars and attacked the bathroom like Gordan Freeman at a headcrab convention. By the time we were finished the bathroom was a husk; bare floor and stud walls. In the first year when we had more money to burn we managed a substantial amount of work. I replaced the floor, bought drywall (but then let it sit there for a long time), replaced the toilet, replaced the tub with a larger and roomier one, and even updated a lot of the plumbing and fixtures. Then things got tighter and the purchasing slowed, and so did the work. Over time we bought a vanity and a faucet for it. Eventually I worked up the courage to start trying to attach the drywall which, due to my negligence, was now warped and dusty. More time and much savings later we bought real flooring and I sucked-up and began my first frustrating attempts to apply plaster. There was a lot of down-time between each of those projects though, frequently months.

Then about a month ago it all changed. My wife and our new addition, a baby boy, decided to stay with family a while. She was going to look for work in the area we planned to move to. Meanwhile, I was to concentrate on finishing up projects so the house could sell. I honestly expected the whole process was going to be a drag; all work and no play. I didn't think that being alone and coming home from a job I was ready to leave a year ago was going to leave me with much energy to accomplish anything. Historically my response was procrastination and exhaustion when I took the time to do more renovation work. I surprised myself though. This was the first time ever I've ever actually lived alone; no wife, no room mate, no family staying with us, not even a dog. I didn't have companionship to look forward to when I came home anymore, just alone time watching shows or playing games. I found the difference in working on renovations versus my usual pass-times was really just a matter of engagement.

Working on the house quickly became a daily routine and it was engrossing. The renovations required most of my attention but seeing the changes and the progress was satisfying. I didn't feel the same sense of restraint anymore, nor did I feel like I was wasting my day. I didn't have to worry about whether the bath-tub was currently unusable, or the house cluttered with tools and drywall dust. Who was I going to inconvenience beside myself? For the same reason I felt more confident about each new project I tackled, and I had further reassurance from my accumulated experience. I was no longer a complete beginner on the ground floor, I had reached a point where I was starting to see patterns and understand the processes. I didn't have to crack open a book and reread the same passage 14 times in order to be sure what I was doing was right. When I decided to tile around the tub I did some light research, bought what I needed, read the instructions, and knocked it out in a day. When I had to install drywall around the tub walls and plaster them, well, I had already done it once. And when I realized that there was no insulation in the entryway walls? Some profanity followed by a resolve to tear it down, fill it in, and patch it up.

It's almost an addiction. You go to the Home Depot, or Lowes, or local hardware store and you fill up your freight cart with all this new shiny stuff, all these colourful tools, bring it home and make something. It's like arts and crafts for grown-ups, except you don't hang it on the wall afterwards, it is your wall. Inevitably, each new project demands a new tool. Just when you think you have everything you could ever need you discover something necessary, or at least leagues more convenient. Buying tools begins to feel for all the world like buying a new toy. I hate to admit to such a ubiquitous stereotype but I'm starting to really like tools to the point that some might wind up on my Christmas list. It's not the tool itself, it the potential represents.Well...also the fact that the right tool typically means you're being spared a substantial amount of effort/suffering.

Even now I am still in the midst of renovations but it's nice to look back and see some progress now. My bathroom which has looked mostly unfinished for years now has a fully functioning shower and tub (the tub has been functional for years, just not the shower), the goddamn walls after what seems an eternity are mostly smooth (I hate working with plaster), the walls are painted, the vanity is finally hooked up, the flooring installed. I mean, it's pretty much complete barring superficial details such as a radiator cover, trim, and some shelving I want to install. Each day I look at another list I've drawn up and cross more and more off, even as some of my previously small projects expand a bit. After all that work it's nice to see, on paper and off, that all your time and effort is paying off.

Monday, February 15, 2016

These Thoughts of Mine

My thoughts throughout the work day:

Someone called out sick for work today and listed their reason as "cough". I'd like to think that if someone is calling out for a "cough", especially on a day that we're already short, it's because "cough" translates to "mysterious coughing up blood disease".


- When I was in middle school I'd read books like Harry Potter and watch movies similar to Brave Story or The Goonies, stories about young heroes overcoming incredible odds. Not sure if this is unusual or not, but I'd always imagine myself in the character's position and think to myself 'If that were me I'd be dead.'


- Somewhere out there are factories making sex toys and I bet there are people who have been working there for years who haven't admitted what they do. 
"Where do you work?"
"A...toy factory."
Yet someone out there is inspecting silicon dildos for quality control or packing rubber vaginas into boxes.


- I feel pretty ingenuitive sometimes when I come up with a creative solution for a convoluted problem. I only wish I wasn't also the source of most of my convoluted problems.


- If eating healthy weren't so time-consuming I'd do it all the time. When it takes an hour and a half to make bread, 20 minutes for a 'quick' pasta lunch, and at least an hour to make a decent soup it adds up way too quick.

Tuesday, February 9, 2016

This is For You (But It's Not)

2/11/16 - Edited for consistency/clarity (v1.1)

I've had conflicting loyalties in my writing lately. No, maybe for a while. Now, this is just between you and me- no really, it's literally between you and me. You see I'm writing because I want you to read what I have to say. That's a fundamental nature of writing, one writes so that they may be read. The problem is I keep letting you, dear reader, get in my way. Of course, I'm also getting in my own way and I'm good at that. It's okay though, we can share the blame.

The problem, my problem, is that I keep trying to write for you. I mean, that's what I'm supposed to do. You are my audience, you are my purpose, the reason behind my writing. Writing to be read and all that. The issue is that that's not the only side, nor even the most important side. I also need to write for myself. The issue is that I keep falling into this trap, over and over again, of writing in a style that I don't care for, and skimping on the topics I do care for, all because I believe I'm writing what others want to read. I'm tailoring my writing to you, even though I don't even know what you want, what you like. Does that even make sense?

There is a middle zone I am aiming for, where I will be writing for you and myself. If I was writing solely for me that would essentially just be self-reflection or journaling. Which is fine, but it's clearly not writing for an audience, it's not writing meant for you, reader. Writing solely for an audience is catering, or perhaps just being a soulless copywriter. The fine line that I have trouble walking is writing for you about topics that I care about, and in a way that I enjoy. The thing is, having an audience is so rewarding, even just the potential for feedback of any sort has this invisible influence over what I write. So I end up writing cautiously, I doubt my opinions, I restrict my scope, when really I should shotgun-method the hell out of my writing to see what works. Writing is about connecting, and if I'm not going to try and connect genuinely what's the point?

I have a hard time writing unrestrained. Should I swear? Should I avoid swearing? Should I be consistent? Should I write articles? Should I write fiction? Should I try and divide and organize all the different categories I might try? Or should I just post inspirations as it comes to me? Should I avoid my life at large or should I include it in my writing? I can't decide, and like a singer standing nervous, center-stage, alone, I freeze up. Even when I do manage to write my voice falters.

I wonder if I should stop trying, or, not to mince words, stop caring. I don't mean that to sound defeatist, but I always seem to be at my best when I'm 'not trying'. I think that the deeper root of my aforementioned problem is that I try too hard. I wanted to do things right so I started a blog to get a little exposure, thought maybe I would write more if I had a modest audience. I've been fixated on improving my writing for the last two years and I started reading more, and made numerous attempts to write on a regular basis. I tried having a 'when it's completed' release schedule, and when I took months to get anything done I tried a weekly schedule. I've tried giving myself reading lists- a mix of classics and current interests, I've tried to stick to rules of writing, I've tried to write reviews with balanced and well-rounded coverage. I've tried to write like I was going to be published (practice like you perform). I've tried to emulate professional writers. I've tried to write in ways that might appeal to some specific communities I frequent. I tried to always write my best. I've tried way too much. I keep sticking to conventions. I keep worrying about being inconsistent. I keep worrying about quality and appeal. I don't know why I keep falling into the same traps over and over again. I don't know why I wrote 'dear reader' in the first paragraph except that I routinely, unwittingly, tailor my writing for some unknown reader. I'm not even a 'dear reader' kind of person unless I'm being ironic.

I don't want to care any more. When I stop caring I can finally concentrate, I've felt it before with other things. If I stop caring all that will be left is the writing. No rules. No worries about category. No reading lists of books I'm only half interested in. No deadlines. I can doubt myself as much as I want and just keep going, because I don't have to worry about anyone else. I know what I want to do. I don't have to worry about whether or not my writing is shitty, or mediocre, or dry, or forced. I'm never satisfied anyways.

So, you know what. I don't care anymore. Thanks for reading. I'll see you whenever I update next.

Thought Pad - Posts That May or May Not Be

Just a quick post, more for my own reference than anything else.

Prone though I may be to bouts of depression I generally try and stay positive. So when I say that many of these post ideas (that will follow) may never come to fruition it is simply because they will be replaced by better ideas or there are just too many for me to get to. Still, I'd like to make a point of recording them just in case. So, once more I will record various ideas and thoughts I have.

- How We Are Trained to Play MMO's: As far as games go there are a lot of things in MMORPG's that aren't easily definable as fun (though that seems to be improving through the years). So why put so much time into a game that isn't fun? Brushing aside that many modern games aren't necessarily meant to be "fun" per se, I believe it's because we were trained or tricked into liking them. (I thought it would be fun to view the MMORPG phenomenon through my own darkly tinted experiences, and examine why I started out mostly disliking games like WoW and Ragnarok online but played them anyways.)


- Cleaning and Entropy: This was more of an idea than a fully-formed article. The thought behind it is that the need to clean is caused by entropy so the act of cleaning is actually an act of rebellion against the forces of entropy itself. That would make cleaning a rather arrogant act and, of course, you would never find any respite from cleaning as entropy is a foe that knows no end. I like the idea but there just isn't much more to write about beyond that condensed bit.


- Borderlands is a Bad Game and I Love It: I've really enjoyed the Borderlands world, art style, and even the gameplay itself despite the fact that it suffers from some really poor design choices. The game really falls short of greatness on several fronts yet I've dumped more hours into the game on PC and PS3 than even Skyrim. "RPG first person shooter" is the sole pillar that holds the game up in a sort of Diablo II meets Serious Sam sort of way. Borderland's greatest strength is that it is unique on several fronts, core among those being the major gameplay mechanics which are old concepts presented in a new way. Despite an alluring new style of gameplay, aesthetics, and a memorable world Borderlands largely failed to live up to its potential, especially in its sequels, and the core gameplay suffers from repetition and a shallow focus on the world and characters. (This article idea is essentially just a review of the game, its strong and weak points, and with a focus on why Borderlands is a 'bad' game in a lot of ways and how it manages to pull through regardless.)


- Handsome Jack: 2-Dimensional Villain or Suprisingly Complex?: Handsome Jack, to me, is a confusing character. It's hard to for me to imagine someone like him actually existing, and not just because Handsome Jack is laughably evil and self-absorbed. As a character Jack seems to be all over the place in personality. The easiest side to identify is also the most flat; Jack as megalomaniacal dictator of Pandora is annoyingly one-sided. The bottom line? If you think that Jack is going to have a redeeming quality or is going to stop being an evil-dick for a moment, he's not. Borderlands 2 and Tales from the Borderlands have many 'gotchas' in that regard. Yet beneath the shallow exterior Handsome Jack has the potential for incredible depth. Brief moments here and there suggest that Handsome Jack actually sabotages his own sympathetic traits by being the universe's biggest asshole. It's as if Jack truly wanted to be liked but didn't believe himself deserving, nor capable of redemption. Furthermore we know that despite his hellacious methods Jack had some noble goals for Pandora. So evidence suggests that Jack was pursuing noble goals with terrible methods, he has a human side that he is trying to cover up, and that despite those things, deep down inside, he is probably also still just a dick by nature. It's hard to tell if Handsome Jack is a poorly written character with accidental depth or a well-written character with hidden depth, but in either case I find him a hard character to read. (This prompted me to want to examine him as a character in the two games I know him from. Unfortunately I don't have Borderlands the Pre-Sequel for reference which could potentially poke holes in some of my theories.)