Patriot Day Post

Well, it's been 9 years since the 2001 terrorist attacks, which has remained the greatest "Where were you when...?" of our generation. Thankfully, we haven't had a really big news wave like that since, but plenty of change has indeed been afoot. Never forget.

Something else happened on that day, though. Many don't know this, but September 11, 2001 was also the day that Schwinn ceased to be a real American symbol. Schwinn was bought out on this day and had all manufacturing shipped overseas. Schwinns had been a symbol of post-war success for generations, an American-built bipedal machine for which that every child pined. Now, they are little more than tack-welded aluminum tubes in poorly-assembled lines at Wal-Mart.

Lately, it seems there has been a real lack of momentum in American pride. Granted, were coming out of a serious recession, a massive change in political winds, and every is getting kicked out of their houses, but we still must have something of which to be proud, right?

That moon still belongs to us. Yeah.

-The0

Long Day, Short Temper

Whoever said it is always darkest before the dawn is full of horse piss. I was heading off to work at an ACTUAL obscene hour today (4:30 am) and I could see the sun's hateful fucking rays starting to lick the horizon. Things will usually give a sign that they are getting better, and today I will not see a fucking single one of those signs. I'm not even going to see the sun at all today. I'm calling back to a post where people can't do their job. Guess who picks up the slack? Your local favorite cross-bearer.

My overtime is ridiculous, though.

-The0

Prince of the Mods

But not like the Scooter-riding, Italian suit-wearing Mods. You see, in spirit of my previous post post, I thought I might divulge my aforementioned compulsion. A spirit of change, the winds of non-conformity!

I have this fluid theory on life. "Nothing is truly yours until you modify it." Modification! Change in order to make something more to your liking. This can be as complex as a total overhaul of your car, as ho-hum as adding a part to your bike, or as simple as changing the settings on your cell phone. So long as you make it better to your liking, it's your thing. Your object, your mirror reflecting who you are to you, and to the rest of the world. It's a conversion to conversation piece from stock NIB item. It's materialistic, but it doesn't have to be.

It can mean modifying one’s self too. Taking effort to change for better or for worse. A workout regimen, a tattoo, or a drug addiction. Whatever moves you forward. I feel like I owe it to myself to undertake the task that makes my life better to my liking. Fluidity, Improvement, Personalization, and Movement. It's like Kung-Fu zen. Or just plain metal. I don't care. No! It's metal. There, that's my stink on the idea.

This philosophy came forth during a period where I was starting to get into bikes and computers. I got my close friends to subscribe to the idea as well. It's come to the point where the only ones who know what's going on with our stuff, is us. Awesome times, to be sure. I make it a point to modify my computer at least every six months (it helps to keep it closer to the cutting-edge, if you will.) My bikes get tweaked monthly. My sax? I tune its springs as they fall out of tune. I do this to pretty much everything.

It seems like a good way to go through life. You'll always be able to find something to do. You'll always be richer for some experience, and if nothing else, well, at least you tried to do something new. It's a lifestyle. Change to your liking. Change to you. Essentially, it's like being yourself, but with an effort-filled, yet subdued way. Comment with questions if you're confused.

-The0

P.S. (reference) The title is only Prince, because Vince Noir is King of the Mods. (/reference)

Through the Fire and the Flames

It's a little odd, the way some jobs can affect one's psyche and confidence. First off, I wish to call to mind a specific scene from the movie Go. In said scene, a father is stitching a bullet wound up on his son, talking about how there are no real promotions in life any longer. What simply occurs is the man ahead of another man fails at his job, and the other man moves up to replace the previous man's incompetence. This seems to be the way of his world, my question however, it what if something similar to the reverse happens?

What if a man can move up the ladder in skill and ability, but the replacement for his former position is not as enthusiastic or competent at the job as the man he is replacing? Does it speak poorly on the training abilities of the the ladder-climber? Does it reflect the difficulty of the job on new man? Should the person who moved up, move back down, and restart the whole process? Or should he maintain his new position, proud of the progress he's made, cast to naught the duties he once considered so important? Is it a prideful move, or one of quiet dignity?

I don't think I would make a very good boss. I would get bogged down thinking about this and the feelings of employees, instead of just bossing them around, which is what bosses are paid to do.

Well aware of the danger of his words,

-The0

Placement Agencies are like job hunt butcher shops.

I have always been the kind to think about work while I'm at work, and that may be the reason I'm never the best at my job. Doing so, however, leaves me with revelations and realizations that I carry with me for quite a while, so I may just keep doing it.

One epiphany was that the job you perform is what you contribute to society. The harder you work, the more you produce, the more money you get. You then use this money to get things that you need or want that others have produced in the same society. It's like a standardized, long distance barter system. There was more to it, I'm just paraphrasing.

Another breakthrough that I had recently was that some jobs just don't fit some people. I remember back in college they had these tests which I would have been able to take which would magically be able to read my then-personality and tell me exactly what kind of job I should have been looking for. I think I ended up taking one of them, but never following through.

What I have begun recently is looking for a place where I can take these tests again. While I have been known to bitch about work before, it seems to be coming to a head in which I am losing a lot of my personal life to my job. I'm not very happy with my progress, and what I do was something that for a time, I loved doing. I dread every morning now.

If I had to start searching again, I'd start by finding out if there's a test to find a job I won't hate in 6 Months.

-The0

Null Option

Have you ever really thought about what it is to tell someone, "No"? Have you ever considered the effects it has, the conditions it implies? I recently did, and I think I came across something.

It literally can represent the closing of a door. It takes away the option of doing something, regardless of the situation in which it is presented. The Nay-sayer may or may not get his way, but it also shows another attribute.

Strength. The strength of will and character to demand one's own conditions. The clarity of thought or at least the headstrong ambition to desire something in a certain way. An amazing power, to have the gumption to refuse something.

Taking what he can get,

-The0

Stitches

There are memories that each person has, be they good, bad, bitter or sweet. Some are a healing presence, and every time you think back to them, you feel better, empowered, and can't help but smile. Others are scars, reminders of hurt long or recently past, and teach us a lesson or refrain us a twinge of frown when reflected. Memories are key to helpings us be who we are, and I am pleased to say I have many memories over such a relatively short period of time.

I have one memory that doesn't really fit the previous metaphor. This memory is more like broken glass, stuck deep within the skin. Any looking at the scar lets me know it's there, but any scuffling of the area starts a new cascade of pain and subsequent healing effort to be expended.

This scar I got long ago, nigh on 9 years ago. It was probably through a series of my own blunders and assumptions, but suffice it to say, it hurt me badly. Psycho-scarring, and nearly in a life-ending way for me. This was folly, but it wasn't the end of the wound.

I made several attempts to convert the memory, try to make it from bad to good. 3 attempts to be precise. These ended unhappily, and the glass went deeper than could be retrieved out of me on the last of them. I lost many happy things to this memory, most again to my own folly, and I'm happy to see it undisturbed.

Recently, it got disturbed. Not scuffled, just scratched. I'm not happy about it, and to try and protect my meager façade of happiness and integrity in front of a warehouse of messy and hateful boxes, I'm not going to go into details regarding what exactly I'm talking about. It's supposedly in the past, and nothing can change it.

To sum my shard of reflection, I think I would rather have been in a train wreck than to endure all this. It heals better, makes for a better story, and doesn't cost you nearly as much.

-The0

Impulse 101: Lessons in Self-Control

A thought occurred while I was supposed to be working tonight, one about which I've actually already thought. Access to cheat codes for games is far too easy. You look them up in the strategy guide, you find them on GameFAQs, and all of a sudden the game becomes a pointless delve into violence, a timesink. The difficulty, the fear, the thinking, it all vanishes. You know what it is to be like Dr. Manhattan.

Now granted, I spent the first half of my gaming life doing precisely that. When I got Quake installed on my first PC, I played for about 5 minutes before I decided to cheat and hack it. I was God in a brightly lit dungeon, with ammo being the farthest concern from my mind. In retrospect, this revolutionary game was slighted by my laziness and bloodlust. Game programmers put a LOT of work into making games challenging, and that challenge is what makes the game fun, not necessarily the slaughter. To just mindlessly kill things via cheats is to voluntarily vote against thinking, as far as I am concerned.

However, it somewhat begs the question, why even include the cheats in the first place? It's beyond me, but it's still very fun to play with them. To run amuck and just turn enemies into red paste is a grand stress reliever, and slightly less sociopathic than shooting real people. It's an escape to an alternate world anyway, why should I have to be bound by its rules too?

My final thought is, at what point should you consider using cheats? At what point is it fair to you and the game designers to start playing around? Where have you explored all that needs to be explored, and had time to enjoy and embrace all the subtleties of their work, their sold gift? I think it's either after you've played through the entire story on hard mode, or at least twice on regular. Then, feel free to hack, cheat, and rob the AI of their opportunity to make you feel weak and outsmart you.

4 days until L4D2, everyone! Happy gaming!

-The0

Happy birthday to me!!

Yeah Buddy! I did it. I made it another year. I am 26 years old, and somehow I managed to do it without any major crap-ups.

I would like to thank everyone who wished me a happy birthday. Those of you who wrote on my Facebook wall will find that I thanked you all personally with a response wall post. I'm old school like that. I started on Facebook back when you needed a verified college email address to be on it. Your wall posts were kind of like how popular and well liked by your friends you are. So every wall shout was like someone thinking of you and actually saying hello, or Happy Birthday. It was like a step away from actually calling you up. So nowadays, people make a catch-all status remark like, "Thank you everyone for the birthday wishes!" Not me. I'll thank you all individually. It's the proper thing to do.

I got a veritable plethora of gifts from all those who were able to afford it, and let me say once again, it wasn't necessary, but thank you once again. All you mugs are great! And those that couldn't are actually just as thanked. It's great to simply hear from you all and to know that I'm loved.

My warranty on me isn't void yet, so let's get another year in. Thank you all!!!

-The0

A Credit List

They say that if you wind up with 3 good friends in life, you've lived remarkably well. I have lived a life of total luxury if that's the case.

Walter: Thank you for being there to help me through schoolwork, bike stunts, bad ideas, and good times.

Ben: Your pennywise sense has rubbed off on me finally. I'm glad you made me do your laundry back in college.

Craig: My first friend, your life is a veritable tome of accomplishments. Every time we speak, I feel like a kid again.

Matt: If there is a man more baddass and intense on a daily basis, I don't think he'd really compare to you.

Evan: Technology makes sense because of you. You make me feel dumb in a learning way.

Kurt: Music has never been more enjoyable. My instrument sounds great because of you.

Dré: You turned me from a brooding sociopathic boy to a semi-socially savvy man. You put me onto the path I am on today.

Adam: I finally enjoy being behind a computer again, like I did in high school.

Webb: I am of the strong opinion that everyone needs a mad scientist for a friend.

Renny: You help me deal with everyday. You help me feed my addiction, and keep me sane.

Andy: Every time I hear from you is a total joy. I love just talking about what's going on with you.

Gigi: You're the best of the kin, and you make me swell with pride everyday.

Mom: You help me deal with life crises. You keep me well furnished, and you keep me going with my grind.

Dad: My ultimate role model. If I wind up half the man you are, I've done very well.

Dr. Girlfriend: You make me want to be the best man I can.

Edits to follow, as I think of more things to say about the best people in my life.

-The0

Alien Apartheid

I saw District 9 recently, and I feel like I have to put my stink of opinions on the Internet. This is one of the better movies of the year. Let me expand into the themes I noticed.

The aliens decided to come to a stop over South Africa, which already has a history of intolerance on par with that of the US before its civil rights movements. The film cleverly defused the "first contact" glitz by making it so that the aliens had to depend on humans for survival. In a militarized slum, we see echoes of concentration camps, Warsaw ghettos, and recent disaster relief efforts.

Aliens quickly become second class citizens, addicts to high cholesterol puréed meat products and scarcely capable of producing in our world economy. Much intolerance brews. A desk worker who has a job essentially keeping aliens down has to interact directly with them. A moral is learned through this man later in the film. I've spoiled enough there.

One of the key trends in popular media lately seems to be demonizing corporations. District 9 did not disappoint those looking for such a trend. MNU (the company for which the aforementioned character works) has programs in alien weapons research. It is here that we see the only example of real percieved value in this great extraterrestrial contact.

What I'm getting at is that I think D9 really underlined what our human nature can be at its worst. Here is an example of something that doesn't even come from our planet, and we took the opportunity to chain down the potential new alpha species, and try to get their bigger, pointy-er sticks. We took non-humans, made them sub-human, and despite having accomplished the feat of intergalactic travel (as a species,) all we wanted to do was get their weapons to work for us. Is this what really motivates us humans? Dominance? Greed? History seems to say yes.

On a side note, exactly what kind of ship was this? I like to think that this giant ship was some sort of scout ship, one of many the aliens sent through the galaxy. Maybe even a a colonization ship, which would've put just as much desire for domination on their egos. Interesting to ponder, that's for true.

SPOILER WARNING!!! This post contains some spoilers.

-The0

The Butterfly Effect

The idea behind this title is to bring into mind the concept that one little variable can have a profound effect on an environment and it's resultant tangents. I mean this in an ironic sense.

One of my biggest peeves is people. One of the things I hate about people, are the ones who find it totally irresistible to talk about themselves. The ones who can't stand to have any one's ears not tuned to his or her own story. Be it their source of emotional pain, or a string of events that details their personal grandeur, I cannot tolerate it. A note to those like that: You aren't that important. Your variable is negligible at best.

I remember having the displeasure of enduring extended, repeated contact with one such individual. He was an emo, and half of his act was to find some way to make his "emotional pain" apparent or at least come to attention in almost every situation. He also always found a way to make every conversation involve him somehow. His opinions were never far from hand either. "I think that...", "When I do that, I...", "My heart was broken when..." He couldn't keep from talking and smearing himself all over everything.

Now some of this may stem from jealousy, at his ability to capture people's attention. After all, we all want to talk about ourselves, and I started a damn weblog just to talk about my thoughts. After all, I'm being a hypocrite just sitting here and ranting. But in reality, this is why I try not to speak about myself in any situation. This poster tries to avoid words like "I" and Me" in conversation. Ask about the other person in the dialogue. Let them be the center of the attention, the chief of the limelight. Let's be whistleblowers on horn-tooting!

If you can only do one thing, just shut the fuck up.

I'm sorry. I'll be quiet now.

-The0

History...history...history...history

So in the middle of healing up a self-inflicted wound, I was invited out to a psychobilly show. Psychobilly is a genre which really isn't in my current vein, but for the night that I had on the 19th, it very well could earn a slot. What follows is a short story.

I limp to my vehicle after visiting a friend, and make my way over to the corner of Cardinal and Locust, which was not a familiar route. I wound up parking about 5 blocks away, and started hobbling over to the club. As I tottered on, I was thinking, "Do I really know this person well enough to go through all this effort? I'm not even a big fan of the style of music." I met the boyo in the midst of a chase that wound out being nothing more than the basis for my manifesto. His friendship is arguably the best thing I got out of the experience.

I'm halfway to the destination when a little sprinkle begins. I've spent enough time in the great outdoors to know when weather is going to go from bad to worse. I run as fast as I can get my busted ass to run to the nearest shelter, which turned out to be the steeple doorway of the St. Francis Xavier College Church. As the drizzle turned to deluge, I found myself thankful for religion again, if only for environmental purposes. I haven't felt that way in a while. Funny the way things work.

While I have spent enough time outdoors to recognize when weather will get bad, I have not, apparently, spent enough time to know when the weather has actually come to the end of it's yarn. The monsoon slowed, and whereas the show was about to start, I had to get moving. I ventured out, and no sooner had 30 seconds passed than it started to pour again. So, here I am, drenched in a matter of seconds, broke, and pretty well lost. But! Detirmined still to reach my goal. (On a side note, if you ever find yourself walking home in the rain, and have nothing else to do with your day, just let it soak you. It feels wonderful.)

I stopped for a quick breather from the rain in a parking garage not far from the bar to which I was heading. I recognized it a few minutes later. It was the garage I had parked in the LAST time I saw this particalur friend. After wringing out my shirt, I asked directions to the bar. The rain stopped. Had I waited 5 more minutes at the church, I would have been perfectly dry. I shouted out, as was my wont, and trudged on.

I did finally make it to the venue, and even talked my way out of the cover. I met my friend, who loaded me down with free swag, to include a dry shirt. I met his friends, and I got to brag about my wound a little. While this meant no moshing during the show, I was still able to enjoy it.

The title of this rant comes from a strange occurance that happened in college. I went to go see Flogging Molly for the first time ever, and was actually pulled up on stage by one of their opening acts, Throw Rag. I was made to play washboard in front of a packed Blue Note. Back to the present. Near the end of the show, my friend (whom I have neglected to mention was now a part of the band,) pulled me up on stage and shoved a washboard in my hands. A packed bar, all moshing to part of my rhythm. It was exhilarating. I didn't pop any stitches, I had a fun time, and I became a little famous again.

I guess the point of this little story is that if you feel like you're going through a harrowing time for next to nothing, stick to it. You might end up having a lot of fun, or at least be a harder person for it. Have fun with life, and try new things.

The Goddamn Gallows Myspace.

-The0

A Study in Hypocrisy

This is a long-ago post that I have decided is just barely worth fleshing out. It is more fully explored in a later post, but honestly, I'm sick of hearing people tell their own life story. Seriously, I don't want to hear it, I want interest expressed in me. That's why I started a damn weblog.

This entire post looks to have been drafted at a time where I was just coming to terms with who I have to work with. I was angry and jealous of the ability of another new hire, and we were both vying for the same job. Turns out we both got hired, and we have since become good, friendly co-workers. As of this out-fleshing, he is farther advanced in the career, but to be fair, he is better at what he does than I am at what I do.

All in all, anger at the time subsided, and this draft is fucking done with. Finished 08/30/2010.

-The0

It turns out Nostalgia is Vista-compatible

In my research for the previous post, I came across the Wikipedia article for Sierra Entertainment. As some of us may remember, the original publisher of Half-Life was Sierra, after VALVe was passed up by everyone else, being told their game was "too ambitious." A good move on Sierra's part, but it is a little sad for them as well. VALVe has utterly outgrown them since their humble beginnings.

I had been a big fan of Sierra even before then, however. The games I played before Quake and Ultima were all Sierra games, the old style ones. I'm referring to their "_____ Quest" games. I used to be able to tell you precisely how to get through Space Quest IV. I knew that no matter what code you entered in the time machine, you would go nowhere at first. As an attempt to get back even further into my childhood and gaming habits, I found an abandoned version of my favorite Quest, King's Quest VI: Heir Today, Gone Tomorrow.

The adventures of Prince Alexander of Daventry came back to me with much difficulty, to my surprise. It may have been that I was still reeling from the nostalgia (goodness, it was wonderful to to explore those screens like I had before), but I don't think so. What is takes to beat an old Sierra Quest game was patience, logic, creativity, and an entirely different way of thinking. The game can be beaten in 5 hours, but the first time I played it, 16 years ago, it took me almost 3 months. I kept trying every combination of events until something new happened. I tried and tried, and with some help for the Sierra Hint line (that's how popular their games were. They had their own hot line with hints for EVERY game), I finally had it beaten, and I was so proud that I knew exactly how to put the pieces together. Now, I need a guide in order to even get off the first island. Oh well.

I guess the main thought behind this veneer of words is that it's easy for me to relive key parts of my childhood. I remember the weather of the first summer that Prince Alexander got shoved in the catacombs. I remember late nights with no progress. It was great for me to get back and feel all this again. Thanks for joining me.

-The0

Where's Judith Harris and Freud's kid when you need him/her?

I never thought a hiatus would be something to which I wasn't looking forward. I have been very busy these last couple of weeks, and I also haven't had much about which to type. But now I'm back, for the time being. My date went very well, we even had a second date but a week later. Also went very well. We went to see Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde at the Repertory Theatre of St. Louis. I didn't get to reflect on it very much with my date, but I did have some musings about it upon which I wanted to get opinions. Hiatus Over. Starting now.

Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde is a show mostly about two men in one man's body. The upstanding, intelligent, restrained pillar of the community Dr. Henry Jekyll, and the depraved, crude, ultimately hated but happy and free Mr. Edward Hyde. Throughout the story, Dr. Jekyll is trying to resist the urge to consume this tincture that he made which brings out Mr. Hyde, which is later alluded to being an addiction. Murders are committed, the two sides argue within the same head, and Dr. Jekyll kills himself. The last lines of the show are something to the order of "I had the strangest dream. I dreamt that I was a good man, and everybody loved me and looked up to me. I was the perfect gentleman. And I was so unhappy." These lines are spoken by Mr. Hyde.

There are of course several themes here which all fall under something of the same umbrella. During the show, the nature vs. nurture argument is resolved, if only for story purposes. Dr. Jekyll denies that upbringing has anything to do with it, and that that are definitely "two streams of the mind." One which is all desire and hurtful, and one which brings ultimate peace to the soul. His works were to isolate these and remove the bad. His response to the proposal of the opposite occurring, the good being removed leaving only the bad, was that if it were possible, why would anyone want to have anything but peace? To me, it would seem that such an ideal would be synonymous with self-restraint and denial, as he admitted in his other character that he enjoyed beating up streetwalkers and the refined, and happy "to pay for the privilege." While Dr. Jekyll, the man was cold, calculated, unhappy, single, yet compassionate to his fellow man. It's a tough argument, really. With only two options, I don't think I can in good conscience say I would choose lonely inner peace over happy mirth and mayhem.

Another theme which can easily be brought up is Freud's structural model of the psyche. That's right, the id, ego, and superego. These streams of consciousness alluded to in the previous paragraph are a good representation of the superego and the id. I would love to say that before the good doctor started drinking those potions of his, he was a picture perfect example of the balanced Ego. Striving for perfection while still finding time to give into his basest drives. These of course manifest themselves as the superego Dr. Jekyll and our id-man Mr. Hyde after he starts drinking the tincture. This can bring in a question regarding the way our society views good and evil. Mr. Hyde is constantly demonized in the play, and Dr. Jekyll conversely is practically deified. Is it truly evil just to satisfied all your deepest desires, with no concern for society or other? Is it really saintly to set aside your life for the betterment of society? It's a good question, but all the same, I'm glad to have just a slightly imbalanced ego in me, for the time being.

Other questions raised during the show were, "Where does the body end, and the mind/soul begin?" "What prompts our morbid fascinations?" Walter (a link to his weblog, not the fact at hand) has told me there have been discoveries in human nerves where doctors and scientists cannot distinguish the nerves from electrochemical processes (or something.) I'll have to ask him and edit this post regarding that. To the second question, my date (who shall remain nameless to protect her reputation) believes that there is a real thing to our maleficent fascinations. Have you ever been stuck in traffic, cursing and and oathing against the rubberneckers, only to find yourself gawking at the ghastly scene? Nothing like seeing a Cobalt turned into a Pringle to make you realize that your speedometer should match those signs on the side of the road. Is that the answer? Are we trying to learn from the failings of others? Or are we trying to satisfy a bloodlust while thinking "Better him than me"?

I would highly recommend this play. It had a very unique set, somewhat minimalistic in it's design. Blood on the ground was cleverly represented by red lights underneath the stage. Hyde's multiple streams of thought were all voiced by other actors lining up behind him. A very entertaining show, for both the morbidly obsessed and the well to do.

-The0