Live From Nando's, It's the Live-Action Space Invaders Counselling Hour!

For those of you who were missing the T-Shirt of the week:

This is my Live Action Space Invaders shirt. It's one of the few shirts I feel weird about wearing around Tanja's parents.

So yes! Today. I write things down. Again.

(Click for bigger photos if my writing hurts your brain.)

(NOMNOMNOMNOMNOMNOMNOMNOM)

Chewie & Han

Oh, hello. Didn't see you there.

This is "Chewie & Han" by Chris Wahl. I saw it and immediately bought it due to it combining two beloved duos of characters from my mental development. Seems to be a theme with me.

Speaking of Calvin and Hobbes, I saw a tweet from Brian Lynch (@BrianLynch) that got me thinking:

I replied, of course, with a few witticisms that he dutifully did not reply to, such as "I am Spaceman Spiff's Smirking Revenge" and "'Calvin you look like you've been pounced!' 'You fell down some stairs.' 'I fell down some stairs.'"

I've since come up with more:

"The first rule of G.R.O.S.S. is you do not talk about G.R.O.S.S.. The second rule of G.R.O.S.S. is YOU DO NOT TALK ABOUT G.R.O.S.S.! Third rules: two guys per treehouse."

"I know this, because Hobbes knows this."

"Yes, these bruises are from being Calvinball. No, I don't want to talk about it."

I then started thinking that I needed images to caption with these comments. So I started looking (I also found this lovely essay comparing Fight Club & Calvin & Hobbes. Check it out).

What started as me changing lines to suit the new setting in a humourous way quickly became me using images from the new setting to extoll the ideas of the original work.

In short, it went from funny and interesting to depressing and self-destructive. Rather like my experience watching/reading Fight Club.

When I saw Fight Club, I was 19. I was initially intrigued by it's punk aesthetic and rebellious nature and the absurdist way the Narrator cut himself off from society. Then the depressing part set in. "Let's burn it all down." the film decried "Everything you ever thought sucks, you're stupid for thinking it, and you'll never be anything!" Or at least that was how my 19-year-old self heard it. Watching it again (and reading the book) at 29, I was happily a bit more detached. I had read more, I had done more, I was in a very different place in my life. I had learned to appreciate things without assimilating their ideas (a tactic I now employ due to my not needing popular culture to tell me who I am and what I think).

So here are the pictures. Watch the progression! Get some popcorn!

And then the change happens.

So yes. Got depressing. I actually stopped myself before it got any further. And this has nothing to do with the fact that I got rejected on the most promising job interview I've had in a while after they strung me along for weeks and got ID and did reference checks and made out like I had the job. Nothing at all. I'm totally not disheartened by the job-seeking process, and not at all horribly worried about my and Tanja's financial state. In no way am I curtailing all happy impulses, saying that I should be serious and buckling down due to the impending badness. Nope. ....and if you believe that, I have a used Death Star to sell you.

Rock N Roll Nerd

Day 17. Got this at the Tim Minchin show Tanja took me to last night. The show was amazing. I teared up a little during Rock N Roll Nerd (the bit about a guy writing songs that no one will ever hear), and full-on cried my eyes out during Not Perfect. Youtube it, it's phenomenal. I've already written about how one particular part of the song affects me. But last night, it destroyed me. I was just crushed. I've not cried like that in public, well, ever. I mostly blame Tanja and her propensity for crying at movies.

I had a long and in-depth post in my head about how I feel about my body-image, or whatever, and how I feel I play the clown too much because much of my self-worth is tied up in how people like me, but frankly, it's too depressing.

Today is my birthday. The people who work here got me a card and a present and my boss made me a cake. May also baked me two cakes. This is the first time a work-person, let alone many work people, did anything for my birthday. So I'm in a good mood.

4 Unrelated Comments

1) I introduced Tanja (and myself) to Penn & Teller's Bullshit! series. I've been watching Penn point for a few months now and have seen Penn & Teller at just for laughs, but the show, for once, has done exactly what I wanted it to do. It's stimulated debate without causing argument. It has hit the metaphorical sweet spot of couples conversation. We've also agreed that underneath it's vulgar showing of nudity and profanity, the show is rather sweet, wanting to think the best of people and asking them to think for themselves, ask questions, and apply critical thinking to everything. Most of all, though, they don't blame the victims. They point out that the villians are those who are running the scams of reflexology, talking to dead people, and self-help, not the scammed, who just want something to divert them from the pain in their lives.

2) Dear comics artists: if I can't tell the people in your story apart, you have not done your job. The writer can do their best job they can putting different voices to characters, but if you make them all look the same, or at least similarly nondescript, I won't know what the hell is going on. Then I'll focus on my frustration instead of the story you're telling, and I'm out of the picture, viewing your work purely as an artistic exercise instead of a work I'm interested in. Sure, I can blame it onMark Texiera on the Moon Knight series "God & Country" but it's an issue I've had before.

3) It's ridiculously easy how one comment from someone we like can puncture whatever security or confidence we have. Yes, I know that confidence comes from within, and thinking that everyone must like/agree with you is a road to misery, but still. One comment, meant in jest, or casual conversation, can, distinctly, cut like a knife. Just sayin'.

4) I can't remember what the 4th comment was.

Agnostic Coyotes

Clearly I have been reading to much analytical commentary by way of TVTropes.

I was watching the Rifftrax for Terminator Salvation, and it got to the point where John Connor strings a wire between two wrecked cars in order to trip up and capture a motorcycle drone. The Rifftrax guys, in their way, said the Connor's next capture would involve a rock face and a terribly convincing painting of a tunnel.

And today I thought about that.

You see, when Wil E. Coyote sets his trap for the Roadrunner, he is completely aware of all of the variables in the equation: 1 30-foot wide flat rock face, solid. 1 bucket, paint. 1 reasonable facsimile of a tunnel. Roadrunner thinks it's a tunnel, runs into rock face, gets roasted with parsnips. This equation is based upon quantitative fact. He has measured the wall, calculated the speed and acquire all the paint he needs (though in one bucket. Hmm). The result should be a foregone conclusion.

But then something happens.

The Coyote, seeing the Roadrunner's cloud of dust approaching, hides and watches. The Roadrunner heads straight for the tunnel. He does not hesitate. He does not slow down.

And he runs through the suddenly-real-enough tunnel.

Now Wile E. is faced with a quandary.

The Roadrunner is a creature of purpose, of linear focus. It follows its path, never deviating unless it must, and then returning quickly to its original direction. At that speed, there is no time for doubt, no time for uncertainty

He knows the tunnel is not real. He created it only moments ago. He knows it conceals a rock face, and with it, pain and suffering. But he has just witnessed something that he is unable to measure, and flies in the face of what he believes. He also knows that his physics-defying quarry is getting farther away by the minute.

Should he reject his world of science, reason, and rationality and believe?

He makes a decision, and trusts to belief, having for once in his science-based life, faith to take a leap. He runs full-tilt at the tunnel...
....and smacks straight into the rockface.

Thus the agnostic is punished for his doubt, his fence-sitting. Had the coyote believed in his heart that he could travel through the tunnel, he would have. Perception and idea shape reality. Something about it not being a spoon (but then again, soup).

So yeah! Tune in next week, when I discuss Wile E. Coyote not falling down until he looks down and sees the ground and how it's a metaphor for Vatican II.

O.G.: Origin Gangster.

After watching Iron Man 2 with Tanja and the Nerd Herd, I was watching the Totally Rad Show review of it at the gym. It got me thinking about films and origin stories, specifically when it comes to superheroes and comic book films.

Now, I've heard from people that the second film can be more difficult than the first, due to the terrors of sequelitis, the law of diminishing returns, and viewer fatigue. Other comments have said that sequel films are easier due to the fact that you don't need to spend half the film introducing everyone, but can get right down to telling the story you want.

Where it gets interesting with Superhero stories is simple: everyone knows the end of the origin story. We know Peter Parker will become Spider-Man. We know Bruce Wayne will be Batman. We know Wolverine may take off in a snit, but he'll always come back and be part of the X-Men. Everyone knows this plucky kid/cavaleir inventor/troubled man will become the superhero. If nothing else, we know it because it was on the poster for the film that we walked by to get into the theatre. So how do you build tension?

Well, in the case of the better superhero stories/films, you make the origin not about the destination, but about the journey. This can be difficult, and may require fleshing out due to the fact that most comic book origins are a single issue. That's 16-25 pages, with ads, to go from soup to nuts, introduction to actualisation. In the 40s, 50s, and 60s, it was not hard. Hey look! That's your hero. We know because he's on the cover. He got his powers from a lightning strike and now he can run fast, calls himself The Flash, and fights crime. Boom. Done. That took about two pages. That, however, makes for a terrible film. So the better ones (which is how I started this paragraph) take their time and use the origin to establish character.

Batman? Show the parents' death. Show the training. Show how determined and dangerous he becomes. Spider-man? Show the getting of the powers. Show the fun side. Show it turning dark and the acceptance of responsibility. Iron Man? Show him cavalier. Show his interest turn from the frivolous to the immediate (ie survival). Show him using his genius outside the box and that with constraints comes true discovery (In a CAVE! With a BOX OF SCRAPS!).
This is why, when Marvel asked Brian Michael Bendis to create a new variant of Spider-Man (Ultimate Spider-Man) with no continuity to the 40+ years of history, he took a bold step and instead of telling the origin in the first issue, he used the entire first story arc. All 6 issues of it. And it was heralded as a masterpiece of storytelling. By the end of it, we don't just know Spider-man. We know Peter Parker, the kid who, just maybe, has it in him to be a hero.

I have no idea where I was going with this, but I find all of this fascinating. I love the wayposts of the Hero's Journey. I love looking at stories, be they film, book, comic or TV show slightly off to the side so you can see the strings. It the same reason I love magic. You can watch it and love the spectacle, and you can also appreciate the technique. Plus, once in a while, a magician will do something where you have NO idea how he did it. And that's real magic.

Commitment And More Lands That Border

More Lands That Border

More things that are satisfying about Borderlands:
1. The World is HUGE. I keep discovering new outposts with different mission, some as trivial as "collect 5 mission recorders and bring them back" to "collect 50 crystal samples, defeat the two giant monsters guarding the samples, refine the crystals into an artifact."
2. The Sorting Algorithm of Weapons: The weapon that was your best friend and most trusted problem solver will be nearly-useless later on, as all the enemies around you level up as you do. Even the ones with comically low levels (a Lvl4 Skag attacking you, a Level 30 Gunslinger Hunter) can still nearly kill you if you ignore them. Sure, they die comically in one hit and you get little to no XP for them, but if there's a pack of them, you can still croak.
3. Different experiences. I was discussing this game with Luke at work, and I had an experience I haven't had since Fallout 3: We were discussing the game and the environments, and we had had completely different experiences. He played as a Bruiser (a Tank class, with a berserk ability and a love of fisticuffs and rocket launchers, quite the opposite of my Hunter's love of ranged weapons and one-shot kills), and as such had a different playstyle and strategy, and in the end, got a different result.

This segues me nicely into the unsatisfying thing about Borderlands, though, the more I think about it, it's something that's wrong with me. I had the same issue with Fallout 3, and in discussion with Ted, that many people had with Diablo. The inventory.

Now, in Borderlands, you're given twelve slots in your backpack for weapons, shields, grenade mods, health kits, and class mods (which give bonuses to skills). You also have two equipped slots (later four), which are mapped to the D-pad. You can complete Claptrap side missions to increase your carry capacity.

Here's my issue. I'm a hoarder, and a worrier. I try to carry a mixture of weapons, so I can be covered in any situations. My twenty-seven slots are filled with, currently:

-6 revolvers (two normal, one with zoom, one without & four elemental)
-6 sniper rifles (two normal, one with a stupidly huge zoom, one with massive damage, and four elemental)
-3 shotguns (two elemental, one automatic and fast-firing)
-2 submachine guns (one with scope, one that does 4x projectiles & reloads super-fast)
-2 repeater pistols (one with Shock damage, and one with a scope)
-3 combat rifles (one with large magazine for support firing, two elemental)
-1 rocket launcher (after much deliberation)
-2 shields (one high-capacity with corrosive resistance, and 1 medium capacity with fast health recharge)
-1 grenade mod (changed often, depending on the situation)
-2 Class Mods (Gunslinger & Ranger)

Now, where this gets frustrating is that when I find a piece of loot that I like (or just one worth a lot that I can sell), I then get to spend loooooooong minutes, staring at my inventory screen, agonising over what to leave behind, the distance to the nearest shop ("If I pick this up, then drop it, then run to the shop to sell something, can I make it back so that the thing I dropped is still there?")... I'm also a cheapskate, so the idea of dropping a weapon that's worth four thousand dollars bothers me. I'll occasionally do an inventory cull, leaving a few spots open for sellables, but the minute I find something decent, it becomes "Well, I have a Shock Revolver already, but this one does more damage, even though it's got a lower fire rate and only holds three bullets... it has a higher accuracy and zoom, though... I could do more damage more accurately, but if I miss, I'm screwed..." For ages.

I was the same with Fallout. Most people I talked to customised their character with a persona, based upon the upgrades they took and the skills they developed. My overarching ability? I could carry a lot. I took every Strongback upgrade to the pount where I was carrying 300 pounds of gear on my back (mostly weapons and armour, with some space for things I wanted to sell). Doesn't make for a memorable character.

Think of it as a video-game based fear of commitment. "Do you take this sniper rifle, to have and to hold, in sickness, and when something better is dropped by a dead Rakk?"

Introspection & Gazing At Navels.

I love my wireless keyboard. Not just because I can operate the computer on the TV, but mostly because when I type quickly on it, it sounds like a typewriter. I have always loved the solid, clunky immensely satisfying *clunk* of typewriter keys. I even briefly flirted with the idea of buying an old one off eBay, just for the cathartic feeling of typing (I was held up by the fact that you can't buy ribbons for them anymore, and anyway, shipping would be a bastard).

 

Today is my first day on prescription pain medication. As anyone who's known me more than 5 minutes knows, I've suffered from headaches pretty much all my life. I hesitate to call them migraines, as what people have described to me as migraines does not fit what I get. More accurately, they're just really bad headaches, usually focussed at the base of my skull in two little knots. I have no doubt that things like stress or adrenaline bring them on, and they are occasionally resistant to medication, and often helped by physio. Lately, and by lately, I mean in the last fortnight, I have been having... different experiences. I'll go to sleep about 11:45 or midnight, then wake up roughly an hour later with a headache. A specific kind of headache, only on the left side of my head. For a moment, it'll feel like a minor thing, like you might have after just one too many beers the night before. But then as soon as you shift in position, it levels up.  If you'll forgive my purple prose for a moment, I'll describe the feeling: imagine a ball of lightning. Not a big ball, perhaps the size of a golf, or ping-pong ball. And it's spinning and roiling on the surface, kind of like the CGI Sparks in the Beast Wars: Transformers TV show. This ball sits just inside my left temple, and throbs. Then, in a motion I can only describe as similar to the lightning attacks in InFamous or Storm from Ultimate Alliance, it will lash out with lightning strikes. These strikes can hit anywhere along my head, but seem to like just behind my eyebrow, the sinus next to my nose, my upper molars, the hollow behind my jaw, and yes, the base of my skull. When they strike, they tend to march along a path, like an ellipses (you know, one of these --> ... ... ...) and then conduct off the bones in my face, before retreating again. The severity of these strikes can range from electric-shock-uncomfortable to body-wracking-painful. The first time it happened, it hurt so much I could barely speak. I have never hurt that much that I can remember. I tried to get up, but couldn't. I had to wait until the strikes died down, then lurched out of bed, staggering, really, up to the kitchen looking for some panadol. I also heated up a wheat-bag heat pack, and laid it on my face until the medication kicked in, and I could relax enough to go to sleep. The next morning, no pain. However the next night? Repeat scenario. This basically was three nights of last week. Only once did it carry over to the day after. Night before last, it happened again, just as severe as the first time. But it stayed. I had the same feeling all morning. I took more panadol (panadiene now, with codeine) but or once, the edge did not come off. No. Instead it got worse. And I was at work. Blurred vision, loss of balance... I at one pointed wished I could do something as dramatic as collapse so people could see how much I was hurting. Finally, after a "go to the doctor, you bloody fool" email from my loving wife, I did. Dr. Lentham, who I'd gone to before for my other headaches, looked on my file, and tried to offer my Cafergot. "You gave me that last time," said I. "The caffeine nearly did my head in." (see earlier post for caffiene related wackiness). So after hearing how bad it was, he prescribed Durotram XR (or tramadol hydrochloride to those playing at home) along with a huge pack of dissolveable aspirin. Instructions? Take one Durotram before bed. It will slowly dissolve over 24 hours, and take 3 aspirin when I get a headache, and 2 more if it doesn't help after 3 hours. I took the Durotram last night. I woke up at 1:00am with another lightning blast. Got up, took the aspirin, went back to bed. Did I mention that my brain tends to process the pain visually? Blame years of video games and TV. When it hits, I usually involuntarily picture marching lightning bolts raining destruction. Last night? It was raining fire. Odd, surreal, cartoon fire. I eventually got up and slept on the couch to spare Tanja my tossing and turning. This morning, I was wide-awake at 7:15 with the oddest feeling. I'm still in pain, but I feel like my head is numb. As I described on Twitter, it's like I'm standing between two white sheets on two clotheslines, looking West, while behind the East sheet is a huge grey silhouette (that would be the pain). There's a breeze blowing, and the sheets move and someties I get a glimpse of the grey in the corner of my eye (followed by a brief, but solid pain that, were it in a comic book, with have the sound effect "SPANG" like the glint of sunlight off a blade), but then it will fade back. And, if you'll keep to the metaphor for a moment, I don't want to turn, or move too quickly, because the sheets are barely any refuge. I feel fragile, like a spiderweb.

 

Also, if I may dirgress for a moment, I'm finding myself focusing on things too intently. Anyone who's known me for the afore-mentioned 5 minutes also knows that I doodle. A lot. Almost compulsively. It's a habit I picked up in high school, carried on to university, and worked into my various careers, be they retail, on-phone, or managerial. When I was on the phones, I could go through a pen in 5 days. As a symptom, I've also gained the habit of buying pens (usually gel pens of varying brands, I prefer 0.7mm points or above, rollerball better than brush) from newsagents. I have a huge pencil-case at work (which at one point 6 months ago, was raided and many of my pens stolen, which displeased me to no end). I usually have a few in my backpack, in case the mood strikes me. This morning, as I was watching The Digg Reel & iFanboy, trying to relax, I had grabbed the desk calender from the computer room and was using my Pilot Vpen (you know, the ones with the fountain pen nib?) to doodle. My usual subjects are stars, which I've taight myself to draw freehand, without interior lines, specifically what some people refer to as "<punk stars", but compounded with many layers, and random words being said around me or thought by me in block letters, usually serif, done in alternating outline and filled styles, though occasionally I'll like the look of certain letter) were being used, but I realised something: I was bringing my face closer and closer as I drew, the edges becoming sketchier and sketchier, like something out of a Spawn comic (ironically one of the discussion points on iFanboy). After a while I was not paying attention to the show, just watching myself draw. I had to shake my head to break my concentration. Is this part of the medication? I don't know.

 

And I still find it ironic that a potentially side effect listed for headache medication is "headache".

Shirts.

As I went up to Oporto to get my lunch today, I walked through the street market they have in Newtown every Saturday. As always, there are people just selling random stuff, like belts made from recycled materials, old albums and CDs, books of all sorts, and the inevitable t-shirt printers. Now, most of the people at markets who do t-shirts are screen printers, with a few tie-dyers and tailors/seamstresses thrown in. Nobody seems to do shirts they way I do. Admittedly, the method I use (cutting the stenicls, then painting with brushes) is not the most efficient, easiest or most practical way of doing things, but it does give me a level of control that I enjoy.

However, lately I've been thinking hard about my printing. My first thinkings were in the vein of more artisitic and impressive (read: difficult) designs to really how what I can do. That line of thinking has been difficult to develop, seeing as the majority of the shirts I do are demand-focused (ie I do what people ask me to do), so these new shirts would pretty much be for me. Also, Stencil Revolution, which was my main source of inspiration, was shut down about a year ago, and has not really gotten back on its feet since. I've come up with a few sort of meta-design examples (my Irgendwas Auf Deutsch one, or a few based on the cartoons of Phil Somerville such as "Tragically Born Without A Logo" (overlaid on a collage of logos I've done for other people, such as the Firetrybe logo, the Carbon Cowboy Design I did for Phil, a Triforce with wings and others) and "Due to computer error, this t-shirt is completely free of advertising," (directly above my logo, heh), but I'm not getting the oomph I wantedto. Most people just assume I got them at JayJays or something and don't give my shirts a second look.

As for my process, it's actually cost me a few jobs. It's fairly difficult to accurately mass-produce shirts, as they never quite turn out identical, and paint builds up on the stencils, make each use afterward less accurate. Large areas of solid colour are also a problem, as it's tough to get a smooth, even shape with clean edges. I made some shirts for a local band that turned out not-so-great because their logo was a large yellow oval (large area of solid colour) with the band name on it and they wanted a dozen shirts, but couldn't afford good ones, so had cheap $3 shirts, which were so thin they barely held still under my brush. The results were less than stellar, and I've never heard from them again.

Recently, the mother of one of my workmates called me to ask if I could print some shirts for a singer she is doing promotion work for. She sent me a design which was very easy, but said that design was from the last tour and they wanted a newer one. We talked for a bit and after I dissuaded her from putting words on the back of jeans, she said she'd get back to me. A few weeks pass. I suddenly get a call, and after a few confused moment, relise who it is, and that yes, she's still interested. After debating every tiny detail of what she wants (to a ridiculous degree, taken two further calls, each spaced about 5 minutes apart while I'm at work), we agree to two prototype shirts using the new design and then many more to come later. I buy two blanks and wait on the email. She calls again to make sure the shirts I got are the right type, and casually asks me to photoshop the logo onto the promo picture, since I'm "good at those sorts of things." The email comes and the design is, in a word, impossible. It's a spanish-style cross with so many criss-crossing loops and whorls and patterns that even if I could cut a stencil, it would be impossible to use more than once and would probably break apart. I photoshop the image though, even throwing together a few cool effects and a couple different versions and send them back, with my worries about the design. I mention that maybe they could come up with a simple design for the shirt for me to do. I get a short email back saying they would run it by the artist and get back to me.

I've heard nothing back. It's been 3 weeks. I even did the plaintive email of "Are we still doing the prototypes?" and got nothing.

So anyway.

The reason I brought up the markets is that the designs I see at markets are always awesome and original and different. They're huge, sprawling, detailed (whereas my designs are usually limited to A4 or A3 size due to my printer). Also, they're mostly selling the shirts for $10 or $15 dollars. I sell mine for $20, and though Tanja keeps saying I should raise my prices for the amount of work I put in, I feel bad asking more (possibly due to being afraid that someone will tell me my work isn't worth more).

So even if I pony up the dough to get a large stock of blanks, find some designs that can compete, I'm still going to be two stalls away from people who are better at it, can mass-produce, and are selling for less.

Basically, it makes me wonder if this is ever going to be more than a hobby for me.

Gossip guy.

In all the jobs I've worked at, I've never been the one people tell things to. The only time I actually get to hear things about someone is long after they've left the company. Then it's “Oh, you didn't know so-and-so was sleeping with what's-his-face? Everyone knows that.” Well, I didn't. And I get frustrated and feel deceived and lied to, even if the person wasn't a friend, just someone I might nod to on a daily basis. I know it's ridiculous; if I barely know the person, why would they share that with me? But nevertheless, I feel like I had the wool pulled over my eyes and stayed blissfully unaware. Tanja posits that it's because I'm different, being in a committed relationship,and therefore not as approachable as some of my single colleagues.
I feel similarly insecure about a few of my work relationships. I get along with certain people, but when left alone near them at a work function or meeting, I can barely think of anything to say. My first thought is “Wow, I really don't know this person at all.” I felt that way when I was a CSR, but I just figured it was because I was new and not too well-known. Now I'm a Team Leader and it happens just as often. Worse, I hear how some people talk about others they dislike, but then act nice to their faces. Does they talk about me that way? Then on the odd occasion I get a burst of negativity from someone, it's the nail in the coffin, the confirmation of what I suspected.
I know all of this is ridiculous and how I can't control any of it and should just not worry, but I do. An unfortunate side effect of all this insecurity is that I improvise, overreact, and act almost obnoxious. And then worry about coming off as obnoxious.
Sigh.

Gen What?

I was slightly stunned when an ad for a new show called "Talking About My Generation" defined Gen Y as being anyone born between 1980-1995. Wow. See, I'd never considered myself a Gen Y person. Hell, the speaker at our graduation referred to us as "move over, Generation X. Here come the Dot-Com Kids." which was a moniker I kind of liked. But Gen Y? Okay. I guess. Part of what bothers me is the negative stigma associated with Gen Y, especially in the media and in business circles. The idea that Gen Y people are nigh-impossible to motivate, hate hard work, and expect to turn up and get paid as much as possible while putting in the least amount of effort as their birthright. I'm not like that. At least, I don't think I am.

Also, I find that I've been self-censoring lately in a noticeable way. Some might say that's a good thing, judging by how often I'll put my foot in my mouth. I just find it a bit worrying. I've even censored myself three times while writing this blog entry. Sigh.

There's Noel in Christmas.

Is it me, or is the song "The First Noel" an example of bad song-writing disguised as old-timey language?

A few examples:

[-]"The first "Nowell" the angels did say
Was to certain poor shepherds in fields as they lay;
In fields where they lay keeping their sheep,
On a cold winter's night that was so deep."

Firstly, Why repeat the 2nd line by slightly mangling it into the 3rd? You've just started, and you're making callbacks already? Okay, so it was to certain poor shepherds in fields where they lay. Okay, that I get. They lay in fields. I'll accept that, even though you're changing around the natural grammatical placement of the words to get a rhyme with "the Angel did say". But then to follow in immediately with "In fields where they," in the next line is redundant. You just said that. Even as a little kid I thought it was a typo. Or maybe that was an important thing to get across in the 16th century. Maybe it was a conversation point.
"Hey, you know shepherds?"
"Of course I do."
"They lay in fields."
"No kiddin'?"
"Yep. In fields they lay."
"Imagine that. Wacky guys those shepherds."

Also, When was the last time you looked out at a cold night in Winter and said that it was "So deep"? The SNOW may be deep, the thing the person next to you may be "so deep, man." But the night? Really? Again, it's a cheap rhyme with “sheep”. But is sheep so hard to rhyme?

[-]"They lookèd up and saw a star
Shining in the east, beyond them far;"

Okay, so the shepherds, in these fields, in this really incredibly deep night, they see a star. Apparently, this night-time miracle is shining in the East, “beyond them far.” Do you mean “far beyond them?” Nope. Beyond them far. It seems either Yoda (“Hrrrm, Myrrh, I have brought you.”) or Billy Joel (who's still ordering “tonic-and-gins” whenever he's in a bar) is writing this.

[-]And then the chorus. Everyone knows it. It goes “Noel” a bunch of times, then tells us in Yoda-speak that “born, is the King of Israel”. And then something about how "Hard to see, the Dark Side is". It occurred to me as rather handy that Jesus is to be King of a place that so nicely rhymes with the word for the night of his birth. Had he been King of Saskatchewan, would we be singing about the first Hakeem-Elajuwan? Or the first Nahasapeemapetilan?

Oh, and an added bonus? When researching this post, I saw that there are three old verses often omitted from modern renditions:

“Between an ox-stall and an ass
This Child there truly bornèd was;
For want of clothing they did him lay
All in the manger, among the hay.”

I know why this was left out. Some of us kids had a hard enough time keeping from laughing when a minister uses a word like ”Hosannah” (Oh, Hosannah, oh don't you cry for me, 'cause I'm come from East of Canaan with a banjo on my knee). Hearing about a naked kid next to an ass would have had us rolling in the aisles.

“Then did they know assuredly
Within that house the King did lie;
One entered in then for to see,
And found the Babe in poverty.”

Leaving out the unnecessary “assuredly” (which is now verging on Calvin-and-Hobbes G.R.O.S.S. Motto rhyming), that last line? Finding a babe in poverty? I've seen films that start that way. And not the kind of films that win Oscars: “C'mon, baby. You wanna be a star?” Come to think of it, I've heard jokes that start that way. “You can spend the night, but don't touch my daughter.” Cue banjo-chase music and farmers with pitchforks.

'If we in our time shall do well
We shall be free from death and hell,
For God hath prepared for us all
A resting-place in general.”

A resting place... in general? In general.
“God, we've been good, we're here, where should we stay?”
“Oh, someplace in general. You know, over there.”
“Anywhere specific?”
“No, just somewhere.”

I think if I'd led a good life, abstaining from drinking, dancing, various sins of various fleshes, God would have a room picked out for me. You know, corner suite, not too near the ice machine, good view of the clouds. I was unaware Heaven would have worse seating plans than the Big Day Out festival.

Anyway, clearly I've put too much thought into this. Well, this is what happens when you make me wait for a desk to be delivered all day, and I work in the garden to kill time. Be told.

Falling behind

Ack! I've been meaning to update this thing for the last week. First I wanted to blog about the terrible morning I had, then about how I tend to subconsciously boobytrap myself when I'm stressed, causing me to try to grab things, misjudge, and knock other things over, stressing me more. Then after a few days I still wanted to blog about the morning from hell and was starting to wonder why I wanted to blog about that so much. Then I thought about blogging about how I tend to hang onto bad experiences, turning them over and over in my head. But I didn't.

So now I'm blogging about how I didn't blog about all that.

The fires in Victoria are terrible beyond belief, and watching the newscasters hovering like vultures waiting for someone to step out of the wreckage to say how it feels to have all your belongings burnt to a crisp makes me a bit sick. On the plus side, I found a bottle of Gold Wasser which tastes lovely and will allow me to make Duck and Covers.

Wedding Dream List

With the wedding now less than a week away (eeeeeee!) I've been musing on the subject of wedding gifts. Most of the time, the gift is something for the couple's house (in the olden days, always a NEW house, hence the practical nature of most gifts and the creation of registries (who needs 15 toasters?). Tanja and I didn't go that way because we always thought it was a bit rude telling people what to get you. In fact, we haven't asked for gifts at all for the wedding. If some people want to get us things, fine, but otherwise, no worries. It was my mom asking what we wanted that got me thinking: if I were to make a list, what would be on it? What would be the price range? So, without further ado, my epic dream wedding present list:

[-]A bottle of green Chartreuse. The yellow stuff has become legendary around the office thanks to Ted, and I'd love a bottle of this. Rough Price: $75.
[-]Breville ikon™ 600 Blender. It's badass. Make crushed ice. Blends things. Like cocktails. Tanja's mentioned this to her workmates, but I think they'll go for one of the classier things she asked for. Rough Price: $239
[-]Star Trek Voyager Ultimate Collection. The entire series on DVD and it comes in a freakin' Borg cube! The assimilation of Tanja into liking Star Trek continues. Rough Price: $279
[-]An iPod Dock. I like the idea of one, like in the picture, with a screen so I can watch my videos on that.
[-]Mount Gay Extra Old Rum. One hell of a drop. I had some at Rambutan. Rough price: $54.95
[-]A set of really cool martini glasses. Due to the occasional drops and losses, my glassware now leans towards wine more than cocktails.
[-]Kinokuniya gift vouchers. Feed my comics addiction.
[-] Goldschlager. So pretty, has gold in it and tastes of cinnamon. Rough Price: Who knows? I haven't found it in Oz.
[-]A PlayStation3. We're into the pie-in-the-sky section of the list, now. I'd prefer a 60gig version, so it's backwards-compatible with my PS2 games, but I don't think that's on the market anymore.
[-]Something Tiki-related, I don't know. Tiki stuff is so thin on the ground in Sydney.

This is harder than I thought. Anyway, this is not a "what you get me must be from this list" list. This is just me being thoughtful.

Organising (reposted from The Lucas Letters)

"Dear All and Sundry,

Tanja's birthday has come and gone, with a wonderful dinner at Restaurant Atelier (with a slightly short-tempered chef, but lovely friendly staff and amazing food) and some presents of books, comics, a purple Tiki Mug to call her own, a Japanese teapot, and some other things. She also got the day off on her birthday which, really, should be in the Constitution.

I've been busy making shirts for the huge order that I talked about last post, and I've printed 8 of the 20, and haven't ironed any of them. I figure I'm going to finish them all first, and then show up at work like Santa Claus, passing out gifts. Well, gifts people have paid for, but still.

It's come to my attention that I've gotten a reputation at work for being an organizer. Who would have thought it? When we need someone to take up a collection and get a cake and get everyone to sign a card for Ted's birthday? I'm there. When awards for the quarterly work party need creating, hello, there's me. It's strange. I was never the organizer in Canada. I blame the southern hemisphere mucking with my personality.

Speaking of the work awards night, it's tomorrow, and it's cowboy themed. Happily, I already have three cowboys hats (I'm loaning some out to people), and some toy guns on my desk at work, but I just need to find a vest. Off to the second-hand shop!

-Lucas
PS: Garden continues to explode with life. I think someone put plutonium in the soil when I wasn't looking."

Day 2, Mountain Time

So this morning was Father’s Day, and upon giving Tanja’s father a bottle of imported French Calvados (apple brandy) that I suggested and picked out, it dawned on me: I think I like giving people well-chosen presents more than I like getting well-chosen presents.

Does that make me some sort of pinko-commie?

Thinking back, though, I’ve always like giving presents, even when I didn’t have much money. At university, I got little things for my various friends (despite being taken aside by one of them, and being told I didn’t have to “buy their love.” Which was totally not the point). I knew that most of them were equally as not-well-off as was, and a little something would brighten their day.

So yeah. When people say “Don’t make a big thing out of my birthday”, it just gets me planning. I’ve even, marvel of marvels after some very rocky starts, gotten halfway decent at choosing things for Tanja.

I know some psychiatrist would be able to pick this apart, saying that I equate possessions to love, but that’s totally not it. I like the look on people’s faces when they open/receive something that is suited for them and that they didn’t expect.

Man. I am a pinko-commie.

ATLing

So I've been an ATL* for the past 3 weeks. I suppose it could be a rewarding experience, with a different team. The #1 job I've had for the last 3 weeks is just keeping them on the phones and not wandering around. I mean, you work in a call centre, people! How hard is it to sit at your desk and do your damn job?

 

I've given out numerous warnings, had meetings, created action plans and logged more jobs** than I can count. I even had a dream about logging jobs. I was sitting at the computer, logging like 15 jobs in a row and one of the team members kept asking me questions, and I, knowing it was a dream somehow, and angry at myself for having a dream where I do this, lept upon him and beat him bloody. let it be known that I knew it was a dream and I was trying to wake myself up. But it was very satisfying.

 

Does that make me a sociopath?

 

Anyway, I think i could be a Team Leader for realsies. Just not for this team. Also, I think the constant pressure to sell sell sell would get to me in under a week. I have a hard time motivating staff to sell, as I myself am not terribly motivated to sell. I'm happy to help my team, and solve their problems and develop them, but pushing them to sell seems beyond me. Everything I try seems so forced and cliched. Oh well.

 

We'll see.

 

*Acting Team Leader
**Logging jobs is tracking lates, sicks, exceptions from phone time, technical issues, and pretty much anything else out of the ordinary.

 

 

Sincerely, Internet's...

Lucas Brown

Now completely legal (in the states he's not banned)!

 

Musings on the final Seinfeld.

Having picked up the last series of Seinfeld recently, I had a chance to view the finale for the first time since it originally aired. Upon this re-viewing, I noticed two points which had escaped me when I first saw it. I call them "It's all been done" and "What were we doing?"

Point the first: It's All Been Done.
In the opening scene, George and Jerry are in the coffee shop, and George is complaining that the waitress is inattentive. He would like more ketchup. "They seat you, and then they're gone. Adios!" he explains "It's like seeing someone and having them never call again." Jerry then suggests he ask the people behind him for their ketchup. George does so. The couple behind him have a very George-and-Jerry-like conversation about how they dislike passing condiments and how "they'll use it sporadically, so they'd rather not." George is angry, but Jerry distracts him by asking if he wants to see a movie. George then begins to rant about how it's always the same, and that he's seen it before. While Jerry protests that he hasn't seen this movie before, George rants on saying it's always the same: you go in, sit down, eat your popcorn, and then it's over. The couple behind him then get up to leave, and offer George the ketchup bottle. George accepts it, but when he goes to use it, it's empty.

I realised that this scene is a microcosm for why Jerry, and co. didn't want to continue working on the series. Observe. In the scene, the waitress is the viewing public. When the show was new and fresh, they were there. Now that it's a staple, people have accepted it and moved on. The ketchup is key: it symbolises the laughter and attention from the viewing public. The couple, who have the ketchup, represent the dozens of other shows using the Seinfeld formula (unrepentant singles, sitting around talking about themselves), even if they use it sporadically (like Friends) or constantly (Mad About You). By doing so, however, they get the attention of the public as the new It Show. Jerry asking George to go to a movie (a common plot thread throughout the series as a way of getting the characters out) is Jerry (in his guise as the writers/cast stuck in a rut, and the network wanting the same old thing) asking to rehash the same thing yet again, and George rejects it, becoming both the public wanting fresh ideas and the writers not wanting to write stock. Then as the couple/new shows leave/are cancelled, they offer the ketchup/viewership back to Seinfeld, and it's empty. People are tired of the rehash, so they get sick of the original. Once the new couple/show leaves, the regulars are still there, eating the same sandwiches in the same booth.

(I think that makes sense. It made sense in my head.)

Point the second (and the shorter): What Were We Doing?
The whole point of the trial in the second act was the writers and cast turning a mirror into exactly what has become this nationwide sensation and template for damn near all future sitcoms. People will discuss the show amongst themselves, say how great it was when Jerry was callous to a new girlfriend, or George tried to cut a corner, or Elaine talked herself into a corner, or Kramer did something without considering the consequences. The things being held up as hilarious and amazing are things that, had they happened to us in life, we'd be appalled by. Think of it as Passion of the Christ-lite: This Is What You've Been Worshipping.

(That being said, I still love the show, and felt this was a strong season, and look forward to seeing more on DVD.)

Personal Growth

So this morning on the way in, I stopped by the Campos coffee stand by Central station. I was going to get myself one, and I had messaged Adrian, as he usually has one too. He hadn’t replied, but I know his network plays up sometimes, so I ordered him a coffee anyway. Mine: Strong Flat White with Two Sugars and Vanilla shot. His, same but with Caramel shot.

Then I got to work and realised that Adrian was off sick.

Now, once upon a time, I would have drunk both coffees which (combined with my one at-home coffee) would have had me jittering around the office for the rest of the day. However, I did not do that.

I gave Adrian’s coffee away.

I think this shows I’ve grown as a person.