After four days, these are the first words I am typing (not really, I had to edit them, but it was true in the rough draft). I tend to write far more often then never, as you might imagine. So why did production come to a stop? Pokemon of course! It’s always the Pokemon (except when it’s SimCity or Rune Factory or Advance Wars or…). It has all been so dark the past few days. I am writing this now, as if I woke up from a drug binge, or am recovering from some debilitating illness. For several days the most important thoughts in my mind sounded something like, “Do I really need another dragon type on my team? Maybe one that could learn a fighting attack. Although if I can bring in a dual type fighting/lightning, then I can switch out my Eelektross for my Gallade and have two fighting types. Are there any fighting/lightning types? Better do some research…”
I remember last playing Pokemon White months ago when it had first been released. I defeated the Elite Four, saved all the Pokemon from Team Plasma, and then some. I didn’t accomplish everything though. A Pokemon Trainer’s work is never done. I moved on to fresher gaming pastures relatively soon after defeating Pokemon White, and was free from it’s spell. At least, until a few days ago.
It all began when I was feeling particularly ill one morning. Too sick to climb out of bed and hop on the computer. Too withered away to even stare at the television. I slowly rolled over, and in the darkness I could see the dim blue power light of my trusty DS by my bedside. I reached out for it, and suddenly the bright glow and rocking bicycle music of Pokemon White lit up the room. I lied in bed and began playing. It took a moment to get a grip on where I was in the Unova region, and what I had yet to accomplish. Suddenly the original time with the game began to flood back in. I was raising a new team. I had eggs to hatch. I had battles to fight. I had to buy some revival herbs. I had to play Pokemon. In an instant I had become entangled in the six hundred and forty-nine tentacles of the latest Pokemon game.
I have tried to ‘catch them all’ on several non consecutive occasions. Each time I placed a Pokemon cartridge into the current portable Nintendo system that is currently on the market, I have been consumed by it. There was the classic red, and many a tale can be told of that, then there was my return to a world long forgotten when I bought Pokemon Diamond. This journey into the land of Unova marks the third time I have devolved into a blathering PokeManiac.
Friends were abandoned, responsibilities shirked, and thoughts of non Pokemon related events dropped to an all time low. Any responsibility that couldn’t be avoided, was done methodically, and in a way to incorporate the most repetitious aspects of Pokemon. Chores like laundry and eating became tests in multitasking. Tests I often failed as my food often went cold and/or uneaten. Although, I’ll mention that my shirts came out as colorful as ever, in case you were worried about the laundry.
My mind easily made the transition back into the daily routine of things. I hit up Amanita on her PC and grabbed the Pokemon I wanted. I stopped by all the daily events, read the animated sign between routes to search for Pokemon, and fumbled my way through a handful of battles. With my reintroduction to the games mechanics now over, it was time to be the very best.
Like being the best at many other things, it all began with some research. I pulled up Bulbapedia by typing the name of a random Pokemon into Google. Soon my browser was bursting at the seams with tabs of innumerable varieties of Pokemon, along with move descriptions, abilities, and a few random maps of Unova. My Pokemon fueled Euphoria left little time for anything else. Days were spent searching for the perfect group of fighters, though I didn’t EV train them, because that is a load of BS. My days were divided between reading, training, battling, hatching, raising, and outfitting a ragtag team of fighters culled over generations of Pokemon games. As epic as that all sounds, it actually comes down to pressing the same sequence of buttons repeatedly for a few hours. There is nothing quite like the thrill of holding the up button for ten seconds, followed by pushing the down button for another ten seconds.
When a game requires a heavy dose of repetition, and then I do what is required, over and over, I forget whether I am actually enjoying the game or not. I am still playing it, sure. I can’t stop playing it. Am I enjoying playing it though? It’s difficult to quantify, to say the least. There are enormous lulls in the action that can be a chore, but at the same time, destroying someone with a team of Pokemon you raised yourself is definitely gratifying. Of course, you do lose sometimes, and that isn’t fun either.
A weeks worth of writing was lost to these pocket monsters. Not to mention hours of playing Driver: San Francisco, and Kirby’s Mass Attack, two articles I should have presented you fine readers with some time ago. Even at work I was pulling up the PokeDroid app on my phone and imagining other great teams I could build after the one I was currently raising. All the while in the back of my head, I was well assured that putting this much effort into the game is a complete waste of time and resources. Despite such notions, I continued to flip open my DS at every opportunity and grind my way to the top. Through the years I have learned that my mind can focus in on one subject or game with an unquenchable obsession. It’s nice when that obsession is the intricacies of medical science, but not so much when it is the variability of stats in imaginary creatures who are born with different natural moods and abilities.
Unlike other addictive games like Animal Crossing or Harvest Moon, there is a real passion that comes with Pokemon. It’s something I can feel proud of, not like how many fish I’ve caught, or how many tomatoes I’ve planted (although I am proud of that stuff too). Simply put, a desire to be the greatest. To be a Pokemon Master. The slogan is “Gotta catch ‘em all!” not “Gotta catch most of ‘em!” A nerd lives and dies by the Pokemon team he raises. I didn’t hide a Gameboy in my backpack, and risk having it confiscated by a teacher while I battled opponents during lunch just to send out a level 28 Exeggcute. Unacceptable. A team consisted of six Pokemon, always including the one I started the game with (I always go with Grass starter, if you must know). These Pokemon would go on to be a well rounded and unstoppable force I captured, trained, and traveled alongside, and nothing could stop us. Not Team Rocket, nor the Elite Four, or even the most powerful Pokemon in Kanto. I’m not sure if these feelings I have stem from a healthy viewing of the anime alongside the original games, or just my own brain filling in the blanks of another sporadic storyline. What I do know is that in 1996, Satoshi Tajiri and his company Game Freak, alongside Nintendo, combined to release a powerful combination of collecting, trading, and battling that has yet to stop being compelling fifteen years and several portable game systems later. Not even in pinball or toy form.
Luckily (at least in this case), the force of my obsession is tempered by the finding of new things to feel passionately about. So I have since pulled myself from the intoxicating beast that is the Pokemon franchise. At least long enough to write this article. The Pokemon team I trained still remains between the levels of sixty and ninety. There are many an unhatched egg sitting in Amanita’s PC. Not to mention, my Pokedex is far from full, even the regional one has some gaps in it. It may stay that way for a while, but likely not forever. The siren song of Pokemon is always singing seductively in my ear. Hopefully I can maintain my sanity long enough to fight through the deluge of releases over the winter months. Though, depending on the level of content in Pokemon Rumble Blast (which releases October 24th for the 3DS), I may find myself once again enamored by the hundreds of beasts that we call Pokemon. I hope I can get a few more articles written before then.
Happy New Year!
It’s my first year as a writer, and am I any better?
I think I am probably exponentially better.
Do I think that is any good?
No, not even a little.
Let’s take a look at the past year in writing. Everything written on my dA has been written in the past year, in fact, all in the second half of the year. I would consider about 16 of those pieces to be deemable as actual writing, and not just drivel. Some of it was just a smattering of meandering ideas and rough drafts that went nowhere. Still trying to find my voice I suppose. I think just writing far more often has given me a ton of ideas that I didn’t even know I possess. Now that I have truly decided to be a writer, everything in life falls into that context. I am beginning to view the world through the lens of a writer, and it has been really exciting so far. My brain thinks at a mile a minute, so now that it has something to think about, it has been a lot more focused, and in turn made me a lot more relaxed.
I’ve read that writing is a very introspective art form, which has very much been the case. Writing down things that I am completely unsure anyone will like, and just putting it there with honesty is ridiculously tough for a person as private as I am. It’s another obstacle in the way of my writing becoming minutely better though, so my introverted attitude towards emotions is now another dragon to be slayed on the road towards a career in writing.
At least I still get to be cynical about everything. That is a great part about writing. Also getting drunk.
Anyway, before I go off on a tangent, let’s discuss my writing specifically.
My year of writing actually started about halfway through the year with uploading things to dA in June. Nothing much at all happened immediately after joining dA either. I chalk it up to being just another of the thousands of faceless people here, not to mention that writing is a more time consuming process for a casual observer than a pretty picture is, meaning less people are inclined to read a lengthy short story instead of looking at a nice photo of a sunset. That is my plight though, so I joined a few writing groups and began to enter a few contests here and there. I did this for two reasons. I learned writing is not fun unless someone reads it, and I want people to read, and enjoy my writing. The other reason is that I want to compare my talents against other writers, and obviously contests and tournaments are the best way to do so.
Just in the past week or so I won my first contest. A small poetry contest that only had 12 entrants, so I can’t get too excited, but it was certainly a nice feeling to win. You can see the final entrants for that contest through here. Shortly after that I got a DailyLitDeviation from, well, from DailyLitDeviation on dA which you can see here. That was pretty cool. It didn’t get a ton of hits or anything, but it garnered some attention, and for one of the works I am most proud of on dA too. I was really glad to get any kind of feedback for that story, since I uploaded it a good long while ago, and it just silently fell away without any interest. Finally, another short story I wrote came in second place for a Halloween contest about our worst fears. This contest was out of about 30 entries, so the competition was a little more fierce I assume. You can see the final tally through this link. This all happened in the very last month of the year, so I suppose my writing ended on a high note. I do wish I would have entered more contests though. I need to really sort that out this year, since I had actually planned to enter more, but ended up writing other things, or just not writing at all.
Of course, there was NaNoWriMo. I wrote an entire book. I might actually still be recovering from that fact, since December was not nearly as productive as November. I have more time this January though, which is why I am beginning to step things up again and getting this journal out.
I actually printed up a copy of my own, unedited, rough draft of my NaNoWriMo book. I have not read or heard or talked about it through all of December, so going back and reading it now should be very interesting. I plan to read it once all the way through, then start again, making notes and edits and such. I printed it out because I am much better at catching mistakes that way, especially on such a long book. (By the way, the book is 130 pages in 10pt font and 1.5 spacing.)
I handwrote 3 1/2 notebooks this year. When I began my wrists were brittle little things that hurt after one page of writing. That is now a thing of the past. I can now write with disregard for a good amount of pages. I have an antiquated sense of what it is to be a writer, so in my mind, a writer should be able to handwrite quickly and without fatigue. Like a 1920s reporter with a pencil and notepad. I am finishing up the fourth notebook now, and should be done by the end of the week. I hope to fill out a minimum of twelve through this year. Hopefully more though, since I know I can write a lot of pages every day if I just focus.
The notebooks have been indispensible in my life now. Far less often do I have an idea or story without my notebook nearby to jot things down in. A ton of ideas for stories, essays, and jokes have come out of these little things. Not to mention it is far more relaxing to write in the notebook on my couch or in bed rather than sitting at the computer all day long.
I saw someone use the verb ‘murderously’ once this year. I was as offended as I was amazed. What could you even do murderously?
I think just murder.
Anyway, if you know me in real life, expect me to use the word “murderously” as a descriptor of each and every one of my activities for some time.
So that was last year. What is on the agenda this year?
1. Learn how to edit, and revise. Learn that it is a normal part of writing, even though I hate it so much.
I hate editing, I am far more happy writing a story the first time. Unfortunately all my writing is terrible the first time through, so I need to take revision far more seriously if I plan to be at least moderately better at this whole thing.
2. Take criticism better. Stupid criticism that doesn’t help at all, you stupid idiots.
Ahem. I mean, critique is very important to me being a better writer. I know that, but some annoying reflex in my mind always gets offended before I calm down and think about what they actually said, instead of my first reaction of thinking that they think they are better than me and are looking for a fight.
3. Take writing more seriously.
Sometimes I only do the minimum amount of writing per day, and waste a lot of time lying around doing nothing particularly amazing. I need to begin buckling down again and getting more work done. This especially means finishing more stories instead of a bunch of half finished ideas.
4. Go outside more.
A big part of writing is simply experiencing life I believe. When they tell you to write what you know, to me that means, you should know a lot of stuff. You should also know as much of that stuff first hand as possible. So my hermetic ways have to come to an end at least slightly, and I have to go outside and do my best to be a normal human being. They could make a sitcom about it.
So those are my goals this year. I believe they are easily obtainable as long as I remain focused and serious about this. Of course, I am quite serious all the time, so no problem.
November has come and gone, and unlike the first 23 times it has happened, and the approximately 18 times I was aware what ‘November’ is, the month has not been marked simply by Thanksgiving and the slow arrival of the Christmas season. This month, those 30 days passed and sitting before me is the rough draft of my first novel. In November 2010, I have participated in my first NaNoWriMo.
Working on NaNoWriMo was quite an experience for me as a writer. A whole book is a new and different creature than what I knew before. As I inched and strode and drug myself along through this month, I learned a great many things about writing. What I learned the most of though, is simply how terrible I am at it.
Through the month I learned a quite worrying amount of things. From stilted dialogue and boring word choices to gargantuan plot holes and meandering scenes with no value. I learned there are only so many ways to say someone started a car, or opened a door. I learned I want to use the word “suddenly” with an almost religious fervor. I would go jamming that word into every action scene like it was the life of the party.
“Suddenly this happened, then that guy reacted suddenly to that sudden movement.”
Then, beyond all that, there was the names. Why do I have such an inability to name things? From puppies to people to book titles, I can’t name anything that sounds natural and descriptive. They just end up with plain nobody names like Mrs. Andrews and Mr. Davis. What a crock. I can’t wait to rename these characters. To go through spell check and replace every “Mrs. Slauson” with a “Mrs Winterdom, debonair mad scientist with a grudge against the world that created her.”
You might say, “Anthony, why didn’t you just put that in there then?” Why because I had none of the incredible hindsight I have now. An endless array of hindsight in fact. With these two eyes I can see all the hideous deserts and jagged mountains that dot the landscape that is this story.
It could have been grittier, it could have been more irreverent, or more chiding and mocking. It could have been a dirty grimy cesspool of wretchedness. Of fist fights and back alley drug deals. Why didn’t I go that direction? Or it could have been more zombie-like. I could have SAID zombie in it at least once. Or mutants. I need to find a place to call them mutants, and then I can refer to them as such throughout the story. When zombies attack you every other chapter after the first act, then it’s hard to think of new ways to make the characters scared, the situation new, and the words fresh. The list of errors and regrets could fill quite a book in itself.
That brings me back to the main point of having no clue what I am doing. There were parts that I wrote that were poor. There were parts that I wrote that were wrong. Then there was the overwhelming parts in which I had no idea what I was doing. All I could do was call upon the disjointed rumbling innards of my brain that recall the vague outlines and plots which I have absorbed from hearing/reading/watching massive amounts of pop culture.
“I should end this chapter here, and have this happen next, and shoot that guy there.”
So much of my writing was like flinging darts at a wall and hoping I landed somewhere that readers would think is at least reasonable.
Now that the novel is finished, two things seem to run through my head, neither one will be the case, so I am quite annoyed that they linger in my mind. The first idea, is that my novel is terrible. So terrible. More terrible than even I could imagine. People will become ill just by looking at the words I have haphazardly stitched together. The second idea, is that this novel is good. That maybe it is solid, and could be a book with some spit and polish. Both of these thoughts are terrible and only make me feel terrible.
One would think that the thought and excitement of believing I wrote a good book would be nice. A fun endorphin high that you feel like you have earned after so much hard work. Sitting back, cracking your fingers and basking in your own self worth. You’ve written a book, feel good about yourself. Well done.
Ha ha, oh Lord no. Not for a moment can I think I am any good at this slovenly excuse for writing. The second I believe that I am any good. The moment I believe my words have value, that is when the sword will strike. That is when I will realize how inept I really am. How wide the gap is that separates me from the men I wish to be.
Of course, the depressing view is just as depressing, but the feeling is more like a lingering cloudy sky of self doubt that hangs above everything I do. Thought that is better than the sudden shattering of my fragile ego that the idea of having written a good book feels.
Try as I might, both thoughts tend to enter my mind often.
Let’s not get sidetracked by the issues with my self esteem though. Like I suppose many things are, it is tough to understand how to write a book until you have actually written one. Even a terribly written book can teach a person quite a few things about themselves and their skill level. Getting from scene to scene. Always moving forward and trying to get to the next area/chapter/scene felt like the primary goal throughout much of the book. I had to try hard to not look back. To not think about how terrible my writing was as I continued onward.
Each chapter was like a new test. Each scene change or conversation was like becoming a writer anew. Even if I had written one good chapter, what of the next one? Maybe I introduced one character with wit and cunning, but what about the next character. Writing this book felt like a series of inquisitions as to how long and how often I could create something.
At least I had the foresight to write out a brief series of plot points for each chapter for the first half of the book. They were essentially bare bones, simply stating things like introduce a character or add a certain kind of scene, but that was enough to keep me barreling through the first week. I wrote and typed and hammered out a beginning. I worked out key points and tried my best to add depth to my characters off the bat. Luckily I also had a few days off to start the month and made excellent use of them. I surpassed 10K words after the first 3 days, and couldn’t be happier. By the beginning of week two, I was already slightly above 20K words.
I spent about a month writing five pages in a composition book every day before diving into NaNoWriMo. I think that made an almost incalculable difference in the first week. My ability to both write a ton in one sitting, but more importantly, to simply find the time in each day to write and write and write was amazing. If there was one suggestion I would have for participants in the future, it would be to start writing a lot before November rolls around. Going through your usual day and finding those moments of down time in your day, or assessing what leisure activities will simply have to go makes a remarkable difference.
The second week, much like past NaNoWriMo participants have pointed out, was by far the worst. It was a good thing I had such a large lead in from the first week or else I definitely would have faltered heavily here. This week was definitely my worst in terms of words written and marked the point where my enthusiasm was tempered by reality. A great weight fell upon me as I realized that I wasn’t sure where the story would go, nor where it would end. And all the scenes in between were nothing more than a blurry cloud in the recesses of my mind. I closed out the week with a meager 30 thousand. Only half the amount I had done in the first week.
Week three fared better. I escaped out of the debilitating clutches of the 20 thousands. After surpassing the halfway mark I was reinvigorated to keep pushing forward. I am still amazed by how much time I was able to find between sleep, and work, and feeling sorry for myself to write so many words per day. The word count slowly climbed to 40K over the third week, and amazingly it just felt very natural, as if this was something I could do each and every day as easily as sleeping and eating. I didn’t feel rushed, yet I didn’t feel lazy either. It struck just the right balance of comfort and hard work.
The fourth week was a different matter. As the date seemed to close in on me, a dozen different thoughts began to swirl in my head. On top of that, my notes for each chapter had run out. I was paddling against a terrible current and it felt like one of my oars had slipped into the water surrounding me. I had to take a night or two to simply refocus my energy and think through the key points of the final third of the book. In the end, I didn’t make great use of these new notes, but they did help me reorganize my thoughts.
The final week was dotted with a strange series of word counts. One day I didn’t write a word. Some days I did far below the minimum. By the 26th day I was at just under 48K words. The next day I quickly shoved that aside and reached 50,000 and then some on November 27th. The final days were marked with a mad rush to simply finish my book. I was very fortunate to be able to time the end of my book so closely to the end of NaNoWriMo. I finished the month with 54,335 words. I did have to take some time on December 1st to finalize the entire thing though, adding the final thousand word chapter to the book which finally called an end to this adventure.
A large part of NaNoWriMo for me was the push to actually finish a book from beginning to end. I am not getting any younger and the thought that some people have written terrible books at a far younger age than I am now was a dreadful, but necessary thought as I worked through the night after work every day of the month to have something I could feel proud of. Perhaps ‘proud’ isn’t quite the right word though.
As mentioned at the beginning of this piece. I can’t say I felt ‘proud’ of this effort. I do, to an extent, but this felt more so like a learning experience. A nagging thought in my head tells me that this is just the beginning. My career as a writer has only taken the first step. I do feel proud for taking that step, and learning a lot of new things about my capacity for hard work and some of the talents I do possess as a writer, but at the same time I look out into the distance and see the incredible length I have to toil through to become something more than this.
It is not all sorrow and storm clouds this December though. I have been invigorated with thoughts, ideas, and the will to push even harder towards my goal. I plan on entering more writing contests on deviantArt, as well as working hard on other ideas for articles and stories. In fact, already only a few days after NaNoWriMo I have written an article, and I am slowly working my way through a handful of the ideas that have been taking shape in my mind through November.
So after my first NaNoWriMo, people might wonder what my outlook is for myself and my writing. I guess, for me, what I have learned about writing is that it isn’t this noble and unreachable thing that exists only for the select few who are talented and brilliant. Writing is just the culmination of hard work, an open mind, and to just keep writing no matter what. As for myself, it feels like I have simply earned the right to call myself a writer. I look forward to November 2011, and my second NaNoWriMo, where I will be able to take the knowledge that I gained from this one, and use it to create an even more satisfying story.
Well I have hated SnorgTees for a long time. Like many, I ran across their advertisements on myspace, back when myspace was a thing people logged into. Just like the advertisements for auto insurance rates and finding old classmates, I simply ignored the ads and went about stalking people and not returning comments. That was it for many years.
Now we are in the present day, and this year (maybe last year, what kind of person would keep track of this?) Cracked.com began running advertisements by SnorgTees. I don’t blame Cracked, since they can do no wrong, but the ads themselves can cause a great pain in the comedy receptors of my brain.
Four of the five shirts I blindly clicked on at random from their front page, and will be posting my thoughts accordingly. The first one though I have specifically singled out. It is one that specifically appears on the Cracked ads, and is at the very heart of my anger.
I don’t sell shirts. I don’t design shirts. I might not even wear shirts correctly, but I know words. Words are a pretty simple concept, so I won’t go into details about them right now. Just read the shirt out loud. It’s a pun! A pun based on something no one brought up. Puns are terrible even in the most called for situations, but bringing one up out of nowhere creates very dangerous particles of antihilarity which scientists claim don’t even exist.
Now, bringing up a time when you thought of a totally good pun, but like, you just had to be there, so you tell your friends, causing them to groan, roll their eyes, and reassess how much your friendship is worth can be time consuming hard work. Wouldn’t it be much simpler to put that pun, along with the definition of the pun, onto a shirt? This way your friends will all know how terrible your sense of humor is, as well as ward off potential future friends who might have otherwise assumed you weren’t funny, rather than knowing that. Now these people have knowledge of your failings. They have learned from you and your shirt, and learning is important. Feel free to stroke your beard while you contemplate the power of knowledge.
Now, the more important part is, how is this new word of any use to any person ever? I think I have said the word elephant less than 5 times this year. One of those times I confused ‘elephant’ with ‘allopath’ creating unnecessary tension between my physician and I. No one talks about elephants. Unless Snorg is looking to corner the market for people who…
A. Work at wildlife preserves in Africa
B. Clean elephant waste at the zoo/circus
C. Train and ride elephants into battle to destroy their enemies
Then this shirt finds itself with a very limited audience. Presumably one in which they feel elephants are relevant on the world stage.
There are several problems here that I do not know whether to pin on the photographer, the model, the shirt, or society at large. The simplest explanation is that it is a dumb shirt, and she can’t hear for different, yet obvious reasons.
Perhaps the photographer thought this was a clever way to convey sound. The words of the shirt transcending the bounds of the fabric and becoming part of our collective reality.
Maybe the model was listening to her favorite band, and they just got to that part in the song that totally reminds her of her boyfriend.
Maybe the shirt is a warning to people that the wearer is legally deaf, and wanted to relay this information to people in the douchiest way possible. I think the designer had a dream, to make even the deaf look like assholes.
Though all this could be some terrible misunderstanding. In my haste to condemn these people, maybe I misunderstood something very important about humanity. The girl in this picture does seem to be satisfied with the high decibels of her epicness, but perhaps it wasn’t always the case. Perhaps this girl has dealt with a lot of folks who have put her down over the years. She was almost ready to give up on herself until she found a path out of her depression. That’s right, the shirt is actually part of a self help program. Whenever someone tells you that you made a poor decision buying that shirt, and that it is just one in an endless series of terrible mistakes you have made since dropping out of college and deciding to be a model, you can simply hum a short tune, and point to your shirt. No one will get you down today, because you are epic, and you can’t even hear them. Oh, and the headphones? The Secret on audiobook.
If joke shirts like the ones above don’t do it for you, well you are still in luck my friend. For folks who don’t have a sense of humor, Snorg has a wide and utterly unfunny line of shirts that are simply references to other things. If there are things, and you like some of the stuff in those things, then why not wear a shirt about some of that stuff in those things that the stuff you like is from? Show off your preference in movie/show/music while also letting people know what useless knowledge you fill your head with. The intricacies of the current economic crisis? Not when I know all the dialogue to Shaun of the Dead!
What is saddest of all is that the market for folks who simply like turtles is now awash in a sea of zombie movie fans. Many of which probably have nothing more than ambivalence for our reptile friends.
I just need to get something out of the way first. Where is this guy? In his parent’s backyard? Was the park not allowing photography that day or was your car broken down again? Why guns? Couldn’t even bother to pretend holding a lightsaber? Moving on…
So, too funny for the reference shirts? Too knowledgeable for the joke shirts? Well one, you aren’t so great. Two, Snorg has got you covered. Combine your know-it-allism of pop culture and your useless science knowledge (because you don’t need to know Newtonian laws of motion to design your new blog) into one shirt. Now both your college classmates and the dude at the comic book store will look up to you in awe, at least before they begin to tell you that the force in star wars is not the same as a physical force, or that the equation for force is usually more complicated than that.
It’s just a dude with a satchel. No worries right? I mean, satchels are lame, and even the word satchel sounds dirty when I say it out loud, but I can’t blame someone for poor fashion sense. Wait a minute though, something seems odd…
What the hell Snorg? It’s like you aren’t even trying anymore, although that would imply you were trying beforehand. This isn’t even a joke, or a reference. It is just a fact. This is just one step above having a tuxedo shirt that says “James Bond wears a tuxedo.” This shirt is a lie wrapped in a confusing mess of pop culture misinterpretations. Did your art team watch Indiana Jones on mute? Is someone in the office still bitter that his SnorgSatchels idea never took off? The several steps this shirt had to take from concept to product are baffling at every step. It’s like a child who draws muscles on his shirt to look tough, except unlike growing muscles, owning a satchel takes nothing more than a trip to the mall and less money than it took to buy this truly stupid shirt.
If a person wanted to be a bit more like Indiana Jones, this is not the direction I would expect them to gravitate towards. It doesn’t take much to look like an archeology teacher. What if you wear this with a real satchel, what kind of chaos would be wrought on the world? I have said satchel so many times that the word has lost all meaning. They didn’t even use an Indiana Jones font on this one. Snorg couldn’t even be bothered to go all the way through with it and have the fake strap reach all the way around the shirt.
If one person has bought this shirt and then actually worn it, then I weep for humanity.
So, in my infinite foresight I have been overwhelmed by too many things for too long. GM4A has gone without updates from me for some time now. I have been buried, mired perhaps, in the writing, and reading of a person who wants to write for a living, and have people read it.
No one checks out this blog, so it doesn’t really matter what I say here, but writing is writing. I think I plan on trying to write a few more joke articles and game articles here for a bit. I do want to do a bit more article writing now, but not in the same simple vein I have been for a long time on GM4A.
As of late, and if you peruse my deviantArt page you will see that I have written a few short stories…and even poetry (BLEARGH) lately. To what end? Not sure yet. I do love writing fictional stories though, which has culminated in finally making the decision to actually become a real life writer. That decision is something I will have to discuss later though. Right now I am putting the finishing touches on a 50K word novel I have written for NaNoWriMo. So from November 1st I have thrown down a ridiculous (for me) amount of words, all about some loser detective who…READ THE BOOK! Moving on…
I am writing on here now, because a few things have been crossing my mind lately. I would like to bring video game culture and the world I see into a much larger framework. I feel like video game music and culture is stuck in a bubble without any context or history. What is missing most of all is the humanity of the hundreds, thousands, perhaps millions of bit players in this constantly shifting new media.
When people rich and poor, of every persuasion, and from many corners of the earth do something, it has an impact. Video games are having an impact. That should be explored in larger depth. How is No More Heroes the antithesis of GTA? How does the music in House of The Dead Overkill effect your reaction to the violence on screen? What does a social game like Super Smash Brothers say about human interaction and of fairness and cooperation?
These are all things I have thought about, and perusing google, not a person has written about it. Perhaps it will be me that has to do so.
Finally got my Teleidofusion review finished this past weekend and it is up now over at TNG for Music Monday. It clocks in at about 1K words, here’s an excerpt.
Imagine a cold spring morning; it’s the time of year when the temperature is slowly shifting from the lifeless cold of winter to the gentle, cool breezes of springtime. The light of the sun climbs across the ground and pours through the cracks in your curtains, and a methodical, rising sound lulls you from a deep sleep. Savor the feeling. That is the opening to the debut album from chiptune duo Teleidofusion.
I also got to see the one and only Nullsleep perform this past weekend over at Synchronicity in Los Angeles with George Brower, Trash80, and Mr. Spastic. It was my first straight on chiptune show, and definitely had a great time there. Also passed out a lot of flyers for West Coast Wigout 2 which I hope entices some people to come out.
I think I will write more about my experience working on WCWO2 soon on here as well, once things let up at work. Maybe a post about the Nullsleep show as well if time permits, it was certainly a night to remember, I can assure you of that! Here’s a crappy camera phone photo I grabbed of Nullsleep’s performance as well!