Don't You

Hey you.

Yes, you.

Are you reading this?

More to the point, why are you reading this?

You know who you are.

You know you shouldn't be here, you know you shouldn't have called. I want to be left alone, and I made that clear. Leave it be. Move on with your life. I want to move on with mine. Call off this stupid appointment on Thursday. It isn't going to do either of us any good.

I don't want to talk to you, you don't need to talk to me. It's been, what, two and a half years since we last actually had an (awkward) conversation that lasted more than two sentences? I'm tired of you telling me you aren't interested. I'm tired of having to tell you I'm not interested, and I'm tired of you getting really upset as a result.

Let. It. Die. Move on. You have better things and people in your life that deserve attention than some guy that you used to know a few years ago that isn't (and has never been) interested in what you want.
-Cril

You're so vain, you probably think this song is about you
You're so vain, I'll bet you think this song is about you
Don't you? Don't You?

Carly Simon - You're So Vain

Do it already

Words.

Words, words. Words.

Look at me, I'm typing. It's kinda scary that literally just writing down some words was what I need to do to open the door enough to keep going. Strange, that.

I feel like I'm losing momentum. I'm being hypnotized by the steady rhythm of full time work, and sedated by the need to "just relax for a bit" after a day in the office. I can't seriously be so tired that all I can do after a measly 8-9hours at work I need to spend the rest of the evening shooting pixels with other pixels.

My company went through some pretty major restructuring a couple weeks ago, and more than a couple of good people were let go. In the fallout, many of us have had to step up to keep the wheels on the bus. I think I worked about 60hrs that week, and by the end of it I could tell that I was pretty tired and irritable. Which makes sense until I consider that for five straight years at school, working 60-80hrs a week was the norm. And true, what I have now is a much healthier balance, but I can't help but chuckle at how "soft" I'm getting.

Still, though, when I was in those throws of all-consuming academia, I had some sort of clarity about what I wish I could spend time on. I didn't find myself wanting to sit down and game for a few hours every night so much as wanting to learn the mandolin, learn to cook, learn to maintain a car. And while I'm doing those things to some degree, they're still very much taking a back seat to mind-numbing entertainment. It's kind of a let down.



I met with a friend from ACAD last Friday, and caught up after not really talking for 2 years. He mentioned how he's pretty devoted to getting out of work right at 5. He gets there on time, does everything he needs to accomplish, and goes home once he's put in his 8 hours. It's gotten to the point where his coworkers know not to even ask him to stay, because he pushes back really hard.

I can appreciate his devotion to maintaining his ideal life balance. Being a bit of a people-pleaser, I'm not sure if that solution is for me, though. I don't mind chipping in if it'll make a difference, and an extra hour here or there isn't the end of the world. But it's cool to see someone that knows where to draw the line between work and home life.

Anyways, my point is this: I gotta renew my focus on extra-curricular activities. At the beginning of the year, I made the goal to get better at playing the mandolin than I am at the ukulele. Recently I've barely been practicing at all, and the though occurred to me, "June isn't too far away. That's halfway through the year, it'll be a good time to step up my game." But that's the wrong approach, isn't it? There's absolutely no reason I shouldn't step up my game now. More practicing. More sketching. More cooking, more car stuff, more writing.

If I don't do it, ain't nobody else gonna do it for me.
-Cril

I am ready, as ready's anybody can be
I am ready, ready's anybody can be
I am ready for you, I hope you ready for me

I got a axe-handled pistol on my graveyard frame,
That shoot tombstone bullets, wearin' balls and chain,
I'm drinkin TNT, I'm smokin' dynamite,
I hope some screwball start a fight

Muddy Waters - I'm Ready

Trickle into the Ground

I died this morning. In a dream, of course.

(If you haven't realized yet, this post is about to get wishy-washy in a slightly macabre way.)

I've actually only dreamed about this once before. I was a teenager at the time, and had the vision of being a police officer in someone's home, and it all went wrong. An AK47 was involved, as it tends to be in too many of these kinds of scenarios. I'm pretty sure this was all a result of playing an absurd amount Counter-Strike at the time, but it left a much deeper impression on me. I remember the air of desperation and the moment when I was shot, and how warm my blood was running down my body, wrapping me up like a blanket. It suddenly made me feel calm. Relaxed, even. Like I finally got to exhale after holding my breath for just a little bit too long. I remember the notion that "Ah, it's all finally over. There's nothing to worry any more." Very peaceful.

Somehow it gave me a surreal sense of peace regarding death. That, yes, it's going to come to me eventually in one form or another. And when it greets me, I'll know that things are out of my hands, and that I had a good run, and there's nothing to do but wander from one world to the next.

It's like arriving at your flight's gate in an airport stupid-early before boarding. You've checked in, and passed security. There's nothing to do or worry about. You're just in the moment with absolutely nowhere else to be or go for a time. It's one of my favourite parts of travelling (delays, of course, are an exception to the rule).

And then this morning happened. This one was a bit different -- I was in line to be next in a genocide-style execution. I knew I didn't do anything wrong, but that there was also no escape. So while I was kneeling, waiting as the man with the rifle 'worked' his way towards me, I sought that inner-peace from before. I wanted to at least find composure in a situation where I was powerless. And then I was shot. My blood warm blood was running down my body, wrapping me up like a blanket. It suddenly made me feel calm. Relaxed, even. I started to sigh, as if exhaling after holding my breath for just a little bit too long.

But before I could finish that breath, I was overwhelmed with uncertainty and desperation, as if I was drowning and I wanted to hold onto that last futile gulp of stale air for a moment longer. I knew what was happening. I knew I was already lost. Yet the fear bade me to betray my silly composure and fight, fight. I absolutely lost that peace.


The scary thing was just how incredibly physical this experience was. I could really feel my body shutting down. I think that I might've been in between sleep cycles at that moment in the dream; I was in a semi-conscious, borderline hallucinatory state, and in the moment that fictitious shot rang out, my body started to transition into the deeper REM cycle where it becomes paralyzed.

I woke up, of course, right in that instance. And even though it was 8am on a Sunday and I had gone to bed a mere 6 hours prior, you're damn right that I got up right then and there. Freaked out is an understatement -- I was really shaken by the whole thing.

Now that I think about it, I have a couple interpretations on why this encounter with the grim reaper was so different than when he last visited my dreams all those years ago. It could be the documentary I watched last night on The Shining, particularly in regards to the references to genocide and the holocaust. It could be that I'm not as religious as I once was, and that there is inherently more doubt about what lies beyond the threshold. It could be the fact that I was up stupid-late playing Borderlands (I guess some things don't change). Or, it could be that I'm slowly starting to become more aware of my age and health.

It could also be a result of all those things.

Sucks, though. I feel like that first dream I had as a teen was a strange and beautiful gift, and I've just been robbed of it.
-Cril

That's our blood down there
Seems poured from the hands of angels
And trickle into the ground
Leaves the warehouse bare and empty
And my heart's numbered beat
Will echo in this empty room
And the fear wells in me
'Til nothing seems big enough go
Lord I'm going away,
Don't you know I'd love to stay

Dave Matthews - Warehouse

Stirring Fry

I just made stir fry. Last week, I made tacos. Both for the first time. This is largely in part to two factors:

a) I desperately needed to break out of the rhythm of eating variations of peirogies, stroganoff, and spaghetti.

b) I just got a rice cooker to compliment the free 17lb bag of rice that was inexplicably given to me with the second-hand microwave.

Reason A came about as a necessity of being in school - simple, easy to make meals using cheap ingredients that were quick to make and even quicker to reheat. I've been eating that diet for... A very long time, with a (un)healthy amount of mac n' cheese to further mix things up.

Alas, I grew tired of this diet pretty quick, and one of my goals over the last couple years of school was to learn to cook once I had graduated. So here I am. Every two weeks I go grocery shopping, and when I do, I make sure to buy the fixin's for a meal I haven't made before.

I discovered that making tacos is very time consuming and used an appalling quantity of dishes, and that beef for stir fry is stupid expensive. At my age I feel kinda foolish for only figuring this out now, and I know why: I've only really had those meals when I was at home.

My mom used to make sweet and sour porn and stir fry for my birthday. For my sister's, tacos. Both were quite the production, but appropriately delicious. And while I'm not quite sure I have my recipe as good as my mom's (as if such a thing is possible in the first place), my efforts were pretty satisfying. But it comes with the realization that these have now become my meals. Heck, it's probably the first or second time I've had these meals home cooked in 3-4 years. I'm about to eat it more as a creation of my slightly undersized stove, rather than from the kitchen I grew up with.

Makes me kinda sad. What I had appropriated to an exclusively family experience has now disappeared for quite some time now. The tradition is only kept aflame by myself and siblings, in our own kitchens, with our own families (or lack thereof).

The world is moving on, and I guess I am too.

It doesn't even stop with a couple of simple meals. All of the sudden I'm consulting with a financial advisor and saving (as little as it may be) for retirement. I'm excited now that my extended medical coverage has kicked in. Even though I feel like I'm entitled to at least a couple more years of indestructability, all of the sudden I've found a family doctor and am having bloodwork done. I'm cutting back the sugar in my diet for no other reason that I probably should. I own a mid 80's European sports car, and yet feel slightly compelled to bike to work.

Welcome to adulthood. It's here to stay.

Next week I'm going to figure out sweet and sour pork. Gotta use up that rice somehow.
-Cril

Mirrors on the ceiling
The pink champagne on ice
And she said "We are all just prisoners here, of our own device"
And in the master's chambers,
They gathered for the feast
They stab it with their steely knives,
But they just can't kill the beast

Last thing I remember, I was
Running for the door
I had to find the passage back
To the place I was before
"Relax," said the night man,
"We are programmed to receive.
You can check-out any time you like,
But you can never leave"

The Eagles - Hotel California

Shadow of Arkham's Creed

I've finished Shadow of Mordor. Save for a week long binge on Borderlands 2 towards the end, I pretty much played Mordor over a month. Steam informs me that I've put about 27 hours into it, which isn't too bad, especially given the generally high quality of the game.

Coming to it directly from a Assassin's Creed game, my immediate impression was, "wow, this is Assassin's Creed. With some Arkham Asylum thrown in and mixed about." Now that I've finished it, I'd reverse the order of those two titles.

At first it felt uncanny how blatant a rip-off it was. But the more I played, I realized this was not a 'tribute' of the cheap Chinese variety, but a mashup of Joan Jett meets Queen variety. Not only have we brought together both sides of the pond in a way that simply rocks, but it almost makes you question why it wasn't done this way in the first place.

So what at I'm getting is that Shadow of Mordor is good. The combat is tight and movement is solid. It's visually beautiful with some great vistas, and has a lot of great collectables that add to the setting rather than just being another thing to hunt to pad the gameplay. And despite being pretty darn easy as a whole, you have to admit that "being banished from death" is the badassiest way to say "nothing really happens when you manage to fail". The story line and atmosphere are really immersive, in the way that Tolkein-based stories tend to be (and you can tell they did a good job, because I had to consult the built-in appendix to make sense of what the hell was going on). Exploring Mordor's adolescent years, before it grew up and became the big bad punk we all grew up with? Fabulous. Even better yet is getting to know Mordor's awkward teenage friends. It's neat to get a sense of who exactly the orcs are and what their culture is like, rather than the mindless and faceless killing we know them as.

And funny enough, it's the enemies of game that make Shadow of Mordor more than BatEzio's Adventures with His Elven Pal. I was skeptical of the "Sauron Army" mechanic, which is a ranking of captains and warchiefs. But I was playing it wrong by deliberately hunting down and eliminating targets. No, the goal is to leave them alone as long as you can, because things get exponentially more intense when you're going about your mission are get jumped by a mega orc with a chip in his shoulder. And then you throw him into a fire, he burns to a crisp, and re-emerges again at the most inopportune moment with bone to pick with you because now he's covered in bandages and his troops now call him "Oruk the Ugly". And you'd think it'd get annoying or frustrating, but instead it just gets fun and you look forward to facing down these resurrected enemies.

Where it really came together for me was near the end, where I was on a mission an encountered a captain I had slain near the beginning of the game. He explained that he too has been chained to the world of the living, and asked for me to give him relief. Whoa. A vaguely familiar face delivering a single line of alarmingly interesting dialogue, and all of the sudden I empathize and understand the enemy better than before, and start to question my character's role in the story.

Good stuff. Very good stuff.

But something's missing, and I can't figure out what. Maybe it's because it's so shameless about ripping off two games I'm already a fan of. The devs, though, have done such a great job and gone to such lengths to seamlessly merge the two that I can't really fault them for it. Especially as a creative I can't fault for taking two things you love and merging them into something unique and good. Still, though, something about Shadow of Mordor left me wanting a little bit more.

 Because I try not to be an jerk, I have this unwritten rule in my head that I can't fault something if I can't figure out how it can be improved. It's like someone telling me, "Yeah, it looks good, but could you just make it 'pop' a bit more?" They don't know what exactly they want or what it would take to capture that mystery X factor, and such efforts usually result in making things worse.

So, Shadow of Mordor.

Five out of five, damnit.

-Cril

Don't wanna be your monkey wrench
One more indecent accident
I'd rather leave than suffer this
I'll never be your monkey wrench

All this time to make amends
What do you do when all your enemies are friends
Now and then I'll try to bend
Under pressure
Wind up snapping in the end

Foo Fighters - Monkey Wrench