Test your reaction time
Two interesting things I've discovered about myself through this game:
I seem to process and react to things in increments of .06. I'm not sure if this is normal, but my times for each shot were almost always .120, .180, or .240
I can get the sheep running along the top faster than I can along the bottom.
My high score is .18... I can't understand how people can get < .1 for the Turbo Charged Cheetah level.
I'm so incredibly damaged. And as a result, paranoid. Whether those two facts have a relationship like cause and effect, I'm not sure. That's just who I am most of the time. Here is a process that I go through with people that I really like:
I will constantly be looking for signs or signals of how important I am in their life. Comparing things they do with me to other things they do, comparing myself to other people they know, comparing myself to other things, forever trying to place myself in some kind of ranking. And often, this paints a depressing picture for me. I often want to be more important to this person than I am. And every little thing that I observe hurts. But by this time I've already grown all attached, and now am in desperate need to adapt and scale down how I feel about this person (which is hard for me to do). And it's sad and depressing, because most likely I will have thought that I meant something. It's complicated.
Anyway, trying to scale back and trying to be less attached is hard to do without coming off as an asshole, and is made all the harder because I'm just in the emotional equivalent of a sewer. What makes it really tough too is that I can in no way discuss me with these people, because I don't feel I'm really worth discussing, and in addition, how embarassing is it to say “hey, I really like you, I wish to be really important to you, or maybe that's just the way you act even towards important people, or maybe now you just think I'm totally insane cause our relationship is not that deep.” Especially when it is already clear (see above) that I am not as significant as all that. Also, people really do have their own problems, and the last thing I want is for people to have to worry about how they're dealing with me.
So that step usually goes rather unsmoothly, and while I try really hard to restrain myself from running back like a puppy every time I see them, I choose complete silence, all the while hoping that they would notice, but even if they do, it just prolongs this process as I'm inserted back into the first step. And in the end, the net effect for me is this: I question why I should be important to this person at all, and the answer that always comes back is: You shouldn't, you dumb fuck. You're barely interesting enough to talk to. And the net effect for the other person? Probably nothing. And that's what saddens me the most, I guess. But still, I want them to be as happy as possible, so if I'm not really doing much in their life, what's the point of me sitting around being all emo about it and having them worry about me? It wouldn't make them happiest to have an extraneous person to worry about, it what I mean.
On another damaged point, I think maybe why I like finding out about the darkness and everything about other people, is that I feel such a disconnection with people due to my own psychosis.
Moral of the story: How fucked up am I? How far does my psychotic pit go? Discuss amoungst yourselves.
I had a weird nightmare last night... it was strangely continuous and fairly long. It had me in its grasp such that after I woke up to turn off my alarm, it dragged me back into its eerie embrace. It was one of those nightmares that affected you even after you're awake – even though I was half an hour later than my usual routine, I could not muster myself to move very quickly. I was stunned, still enthralled and contemplative, and as a result I still spaced out in the shower despite every intention of speeding through that comforting time trap.
It started with work. Except we were now located in a mall. And on this particular day, Irene wanted me to pick up roses for her from this store in the mall, and she had handed me an invoice from the store. I remember telling her that $24 was a bit expensive for roses, and she looked a little ashamed and said she liked the proximity of the store. I didn't push it further but I was curious as to why she was buying roses. Similarly, Mark, who doesn't work anywhere near me, also had two receipts for me to pick up some things in the mall. The work day went by, and there was a club inside the mall that we were going to go to after work. So Richard, Irene and I headed down there, and there was this other crowd of indeterminate extras that I was talking to as Richard was laying on the charm at the bar, and I was explaining to them how he's always charming like that and popular. Except currently he seemed a little drunk and no one was around him. He was working on some girl across the bar though. I was satisfied that he'd have a companion soon... and then I remembered about the errands I was supposed to run, and the mall was about to close. I ran across the mall (Irene told me to go in the wrong direction), and when I finally got to the flower shop, I realized I didn't have the receipt. So I ran back the short distance to the club to grab the receipts from the jacket, intending to grab Mark's stuff for him too.
And this is where it really began. I consider it some kind of miracle that I remember all the details before this, and they are all still very clear in my mind instead of the usual uncertainty that comes with remembering details of dreams.
I grabbed my jacket, and I noticed the various bouncers were ushering everyone out, except for a few people here and there. I overheard one of the bouncers tell Richard sarcastically “yeah, yeah, only the cool people get to stay”. I was one of the few that wasn't ushered out, and we were all directed to this theatre room. I remember being very shocked and confused as to why I was being chosen to stay, and I wanted to get out there and hang out with Richard but was too curious about what was about to happen here. On my way to the theatre room, I noticed that Snoop Dogg was one of the people heading there, and apparently I knew him in this dimension. He had a pocket on the arm of his jacket, and I unzipped it and searched in there for some clue of what's about to happen, since Snoop seemed to be the type of guy to be in the know. Nothing but some money and a bus token, and I handed him back all his materials and then I never saw him again for the rest of the dream.
In this theatre we sat for a short while and then we were herded onto a bus, and it started driving us into the countryside. The sides of the road looked golden, and I was suddenly reminded of jPod and (spoilers warning!) how Ethan got on this bus and he didn't know where it would take him and it could easily take him into a slavery at a sweat shop, and I started getting worried. Maybe this was where the nightmare seed was planted in my mind and the dream changed. I'm not too sure of how they work. Then Brad Pitt, who was the club proprietor, except he wasn't Brad Pitt, came on the bus P.A. System and announced that we were all going to die, and that we started thinking about our last wishes. As everyone around me were shocked and mildly freaking out, I began to seriously agonize over what my last wish would be. I thought about something that would maybe buy us some time, but I couldn't really get a hold of it. Then Pitt announced that first he was going to come around and break our knees with a baseball bat, and then he would come around to ask us the meaning of life, and if any of us answer 42 as some of us “must” do, we would be mutilated and tossed off the bus immediately. I was unfortunately sitting near the front of the bus, and I braced for the pain as he wound up his bat, but I knew I could not move or duck away or I would be killed. I imagined the pain I would be in moments from then, but instead, he turned around to harass a lady on the opposite side. A balding man in the first seat opposite me grabbed some rope and stealthily manuevered around Pitt. I thought to myself, maybe I should help him when he attacks (he forcefully put the rope around Pitt's neck like a garrotte at this point), and as I was getting up, Pitt twisted around quickly (I guess the balding man did not hold him tight enough) and stabbed him with a small corkscrew type thing. I sat down from shock and fear that he had seen me wanting to take action against him and would kill me next. Pitt stabbed the man a few more times in the neck for good measure and left him on the floor.
Pitt cleaned himself up at the front of the bus and as he walked past me to the back of the bus, he threw the corkscrew weapon into my lap. It was the size of my pinky, and I was curious as to why he handed me a weapon. He probably did see me half standing and was daring me to make a move. I gripped the weapon in a fist and remained calm and seated, wondering if I had failed the balding man and questioning whether I should have moved sooner.
There were ocassional scenes throughout this part that focused on these two eighteen year-olds who were somehow left behind in the club. They couldn't find a way out because the door was locked. They did not know each other before this crisis. Somehow I ended up back at the club. There was a clear slip in time and space that I'm not sure can really be explained. I checked the front door and found that it was a thin wooden door. I found the teens and scolded the male teen: “Surely you can break through a wood.” When the female pushed on the door it opened. It wasn't locked at all. At this point I was incensed but managed to keep my cool, knowing that I needed these teens to get help. So I showed them on an interactive map like you would find in WoW using Cartographer that happened to be on the wall by the door. According to the moving dots, the bus group seemed to be somewhere in Africa and moving rapidly east through Asia. I asked them to hurry and get help for the people there. At this point my mind asked why I couldn't leave, and it reasoned that Pitt must've threatened my family if I had left when I returned to the club.
The bus crew returned, with a few people missing, and there was entertainment. It was a sinister sort of entertainment, like a siren's song. One of Pitt's cronies was singing karaoke, and all his ladies were entertaining guests in the pool, which I stayed out of. No one bothered me, surprisingly, and I walked around the pool. The girls were drowning various people and I felt sorry for them. I thought of all the dead bodies in the pool. There was a girl who managed to surface, and the Pitt girl pretended nothing was going on and continued to be sweet and soothing, but the girl was irate and could not be soothed. When the song was done, a girl I used to know, Vivian, asked me to sing a song, but I told her to go ahead, that she had a better voice anyway, and she went into the booth. I felt some despair as to the helplessness of my situation and how sinister it was that there were all these dead bodies everywhere in broad daylight that was pouring in now from the newly revealed skylight. Yet I felt some relief that nothing has happened to me yet and that I still had hope that help would find us here instead of searching in Africa and through Asia as I had directed the teens. I wondered how Pitt got back from Africa so fast, and of course, the answer was that it was the same way I got back here so fast.
That's when I realized that my alarm had already alerted my it was time to wake up a while ago. Uh oh.
Dear Ronald McDonald,
I heard that they made you take the beef juice out of your fries. I will be the first to say that that is a terrible shame for all of humanity. Even though your fries are still king in a saturated market, I for one will not sleep well knowing that there are some random and inedible cow parts we are not milking for their sweet juices to flavour your delicious potato product.
And you know what I like about you? Even though the Man stuck it to you, you’re still at the top. Sure, some people can provide “sales data” that may prove contrary to my claim, but as Homer Simpson once said: “facts, schmacts, you can use facts to prove anything that’s even remotely true.”
I suppose I should tell you a bit about me, your perfect mate. I don’t enjoy long walks on the beach, as I imagine you don’t or your makeup would melt or make you uncomfortable in that hulking costume. Which brings me to a question: Do you have multiples of that same outfit or do you just wear that one all the time? Is that clown showerhead that’s much too low to wash your upper body able to cleanse out the lower parts? I suppose that’s two questions but... too bad!
Also as your perfect mate, you will have limited access to my various areas of expertise, none of which are useful in a survival-pragmatism sense. If they shut off all the computers in the world, I would die. Zombies would find me quivering in a corner, unable to comprehend an insensible world. My brain would not be all that tasty, I imagine, because I exercise it all the time as the scientists like to encourage you to do (maybe they’re onto something?). In another survival scenario, if they shut off all the computers, I would be completely extraneous and after the other survivors were done toying with enslaving me, they would dispose of me by churning me into a delectable smoothie (blenders don’t need software).
If any of what I just said sounds appealing to you, call me anytime. Just remember: I’ll put my beef juice on your fries anytime.
Bovinely yours,
Don.
I've started reading JPod today. Microserfs is a great book and I loved it. It's hard not to like it as a Software Developer and a nerd at heart. It's like someone took the time to write about you, and about your quirks and about the way you think. So I'm really looking forward to this one, even though I don't work for a game company.
I will discuss the book in various posts, but I will always warn about spoilers. So here we go: SPOILERS BELOW.
There have been many amusing jokes and webcomics that have come out of Gary Gygax's death, including Richard saying "Are you sure he's not just at -2 hps?". This one I'll point out in particular, because I love when people apply things... cross-discipline, as it were:
Monster Manual: Politicians
Roleplaying has served a fairly role (pun optional) in my life. I miss it, and now I am paying my small tribute to the man who, in some way, introduced me to it. Sure, First Edition was a bit crazy, but it started something. Kind of like the first Dance Dance Revolution. I can only hope that he is smiling in the afterlife, knowing that he is still bringing laughter and entertainment in his death.
I finished "American Gods" this morning. I do not like it as much as the other Gaiman novels, but I still like it. It's well written and fairly entertaining. There is a weird sense of seriousness that you don't get with other Gaiman novels, though, like the sheer weight of the atmosphere is telling you to look for something. Maybe at another point in my life this would be my favourite Gaiman novel. I'm interested to hear what Jasmine will think of Gaiman novels. What stood out to me were the acknowledgments. An immense amount of work by very many people went into that book. For all you kids who think writing is just about sitting in front of a typewriter, think again. You need lots of help and a lot of experts. You need to go ask the police about police procedures, and become familiar with the subject matter. Try to experience the events, maybe. The task of writing a novel now seems gargantuan and very strange.
Jasmine is the most fantastic being ever in the history of creation. Even before creation. Nullness and void were looking into the future and discussing how wonderful a being Jas really is.
I realize every parent will claim this about their child. I don't care. There is also room for them to be right. I submit as proof, exhibit A:
I could gush about her forever, so I had better stop. But something feels so... right when she's snuggling into my neck when I burp her, or when she's listening to my heartbeat calmly.
Another contemplative but not necessarily revealing post:
It seems impossible to extract how people really feel about other people, and therefore, about you.
That isn't as malicious as it sounds. Even when people try to be candid, there are just layers upon layers of filters and concerns that end up muddling the message. For example, some people think that the "real" feelings are negative, and won't believe the answer they're getting to be real unless it is negative. And then the respondent will subconsciously shift their answer into a more negative tone just to sound sincere. Also, there's always the concern of what will the audience feel or think if I say such things, which is always subconsciously working in our minds. Cocoons of thought, and all these little thoughts are in there, hidden so well.
I dream of the day that people can cut through that bullshit with me. I don't judge responses, I just really want to understand and know. When I ask a question, I am genuinely and sincerely interested in what you have to say. And the feeling that I won't know the whole and precise truth just causes this desire that seemingly can't be satisfied.
Something in me is getting weary of online conversations. Does anyone talk just to talk to one person anymore? Is anyone interesting enough to completely hold someone's attention?
I've sat online just talking to one person doing nothing else, because I'm genuinely interested in these people. I assume I am not that interesting, and that makes me very sad.
(Nads doesn't count cause I talk to her face to face. I guess when you're face to face with someone they have no choice but to talk to you.)
Portal
PC - Valve - October 9, 2007
Valve
First-Person, Puzzle, Steam, Valve, Portal, GLaDOS
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Two pieces of news on video games that i'd like to record:
Video Games as an Olympic Sport
and:
Video Games blamed for violence (again)
I have no more to say about videogame violence. People who believe what they read about this type of stuff are not necessarily stupid people. Surely, if you tell them that linking increasing youth violence to video games is like linking increasing violence throughout the century to refrigerators.
On another note, it's pretty cool that kids can soon (maybe) dream of being part of Team Canada's Video Game Relay. By no means do I think it should be an Olympic sport. Games should stick to game tournaments or leagues... video games have no more Olympic spirit in them than board games. But if it does happen... well, that's something.
This is the eve of the birth of baby Jasmine. I've already started referring to her as Jas in various communications, accepted as part of my forthcoming reality. There wasn't this shock of "zomg, i'm becoming a dad". Feelings like that do not really penetrate into my consciousness.
Instead, last night I was faced with a rather tough question that involved some introspection, as some tough questions do:
How much do I want Jas to be like me?
It is no secret that I am not my biggest fan. I feel that is justified, for I know much better people, and people who are better at everything, and... well, enough of that. The important thing is that, despite that, I think I do have some good qualities, and which of those do I want Jasmine to take on? But even beyond qualities, are there habits I want or do not want her to pick up? Let me consider.
Frugality: I think I'm pretty good with money. I do not spend a lot, and I value pretty much everything. I am not afraid of money problems and I can deal with them directly. I can be rather lax about money with my friends though. In this particular aspect, I think what would be best for Jas is if she does not gimp herself to save money like I do. She should enjoy her life to her full enjoyment, and let me be frugal for her to do so! But I would still like her to understand and be able to plan finances.
Pleasing People: Yes, I do try to please everyone and accommodate everyone. This has some advantages, as I never get into a mode that's way too selfish (at least, I think), but of course this means that I am pretty upset when I can't please someone. I'd probably want her to have a modicum of this, but I want her to be more sensible about it.
Technology: I'm pretty crippled without it. It's a weird feeling... I just don't like being offline. I never talk to people on the phone. I am comfortable with the layer of separation between me and the other party, so that if I start being boring, it is easy for them to ignore me. I certainly would not like Jasmine to inherit this. I want her to be tech-savvy and a cool gaming girl, but what I do is pretty unhealthy. I will not let the computer or a TV babysit her. I promise this.
At this point, I'm thinking this task is much larger than I originally thought. I probably have traits that I'm not even aware of. And I apologize now for passing down any that you dislike, Jas.
Lyrics are a tricky thing. The simplest way to describe them would be poetry put to music, so I treat them with the same scrutiny that I do with poems. Of course, there is the one conditional component: the words and music can match so perfectly that it doesn't matter if the words count as good poetry.
So what makes a good poem? The most obvious trait would be that it is revealing. It grants you an epiphany, or it makes you think about something. Another criterion is to make you feel something, which is a very common goal in all kinds of art. But the hardest thing to master about writing good poetry, and the thing that makes it the most interesting, is simply this: Show, don't tell. If a song can't achieve this (most people are not good poets), then I will settle for some subtlety.
And in the very of spirit of showing, I will provide some examples of what I consider good lyrics and bad lyrics. Starting with the bad:
You drive me crazy
I just can't sleep
I'm so excited, I'm in too deep
Ohh...crazy, but it feels all right
Baby, thinkin' of you keeps me up all night
- "Crazy", Britney Spears
Why did I pick Ms. Spears? Because I like hollow victories. And kicking a girl when she's down. Also, her lyrics (as with most pop artists) suck. So what's wrong with these lyrics? They pound the emotion in your face. There's no detective work to be done. I feel A, I'm B, You do C to me. Done. Over. What else is there? It may make people feel something, but I have no idea. But all it does is tell me stuff.
Now for a good example:
I once knew a pair that used to fit very tight
But now a man standing tall in the wake of this night
His eyes are watering in anger at the thought of her sight
The scene of adultery sets the stage for his plight
- "People of the Sky", Sloan
Why did I pick Sloan? Cause they rock. Cause they are entertaining live. Oh, and they write good lyrics. In this opening verse alone, there are very many questions you could ask or scenarios you can wonder about. It gives you just enough information to entice you to listen further. What happened on this night? "Sets the stage for his plight" implies that the "scene of adultery" isn't his plight... what's next for this guy? It invokes more emotion than the Spears lyric, strangely enough, even though it's less personal as it's a third person account. This is due to the Showing: His eyes are watering in anger (he is not simply angry), and we know that what he has lost was once valuable (they used to fit very tight). Just the atmosphere set by the description "in the wake of this night" is interesting.
I understand that some people may actually like the Spears lyric better. But they'd be wrong. Or maybe you don't like the Sloan lyric. But comparing these two is like comparing raw teenage poetry and a masterpiece, because the difference to me is so glaring. Amateur poetry is often tough to read simply because they don't follow this principle. It becomes this session of hearing someone complain (and it's not someone you care about). I will leave off with another good (I think it's good anyway) example:
Now I'm falling asleep
And she's calling a cab
While he's having a smoke
And she's taking a drag
Now they're going to bed
And my stomach is sick
And it's all in my head
But she's touching his chest now
He takes off her dress now
- "Mr. Brightside", The Killers
This time I chose a pretty mainstream song. It's a ridiculously rocking tune, but the lyrics make it even better. The interesting part of this verse is "and it's all in my head". How much of what he has said is in his head? Is it all made up? I think that the part that's in his head is after she leaves him, between lines two and three. Between lines. The very fact that it's making me literally read between the lines produces some enjoyment. Also, it would seem that if she is returning to this other man, then that makes the narrator "the other man"? The perspective of the other man is interesting to me, and I had never taken much time to consider that they may get jealous. Another interesting thing is that he imagines them being intimate the way they are (presumably) intimate - but can this other relationship be that great if she's sneaking off to see the narrator?
And really, this is what's great about the "show, don't tell" principle: other people can read these verses completely differently and have a different understanding of them. I love to hear other people's interpretations of literature. In the Spears lyric, there's not much to discuss and not much to wonder about, and that makes it very, very dull.
Today is Blog Action Day. I have a blog, although it is not often updated. So, two birds with one stone!
My topic is one that people will relate to, or they will be angered by, but at the very least they should be familiar with: Cigarette litter. Instead of going all macro about global warming and whatnot, I've decided to play small ball and focus on one of my pet peeves.
Smoking is in itself quite a revolting habit. It's smelly, destroys the lungs of you and those around you, and burdens us heavily in terms of public health dollars. It's also not as fun as alcohol (disclaimer: do not drink and drive!). But that is another topic for another day. I am playing even smaller ball than smoking. This is like... a sacrifice bunt, except I'm only talking about the part where you drop the bat.
That's right, for those of you who fling your cigarette butt and then step on it, please take the extra step to put the butt into the trash receptacle. When my company goes on the "clean up day", we could fill entire bags of garbage just full of cigarette butts in the smoking area. It's not nice. The corpses still reek of the thousands of chemicals you've transformed into gas.
For those of you who toss it to the ground and don't even bother putting it out, much less waste your precious time putting it in the trash, I'm sure there's some special level of hell waiting for you. Maybe level... 6a or something. Where people on level 6 are forced to constantly smoke cigarettes and then they just toss them down at YOU. While it's still lit. It will land in your eye. You won't like it.
So now that we're friends, I once again implore you to keep your city streets clean of cigarette butts (especially Torontonians). It really does make a difference!
I've been reading Gaiman stories. His stories are always the best stories. They make you feel good reading them. They have internal consistency, just as he describes in American Gods, that there are these rules and you don't know them all but you know they're there. Anyway, I encourage everyone to read Anansi Boys and anything else by him that you can get your hands on. His I, Cthulu short story is pretty amusing (you can read that from his blog linked above).
But I'll come back to me, since this song is about me. Now I want to write stories. It has been a long time and I'm sure I won't be any good at it, and yet, I'm compelled.
As I often do, I pondered as to why people give a rat's ass about celebrity news. Who had who's baby, who's breaking up with who, etc. Personally, I could never understand it, but today I thought of something that may be part of it.
I think that people like to know secrets. They love to know. But I also like to know other people's secrets, so how come I don't care about celebrity news? The answer is that there are two parts of a secret. The first is that it is forbidden knowledge, and it is this part that relates to celebrity news. It doesn't matter that everyone knows - all that matters is that you're not supposed to know. The second part is the sharing of the secret, and this is the part I enjoy. I like it when people tell me things they wouldn't tell other people. It is a sign of trust and friendship.
I divulged this little revelation with Sat, who said that it is also because it is a neutral topic that makes people feel involved, and people want to feel involved with anything. Probably true.
Sometimes, I ponder about death. Usually not my own, but if my mother is sick I will think about it. There is a small amount of guilt attached to the thoughts, because at some level something is threatening to make my thoughts a reality, even though I know it has no actual power to do so. I've never been too concerned about my state after her death. I mean, I'll be very upset. Is it because I've lost a link in this world? I have no perception of other worlds.
I would lose such an ally - my mother is always in my corner. She is always looking out for me and willing to go out of her way, and I know that when all other lights go out, she will be there to absorb the darkness. I would lose one such person, and that would suck, but that's not why I would be sad... would it?
Would it be because I have no other birth mother? Is it biological? What is the big deal about death? What does it say about my life if she were to die? Would I be telling my children that it was tragic that both my parents died so young? How should I even think about it?
I'm afraid that I wouldn't be sad though, that I would be proven to be some kind of monster that I could just accept it, mourn, and move on. I know I'm some kind of monster, but am I that kind? What if I could just deal with it better than most?
If you are going to make a multi-display wallpaper, this is a perfect example of how to do it. It breaks nicely in the middle, and it's almost two separate wallpapers except that it is connected by theme and colour, and when you consider both together it does add more to the piece than apart.
Thanks to evilhomer for this awesome background. Follow this link to the full deviation.
