observations

Scrawled amongst conference notes

  • Reading time:1 mins read

As you get older, you drop the specific questions. You get more general. You see the patterns. See past the inane, the momentary — grow to appreciate the inane, the momentary.

People walking up to each other as if they are old chums. Talking, giving long anecdotes — they’ve never met. They just like to talk. Mouths never stop. Talking about improv comedy — Second City — and their education. Laughing insincerely. Speaking with continuous lilt: “you know? isn’t that wild?” Travel, polo shirts, connections. Hot out of college and onto the job market.

Very expensive sandwiches and beverages.

Rent and groceries — not a bad lifestyle if you can meet it.

one as a person
No one
someone

Person standing ildy while people around her die; X-files style show; comes up with bizarre theory that would be right in any normal drama; “are you insane?!” people would ask; turns out, yes, actually. The end.

Boston

  • Reading time:1 mins read

It just hit me the other day how absurd the term “scientist” indeed is, as it was considered from about two hundred years ago when it was coined up until around a hundred. If you consider that “science” is just a formal term (being Latin) for “knowledge”, and that the field that we now call science really IS basically a natural philosophy — it…

I mean. It’s like labeling yourself an ideological proponent of knowledge. Which is fine, I guess, but doesn’t it seem both inordinately arrogant and a little silly to claim that a rational consideration of exterior evidence (a reasonable, if inherently backward approach — as evidenced by the absurdity and horror that the scientific method has brought to, say, psychology, or any system where exterior variables only hint at the actual story) is equal to knowledge itself — and that you are a ideologue of this standpoint, this One Truth?

Not mere youth.

  • Reading time:2 mins read

I think perhaps the greatest thrill and the greatest feel of accomplishment comes from what you’re not supposed to do. Every time you break an apparent rule and you get away with it, you feel stronger, smarter; more clever and more brave. All the better if by breaking the rules you are confident you’ve chosen the more true path. Then instead of a nagging guilt, you feel like a bit of a hero unto yourself. All of the fear you feel, all of the over-awareness you face, goes right to your heart. And it glows. The universe is broader than you had been led to believe; and now you’ve broken through that facade. Who knows what else is out there. Who knows what you might accomplish. It’s such a feeling of freedom. It’s moments like that which build a rich life.

And it’s moments like that which, to some extent, build art.

I think some element of this explains why I respect Hideo Kojima’s vision, even if I’ve not played his recent games and I never enjoyed his old ones. It also explains why the standard formula piece — romatic comedy, action movie, war movie, musical, western — in which so many people seem to take comfort — feels like death to me. I do not enjoy such fare because I feel like I am suffocating; like the walls are being drawn around me; like choices are being actively removed from my universe. Just as a book like Catch-22 makes me feel more alive, I feel like I am, to some extent, dying, when I enter these worlds.

I resent that. I don’t like feeling that way. It is difficult to just ignore and tolerate mediocrity; I am too sensitive to dig my heels in and endure. It takes a measure of will and security just not to lash out, but rather to take pity, to take note, and to move on in search for another deviant soul.

Islands in the Night

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Just as I prefer warmth against cold over warmth for its own sake, I believe that I prefer light against darkness over light for its own sake. One lamp in the living room, lit for the sake of reading; one lamp above the stove in the kitchen, through the doorway on my right, to give depth to the world. Two islands in the night. I am safe where I am. If I wish to move, I have a destination. I can connect the dots on my own.

In the same vein, it is easier to drive at night. Headlights create their constant island before me, drawing me onward into the only world that exists; the only possible desination. Safety is always just ahead, and that’s where I’m headed.

Anything else is overstimulation. Excess. It’s too much. It has no curve. Light has no meaning unless there is something to be lit. Warmth has no meaning unless there is someone to be warmed. Everything needs context, or else it is merely noise.

And then there is sound.

Askew

  • Reading time:2 mins read

I just realized that most artists only really have one thing to say. If that. Everything they do is just a refinement of, or another aspect of, that single contribution that they have (that being their own selves).

I suppose this should be obvious. We’re all individuals. The more rounded individuals, perhaps, have more corners of their minds to lay bare.

All the same: Miyamoto has never really varied since his original ideas for Donkey Kong and Mario Bros. Those added up into Super Mario Bros., and then Miyamoto took things a step further to hit upon The Legend of Zelda. Since 1987, it’s all just been refinement. He doesn’t have much to say that we haven’t already heard.

Same goes for Rieko Kodama, really (as much as I enjoy her work). She’s still kind of working with the tools she devised a decade and a half ago. BioWare did a lot with their first RPG, but they haven’t done a lot since then.

Hitchcock kept whacking out variations on the same two or three themes. Most of his work involved finding people he enjoyed and allowing them to do whatever they wanted within his vague descriptions. The Beatles had a lot to say by the end, but that comes from the chemistry of five key voices (including George Martin) and all of their experiences.

Miyamoto did his part. He’s done now. Hitchcock did his part. So is he. So are the Beatles. (Really, what of great merit have any of them done since the early ’70s?) They’ve each come out of nowhere with a new perspective and pointed out untapped possibilities within their own respective contexts. And in so doing, they’ve helped the context change.

And the world keeps moving. If they don’t, they’re left as a noble milestone; as a reminder of the need for perspective. Not as a template, however. Anything else is idolatry.

And that’s where all of the problems lie.

I’ve got a headache.

Confusion in labeling

  • Reading time:1 mins read

After puzzling at its box for a few minutes, I’ve realized that this cereal is the first I’ve seen with a complete sentence for a product name:

Hannaford Cereal-Cholesterol Free Food Provides 10 Essential Vitamins & Minerals With Almonds Oats & More Toasted Multigrain Flakes With Almonds & Honey Clusters.

How curious.

Why doesn’t my key work?

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I find mirrors to be very odd. I’m not used to them, really. More accurately, I’m still not very used to seeing myself in them. It’s difficult for me to decide what to make of this form which moves with me. It’s strange to see myself from the outside. Maybe it helps with perspective?

I rarely give much thought to my appearance. It always seems strange to me to remember that I have one. I suppose it would help to learn this more well, someday.

The Hardest Part

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The hardest part of any project is building up the energy to tackle it. Once the project is finally begun, it practically completes itself.

Same light taste

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Bottled Orange Juice — for that great airplane flavor!

Bergamot

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Earl Grey tastes like its leaves are rinsed with turpentine.

Sinister Levers

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I can’t believe how difficult it is to operate a spoon with my left hand…