Time to blow the dust off this sucker

Well, it's been a while....

Mostly, you can attribute the downturn in blog-posting activity due to the pile-up of schoolwork. Essays, final exams, etc. I wanted to do one of those blogs where I record my scattered thoughts while writing an essay, but the one time I did it my thoughts turned out to be disappointingly coherent. I blame the lack of children's cartoons.

A deficiency which will probably persist, since my general to-do list for the summer more or less looks like an HBO Greatest Hits series. Mostly, I want to watch The Wire, since anyone who's so much as seen half an episode has informed me that it's really, really good. Liking really, really good things as I do, I figured it was worth a shot. Also I might try and finish the Sopranos (I never did finish the series) and maybe Deadwood.

More to the point: Game of Thrones! I haven't been this excited about a new tv series since ... well, I can't actually think of a series that has excited me this much, ever. However, I pretty seldom watch TV series (this summer looking to be the exception), so I'll refrain from trying to post any comments on it since I don't really feel well-versed enough in the subject matter to talk about it. Chris Lockett's blog will, I'm betting, provide a pretty cool breakdown of the series: An Ontarian in Newfoundland.

Which brings me back to the whole point that I started writing this, if there was one to begin with. Over the past few months I've genuinely enjoyed this thing. It's provided a fun opportunity for me to smack my digits on my keyboard to produce something hopefully resembling an occasionally funny post, or at least one that's reasonably interesting. But insofar as now there's never really been a general direction for the thing. As I speak, I have reviewed, for example, exactly one videogame, talked about fantasy a bunch, mused a little on my life for no reason other than that it amused me a bit, and have posted more than a few bite-sized funny things (my favorite being this one).

This peregrine nonsense stops now, I say!

(Okay, to step aside for a second: peregrinate is a word which means, apparently, to travel or wander about, typically from place to place. Peregrine is the adjective, which can also delineate being outlandish, strange, imported from abroad, or extraneous to the bulk of what's being said, which makes this aside peregrine. How cool is that? I choose to believe it's tied in with peregrine falcons, though I have absolutely no proof to the positive on that.)

Uh, yeah. I like words. Anyhow, I'm not exactly about to "streamline" or "revolutionize" or similarly "bullshitinate" this blog, but I'm hoping to find a sort of general thrust for it, or at least a feature which I can return to semi-regularly.

That in mind, the one area which I do feel pretty sufficiently versed in to comment on regularly is videogames. I mean, I've been playing them most of my life, and I've played more than a couple. But the reason I don't often have any inclination to look at really popular games is that, honestly, most of them bore me, or if I do enjoy them, they're not stimulating enough to make me want to write on them (exceptions: Bioshock, Final Fantasy, Tales of Vesperia, Minecraft, which I suppose is sort of Indie, and anything Bioware makes). However, for the past few days, I've been on an Indie game binge, using the Xbox's pretty well-engineered Indie platform. I've been going through the big ones, if such a thing can exist in what is pretty generally a marginal category, and I've been enjoying myself. So I figure I might make it a bit of a project to start reviewing the Indie games on the XBL Arcade, separating the chaff from the wheat. The upshot of this is that, honestly, playing these things will cost me somewhere in the region of 80-240 MS points per purchase, so it's something I can do without bankrupting myself or limiting to myself to only games that I'd want to buy, anyway.

Right now I'm playing Cthulhu Saves the World, so hopefully I'll be able to post some thoughts about it when I'm done (which should be soon; the game's addictive as all hell and finals are nearly over).

Am I the only one who always found this amusing?

"Write a well-developed/well-written/well-illustrated/well-something'd essay about..."

It almost suggests that otherwise the student might set out to write a terrible essay. I mean, sure, sometimes they don't give a darn, but I don't think anyone actually thinks to themselves "Well-developed? Screw that! I'm going to write a rambling diatribe on Marlowe from the point of view of a beaver."

...

That would actually be hilarious.

THIS SUMMER WILL BE THE MOST AWESOME SUMMER

THIS IS WHY IT WILL BE THE MOST AWESOME SUMMER.

LINK. CLICK THIS LINK. Unless you've never heard of A Song of Ice and Fire, in which case I must look like a bit of a twat.

Dystopian images

Sometimes I think Jon Stewart might be brilliant.

Then I reflect on it a little more, and conclude that Jon Stewart, usually, is brilliant.

I was watching The Daily Show earlier tonight, and they showed a series of clips wherein Fox News anchors and similar figures denounced the many evils of the teachers of the United States, among which included being overpaid and under-worked (as the son of two teachers: ha, bloody ha, I say).

Now, I don't doubt that The Daily Show edited all those clips together to appeal rather directly to my education-loving, moderately socialist, diet pepsi-slurping liberal sensibilities, but as I watched their edited series of clips I couldn't help but feel a certain deep unrest. Something felt very, very wrong, as I watched purported purveyors of information and news (had to resist the urge to use another "p"-word) tell not only outright lies, but lies which would specifically harm their country. That might again be those liberal sensibilities at work, but I doubt it takes a great leap of the imagination to conclude that an underfunded education system will result in ill-equipped kids, which one day means an ill-equipped country. Except of course for parents who can afford to send their kids to private schoo--

Oh.

That's what's so bloody unsettling about American news. It feels like something right out of 1984 (the Orwell book, not the year). I remember reading 1984 at around 15 or 16, and being struck by more than a few things about the book, but most of all I was stunned by the sheer unconquerable, pervasive, ingrained nature of the Party. They managed to exert control over that part of ourself that we'd most like to believe our own, our mind, and did so by strictly controlling and regulating the flow of truth. What was the truth, in 1984, was whatever the Party told you it was. To my young teenage mind, that was the most devastating reality I could imagine, a world where a human being could no longer judge what was real.

But I was assured. No such system could ever come into place in our world. People would notice. Such a political uprising would never happen, not one that would allow such complete control. No Party could ever take such an obvious hold. I mean, the Party had such dramatic power that they started to literally transform language such that "the people" would ultimately be incapable of revolt.

That remains to be one of the most deeply disturbing ideas I have ever been presented with. Ever since I read 1984 in high school, I doubt that much more than five books have affected me in such a profound manner. Lately, by which I mean over the past couple of years, I can't help but see the spectre of Big Brother in Glenn Beck's rosy-red cheeks, his quivering jowls of frothy rage, his placating, comforting smile, his teary-eyed wrath. He all but runs his own hate hour. He all but tells people how to think (in fact more than once he's literally told people how to think; remember the social justice fiasco?).

Beck is, of course, just the easiest example at which I can comfortably lob vaguely poetic potshots. The broader swath of conservative pundits imitate his righteous crusade, just in a more insidious, faux-intellectual way. I suspect even armchair rednecks at least somewhat question Beck's sincerity, even if they aren't really consciously aware of it. But when someone comes on a television show and assures you that oh, those teachers' unions are just silly, it's a little less obviously crazy as balls.

Is it more than a little dramatic to relate the news trends of American television to the political dominance exerted by the Party in Orwell's famous book? Well, yeah, and it probably says more than a little bit about my own preoccupations, but I think it's pretty valid. What is true has become as relative as it has ever been, and what people are allowed to think has become a mandate of pop-culture TV and news.

It occurs to me now that this is something I'd like to dig into a bit further in another blog post, when I'm not writing at 2:30 AM. I have absolutely no delusions that no one has ever said this before, and certainly none that no one has said it better. I just can't help but remember how stunned I was, the day I started (and finished) 1984, and how my only comfort was the firm belief that it could never happen. The idea that something even vaguely similar could be creeping its way--or indeed, have already crept--into Western culture is one of the more disturbing things about today's world.

Maybe that's why people like me love Jon Stewart so much. If nothing else, he'll give you a few laughs for your trouble.

I wish I could talk smart

When I'm writing, I'm generally pretty articulate, due in no small part to the ability to pause, think, then type whatever bit of nonsense is on my mind at the time. I can be picky with words. Words are important, and while I know a lot of them, I'm a little insecure with them. I want to be a hundred percent sure of a word's very most precise definition before I use it (I think that's why I admired The Road's vocabulary so much; Cormac McCarthy's language is eerily specific).

When I'm writing, I like to think of this as a talent. Generally I don't overstep my pathetic little shack of knowledge in the sprawling city that is the English language, and when I do, it is very carefully, usually with a friend, and I go equipped with only the very best anti-"You just made an ass of yourself" arsenal courtesy of the Oxford Dictionary.

When I'm speaking, it tends to be a problem.

Don't get me wrong. I'm not inarticulate (I hope). In fact, on some days I can get downright annoying (proven positive by several co-workers) in my attempt to keep expanding my vocabulary. You can never have too many words: never.

But other days my brain just completely shuts down. Or rather, my mouth does. I have all these really clever, salient things to say, and what comes out can often sound scarcely better than what might come out of a preschooler.

Example: The other day, I was trying to describe a scene in Amelie, and defaulted to the word "funnest" (which, I know, doesn't exist, or if it does, exists in a very shady back-alley of that city of language, one you wouldn't want to be lost in without a weapon or very large friend). Someone challenged me on it, and while mentally I was going "Yeah, absolutely.", what came out of my mouth was something like "Arg words hard today Matt not want."

I think it's because, when I think, I don't necessarily think in precise language so much as big nebulous clouds of vaguely connected intuitive bubbles. Which sounds ridiculous now that it's written down, but there you have it.

I'm not sure why I wrote this, except maybe as a brief apology for any time when I've ever A) started rambling incoherently or B) reduced to some kind of caveman-like grunting in the middle of conversation.

By the way, did you know what a "catamite" is? Me neither, 'till I read The Road. Apparently it's a young child in a relationship with an older man.

Seriously, McCarthy, now you're just showing off. We all get how smart you are.

To fantasy readers of the world, I implore you:

STOP BEING DICKS.

About a couple years ago, I began reading George R.R. Martin's A Song of Ice and Fire series, mostly because I'd heard so damn much about it and honestly, it sounded really cool. What I didn't expect was that it would become one of my favorite series of all time, and whenever I'm asked to think of my favorite book, A Storm of Swords very nearly always comes out on top. I was a little disheartened when I learned of all the delays associated with A Dance of Dragons (or is it for Dragons? I can never keep that straight), but I trusted that Martin, literary genius that he is, knew what he was doing and would deliver a dependably fantastic book. This belief was emboldened by the fact that Dragons would contain all my favorite characters (particularly Daenerys).

Then, around last year, I read the newer Name of the Wind by Patrick Rothfuss, which was honestly one of the best fantasy books I've read in years, and I like to think of myself as fairly well-read when it comes to fantasy. After I'd read Name of the Wind, I got it in my head that I'd start reading Mr. Rothfuss' blog--and also Martin's--so I could maybe hear about the progress of the books, and get a bit of insight into the minds of the guys creating books that make me all but salivate with geeky delight.

Their blogs, naturally, were well-written, insightful, often endlessly amusing, and in the strange case of Martin, gave me a rough understanding of football. Honestly, I didn't mind that I wasn't likely to get a new book in either of their series for a while: the blogs were fun to read, and certainly helped me keep in touch with the stories I'd so enjoyed.

Around this time, all but basking in sheer rays of nerdjoy, I started reading the comments section of their blogs, which directed me to think what the bleeding hell?

I guess I had expected fantasy fans to rise above the bullcrap drivel you find on the internet, but half of the people who comment on blogs like Martin's or Rothfuss' act as though they own the author. I was particularly struck by this comment, from Rothfuss' blog:

You totally deserve that blurb.
Ready for vacation? Well after you did all the signing :D and visited all your fans and published book 3 :D hah

Um, no, go screw yourself. The dude has a girlfriend and a baby kid. He might want to address those minor distractions for a few moments before cloistering himself away to finish the Kingkiller Chronicle.

Seriously, what the hell is so hard to get about the sentence that fantasy authors owe their readers nothing. They wrote the book, got it published. You bought it, endorsed their product by way of paying, and then enjoyed a story. That is the relationship between the author and the reader. Anything else is window-dressing done purely out of the kindness of the author's heart, or his/her desire to get some more publicity for it. Either way, it doesn't elevate you to some sick status of ownership over an author.

I had really salient, reasoned-out points to make, but they kind of evaporated in a fit of righteous anger, so for now, this is what I'm posting.

Have a good one. Unless you think authors forfeit their souls to their readers. In which case go join an asshole commune or something.

A Modest Proposal

Dear people of the universe,

Replace "random" with "arbitrary" in your speech.

Thank you,

People Who Know What They're Talking About